Chapter One: Ethen

I literally have no idea

I scrambled to gather nerve, replenishing the air that had escaped my lungs in waking from my hellish nightmare. I was drenched in sweat, breathing heavy, and my hands shook more violent than the movement of my darting eyes across the room.  The voice of my father echoed in my mind from nights ago, as if it were a jail cell set in stone. “Tonight the epidemic begins”, repeated itself, like a crow declaring it was sunrise.  

I shuttered feverishly and concealed my ears beneath my feathered pillow in attempt to stop the pernicious voice. Screams of terror, lifeless peasant’s eyes, the distinct scent of death; all lingered in my mind, a fresh memory, yet, it had been almost three months since that awful night. Moaning myself calm was the only way I could stop the foul declaration from continuing, but this was just the beginning.

The voices would cease, my quivering hands would grow cold and still, my breath would gradually become normal, and for however long - I could never tell - my conscious would slip into a trance. I would stare at the wall for minutes, hours, never days, but time would slip from me easily.

When I came to, it always took a moment to recognize where I was. Sometimes I would still be on my bed, other times I would be dressed and in the hallway. Every morning was eerily similar.

Composing myself, I wobbled to my bedside window. Beyond the barred window, the town laid below. I could hear sobs of the people as they roamed the streets searching for anything; food, money, hope... I rubbed my temples. Had I really acted like that back then? Not caring about the people of my future kingdom? I made myself sick.

Reacting to the knock at my door, I jumped. “Breakfast is ready, sir.” The voice was male, and too deep to be my servant, Henry.

“Who’s there?”

The heavy wooden door creaked open, and in walked Lance. “My good, sir,” he took a bow.

“Lance, get out.” I stood exposed, plainly in my pajamas.

Disregarding my plea to ready myself alone, Lance entered, shutting the door quietly behind him.   

“It’s nearly noon. I thought you had managed to escape again.” Lance stopped his pacing, making eye contact with me.  “Thankfully, it was your mother who arrived in the Hall this morning, or your father would have sent an army into town looking for you without sending a soul to knock on your door. You are most welcome that it was I who came for you.”

My mother? She had been off to Windsor for months and wasn’t scheduled to return for many more. There was no way she was back… “I know that is not your only business here, soldier.”

Lance huffed in appaul. “Why the cold shoulder this morning? I came up here to save your-”

“I asked you to leave me alone, and you still entered my dwelling. And for what? To tell me I owe you one?  Wow, what a great best and only friend I have.”

Lance rolled his eyes and marched to the door. “Your mother wants to see you down in five for a meeting.” He took a bow, letting his black curls shield his angered expression. “You’re most welcome, sir.”

Silence followed the slamming of the heavy wooden door.

Lance had shown up to the palace under… peculiar circumstances. Neither of us ever mentioned his upbringing or arrival, this seemed to derail his pleasant moods. It never helped his cause, either, when he barged in on me, mocking Henry in the process. He could be kicked out as easily as he was brought in, or at least that is what my father had always said.

Which reminded me: where was Henry? I was sure I ordered him to wake me at eight o’clock on the dot.  Never mind that, mother must have come back for serious reasons.

* * *

The hall’s floor to ceiling, stained glass windows, in comparison to my barely shoulder width and torso high (now barred) windows, blinded me on entrance. The regular wooden meeting table had been replaced by one with engraved steel. Ironically, the carvings portrayed angels, doves, and olive; the typical representations of peace, in an area where daily, people were sentenced to their deaths.

“Mother.” I bowed and took a seat to her right. She sat at the head of the table, her back to the window. A forest green cloak concealed her dress, contracting what stood out the most. Her white hair flowed calmly in non-existent wind. Her eerie glowing, white, widened eyes seemed like gaping holes through her skull that allowed the outside light peer onto the table.

She seemed aged, though she had only been off to the mainland for three months, having left just before my father summoned the epidemic. Two soft wrinkles had printed themselves underneath her vibrant eyes. An out of place age spot glowed under the weight of the flickering light.

“Ethen.” Her voice was barely a whisper; distant, cold, worried...

I glanced from her eyes, which stared blankly across the room, to the oak planted in the garden, barely visible behind her mane, and down to my hands, lying limply in my lap. It was never easy to see mother like this. It was her way of seeing far into the future, but the pained facial expressions, and lifeless eyes that coincided with her power gave me the chills.

A gasp drew my attention to her presence. Mother’s hair had fallen lethargic over her shoulders and slipped like water down her back, onto the floor. She squeezed her eyes shut and clamped her fists to the arms of the steel chairs, concealing the doves beneath her grip.

“Mom?” I set my hand on top of her braced fists. Her hands, too, seemed touched by the malevolent force of degrade.

“Ethen!” Her head shot up abruptly, her grip loosened, and widened, green eyes went concealed behind the drape of her hair.  Like revealing a mountainous scene to the newly cured blind man from behind a curtain, she pulled back her hair and let out a joyous screech at the sight of my face.  

I was lunged at and pulled into a tight hug. Her slender figure felt frail in my embrace, as if she had been locked up for an extended period of time without life necessities.

“Mom? Why are you back early from Windsor? I thought you still had three months on contract?”

Mother still had yet to answer, her excited eyes had returned to normal, and were glued to mine. The smile plastered to her face was infectious, I couldn’t keep myself from giggling as she squeezed my shoulders and pulled me in for another hug.

“I have missed you, my Ethen.” Her voice had generated some life in those words, but as she pulled away, her face grew solemn once again. “I have learned much at Windsor. Sorcerer Sterling Catcher has shed as much light on the subject as he could, but I fear there is nothing we can do to tame the forces at play.”

“The town is overcrowding. There isn’t a way for the Protectors to stop convicting people?”

“The Protectors are a group of the most powerful wizards in all of the lands. They are higher than any authority, in fact, they are the highest authority, and whatever or whomever triggered the trip system between dimensions is on the loose. Signals are being put out across the map, even in Arcadia, where magic practices are illegal.”

“So, what you are saying, is that none of this makes sense, even to the men who rule over, and monitor every inch of every land?”

Mother’s tired eyes turned to the windows. “Yes, and your father is doing the best he can to handle the situation.”

“The best he can to handle the situation? Mom, are you crazy? He sent out an army to wipe half the townsfolk off the map. I know, because I was there standing in that line of soldiers. I lead my own squad… He is going overboard. These are still people, most of which haven’t done anything wrong.”

“Ethen,” Mother paused, turning to the window to avoid making eye contact. “We are only given orders, which we must follow.”

“This is wrong, and you know it.” I hissed. This wasn’t like my mother to act like this. She must have been brainwashed while at that glossy, golden, and polished city of Windsor. Nothing ever went wrong there, in fact, no one from Windsor had even been convicted of the crime. She was lying to me. I had checked the files of the hundreds that had entered the city.

I stood from my chair quickly, knocking its back onto the floor. “You of all people should know how to solve this, or at least tone down the daily imports. Your brother is king of Ingram. Can’t these wrongly convicted people just be thrown into slave trade? It’s not like they deserve a death sentence?”

Mother spun around, her hair began flowing like it was caught in a moving stream, and the whites of her eyes began pulsing with light. “How is it that you know so much about this, Ethen? Were you the one in Windsor speaking to the sorcerer who is witnessing these people be convicted daily? Do you know what the map looks like for how many accounts there have been? This is the largest crime spree Skyburn has ever witnessed.”

“No!” I screamed. Mother took a step back. I took a deep breath to calm myself, lowering my fist. “But, I am the one killing them.”  

Without another word I fled the Hall and returned to my room. Anger overcame me. I kicked at my body length mirror, shattering the glass on impact. I kicked at my bedframe, luckily doing no harm, and lastly I threw my window side chair at the glassless barred opening in the wall.

 I wasn’t sure what exactly I expected, but the bars popping right off and sending the chair down with them, wasn’t one of the scenarios. Immediately, I ran to survey if one of the patrolling guards had witnessed the scene, but Gregory, the guard assigned to keeping me on premises, was no where in sight.

I applauded my ingenious and took no time to dress myself in peasant clothes I had robbed from a cadaver on my last excursion.  I swung open the door of my wardrobe in a rush to retrieve a handmade rope I made out of old sheets. This I had kept hidden for a time like this in a secret compartment I built into the bottom of my wardrobe.

Without further adew, I saluted the confinement called my room, and slid down the improvised escape pod.

Author's Note

one word: help.
did you like this? does it make any sense?
if the beginning doesn't make any sense- read the prologue (I promise it is short)
this chapter is supposed to set up the problems that need to be solved in the novel.
DISCLAIMER: this is unedited. .