Part II

“They’re at war, you know.”
Spire listened anxiously as one of the land walker’s crew spoke. He had not known of any “war”. Had he really been that distant for all his life? He gave a weak nod, and the crewman continued.
“Have been for quite a time now, close to three, three and a half years. But it was only a year since they done it.”
“Done what?” Spire asked softly.
“You saw what happened to that man out there, didn’t you?” At Spire’s nod, he went on, “Blinded. It’s the Rynarian’s doing, all of it.”
“How?” The blonde questioned, perplexed.
“Rynarians, they’re like cockroaches. Could live almost anywhere, among anything. Not so for us Duralians. And they knew it, too, snakes all. It’s our sun they’ve ruined, poisoned it. But it don’t make one tick of difference to them. For us, though, why, it’s a different beast all together. The light from it’ll blind a man, fierce painful like. Tat is, if he ain’t got proper protection.” He gave his goggles, now perched atop his head (as they had been since they had come safely inside), a small tap, “They don’t last forever, though. Somethin’s powerful wrong with the sun, now, I tell you. It’ll drive one of our men mad if it’s all he’s got to live under for too long. Just like that poor bloke you saw back there. Hell, it’s a miracle that you’re walkin’ around out there with nothing but the pack on your back to help you.”
“It’s never hurt me before.” Spire remarked quietly, “At least… not that I know of.”
“You’ve got Rynarian blood in you.” The crewman said, “Resilient like them, I ‘spose.”
“Oh…”
Near subconsciously, he drew his fingertips over one of the lines along his forearm. Perhaps he was more different than he had thought. He had never seen a full Rynarian… his Father had not been present since before his birth. Perhaps he looked more like one than he had known. And the two countries at so vicious a war? Maybe there was more cause for worry than he had anticipated.
***
He walked carefully among the streets, when the land walker arrived. Not a single other was without the protective goggles, clothed in other heavy clothing. Barely any skin showed. In the buildings, there was not a single window to be seen, and doors pressed flush against their doorframes. The few others who did walk the streets paused to stare, and them moved hurriedly out of his path. He shifted uncomfortably, searching through the swinging signs above doors for any one vaguely boasting of a place to stay. More than once, those clustered around the doorways he passed dispersed at the sight of him.
Blushing, he stepped up to one of the doors, glancing nervously at the goggled men and women who watched him silently. He knocked lightly, and there was a shuffle within before the door swung open. Another goggled figure glanced over him, and then stepped back, shutting the door once Spire had entered.
“Closed.” The woman called, and those who sat crowded in the inn’s main hall silently removed their eyewear. She turned back to him, “You need a room, mm?”
Spire nodded, and the others in the room shared shifting glances of worry or anticipation.
“Halfer, ain’t you?” The Inn Mistress asked. Again, Spire nodded, and she returned the gesture, “Thought so. Put your loyalties in with Dural, eh?”
“I… I don’t know.” Spire replied, blushing, “I wasn’t really raised in either place.”
The woman raised her eyebrows suspiciously, “We don’t take plants here in this inn.”
Spire blinked, “I’m not a plant. I was raised in the borderlands, I hadn’t even known of the war until today.”
“Raised which way, boy?”
“By my Mother.” He told her, “She was Duralian. She has just passed on.”
“Ah, I see. My apologies.” The woman said, “We’ll have you. No trouble, though, you mark me?”
“I understand.” He agreed with a nod, “All I need is a place to stay.”
The Inn Mistress nodded once more, and turned, “Come along.”
Spire followed her, the other gazes tracing his path. He did his best to ignore them.
***
The tall blonde moved through the castle corridor swiftly, removing his goggles recklessly as he went. He knew what he had seen, and it was not difficult to make the quick mental connections between the sight and the benefit it could bring to the whole of the Kingdom. One audience with the Emperor and he was sure he could move the ruler’s mind to see his point. And it was not as if it would be difficult for him to find a time to speak, as one of the Emperor’s main guards. He brushed his bangs haphazardly away from his eyes, the mist-blue orbs searching out the guard at the door to the Emperor’s main chamber. Spotting him, he exchanged a few quick words to gain admittance, and then stepped in, sinking to one knee.
“Courmier.” The Emperor acknowledged him.
“My liege. I have a rather interesting proposal for you.”
***
The Inn Mistress stumbled groggily from her bed, slowly rubbing the sleep away from her eyes. A knock at this hour? Damned if she would deal with a pack of drunkards in the middle of the night. She’d give them a harangue worth remembering. Drawing her dressing gown around her shoulders, she pushed open her door, pulling her goggles on lazily as se went. A few steps took her woefully to the main door, and the lurched it open. Expecting to find a howling group of intoxicated young men, she was startled to instead be met by a stately group, each bearing the crest of the Emperor upon his breastplate.
“Good evenin’ gentlemen.” She greeted them, hastily pulling at her dressing gown in an attempt to make it at least moderately presentable, “What brings you out to this corner of the city at such a late hour?”
One of the guard stepped forward, “We’ve heard there’s a halfbreed Rynarian residing here at present, Ma’am?”
The Inn Mistress started, blinking, “Well, there is, but he ain’t causing no trouble, gentlemen. Dear Mum was Duralian an’ just passed. I wouldn’t think he-”
“We are not here to pass judgment on you, Madam.” The Guard interrupted her, “Merely to enquire. Perhaps you could fetch him for us?”
She nodded quickly, “Just a few moments, gentlemen.”
***
With a small groan of irritation, Spire sat up glancing at the Inn Mistress who until the moment had been gently shaking his shoulder and urging him to awaken.
“What is it?” He asked tiredly.
“There are some men here to see you.” She informed him.
Spire’s brow furrowed briefly in confusion, “Oh…”
“They’re waitin’ downstairs. Follow me, eh?”
Standing and half-stretching, the blonde obliged, making his way slowly down the stairs after the Inn Mistress, still in his day clothes as he had not brought along any for the nights.
The guards had taken seats in the main hall of the Inn, but rose upon his arrival. One stepped forward to meet him, offering a hand.
“Good Evening.” He said as Spire shook, “I’m glad you’ve come down so swiftly.”
“Is something the matter?” The brown-eyed man asked, withdrawing his hand slowly.
“No, no, certainly not.” The other said quickly, “You must excuse my rudeness. My name is Courmier. I am the Captain of the Emperor’s guard. I noticed you stopping here earlier this afternoon.” Spire nodded slightly, and Courmier went on, “It was interesting, you see, to find a man of partial Duralian descent who had no need of protection from the sun. I mentioned the fact to our Emperor, and he thought it best to offer you hospitality at the palace. After all, the city can be a rather… difficult place, at times.”
“I see.”
“Will you come, then?” Courmier inquired.
“I cannot see any reason to refuse such hospitality.” The other replied, smiling a bit, “My thanks.”
***
The palace, with its great tower, rose sharply above the city surrounding it, and Spire marveled at its size as the guards led him through its massive doors. Its inner walls were ornately furnished, draped with tapestries and paintings of all sorts, dimly lit by candles burning steadily in their sconces. Each step the group took echoed lightly against the polished stone floor. In all his life, Spire had never seen such finery.
Ascending the main steps, Courmier stopped besides one of the many doors in the upper hall.
“This will be your room, Spire.” He told the other man, pushing the door inward lightly, to reveal a chamber matching the great halls in its splendor, “If you have any sort of trouble, all you will need to do is find one of the attendants in the hall, they will know how to assist you.”
Spire nodded, “Again, my thanks.”
With a smile, Courmier returned the gesture, “You are quite welcome. A servant will come and fetch you for supper tomorrow evening. The Emperor is quite excited to meet you.”
With that, he stepped back from the door to allow Spire to enter, “Sleep well, my friend.”
***
“I trust that everything is in readiness, Courmier?” The Emperor asked quietly.
“It is, my Lord.”
“Good.”

Part I

He had known when her once-golden hair had begun to gray. He had known when her hands had begun to hurt, when her skin began to pale. He had known. And yet, until that moment, when he say kneeling besides her bed, it had not yet set itself fully into his mind. His Mother, one of the only people in his life with whom he had had contact, was dying. She held one of his hands tightly with her gnarled one.
“You must go back to my people.” She told him softly, “When I am gone.”
Wordlessly, he nodded, and she smiled faintly.
“There is fear in your eyes, my son. But no need for worries. You are strong. You will live on.” Her hand squeezed his, feebly, “There will be a place for you, in the outside world.”
Again, he agreed with a small nod. A tiny chuckle emerged from her aged throat.
“Will you not speak?”
He blushed slightly, “I am sorry, Mother. I do not know what to say.”
“Tell me that you will go. That you will make a place for yourself with them, and prosper. Then, I will be able to have peace in the other world.” With great strain, she leaned up from her pillow towards him, “Tell me that you will not dwell here in sorrow for one who will no longer be in any pain.”
“I will go. I will live with your people, I will make my own way.” He swallowed, choking slightly on the growing lump in his throat.
“My child, I will never leave you. My spirit will guide you, always.” She smiled, “I will watch over you from the other world.”
A few tears forced their way in small rivers over his cheeks, and he returned her smile weakly.
“I love you, my son.”
“And I you, Mother.”
Her body, weak and careful, sank back down among the covers.
“I will be with you, Spire. Evermore.”
The hand on his loosened, and with one final, gentle breath, she was at peace.
***
Even through his mourning, Spire was not unfaithful. He saw the woman laid to rest, but by the next morning, the necessities for his journey out of the borderlands were arranged. Almost nervously, he surveyed the contents of his pack once more. Preserved foods, water, extra clothing, and his bedroll for the nights. His bow and quiver leaned against the side of the doorway, certainly not to be forgotten, and he kept a hunting knife at one hip. The little money he had was kept in a pouch at the other.
Dark brown eyes scanned over the house once more, and then, deciding for a final time that he was ready, he shouldered the pack, bow, and quiver. He would fulfill his Mother’s final wish.
***
The sun spread deep warmth through his tanned cheeks as he walked, always keeping his eyes towards the great tower rising in the distance, the central point of Dural’s capital city. It was the home of the people of his Mother, and he anxiously awaited his arrival there. His Mother had often spoken of the elfin race that shared his fair hair, but he had never seen one except her, nor been to their great city. They had always lived on the nation’s very border, because although his scraggly hair was as blonde as hers, he bore other markings (like the two chocolate coloured lines criss-crossing the bridge of his nose) that identified the other half of him as the blood of a different race. It was the blood of the Rynarians, a tall race of people whose unique birth marked stripes twisted over their bodies like a map of tiny rivers. And although he did not have a complete set, it was obvious that he had Rynarian blood within him. So his Mother have never taken him to the city, because the two races had never been completely at ease with each other.
But it was not as if they could not accept him. They would see him outside of the marks. His Mother always had.
A low rumble from a distance drew him away from his thoughts. Scanning the horizon, his eyes fell upon something in the east, kicking up a cloud of duct thick enough to conceal what it was. It looked, however, as if it would pass y him, and so he took a few steps to position himself on the opposite side of a tree. If it looked friendly when it came (that is, whatever “it” was), he could approach it then.
It moved very slowly, and he found himself squinting in an attempt to distinguish the identity of the hulking figure. If nothing else, it was massive, almost like a barge dragging its way over the earth instead of the water. However, there were no horses or oxen to guide it, and no one on the outside of the great machine. It seemed to move on its own power, dragging up twirling clouds of dust along its way.
As it neared him, he could make out several latches and doorways carved into the thing, each paneled carefully shut. However, as he watched, on of the latches suddenly snapped cleanly as the door burst open, a bedraggled Duralian man tumbling from inside the machine, and a clamber of hands and feet as others began o scramble towards the doorway. Still, they seemed hesitant to come out of their shelter.
The first man stumbled, moaning quietly to himself, something about “never reaching home again”, as Spire heard it.
“He’s sun mad.” He heard another hiss softly from the doorway, “Traveling too long.”
“Someone get him before he hurts himself.” Another whispered firmly.
A sharp gasp rose from the rest of the men as the first raised a hand to the goggles that all seemed to be wearing. Cries of “No!” and “Don’t!” issued from the group, but the man would not be swayed, and in one vengeful motion, tore the eyewear from his face. No sooner had he thrown them to the ground than a strangled scream tore from his throat, and he fell to his knees. Spire blinked, taking a step out from behind the tree. What was it that was ailing the man so? Still howling, the Duralian clawed at his cheeks, and Spire’s eyes widened as he saw the cause of pain. The man’s eyes, once blue, seeming to be paling rapidly, leaving only faint outlines where the colour had once been. Quickly, he stepped out to assist the fallen Duralian. The others had come out from their shelter at the screams, but now they paused, goggled eyes absolutely fixed upon Spire.
“What are you doing here?” One other asked carefully, taking a few steps back.
“I… He is in pain…” The brown-eyed man sputtered, motioning to the first Duralian.
“Blind. Would think you would know, it’s your people who’ve done it.” The other spat in reply.
Spire blinked, “I do not know what you speak of.”
“Rynarian, aren’t you?”
“Half.” He replied, “Why? I am half Duralian as well.”
For a few moments, the other man watched him, opening his mouth once or twice before speaking, “…You haven’t got any clue what we’re talking about?”
“I have never left the borderlands.” Spire told him, somewhat sheepishly, “I am on my way to the capital for the first time.”
The other nodded slightly, “We’re headed that way as well. Perhaps if you needed, we could fit you on board the walker.”
“I would be very grateful.” The blonde said softly, giving the man a small nod.
Returning it, the other knelt, carefully pulling up the blinded man.
“Come along then.”
***

Here we go...

All righty. So, here's my blog page for Cross Bearer, the novel I've written during 2004's NaNoWriMo competition.