Prologue - The Adept Chronicles.

Prologue

The smell of blood and death hung heavy in the air as Markos slowly recovered consciousness. With a groan he strained to lift his head from the stone wall he was slumped against, setting off a jolt of pain in the muscles of his left arm. A moan escaped him, as he groggily gazed around the confines of the tiny cell. The single torch set in a bracket on the wall cast a dim red glare over flagstones piled with filth and refuse. Where was he? What was he doing here? This surely was not Rakatan. His last coherent memory was of riding along a river, with mountains in the distance and the stars overhead.

Vague images floated through his mind as he struggled to remember why he had blacked out. With his right hand he gingerly felt at an egg sized lump on the back of his head. That explained his lack of consciousness. A woman’s cackling laughter and the memory of blinding pain were all the clues he had to go on as he slowly and painfully manoeuvred himself into a sitting position. Breathing heavily from the exertion, Markos squinted into the dim corners of the cell. There was something wrong with his eyes. He felt the first flickers of panic as he desperately tried to focus on his surroundings. The only sound he could hear was the steady drip drip of water hitting stone.

Suddenly a scream shattered the darkness followed by a woman pleading shrilly, her frantic cries echoing off the stone walls. “No! Please, no! I c…c…cannot take anymore. Please don’t make me, pleaaa -“

Her cries cut off in a strangled gurgle, followed by a tearing and ripping sound. Markos felt a surge of fear pass through his body as horror engulfed him. Breathing raggedly, he hesitantly dragged himself into a crouching position, before slowly leaning towards the iron bars he could vaguely make out a few paces in front of him. As he shifted his weight to place his left hand flat on the flagstones, the arm gave a lurching spasm casting him face first onto the stone floor. White light bloomed behind his eye lids and a shattering pain made him cry out. The warm tang of blood cascaded from a broken nose and into his mouth, pooling on the floor beneath him.

Gritting his teeth and struggling to breathe, Markos ponderously lifted himself back into a sitting position. Through fog clouded eyes and a sheen of red, he cautiously used his right hand to tug back the grime caked robe on his left arm. The once bright white linen was stained with blood and excrement, making it stiff as he carefully peeled it back. His arm was throbbing in counter point to the pain in his nose. What he saw made him clench his jaw to keep in a scream of hysteria.

Criss-crossing back and forth along his forearm were knife deep wounds. Each cut surgically precise and following the line of muscle. Lifting a trembling finger, Marcos traced the cauterised flesh and felt the bile rise at the back of his throat. Frantically he dragged the robe higher, and stared numbly at the mangled mess of his upper arm.

From the shoulder down to the joint of the elbow, were teeth marks. Huge lacerations and punctures from a mouth made for tearing. Just below the shoulder, the flesh oozed yellow pus from a vicious tear that exposed the muscle through to the bone. Markos vomited noisily onto the cell floor, retching and gasping as he desperately tried to summon memories of what had happened. His brain felt as if it were in a fog, each of his thoughts floating up and slipping through mental fingers before he could pin them down with anything substantial. He raggedly scrubbed at his mouth with the sleeve of his right arm, pushing through a tangle of coarse black beard. He stared in shock at the remains of an arm that had once conjured wonders out of nothing, yet was now twisted in a mere mockery of flesh.

“Ah, you are awake. How…fortunate for you, Markos Kellyn.” Said a female voice.

Markos jerked his head up, startled. Wincing at the pain in his arm he squinted into the darkness. Just beyond the sputtering light of the torch, he could make out the silhouette of a tall, painfully thin woman. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught movement in the shadows behind the figure. There was a low hiss and a rustling sound that made his skin crawl.

“Who are you?” He rasped. “Who is that behind you?”

For a few moments, the woman made no response. Then slowly, she stepped forward into the circle of light, throwing her features into hard relief. She was an old woman, yet not unlovely. Handsome, yet with a stern face that Markos thought had a cruel cast to it. Her face was framed by close cropped brown hair, which was just beginning to show wings of grey at the temples. She was dressed simply in a brown woollen robe. Her dark, poisonous green eyes gazed impassively at the man slumped on the floor before her.

Markos drew in a sharp breath and said hoarsely “Those eyes…how can you have those eyes? What has happened to – “

“Enough!” Interrupted the woman, softly. “All the questions shall be mine, Markos Kellyn. Perhaps if you comply with my reasonable requests, I shall answer you. Yet for now, have you come to a decision? You have had many days to think of a suitable answer. I warn you once more of the dangers of denying me – just take another look at your arm, if you should need more proof. The Adepts are no longer as sacrosanct as you have been led to believe. Well? Answer me! Will you join my – our – cause willingly?”

For a few moments Markos sat stunned and confused. His memories were still shrouded and foggy, yet the woman’s words had triggered a horrible scene to unfold in his mind. It felt like the shadow of a dream, yet he knew it for truth.

“You had some…thing…eat me.” He croaked “I r-r-remember the pain. I remember a scared looking boy with a silver knife cutting me because you told him to! I remember all that. Yet I do not remember what you want with me, or why I am here. I am an Adept of the Makers, something I know you are aware of. Release me!”

Again, the woman simply stared at him, expressionless. She raised one finger and thoughtfully pressed it to her lips, as she considered the decrepit man before her.

“Hmm, perhaps you speak the truth. Or perhaps not. I am not unaware of the training the Adepts must undergo to function within the wide world. It is a testament to your desire for survival that you have even made it this far. Many others have not” Her pale lips quirked up into a humourless smile, before continuing. “Yet, my time is precious. Ironically, so is yours, but for entirely different reasons, so I will give you one last opportunity to weigh your choices. I need your powers. Specifically, the powers of a Maker. You live to create, yes? You live to improve and expand upon all that you see and revel in the very essence of nature. I understand it. I too once felt such a pull. The thrill of creation, the simple joy that comes from the total spiritual harmony with everything on Ikean’s green earth. Yet now, no longer. My passions and skills have been turned towards nobler ideals. This is why I need you, Markos Kellyn. Look, and remember”

She gestured absently behind her as a huge, hulking shadow stepped forward out of the darkness. Markos choked back a cry, his eyes bulging as he took in the apparition. He scrambled hastily backwards, colliding hard against the stone wall of the cell. It was over six feet tall with large, acid yellow eyes set in a squashed face. Its skin was leathery and a dull greenish brown, but it was the teeth that Markos found himself staring at. Two rows of sharp, vicious looking canines gleamed wetly in the faint light of the torch. His mangled arm itched as he gazed with revulsion on the creature that he knew had been eating at his flesh.

His throat felt constricted, his breathing hoarse as he gasped out a curse. “Torra’s eyes, what is that?” The things gaze never wavered as it hungrily stared at him. For the first time Markos noticed another oddity. It was garbed in what appeared to be a leather weapons harness, expertly made to fit its cumbersome frame. All the holders were currently empty, but the implication was not lost on him. This was a creature bred for fighting.

The woman’s voice forced him to drag his attention away from the creature. He did not like taking his eyes from it, but he had to try and focus. Learn what you can he thought.

“Is it not marvellous?” she purred. For the first time Markos saw something close to affection flit across her harsh features as she looked at the monstrosity.

“You would not believe the power I have had to expend during my experiments.” She whispered. “The sheer force left me physically drained for days, and yet only two survived my testing. Fortunately, a female and a male – this one here, in fact. Once I recovered, I had just enough reserves left in me to start on newer, more challenging tasks. This is what I need from you, Markos Kellyn. An army of creatures, totally subservient to my will. I have old scores that must be settled, and you will help me. Do you accept?”

Her sudden question jarred him out of his stupor. He laughed in disbelief, his voice cracking as his head swung from one set of poisonous eyes to the other. The creature tensed slightly as the sound echoed off the walls and faded into the distance.

“You want me to help you with this? Never.” He said, gaining control of himself. “It is an abomination and has no place on Dekar. Yet I think I now know who you are, lady. Who else would be arrogant enough to assume they could twist the natural order of life itself but the broken wife of Adeptus De – “

“Silence!” She shrieked. Markos cut off, suddenly afraid, as the woman gripped the iron bars intently. Her face had momentarily twisted in grief, yet her eyes burned with hatred.

“You will not speak that name!” She spat. “You will not sully my presence with your foul, deceitful words. It seems I have your answer, so I have no more need of you or your lies. Farewell Markos Kellyn.”

With that, she reached into her robes and withdrew a large, rusted key. She turned the key in the lock with a screech, before swinging the cell door wide. She gave Markos one last lingering look, before turning on her heel and striding off into the darkness.

Terror clutched at Markos and he desperately tried to engage his power as the creature slowly stepped across the portal, mouth opening wide. Frantically, he shouted at the woman’s retreating back “If I die here, the Anarchist’s will rise! They will find you and they will lay waste to all your plans!”

He heard the receding footsteps stop, and dared to hope. The monster instinctively came to a halt and twisted its ugly head to stare back towards its mistress.

For a dozen heartbeats, Markos held his breath, and then her voice floated out of the shadows.

“They are welcome to try”

The footsteps began again, and the creature turned back to Markos. With hungry delight in its eyes it sprang at him, jaws gaping and blood dripping red from its maw.

He never had the chance to scream. 

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She sat with her head bowed and her arms wrapped around her knees, as if she was trying – and failing – to draw in on herself. Her breath came in ragged gasps, and she trembled as if cold, though it was the height of summer. Pain wracked her mind in stabbing convulsions, yet still she remained on the ground, trying to deny what had happened.

For fifty paces in each direction, devastation reigned. Barely minutes earlier there had been three wagons, each carrying a different load. Wool, spices, books, foodstuffs, equipment, hay and more besides– all the essentials and necessities you would associate with merchant wagons on their way to a market fair. Yet now those same things were strewn across the hard packed earthen road. Books were torn and ripped, barrels upended or rent apart. All the priceless things the girl’s family had taken pains to bring so far for sale lay scattered like so much dross.

Yet to her, this was not the worst of it. More spasms wracked through her body and she cried aloud. Her throat already felt raw from sobbing and screaming. When would it end? She could not care enough to wonder at the answer, yet she hoped it was soon. The pain was reaching a crescendo. It had never been this bad before, and in so many ways it would never be this bad again.

Dimly, as if from a distance, she heard the scrape of a boot on wood. She wanted to look up, but if she did she would see again. As long as she lived she would never be able to banish those images. Her Mother crying out frantically, her Father roaring in pain. Her brother’s terror filled eyes would haunt her dreams forever.

In between her racking sobs, she heard the sound of footsteps coming closer. A measured pace slow and sure. Occasionally they would stop, and she knew that whoever this person was they were looking at what she refused to see. The footsteps continued until she felt someone standing beside her. Out of nowhere a hand settled on her left shoulder and she flinched away crying out. She was not ready for human contact. She felt soiled, dirty.

“Peace, I am sorry lass.” Said a man’s voice. “It has been a long time since I last saw something like this. I had forgotten… I mean you no harm, I swear it. I am here to help you.”

The man’s voice acted as a balm to her raw nerves. Involuntarily she lifted her head and looked up through glistening lashes right into the bluest pair of eyes she had ever seen. The man himself was old, though hale. A tanned, weather beaten face that was currently set into an expression of utmost empathy. She recoiled from that look as if it were a viper rearing up to strike. She did not deserve such compassion. Ducking her head back between her knees she mumbled “You can’t help me. Nobody can help me… LOOK WHAT I’VE DONE!”

These last words exploded out in a shriek of despair.

The old man gave a deep sigh, and turned his back on the shaking young girl to survey the scene before him.

You could call it a perfect circle, if you were so inclined. A perfect circle of death, with the girl at the centre of the storm. The man had seen such ferocity before, but this… Torra have mercy he thought, sadly.

For fifty paces amidst all the heaped supplies and smashed belongings that would never now be sold, there were bodies. The nearest – a woman – was leaning gently against the bole of a tree just off the dirt track road, almost as if she had decided to rest from the unbearable heat in the shade of the leafy canopy. She could have been resting, if her head had been facing the right way. It was as if a pair of hands had gripped her by the ears - and with unnatural force - had twisted it round to face the opposite direction.

Yet you could be forgiven for calling that end lucky. As the old man’s eyes travelled onwards, his gaze snagged on arms ripped from torsos, legs shredded and bloodied almost beyond recognition. Amidst the wreckage of one of the carts, a huge barrel of a man lay half hanging off the driver’s seat – headless. A quick search found the missing head, thirty yards from the body. Children, some small, some nearing maturity, had not been spared either. Truly, a circle of destruction, and all caused by the stick thin slip of a girl sobbing behind him. The old man sighed again and turned back to the girl.

“I have seen, my dear. Terra knows how I have seen. Yet this is not the first time I have been witness to such destruction, even if it is the first under such circumstances. You must come with me now, I fear. You are in more danger than you could realise. What is your name?”

The girl’s sobbing cut off in a ragged gasp. Go with this old man, who she had only just met? Yes, anything to get away from here she thought. Anything that meant she could walk away and never have to look back. She did not even care where to, as long as it was away.

“My name is Char” She whispered.