Chapter 1

Chapter 1

The world sounded darker, and Liam could feel it. As he listened, he could hear shadows and darkness swirling just beyond the borders of his world. These shadows, like a distant roar of thunder, seemed to drown out the noises of life in Greenedge, turning the everyday hustle of the small town into a shallow whisper.

Liam stood in front of the window, the one that gave a view of the busy street below, exploring his thoughts. He hadn't felt the darkness so strongly in years: years in which he had tried to get as far away from its influence as possible. But his efforts to escape had never kept it at bay for long.

He took a deep breath. He could taste the darkness, too. The air felt bitter, hard to breathe, as if the shadows were moving to choke him. Liam felt as his throat began to close up, his vision filling with black as his breaths shallowed. He felt shadows clawing at his heart, darkness seeping through his memories, pulling back that which he had tried to forget. Moments from his past jumped out at him: a chuckle from his father, a gasp from his mother, screams of the dying. He couldn’t go back to that day, not now.

“Liam, Prya Wellcart is nearly ready.”

Liam blinked. He was back on the top floor of the Daitan, once again looking out at the Greenedge market. All that remained of the previously overwhelming darkness was a faint whisper, hiding far beyond reach. Liam drew a long breath, filling his lungs with fresh, untainted air. He almost laughed. It was rare that his attacks came so suddenly, or vanished so quickly.

Over his years in Greenedge, he had learned to recognize when the darkness was closing on him, and could usually get back to his home before an attack hit. This time had been different. It had come and gone so quickly, but cut deeper into his memories than before. Usually, the shadows seemed to originate from him, from his memories. This time the shadows had grown from all around him.

“Liam, are you listening?” A Prya, Seltha Tonns, asked as she put her wrinkled hand on his shoulder. She must have come in from the white room during his attack.

“I’m sorry Tonns. I was... thinking.” Liam turned around, letting a feeble smile cross his face. He hoped it was enough to stop any questions.

“Prya Tonns, while I am on religious duty. You know that,” said Tonns, taking her hand off Liam’s shoulder. As she shuffled towards an elaborate chair close by, she continued. “Anyway, don’t be sorry, boy. You’re acting much like every other child on their marking day. They always sit here in the looking room lost in their thoughts. I’d like to believe that they are contemplating successful and exciting futures, but I am afraid that most are probably just wondering what their mark will look like. That’s the problem with your generation: they’ve forgotten the-”

Liam stopped listening as he leaned back against the windowsill. He had known Tonns for most of his life, and he knew that she would spend the next hour rambling on about the “problems” his generation had if she had the chance. But today her complaints would have to be cut short. In a few minutes, she would escort him into the next room, the white room, where Prya Wellcart would lead Liam through the marking ceremony. During the ritual Liam would be gifted by Apollinoth, the Creator, with a unique mark. This mark would serve as proof of Liam’s manhood in the Creator’s, and the world’s, eyes. This was the designated way of things.

This ceremony was a yearly occurrence, taking place on the first day of spring, and would be completed by every 17-year-old boy and 16-year-old girl in civilized Gildora. Each youth would leave their Daitan with their own mark, and each would wake up the following morning holding the responsibilities of an adult.

It was said, as Liam recalled, that anyone who entered the white room to receive a mark was given one, even those with evil in their past. This held little comfort to Liam. How could the Creator, a being of light, want one of his marks placed on Liam?

The large door at the end of the looking room opened, abruptly ending Tonns’s lecture and Liam’s worrying. A beaming new adult moved out of the adjoining room, followed closely by Prya Wellcart.

“Beni, you may go now,” said the youthful Prya, “and remember what you felt. May the Creator guide you.”

Liam watched as Beni, a cute blond, bounced towards the stairs. She had grown up in town, the daughter of the tailor. This set her apart from others her age. Most children in Greenedge grew up on the farms, which made up the bulk of the sprawling village. As she reached the stairs, she threw Liam a smile. Liam felt his cheeks redden, remembering the last festival.

“Ah, Liam! I have been waiting to see you all day.”

Liam straightened and began to move towards Wellcart, stopping only to bow slightly while touching his hand to his forehead. “I greet you, Prya, and wish blessings on your home.”

The Prya stiffened, bowing in the same manner as Liam had. “I greet you, Liam, and wish blessings on your home.” Upon finishing with the formality, Wellcart let out a jovial laugh, reaching out to slap his hand against Liam’s shoulder. “Thank the Creator you were given manners,” he chuckled. “You know, you are only the fourth to give me the proper respects out of the twelve I have seen today. It is surprising, really. Last year I had at least twice as many.”

Liam couldn’t help but grin at the somewhat goofy Prya. “Not very surprising, if you think about what you do when you aren’t doing your religious work.”

Prya Tonns, who had followed behind Liam, stretched out to smack the back of Liam’s head. “Liam Cadarch, you should know better than to accuse the head Prya with such uncouth conduct! He is a man of Holiness.”

“No need for that, Tonns. I think Liam here has a point. Perhaps lacing Mayor Varing’s punch with wine at last night’s feast may have caused some of the youth to notice a rather less... religious side of me. My only regret on the matter is that, in the end, I was caught. Luckily for myself and the other feast goers, this was after the Mayor had downed more than a few glasses of his ‘punch.’” At the last, Wellcart gave Liam a wink. “And, if I recall my adventures correctly, last night’s festivities were hardly the first of my many entertaining pranks.”

Tonns shot a quick glare at Wellcart. “This is hardly the time or place for such talk, Prya. Back when I was a youth, stunts like that were unheard of, let alone committed by one of the Prya. I would expect more from the man who runs this Daitan.”

Liam looked to Wellcart, interesting in seeing how he would respond to the older Prya’s comments. Liam was surprised to see the man’s eyes twinkle with hidden laughter.

“A man of religion need not be a man of stiffness, Tonns. I believe that Apollinoth himself has quite the sense of humor. Take, for example, women. I believe that the Creator takes great pleasure in watching his sons as they make fools of themselves trying to understand and attract the other gender. Liam, no doubt, has experience in this field.

Liam laughed, thinking once again of Beni, and of Evelynn, Ralya, and Jusin. “I think I have more experience in not understanding women than anyone else in Greenedge. I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that all the girls of my year place bets to see who can confuse me the most.”

Now it was Wellcart’s turn to laugh. “I felt the same way at your age! Come to think of it, I believe most young men do.”

Tonns rolled her eyes, cutting back into the conversation. “Women are perfectly sensible. It’s the men who do all the confusing. I should know, I’ve gone through three husbands, and each was more bewildering than any woman I have made the acquaintance of. Now, I believe it is time for the ceremony to continue. There are plenty more children waiting to become adults before the day is out, and I don’t believe we have time to waste arguing the antics of men or women.”

Wellcart straightened up, attempting to look more the part of Prya, although he was unable to completely rid himself of his crooked smile. With a swirl of his great white and red cloak, which each Prya wore while doing their religious duties, he turned to open the white room door. “Prya Tonns is right, Liam. The Creator is waiting for you.”

Liam swallowed as his dread came rushing back. The cheerful conversation had helped him momentarily forget his past, but he had known the inevitable would come. Liam sighed, and walked through the door that Wellcart held open for him, Tonns following on his heels.

The white room, which was only used for the marking ceremony, stood in the middle of the top floor of the Daitan, directly underneath the crystal dome. The light that dappled in from the outside reflected around the room, throwing colorful shadows and highlights on the room’s smooth white floor and walls.

“Now Liam, I want you to stand in the very center there, next to the pedestal with the bowl on it. Tonns and I will take our places at these altars at each end of the room. When everyone is ready, we will recite the marking prayer. Immediately after we finish, I need you to take a small sip of the water in the bowl. As you do so, you will be marked by Apollinoth.” Wellcart began walking towards his place, an altar topped by a large volume, identical to the one Tonns was already standing at. “Can you do that?”

Liam tried to answer, but no sound would come. He began walking towards his place at the center of the room, directly beneath the point of the dome. He hoped his actions would serve as answer enough. As he reached the pedestal, he looked at the bowl. From farther away, it seemed to be a fairly average white bowl, but up close Liam could discern that it was made of miniscule woven fibers. Each fiber was threaded in it’s own intricate and twisting pattern, giving the entire bowl a feel of movement, of change.

Liam attempted to distract himself by tracing the curves of the fibers with his eyes, but he could feel his heart pounding in his chest, his stomach churning as he thought of what could happen next. He began to breath faster. He could feel it again, just beyond his senses. The darkness that had come before.

“Liam, we are about to begin.”

Both Wellcart and Tonns looked down at their books, placing their hands on the sides of the altars. They looked up at one another, nodding from across the room, a signal to begin. Simultaneously, they began to speak.

“Apollinoth, Creator of all, our audience this day is to present a boy.”

Liam’s hands, down by his side, twitched. He could feel wrong something in the room, a presence that didn’t belong.

“This boy, your son, is in need of a sacred mark-”

Liam felt cold, and his hands began to tremble. The presence was close, yet remained unseen.

“A mark of your making, proving him as your kin-”

Liam gasped. He felt something, a hand, grab his shoulder. Glancing down, Liam saw nothing, but from that point a feeling of cold darkness began to spread. The light in the room seemed to dim, as though the outside sun had just been obscured by an oncoming storm.

“A mark of your design, symbol of his manhood.”

Liam’s breath grew ragged. The hand on his shoulder gripped tighter, sending tendrils of shadow into his heart. The air around Liam began to stir, like a chilling breeze on a dark night.

“We call upon you, Creator of all. Accept your son this day and welcome him as your own.”

Darkness began to fill Liam’s vision. He shivered. The breeze was growing stronger, becoming a twisting gale that filled the room. The unseen hand released Liam’s shoulder, although the presence before him was more definite than ever.

Wellcart looked up from his book, unnatural wind whipping through his hair. He looked confused and worried. “Liam, quickly now. Drink from the bowl.”

A quiet laugh emanated from the eye of the gale, directly in front of Liam. As the laugh faded, a raspy whisper replaced it. “Liam Cadarch, this is not your destiny.”

Liam felt the air leave his lungs. The presence, the figure, It had a voice.

“You have no need for the light. Accept the darkness that forms you.”

Liam’s eyes strained to see what he knew was right in front of him. He searched for signs proving the existence of the figure. Liam looked towards the floor, expecting to see a shadow, but his eyes caught hold of something else, a reflection in the bowl of water.

“My son, come with me and forsake the mark. It will make you weak.”

Anger bubbled in Liam’s heart, pushing out the darkness that was taking hold. The face that called to him was the reason for Liam’s constant uncertainty. It was the face that led the attacks on his sanity. Liam reached out, grabbing the bowl and pulling it to his face. Water spilled over the sides. As the cool edge of the weave touched Liam’s lips, he looked directly in front of him, into the face of his tormenter.

Liam opened his lips, drinking in the liquid. As the water slid down his throat, Liam felt a warmth spread through him, rejecting the darkness. The warmth reached its climax on Liam’s back, seeming to fill every inch of it with painless burning.

The figure let out a low hiss as the warmth died away, its eyes filling with rage as it began to lose substance, fading from world of Light. Just before it vanished, it opened its mouth to leave its final, barely audible, words.

“Liam Cadarch, you don’t deserve to call me father.”

Liam set the bowl down, trying to stop the tears that were filling his eyes.

Author's Note

I am thinking about adding a chapter before this one, which will help introduce my other main characters that associate with Liam. I feel like I should let the readers get to know them before throwing them into the action of Liam's story.