Teaser

This is just the first few paragraphs of my second take on the Ezekiel Tyrus, stuff I was writing a while back, now titled Winterdom. It isn't much, but I really like where the ideas are going. You can probably expect more of it again, and probably in a more chronological format, unlike before. So, I mean, I will actually be posting it chapter by chapter, page by page, with a few other stories thrown in here and there. Anyway, enjoy:

There wasn't much to celebrate in those days; the royal family was failing, no word came from the peoples of the west, and Gildora seemed to have been thrown into a frigid twilight. Even the small village of Palfer's Hedge had been suffering from the darkness that had spread over the land, a darkness that hadn't been seen since the end of the Great Ages. Stories passed through the farming town of an evil growing in the lands to the north, bringing a deep cold to those dwelling in Camarid. But still the people of Palfer's Hedge celebrated. The yearly Festival of Plenty Harvest, or the Cathe Festival, as it was more commonly known, was in full throng, the fair-fields filled with vendors, tents, and attractions; bringing all those who dwelt in the nearby farms to the village. Even in this time of growing darkness, the humble farm-folk of Gildora still found time to give thanks for their harvest.

“The snows are gettin' stronger in the north,” the gruff innkeeper grumbled as he stroked his short, scraggly beard. “I hear there's a blizzard been blowing in Camarid, hasn't stopped for two weeks.”

“What do you know, Tarren?” a patron jeered from across the counter, “Nobody's been down from Camarid in the last two weeks, so no one could have told ya.”

“Nobody's been down from anywhere in the last two weeks,” a lanky blond joked from the corner of the room. A few chuckles ran across the crowd, but they were quieted when Tarren glared across the room.

“There's been one in the last two weeks, a travelin' merchant came off the Camarid road jus' last night. He's a quiet one, don't say much, but he knows stuff. He an' I got into a conversation of sorts when he got here, looking for a place to stay. 'The winds are blowing in the north,' he says 'Nobody is going to be passing through there this festival.' So I asked him how he did it, bravin' the storm. He just laughed and took to his room. I've not seen 'im since.”

The Winds Begin to Rise

This is not a very happy story... but don't worry. It gets a lot happier after this ;)

 The door slammed behind me as I stumbled into the rain. I looked back to see the the shutters close and hear the lock bolt closed. “Hey!” I screamed as I pounded on the dark wood, “I want my money! How am I supposed to survive on this?”

I slumped against the door. “I can't live on this...” I looked down at the twenty dollar bill in my hand. A stupid twenty when I had been promised fifty. A sob racked my body. How was I supposed to support my mother with so little? I was only twelve but I had been scraping by, making just enough money to pay for food for the two of us. All the extra money that I earned I put into my college fund; a jar that I kept in our home, hidden from my mother.

I dreamed of one day doing something with my life, something important. But for now I was stuck in the homeless slums of Miami, working low paying jobs for whoever would hire just to keep my mother and I alive. My father, who should have been providing for us, had left us when I was seven, leaving to join the Revolution. He said he left to bring us a better life, but after he left we never heard from him again, not even after the Revolution was brought down and things returned to the way they had always been.

A siren began to wail somewhere in the distance, echoing down the empty street. I stood up, hoping the rain would hide my tear streaked face and began the long walk home. This part of Miami was poor, one of the poorest places in the world. And Miami's law enforcement seemed to always turn a blind eye to this part of the city, making it one of the main crime hubs in the area. The major gang, led by a crime lord named Winter, held a heavy hand over the area.

I heard a gunshot come from somewhere nearby, probably about a street over. Screams erupted from the area. I cringed, but other than that I ignored it. Gunshots were common, daily sounds around here. I don't think there was a day in the last few years that I hadn't heard at least one. I had only ever made one real friend in my life and he and his family had been killed by the gang in a brutal murder. I hadn't made any friends after that. I didn't want to. I was afraid of losing people that I loved.

I finally reached my home, a rusty beat up bus in a dark alleyway. The bus was covered in the debris of a fallen building, so only the door was really noticeable. I could see a light coming from under the door and knew my mother must be home. I walked up to the opening and pried the door open with a crowbar that I always kept with me. As I walked in I looked at the floor. It was covered in bottles, beer bottles.

I knew something was wrong; we didn't have enough money to buy beer. Where did my mom get these? I took a step toward the back of the bus and saw my mother, curled in the corner sleeping. Surrounding her were about twenty drained bottles and a jar, my jar. The jar was empty, all the money that I had spent the last two years saving was gone. I heard myself yelling, screaming at my mother. As she woke up she was crying and holding her head. I didn't care. I was too distraught to care. In my rage I threw the jar at the wall, glass scattering everywhere, cutting a deep gash into my right hand. I screamed some more and ran out of the home, back into the rain, with tears streaming down my cheeks again.

I ran and ran, not knowing where I was going. I just ran. It didn't matter to me where I was going, just that I was going somewhere. I was tired of being stuck in these slums, tired of having to provide for a useless drunkard mother, tired of trying so hard without getting anything back. I ran back the way I had come, onto the street where the gunshot had sounded from. I saw, as I ran, the body of the victim lying alone on the street. This place was horrible. How could I ever amount to anything when I had started out here? Time began to blur as I ran, until I lost track altogether of when and where I was.

Finally, I stopped. My rage dying down, having been completely depleted. I was exhausted. I had used up all the energy I had, running and crying. It was dark; night had fallen. Suddenly, a horrible stench filled my nose. As the odor filled my senses I realized where I was. I had run straight to a corner of the neighborhood that was known as Pelvel's Canal; it was the worst possible place on earth. Pelvel's Canal was the gang's killing grounds, an empty canal littered with rotting bodies. People who came here didn't come back, ever. I turned around, facing back the way I had come. Standing in the alley that led to the canal was a large dark figure. Fear and anguish filled my soul. I was already exhausted and my body couldn't handle any more. I felt myself losing hold of my mind, fear taking place of sanity. My eyes started darkening and my head hit the ground as I lost all consciousness.