8th Forbidden - Prologue

This is the prologue of the 8th forbidden, I have the actual book on here, but I need this in a poem format to submit it,so sorry about that, this isn't anything new.

Prologue

 

The blood of Revailles was spread upon the brick roads; the air masked with the scent of death and lost hope. The silence of peace was broken and replaced with the cries of those who searched for help, those that had lost a loved one in a battle that was never meant to take place. The royal blood was replaced with the black soot that ran through the veins of Archnal, a land of terror and slavery and the destruction of peace and harmony. Their bitterness and anger had taken over what used to be their hearts and soul. Such darkness created creatures beyond the land’s understanding, the power within them was remarkable but the evil embedded frightened both the weak and the strong. Before shields could be built to strain against the new enemies - enemies they knew nothing of or whether they could be detained or controlled - it was far too late for their people's future. For the survival of peace.

King Richard and his queen had fallen, but death had not yet come for them. Their thrones were taken along with their pride but their hearts still beat firmly in their chests, hidden away in a castle that all folk believed was abandoned. This was their new home, with their son and the few help they called family.

Many years of destruction had passed, darkening the brightness of the world to become as dark as the areas that once held God's temples and light.

Time had passed, and not a soul had moved. They grew weaker - staring down from the little view they had to see the destruction of their world, each second of their lives slowly slipping from their grasps. The sun had risen, and it had fallen - but there was no difference in the faces of the people; they all had just grown thinner �" the color of their skin fading away, and the creatures and men who wore black, red and coal upon their chests with despicable pride grew stronger.

Did I do this to my people? Is what the king often wondered, but he had also denied the fingers pointed towards him. The Revailles had survived on only the scraps they found crawling on the grounds, and the light that had come through a tiny gap in the castle’s rubble. Everyone in the abandoned rubble had worshiped that tiny hole �" it was the only way to see the outside, without being seen by the evil that had invaded.

It was difficult to blame one man for the deaths of those who had once looked to him as an idol. The man didn’t accept that he had done nothing wrong, but he had also not done anything right. He sobbed in the dark corners within the walls, his bones slowly showing in stark contrast to his skin, the fat having disintegrated to nothing as time went on. The king was no longer a king, the cowardice was written across his face. He no longer deserved to wear the crown; nor had he ever deserved the prize of living. The time had made him grow weary and weak to the point that his neck could hardly bear the weight of his own head. It hadn’t taken long for the light of the world to turn to darkness, and the people did nothing but scream.

Outside the safe walls of the old rubble, flames had begun to dance upon the people’s skin. Day and night, it did not stop. More of the few who still had life within them (if it could still be called that) could still hear the terrors in the air, but continued on as if it wasn’t happening, nothing more to them than a bird singing in a tree on a sunny day.

The king was in the center of the hall with his queen on his left, his son on his right, all of them standing still, their pupils dark with the fear they tried so hard to hide. Their breathing was kept low; the servants arranged themselves on both sides of the king’s family. There was a time, and place for defeat and that moment had long passed them all. It was frowned upon to die willingly and to cover it with the likes of pride. Anyone would have been frightened to die at the hands of those who lived in Archnal, but only a coward would force everyone to die with him, convincing all but himself, that their death was for the best.

“We stand together, and we die with pride - we must understand our defeat, and wear the little dignity we have with honor; for the blood of Revailles!” The king spoke out, not bothering to look at the faces of those he was killing. Rocks and black shattered glass was scattered upon the cracked stone floors. It didn’t take long for the Lanterns to hear their beating hearts, and smell the blood in their veins. They were small little creatures, harmless to the eye. Their asses glowed like flames, and their dark bodies were weak and trembling. Swarms had come through the spaces where the stained glass windows that had once held the images of past kings was broken.

“Are you ready?” The king looked to his boy, no older than eight. To ask his son if he was ready to die was a tragedy, yet that wasn’t what made the king cry. It was how he knew his own face would look to the young child. He knew that no matter how hard he tried, he wouldn’t be able to show any bravery, because there was none to show. The man was weak, tired - scared.

“I’ll never be ready to die father. But I’ll be brave, because you are with me - and the Revailles’ blood is never afraid.” The boy only spoke to his father, but everyone in that room could heard. The boy’s face was innocent, he knew that death was something that he did not deserve. He knew his responsibilities as a prince, whether he deserved this or not had never mattered. A tear escaped his eye as he turned to face the front of the hall, his eyes growing duller awaiting his last minutes of life to tick by. The queen stood tall, refusing to look to her left, to her right, to her king, or to her son. The Lanterns came closer. As weak as they looked they had swarmed together quickly, coming closer to their meal.

A Lantern’s bite shot flames throughout the royal’s bodies, their spines arched in agonising pain, the burning was unbearable but they couldn’t scream. One by one, their skin had begun to melt from the bone. The worst of it all was that they weren’t gone, not yet, not until the end. The King; or what was left of the man, looked to his son for the last time but his son was no longer his little boy. He looked into the boys eyes until they glowed with gold. His teeth grew long and sharp, his lips covered in blood, collapsed on the ground. His son was gone, and soon it would be his turn to follow.

The lights of gold and the growing moans from the mouths of what had used to be the living had become brighter and louder. It soon faded away, the voices giving up their pleas, and the air going back to silence, the screams of torture echoing through the winds dying off to nothing. The King and his family had all stood together but they were no longer standing strong. They no longer needed the comfort of each other’s warmth or presence, their skin was already burning and they couldn’t feel a thing. Small pebbles and dust had begun to fall through the old ceiling that barely held together. From the center, a rotting chandelier had crumbled to the stone floor, but had missed the dead bodies that lay motionless.

The sky was suddenly blocked, by a golden figure, translucent black feathers lined with silver covering each golden scale. For a moment the hall was silent and still, the next it was filled with blue crackling fire. The figure was gone as suddenly as it appeared, leaving not a feather left to the flames until there was nothing but cold white ash as it started to die out, like everything else in the lands of Revailles. Beyond the screams that howled in the wind was a faint voice, it was less than a whisper, nonetheless it was a voice. Awaken.

The dream ended, changing from a dark and gloomy yonder with soils drenched in blood, to a bright blue blinding morning sky, the voices of the birds sung from the trees above.           

“Did you have a nice sleep there Ruth?” The girls smile was wide, and bright �" the reflection from the sun made it impossible to look at her directly, “come on, we have to go off soon.”

Ruth rose up to her feet, although they were well hidden by the crisp black cloak she wore over her shoulders.

“Well; are you coming, or are you just going to stand there?” There was a slight chuckle in the girls voice, but Ruth could tell that it was only out of courtesy.

Ruth raised a hand to shoo her away. Before she once more hid her hand in her cloak she examined every scar, and twisted trail of flesh �" bringing back memories of the past that she refused to forget, but hated to remember.

Drowsily, Ruth wobbled her way to the bank of a thin stream; the water clear enough to see the faint details of each pebble at the bottom, the sound so quiet, that the current could have easily been missed. She cupped the water into her thin and scarred hands, it was cold �" just what she needed to wake her up for the dry and boring morning.

“Stop, we’ve got plenty of time!”

 “Leave us alone.”

The voices were distant, Ruth turned to look for who had spoken but back when she decided she didn’t care. In the surface of the water, she could see inked markings on her neck, scars, and layered flesh everywhere else. Each reminding her of a secret.

“Ruth!” The girl from before appeared behind her, eyes a pale grey like the smooth stones in the stream, outlined in the dark green of the forest around her to give life to her face.

“Oh leave the poor girl alone Beatrice; can’t you see she’s praying? Give her some time, we need to pack up anyways.” He was a white man fit to be a king, wearing black and blue silks, and dark black leather boots that rose above his ankles. His hair was tied tight in a single braid, interlocking the orange and brown strands of hair together. He had tried to cover his story under his silks, but Ruth could see where his burns begun on the right side of his neck where his skin had molded around an iron ring. The young man was named Donati. He didn’t bother to look her way; he disappeared back into the trees to continue packing up their camp for the night, huffing at the weight he was lifting.

 Ruth made her way to the small clear landing where they had kept the horses and food overnight. Donati was lifting one thing after another �" Forese was still asleep on the ground, Marco and Beatrice both shouting in his ears.

“Wake up you fat lump! �" Forese! Fooo-rese!” Their voice had gotten louder and the snoring that came from Forese had gotten louder as well. Donati hid a faint grin, as he lifted the food to one of the Dicaballs’ back. It was a large steed that was made to carry great weight, its legs strong and its hide thick.

“Good girl, I can always count on you.” Donati said as he brushed his hand upon its back, repeating the gesture over and over.

I leave with four legendries, and they all waste their time waking up a fat legend, and the only decent one worships nothing but his burns and a Dicaball. It was frustrating for Ruth to think that she would have to put up with their bickering, and stories until she found what she was sent for.

  Once Donati had packed the last of everything, they boiled some water in the pail he left unpacked. Ruth filled the boiling water with mint leaves and sweet grass. Beatrice and Marco gave up on waking the fat lump of a man to come join them.

“You know, it has come to my attention that we have all tried to wake Forese, except for you our sweet Donati. He is your brother after all, he might open his eyes and rise up to his oversized feet if you tell him to.” Marco was a man of pride. He was three quarters of a man, his hair made a pile of rotting leaves look neat, nothing but a black tangle that sat on his head. He had deep copper eyes to fight against the darkness both out- and inside his head. He saw himself as perfect, despite the right arm missing from underneath the black and blue fabrics he had covered himself in.

My God, I’ll do it. Ruth raised herself over them all, for the first time that day she was looking down on them. A wind came up from nowhere and swirled around the circle of people, whipping the backs of their necks and just missing Ruth. All eyes fell on her.

“That hurts you know, if you wanted a try at waking up the big stump, you could have just said so.” Marco said with a rather cruel smile. He was well aware of what his words meant, but Ruth refused to react.

“You’re an inconsiderate b*****d you know that?”  Donati muttered. He had a voice, it may not have been confident and reassuring at all times, but it was a voice. Ruth couldn’t speak at all. She had to use the strength of magics to share her thoughts when she had to communicate with others, as rare as it was. Often times, her Pennax feathered sword was enough for her to make people understand.

The sword was a thing of beauty �" A hilt of white ruby; crystal clear, with thin fingers of red running through it. The blade a steel black feather lined in silver strong enough to cut through whatever it may face. The fuller of the blade a line of golden scales.

Ruth’s legs might have been small, but she got to the fat man just as quickly as any of the others, her hand on the pommel of her sword. She looked at Forese’s face, covered in snot and drool. Thank God the man’s a wizard; he would have died without a woman by his side as a mortal. Ruth often thought sourly of Forese. He wasn’t the nicest man to look at and his personality wasn’t any different to his poor appearance. She passed him and found a bush of sour berries. A rather foul fruit grew on the bush that seemed deadly to any living creature, yet it was a crucial element in her plan. She picked herself a rather large leaf from the bush and folded it around three of the large berries. They were larger than most fruits that grew on a bush, they were the size of apples �" their skins a deep rotten purple.

Ruth made her way back over to Forese. The orange and red juices of the fruit began to drip as Ruth’s hand got tighter and tighter around the leaf holding the berries. The scent of the juice grew stronger, and brought tears to Ruth’s eyes. Perfection. She made to stand beside Forese again and she didn’t hesitate, letting the juice drip onto his fat, plump nose. 

She had beaten her record. At that moment Forese’s eyes shot open. He didn’t think as he placed his thick sausage fingers around Ruth’s tiny neck. The two weren’t friends and she had no problem with using her blade against him. Beatrice was the first to try to stop the fight, although her plan hadn’t gone as smoothly as she anticipated, she had forgotten about Forese’s weight and bounced off him when she attempted to tackle him. Ruth’s hand came closer and closer to unleashing her blade upon the thick arm with a hand around her throat Donati was the second to try to jump between them. Marco seemed to be under the impression anyone who tried to break up this particular fight was an idiot.

Winding around his left arm was a transparent bracelet that spiraled around and up from his wrist to his shoulder. It wasn’t large but it was hollow and held water inside. His foot rose, and the water around his arm started to move and transform into a thick black and silver muck. His foot stomped back down to the ground, the shock wave sending everyone in the area flying.

Painfully, everyone fell to the ground, a fair distance between them. Everyone turned to look at Marco. The fight from before was forgotten, everyone was angry at Marco’s little magic trick. A smile inched to the corner of Marco’s mouth, he had enjoyed watching them fall down and was not ashamed to show it.

“Well don’t just sit there, get up. My goodness, we’re wizards! If we don’t use our magics to solve problems then what are we to use them for? You’re all idiots. The only one who can fight is the she-dwarf, and she was part of the fight you were trying to stop,” Marco addressed to the group. He raised his eyebrows, waiting for an answer of any sort.

“You w***e licking, self centered prick,” Donati’s face was stone, his voice like ice, the corner of his eye began to twitch in his anger. That put a faint grin on Ruth’s face. She knew Donati hated the man but they had all been together so long at this point even Marco was considered family.

Don’t kill him; whatever you do don’t set a single finger on the b*****d. Don’t give him the satisfaction, Ruth silently begged. Forese opened his mouth to speak,

“If you wanted to wake me, out of all people why did you choose the midget? She’s a woman,” He mumbled. Spit trickled down the center of his lip; he struggled to reach his chin to wipe it off but somehow he ended up flailing on his back, rolling helplessly from side to side.

“And what was that meant to mean?” Beatrice said, trying to keep the amusement off her face. She failed to do so. She circled her arms around what she could of Forese, and attempted to hoist him to his feet. Ruth decided to help as well. She couldn’t help it, she pitied him.

His face and vast neck were red from embarrassment but he didn’t refuse the help from the women. Marco jumped up onto a rock to look down at them all. He started dancing around like an idiot, swinging a stick around as if it were a sword. Donati just watched from the corner of his eye, willing him to fall.

“I fear that your time has ended, fat man with a beard. Women pity you and nothing loves you, fat man with a beard. Your blood is thicker than the lard we feed the peasants, fat man with a beard. You have no neck and you have no mouth, fat man with a beard. You cannot walk, you cannot talk fat man with a beard. You- “. Marco sang jumping and swinging his stick from side to side.

“What is the point you’re trying to make?” Donati said but he did not look up to Marco. Instead he looked at his brother Forese, watched as a tear trickled down his cheek. The women froze as they looked between Donati and Marco.

“I’m saying that until he can walk faster than a woman, he cannot judge them. Soon enough they’ll be using him as a Dicaball, whipping his a*s for him to move faster.” Marco’s stick was pointed at Forese as he said this. Forese, despite his temper, had no strength to defend himself. Hopelessly he looked at his brother for help.

“You’re words are hollow, you know nothing,” Donati’s voice was low, and husky �" there was a tearing sound deep inside his throat. He decided the time for playing and fooling around was over and Ruth was quickly by his side in agreement; allowing Forese to fall to the cold, dirty ground dragging Beatrice with him.

There were four Dicaballs on the outskirts of the camp, almost one for each wizard. Marco preferred walking than riding one of the smelly beasts. Ruth did not have one either as she preferred to walk and strengthen her fragile looking legs. Despite their frail appearance her legs were strong and in any fight she would be the one coming out on top. Of all of the group Ruth was the only one who had the strength to settle things with, and without magic. 

Forese escaped Beatrice’s grasp and succeeded in rolling to a nearby tree to hoist himself up onto his own two feet, it was a miracle they hadn’t collapsed yet under his weight.

A Dicaball had begun to walk forward with the others following behind. Some had ten thick, broad legs; others had ten eyes, or ten tails �" maybe ten hearts but nobody was entirely certain. With or without riders on their backs they trailed behind the leader, a Dicaball was not an animal known to be loyal to its master.

Everyone started to move, Donati leading the group though Marco didn’t join them. Even Forese had managed a way to drag himself along quickly enough to jump on his personal un-loyal Dicaball. He knew which one was his, the one with ten legs �" it was the only one that could bear his weight. The girls followed, leaving Marco behind.

“You can’t leave me here!” Marco snickered, but it wasn’t friendly. The excitement was over, no one turned to acknowledge him. There was a silent agreement throughout the group that he was now Donati’s problem.

“I was sent to discover something priceless, and bring it back to the dying kingdoms. There was no part of the agreement that said I had to babysit you, or bring you back with me,” Donati said, still facing forward, “If you die, that’s one less person to have to pay.”

They had made it far from their camp before Marco realized they weren’t coming back to get him. It took some time for him to catch up with the others. It was difficult navigating the twisted, uneven trails of a forest that many weren’t meant to enter or survive all in one lifetime.

Marco lost his balance, “you would leave the smallest man behind! You are half of Forese’s size, and I the half of you.” He shouted. He wasn’t far behind them now, but they didn’t seem to hear his voice �" or they were simply ignoring him which wouldn’t have been a surprise.

“We can’t go near that it’s too dangerous, we don’t know what that is �" these things aren’t meant to still exist.” Beatrice’s voice was high and annoying and slightly panicked.

“I’ve seen these before marking before. . . .  It was after you left of course Donati.” Forese said, straining to open his jaw against the pressure of the fat that invaded his neck and chin. He nodded his head in Donati’s direction when said his name, yet his eyes stayed to the object in front of them, “father had met this man, he had a cloth �" it was nothing that I found very significant let alone why it would be useful for the family, but the markings that were on that cloth were . . .  abnormal, like these ones” Forese squinted in deep concentration.

“I believe the word you’re thinking of is ancient” The sarcastic voice came up behind them, Marco threw his arms around Donati’s and Beatrice’s shoulders. Beatrice and Donati were the only ones who remained standing, both Forese and Ruth sat on the ground, watching.

“What are all of you idiots looking at anyways �" what abnormal markings do you speak of?”

Marco finally brought his eyes up. For the first time that they had been stuck together, Marco was struck silent. He wasn’t ashamed as fear invaded his features. No one spoke. They gave Marco time to process what he was seeing.

The group was in shock, they knew “rare” was a completely different category than “impossible”, but this was out of their range of expertise.

In front of them stood seven stones �" each a different color; with a faint mist moving around inside. They were surrounding a single gem hovering in the center much larger than them all, at least as tall as Donati. It had a grey pigment, dark enough to know it was meant to be black, yet light enough to know that it was incomplete in its color, it appeared to be made of hollow glass.

On the ground in between the circling stones, were the markings Forese mentioned made from a thick black soot �" some outlined in the colors of the gems, others in a rotting grey. As the design wound around the stones it formed a perfect circle, not a marking out of place.

“What does it mean?” Beatrice’s voice was full of fear. She fell quiet and fell back into the stare they were all caught in when she realized nobody was going to reply. A strange disembodied voice began to whisper in their minds.

“Help . . . me. Help . . . me. HELP . . . ME!”  The voice was strange, very smooth and calming but the distress was clear. Donati was the first to say something, but Ruth was the first to move.

“No one listen to it.” He said. Donati was the man that they looked up to, but he was no leader �" when there was something wrong he would freeze up and stare, the same way he was staring at Ruth as she charged up to the stones. No one said anything, Marco smiled, Forese still stood in an absent trance, and Beatrice had begun to cry in confusion.

“She’s a fool if she touches that thing.” Marco had said out to Donati, starting to sound panicked as well.

“Help . . . me. Help . . . me. HELP . . . ME!”  The closer Ruth got the faster the voice spoke, repeating the words over and over.

“Help . . . me. Help . . . me. HELP . . . ME!” There was no hesitation as Ruth released the sword from its scabbard. The blade’s scales shimmered in the sun. She leapt over the marking on the ground, in between the stones surrounding the gem. With two hands on the grip she made to use it as an axe. She struck, the blade making contact with the gem, and the mists in the stones grew thicker, and danced faster inside. Ruth was more aggressive than any had anticipated. The voice that spoke was gone and was replaced with the screaming of the mists. Each hack of the sword made the screams louder and louder, until the gem and stones began to crack on their own.

The black stone was the first to break, shattering to the ground. Beatrice immediately ran off to hide behind a tree. One by one the rest of the stones began to shatter as well. The gem exploded, whipping shards through the air in all directions. The mists that were in the stones appeared to panic in the free air, not knowing where to go. The only sounds to be heard were the screaming of the mists and the sound of frightened Dicaballs fleeing the scene. Beatrice could be heard sobbing behind the cover of the trees.

Within seconds all sound and movement ceased. There was only Beatrice left to see the aftermath of the violent mists. She could still see the thin tail of the last one flying through the dark branches of the forest, but she hadn’t the courage to follow it. Littered across the ground was shards of the broken stones and gem, and her friends.

The fat man had a shard caught in the fat of his throat, blood had begun to seep through the open wound. Marco had a large piece of gem puncturing the center of his heart, his blood pooling on the ground around him. The shard appeared to be absorbing his blood, a new mist already seemed to be forming inside, Beatrice didn’t dare approach it.

Through Donati’s stomach was a shard so large Beatrice knew he had to have been impaled. She couldn’t bear to look at him. Ruth lay closest to the center of the carnage, with just a thin clean slice across her throat. Her beautiful sword was shattered in tiny pieces on the ground around her.

“You fools, you fools! What am I meant to do now?” Her tears weren’t of sorrow, she thought only of herself, all alone for the rest of her miserable life. She walked around the scene again, but this time she didn’t go near the dead, she picked up the large pieces of gem and stone around the outskirts of the area.

Something to remember them by, she thought, to remember what happened to my family. She didn’t plan to seek revenge, she didn’t want answers, she only wanted to join them, to die the same way her family had but was too much of coward to do it herself.

She began to walk, following the path the Dicaballs had left. She was alone, but soon enough she would be with her family, no matter how much she had hated some of them at times. She would walk until she found her place, blood and stones in her hands.

Author's Note

Pay this no attention,but if you read this and you liked it,please check out the actual book which is featured on my profile page, thank you so much.