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maelliottcrucible-blog · 8 years ago

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Chapter 1

A rock nearly gave way beneath Zera’s feet, the almost inaudible hiss of stone against gravel warned him to change his footing. He let out the breath he didn’t know he was holding; he was getting too old for this. There had been a time when he would have easily scaled the narrow paths that snaked along the windswept canyon wall. It seemed that now he was just too big for the task. Another rock trembled beneath his wide feet and he adjusted, shifting his substantial weight until he was parallel with the rock face. Muscle was unfortunately far more dense than fat and he had plenty of it. Red tinted stone irritated the tip of his nose. It was only a bit further. Three, maybe four meters between him and the roughly hewn steps that had been once part of some ancient structure.

Zera threw himself to the left, catching a solid looking stone and holding on for his life. Sweat began to bead on his face and chest as he strained to pull up his own weight. That was no easy task. Even as a boy he had been the biggest child in Benhurst; and that was including the orcish kids. He shook the thought from his mind and pulled, heaving his bulk up a bit farther. He reached up once, twice, three times before he was able to grab hold of the next stone. Stopping to rest, he glanced to his left. The sheer red cliff face went on until the hazy mist of morning blocked it from sight.

He looked back up, just a bit further. He tensed his muscles and checked his footing. Locking his eyes on the next handhold he released the coiled tension with one burst. His fingers stretched out and onto the first of the curving stone steps. He was certain that they had been some kind of marble in the past but wind and weather had reduced them to something that reminded him more of quartz than anything else. He checked his footing, solid enough, and looked back over his shoulder.

The canyon valley stretched out as far as he could see, only a narrow river now marked the general location of its midpoint. Across the river stretched two lanes of railroad tracks, around which had been built the town of Benhurst. Not exactly a bustling town, but not the smallest in the frontier either. It was the sort of nondescript place one went to disappear and not cause trouble. After all, nothing happened in Benhurst and he liked it that way. The age of myth was over, no more heroes or great armies or dark lords. There were no more tales and legends to be spun by adventurers. The world had calmed down at last.

Zera pulled himself up and began to ascend the steps, one heavy foot at a time. He checked to make sure his weight didn’t cause the whole thing to collapse under him. Not that it would readily matter, as high up as he was he doubted he’d survive a fall even half as far as the crags he had started from, and catching himself on the rocks would ruin his hands. He peered up as the stairwell curved toward the open air above the canyon. He could see the thin outline of the Schisma mountains against the blue sky to the east.

It was the woman sitting at the summit that made him pause for only a heartbeat. He cracked a smile when she rose, black hair fluttering in the wind and her hand resting on a spellbook slung over her shoulders by a narrow leather strap attached to each end of the spine. She had a button of a nose and eyes that made him think of a pair of emerald green razor blades. He could not help but flinch under them. Her lips parted into a smile as he huffed his way up the last few steps, and she reached out to take his big hand.

“Got your note,” Zera said, his voice hoarse and accepted her hand. She stepped back and guided him over the last precarious step.

“You’ve grown a bit,” Catherine said. Her tone sounded hesitant as she looked up at him. Her eyes widened in that way they always did when she saw something that fascinated her, a subtle dilation of the pupils.

Catherine Haust was the one person he trusted the most. They had known one another since her father, a merchant, had brought her in to purchase jerky from his grandfather. They had been around the same age and she had been just a few inches shorter than him at the time. Now she stood just tall enough that her head was level with his breast, though that did not seem to intimidate her at all. She had always had a backbone of iron, something she used to get her way on more than one occasion. It was the reason why her father had allowed her to study magic instead of becoming a merchant like himself.

“Have I? I didn’t notice, practically ran up those steps," Zera shot back sarcastically, throwing himself onto the ground at the summit. To his left, the canyon dropped off into a lethal fall, to his right the world stretched out forever. She kicked him in the shoulder. He winced and reached over to rub it. “Ow, what was that for?”

“How are you so calm? You nearly slipped three times!” Catherine chided him, he cracked a smile at her and stared up at the blue sky, catching his breath. “You are a stubborn git, Zera Leigh," Her voice had changed over the years, it had deepened a bit as well as lost the sort of sing-song lilting that he remembered. Instead it struck him as strained from whispering in a library.

Zera let out a long chortle of a laugh, right from his belly. He loved laughing, singing too. He was terrible at it though. Catherine sank to a knee and stared out over the edge of the canyon, down at their home. He drew himself to a sitting position and rested his weight back on his palms. It was always beautiful up here. A sea of red stone giving way to an ocean of greens, yellows, and browns. There, at the center, was the mass of blue tiled roofs that made up the town, small white pillars of smoke rose from some, the butcher shop was no doubt one of them.

“You got here safely then?” Zera asked as he took a few breaths to ward off the fatigue of the climb.

“I assume you are talking about the raids,” Catherine asked and Zera nodded in response. “The Thuul were quiet, thank the gods,"

There were two uses for the word Thuul in modern society. It could mean a person who was not of pure Mataian descent, with the idyllic blonde hair and blue eyes that was a mark of their race. Zera was fortunate to have pure Mataian blood, which helped given the strange nature of his physique. The other use of the word, though, referenced the barbarian tribes that made their homes in the Schisma mountain range to the east of his home. They were a violent and warlike bunch that eagerly raided trains and shipments for weapons and goods. As far into the frontier as they were, the Imperial military did little to discourage their raiding.

“I was afraid you might have been delayed, the raids have picked up,” he said and looked toward the mountains.

“Did we lose anyone?” She asked and Zera nodded again, the two falling silent as the wind blew over them from the west.

“This was always our spot,” Zera said, pushing off his hands and wrapping his arms around his knees. Catherine didn’t look at him at first, too taken in by the natural beauty beyond.

“We spoke of anything we wished,” She said finally, looking back at him,. Even her manner of speaking had changed; it was so much more sophisticated. “Not a soul to chide us,"

Zera barked out a laugh and took a deep breath of the air through his nose. How long had it been since had last made the climb? Years? A decade? She had been gone for about that long, off studying at the University at the capital. She had only come home now to pick up her tuition to go back. She was to be an imperial mage, a wizard of the highest order. Something he could never afford to do as much as he dreamed about it.

“Tell me about the capital," Zera prompted, deciding it would be easier to listen to her story than to try to think about something that could never happen.

“I would much rather hear of things here,” She said, turning back to look at the view. Zera squared his shoulders and frowned at her deflection.

“Cat, you know how things are here, they don’t change,” Zera growled; nudging her arm. She glanced back at him and gave an apologetic smile. He knew what she was doing, avoiding the subject since he had been forbidden by his grandfather to travel. He knew so very, very little about the outside world. It was a fact of life now, something he had grown to accept as he passed into adulthood. That said, any sort of tales and stories of the outside were like a breath of fresh air to him.

“Beautiful," Catherine began, “They call it the Grey City for a reason. Matra is an all encompassing disk of slate gray stone. The buildings seem to rise out of it if they were cut from the same piece of rock, it goes on as far as the eye can see. It shines on mornings like this. Salt in the sea air crusting on the walls,” She said, running her fingers over the dewy grass beneath her. He tried to imagine that many buildings but the idea simply baffled him. Matra apparently held nearly a million souls within its walls. Compared to the few hundred in Benhurst.

“What about the people?” He asked.

“The people? There were so many, from different places and cultures. Gods above Zera, It was a microcosm of the world," She made a face that Zera didn’t quite understand; like she was upset about not being able to describe it. He was still wrestling with the word microcosm; though he imagined he understood for the most part what it meant.

“Find yourself a lady friend?” He asked. Her eyes went wide and she pursed her lips, a half smile threatening to break her attempt at looking upset. She dug a handful of dirt out from the ground and threw it at him. He laughed and held up his hands to protect himself.

“Now that is private you bird brain! I should turn your hair pink," Catherine retorted, slapping her hand against the spellbook. He raised a brow and waited for her, either to answer his question or actually turn his blonde hair an unseemly color. She sighed; “It… did not last long,"

Zera’s face fell and he let out a sigh. Catherine’s taste in romantic partners had always been a topic of conversation out here in the frontier, but to the west, in the greater part of the Empire, things were very different. People were far more open minded out there. He reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder, it seemed so small now compared to how it used to feel under his hand when they were children.

“I’m sorry," He offered, she just shrugged and looked out to the sky.

“It was nice while it lasted,” she began and then glanced back at him; “What about you?”

Zera had not given a single thought to romance for years. It just was not in him. How could it be? He was something of a pariah in town thanks to his grandfather and he counted very few people as friends. His life had revolved around working toward inheriting the butcher shop from his grandfather. He did not know anything else.

“Not really anything to discuss,” Zera said, she growled and tossed another handful of dirt at him.

“You have got to stop giving up on yourself, Hawk," She snapped, he winced at how harshly she used his nickname. The word Zera, in the old tongue, literally meant ‘bird of prey’. His grandfather had given him the name as an accusation since Zera’s mother died in childbirth. Catherine had done her best to make it something of a badge of pride for her friend and it had worked for the most part. He didn’t hate that part of himself as much as he had used to.

“I’m not giving up on myself," Zera shot back; “I am just happy where I am,"

“Same thing,” Catherine said, Zera looked away, warmth coming to his cheeks. What was so wrong with living a simple and quiet life? It just felt wrong to aspire to anything more than that.

They remained quiet for a while after that; just staring off toward the town far below them. Zera knew he should say something to break the silence but he also could not just let go of what was said. He was happy with his life now; he was comfortable. His grandfather was too old and small to give the beatings he used to and now contented himself with the occasional snide offhand remark. Even so, Zera had never done anything to further justify it and it was becoming apparent to the people in town that maybe Zera wasn’t the man that his grandfather claimed.

Things were getting better, so why change now?

“I’m sorry,” Catherine said, and Zera caught her gaze. He could tell she was not sorry for what she had said, she meant every word of it. She was sorry that what she had said had derailed their reunion. He supposed that was enough for now, he could not just let their first conversation in years end like that. Especially since she was not going to be here for long.

“Then tell me some stories from the academy.,” He said and she rolled her eyes. The sigh that came out was more of a ‘woe is me for being your friend you insufferable lout’ than ‘I’d rather not’. He gave her his best smile and she conceded.

“Fine, but then you are going to tell me all about what I missed here,"

“Deal,"

They spoke until the sun began to dip low in the sky. Their laughter echoed in the open air. Life was so peaceful then, there was so much to look forward to. Zera even wondered if maybe he did have a chance to ask for a little bit more for himself. If he deserved to have such a dear friend then maybe he deserved a tiny bit extra. Years after this moment, Zera would look back and wonder why he didn’t spend more time on that cliff. Because, as they told one another all about their lives apart, a train bearing fate on it was approaching in the distance.

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