Chapter One - Jared
There
was a loud, official sounding knock at the door, rousing Jared from his
troubled sleep. He sighed, climbing out of his rough, cheap bed with
it's thin mattress, and throwing on an old dirty gown, with patches
visible. He stopped by a mirror to check his appearance. Tussled, brown
hair, a layer of stubble, and bright green eyes. He brought up his palm
to flatten his hair, and saw the flash of his dull green palm. All the
traits of a magician. And yet he wasn't one.
Jared sighed. He
was one of the few born into magical families who had all the potential
to be a magician, yet never unlocked their power. Of course, that
didn't matter to the Ascendancy, in their eyes he was a hell begotten
wrench. In reality, he had never so much as healed a bruise.
There
was a knock again, which irritated Jared. Who could be wanting to visit
him at this time in the morning? The young man took a look at the rusty
clock nailed into the wooden wall. Nearly noon. Okay, maybe not that
early. Still, who would want to visit him at all? He was no one
important, just another Prosaic, one who was a magician and yet wasn't
a magician.
"All right; I'm coming!" Jared yelled at whoever was
standing outside the door.. He stooped low as passing through the low
doorway of the shack, entering the small, box like hallway. The Prosaic
fumbled about with his key, and opened the door. He blinked.
Stood
outside with grim expressions were two Moderators of the Ascendancy.
What were they doing at Jared's shack? He couldn't have committed a
magical crime, even if he wanted to. And the only reason the Moderators
came calling was when a magical crime had occurred.
The first
moderator was male, and had short, blond hair, and blue eyes. He wore a
high collared long coat, the uniform of the Moderators, with a shirt
and pants made of a material Jared had never seen before.
The
second was female, with long, jet black hair which fell past her bare
shoulders. She too wore a long coat, with subtle, feminine differences.
She must have been freezing standing in the snow, and the expression
she wore was just as icy as she must have felt.
"Jared Meriwether?" the male Moderator asked solemnly. Jared narrowed his eyes.
"Who
wants to know?" Jared challenged, sticking his chin up defiantly at the
other man. The Moderator stared into his green eyes with an expression
of disgust.
"Don't play the big tough guy with us Magician." the woman retorted. Jared clenched his fists..
"I'm not a Magician, I'm a--" the young man was interrupted.
"Prosaic,
we know. But you're still s-blam!-. I'm Arden. My colleague is
Caetlin." the man finished for him. Jared's gaze turned frosty.
"This
conversation's over." he said, beginning to close the door on the two
Moderators. A boot wedged in the door, preventing him from doing so.
Jared opened it again, sighing.
"Listen, I haven't done anything
wrong. Nothing magic related anyway." the prosaic insisted; looking
behind the two agents of the Ascendancy. They had a horse and carriage
with them, and expensive one. Jared could barely afford to keep the
donkey in the back garden alive.
"We know you haven't. But your
sister did. She's dead, Jared." Caetlin spoke coldly, devoid of any
sympathy. The words were like a blow to Jared's heart, and he gasped,
ashen faced. The young man collapsed against the wall, eyes wide open.
"Dawn? Dead? How did-- " Jared cried out in anger, his mind blurry. The Moderators smiled. Smiled! Bastards.
"She was killed last night in the underground sewers." Arden explained, his face a blank slate.
"Killed? By who? I'll kill them!" Jared shouted in his stupor.
"Oh, I don't think you will, young Meriwether." Arden breathed, his eyes narrow. "We killed her."
Jared opened his mouth, dumbstruck, before the words hit home. His sister, his baby sister, killed by these creeps.
"Why
did you--why would you ever..." Jared whispered, tears welling in his
eyes. He was staring into the faces of his sister's killers, and
couldn't do anything about it.
"She killed a member of the
Ascendancy. With magic. We hunted her down, and punished her. It was as
simple as that. We have her body in the back of our carriage." Caetlin
explained, and Jared looked at her with disbelief. How could they be so
emotionless about the situation? How could they be so cold?
"Why--why
did she kill an Ascendant? How did she use magic strong enough to kill
with the repression field active?" Jared asked, his voice breaking. He
felt like he was about to throw up. For the first time since arriving,
the Moderators seemed uneasy.
"She was in. . . close contact to
the man. That's how she bypassed the field." Arden blurted out, a
little nervously. Jared narrowed his eyes.
"Close contact? You mean--?"
"She
was being rap*d, young Meriwether, yes. But still, she used magic to
kill another, and that is against the law." Arden reinforced. Jared's
eyes widened in disbelief.
"Rap*d? But, then she obviously
would--how could you still kill her knowing why she'd done it?" Jared
questioned, looking at her sister's murderers. It made it all the more
painful he couldn't do anything about it.
"Because that's our
job. Good day Jared, the Ascendancy shall be holding a funeral at the
end of the week at the local chapel. You should be grateful." Caetlin
spoke briskly, and with that, she shut the door, leaving the young
prosaic on his own in his shack, shell shocked.
It
was still sinking in. Dawn; his wonderful, understanding baby sister
Dawn. His last living relation. Dead. Killed by the Moderators. Jared
was all alone in the world now.
He walked into the small
kitchen, which doubled as a dining and living room. Reaching into the
top cupboard, he brought out a bottle of grog, and poured himself a
pint into a wooden flask nearby, sloshing it down. The alcohol didn't
make the pain go away.
Jared sat at the small wooden table of
his kitchen for hours. He was meant to be in the lower district right
now, working in the factory. Screw the job, nothing mattered to him any
more.
How had this all happened? Jared remembered Dawn,
yesterday, leaving the house to go get some groceries. She's asked him
if he wanted anything, he'd declined. Jared had been a little worried
when she hadn't come home last night, she was by no means the strongest
magician, and even the strongest were weakened by the repression field.
The repressions field.
The bane of every magician, and the saviour of every ordinary human.
Hundreds of years ago, magicians had controlled the country Verity,
with the commoners in fear of them. The ancient mages were powerful;
unstoppable. They could halt bullets, kill with a word, affect events
from a great distance. The Commoners, as the Ascendancy was known back
then, were the lower class.
All that had changed when one day, a
commoner genius had invented a technology which could weaken the power
of a magician to such an extent that it was nearly impossible for them
to heal a flesh wound. Needless to say, in but a few weeks, the
commoners overthrew the reduced magicians, casting them into poverty,
and creating their own Government; the Ascendancy. Soon after that,
they'd installed a gigantic version of the repression technology which
effected the entire land; which was named the repression field.
So
now the Ascendancy was in power, with magicians being the s-blam!- of
the land. They'd created a branch of the Government named 'The
Moderators', who's job it was to hound the magicians and deal out
punishment as they saw fit.
The situation wasn't improving, for
the magicians at least. And certainly not for Jared. As one of the
Prosaic, he couldn't cast a single spell. His parents had been killed
by Moderators in the last Magicians uprising ten years ago, leaving him
at the age of 13 to look after his little sister Dawn, who was only 8
at the time.
They'd survived though, just. By sticking
together. And now, to have her taken from him like this; it was
horrible. Jared felt like he'd let her down. Hot tears began to stream
down his cheeks, falling into the wooden mug on the table.
The
Ascendancy was funding a funeral for Dawn. Bastards. How could they
kill her, and then pay for her funeral as if everything was fine? No
doubt the Moderators would be attending the funeral, feigning sadness.
They'd make sure she was buried according to their standards; with a
knife through her still heart.
There was another knock at the
door. Jared growled, and picked a knife up from near the sink. If it
was those Moderators again, he'd sink the knife into the murderers.
Jared stood up, knife in hand, and opened the door roughly, preparing
to bring down the knife on whoever had knocked.
He stilled his
hand when he saw who it was. Not one of the Moderators. Sage Larkin,
the priest of the Magician's Ghetto. The Sage blinked, amusement clear
on his face.
Larkin was old, one of the oldest Magicians in the
Ghetto. He was a weak magician, in terms of power. He was wise though,
and a close friend of Jared's. He'd practically been a second father to
Jared and Dawn.
"Expecting the tax collector?" Larkin asked
wryly. In other cir-blam!-stances, Jared would have laughed; it was
common knowledge that he and the tax collector shared no love. As it
was though, Jared's eyes moistened, and he collapsed to the floor,
weeping. He felt the elderly Sage bend down, and place a warm hand on
his shoulder.
"There there my boy, it's okay. I saw those two
Moderators before. What did they want? You're not in trouble are you?"
Larkin questioned, and Jared shook his head.
"Not me; Dawn.
She's dead. They killed her." the young Prosaic quivered, drying his
eyes. It felt good to tell someone else. Understanding lit up Larkin's
face.
"Ah; I see. Why don't we head inside and have a cup of tea, put the kettle on? I find that usually calms me down."
"This one has forgotten whether it's heatsink is over capacity. It wonders whether the criminal scum considers itself fortunate" ~ Blasto, the only Hanar Spectre.