The Marvelous Chaos
In a time before men, which scholars call the mirandum inordinationem (ie. the Marvelous Chaos), beasts and monsters of modern mythology roamed the earth. It is believed these creatures existed upwards of twelve million years before the first records of human life occurred. Astrological and archeological research verifies that all creatures of this time were internally linked to the utilities of the universe; a network existed conjoining time, space, and creation of life. This unseen force could, at that time, be manipulated by each individual creature – the conceptualization has been identified as magic.
Demik S. Ostager’s Encyclopedia Antiquis Volume IV contains exhaustive research of all living organisms up to ten thousand years before the historic Siani invasion [BSi]. Within the Encyclopedia Antiquis is an entry for magum maleficus (1024.2.2), the earliest identified and genealogically-closest ascendants of the human species. The earliest records date circa 8900 BSi.
The creation or evolution of the species magum maleficus is the topic of unlimited debate and speculation today. Some suggest the ancestral human species evolved from another intelligent antediluvian genus; however, the exact origin species is unknown and little evidence exists supporting any unambiguous claim at present.
Others speculate that the magum maleficus were conjured using magic in two prototypes – male and female – with the intention of serving the dominant species, but reproduced at such an alarming rate that they soon staggeringly outnumbered many other primordial species.
A popular belief amongst the religion of Old Sian, however, propagates that “man was created in the image of the almighty and omnipotent Divinity, and the lady created to complement His likeness as a gesture of altruism for the good and righteous man” (Siors 1:17). Many plebians, unexposed to academia or broad critical thinking, categorically accepted the Old Siani explanation of the creation of man without scruples, primarily due to the strict enforcements imposed on all denizens subject to the strict oligarchic rule of the Siani Hierarchy and royal family.
This frequently begets the question; how can our research be unequivocally objective if it was conducted under the pervasive rule of Old Siani oligarchs? This can be answered with a bit of history; prior to the first uprising in 1274 Si led by Tomos “Trahaerne” Sion aep Cyntafdynion, the Siani Hierarchy allowed unrestricted research in all fields amongst all scholastic institutions, private and public. Following the 1274 Si uprising, the Siani Federal Guard unconditionally incinerated every institution not founded in the name of the Holy Savior, and placed manacles on any research conducted by sanctimoniously-devoted institutions, making publishing any work illegal without receiving the consent and authorization of the Siani Hierarchy. Research in any field investigating historic paganism, heresy, or “nefarious” folklore that defied the Siani religion was punishable by death. In order to maintain discretion, I, Andrej W. Martin, along with thirteen other professors listed in this publication’s appendage, buried all allegedly “blasphemous” data collected by our colleagues from the Academy of Old Sian with my deceased daughter, Analinda aep Andrej y Linette, who fell fatally ill during the Mandrega Plague of 1271 Si. Because of this contemptible but necessary decision, we, the Department of Historic Legends and Folklore, are able to present to you this lecture series which unearths much of the undistinguished and clandestine history of this great continent.
Such works as Clayvin Dornwinter’s Account of the Hobgoblins, Siors Listerfield’s Apparitions of the End; An Acute Analysis of Sudice’s Prophecy, and various publications by Demik S. Ostager have been cross-referenced and used to support our findings. This series will explain the history of mankind, expound the notorious apocalyptic prophecy of the acclaimed Seeress Sudice, interpret the exile and restitution of beasts and monsters, and unburden many more of the questions consuming the pedagogic community of New Sian.
We will begin our lecture circuit by addressing the most commonly asked question; What caused the utter eradication of magic in humans?
Professor Andrej W. Martin
Lectures of Historic Sian; Popular Pagan Legends and Folktales
1322 Si
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Chapter I: The Second Chance
“You’ve a visitor.”
The prisoner peered up at the gaelor at his cell door, the light of the torch flickering and revealing the dents and dirt lodged in the guard’s worn armor. A thick, opaque layer coated the air, or perhaps just his eyes; the dungeon had collected matter since its construction nearly five hundred years ago, much of which was the remains of those who had perished in the establishment since that time. He’d been taken prisoner there before, held in this exact cell, in fact – the last time it had been for engaging in “extra-marital activity” with the ealderman’s unwed daughter. He received a flogging courtesy of the ealdorman himself, who’d taken no reserves in expressing his disdain and left the offender with seventy-seven new scars on his back, nineteen of which were cut so deep they required stitches. At the time, he swore he’d never lay with another woman as long as he lived; a vow broken subsequently that very evening. This time, he wouldn’t have that chance to break false promises.
The visitor shuffled from behind the guard, revealing a small hooded figure. The visitor asked something quietly to the guard, and in return the guard grunted, “Fine. But any harm to befall you’s at yer own expense” and jingled the keys by the rusted lock until the door unhinged. The mysterious figure nodded and entered the cell.
“Beinn Puma.”
He glared up at the unfamiliar woman who’d greeted him. Her face was hidden beneath the hood, but more of her characteristics became discernible: her cloak was worn and fraying at the left sleeve; her shoes, crusted with muck, had clearly known a previous life of hard labor and stood perilously close to utter collapse; her fists were unclothed, noting (as if the previous observations were not sufficient) she likely was not of nobility, nor the recipient of any particular wealth or status. Another peasant woman, he thought. He took no further interest in her, now only wondering how long the meeting would transpire.
He didn’t look at her as she knelt beside him, instead rubbing the dirt in his fingernails from within his wrist binds and contemplating what would become of his body following the execution.
“That cut will become infected if you continue to fondle grime.”
Her voice, soft despite the echoing nature of the chamber, had a strange, unnatural lilt. She referred to a cut on his palm, received upon arrest just a few hours before. He continued to re-open it as he passed the time.
She reached for something beneath the cloak. From the peripheral of his gaze he noticed her stealthily reveal a tightly-wrapped scroll, tied with filth-colored twine. She slid the twine off, sending it to the floor as she silently unraveled the contents of the scroll. It revealed an etching; more precisely, a “wanted” placard of his own face, albeit the dead eyes of the etching did not accurately capture the fire that burned true in his.
“This is you?”
He offered no response, keeping his eyes focused on his binds.
He could hear her breathe. “That one was from Glasbhin. And this,” she dropped another unraveled “wanted” placard at his feet, “is from Scydondvale. I’ve several, each from another town with a bounty on your head.”
He glanced uninterestedly at the various parchments re-curling on the dirt floor. “Not often a man can learn the value of his life,” he leered at a particular etching that offered a hundred and fifty gold pieces dead or alive.
“Many would prefer not to have one,” she replied.
He felt her stare and refused to meet it. Peasant women – along with many of various ranks and wealth – frequently took interest in him, and for good reason; he was a strapping lad, and his face bore the scars and tribulations of his perilous lifestyle, which apparently increased his attraction. Assuming the typical handsome masculinity found in a square jaw and lean build, he also maintained shoulder-length hair the color of damp tree bark, commonly tied away from his coarse scruff that adjoined his muscular neck. He lacked common facial expressivity, appearing unfeeling; but despite the constant stoicism cemented on his face, his eyes remained actively enraged with wild amber fire.
She continued, undeterred by his evident disinterest. “I’ve come to retain your services.”
At this his face twitched with irritation. And how’s that, hm? How shall I serve you once I hang by sunrise? His palm stung as he absently wrung his hands in frustration.
“You shall serve as our escort, destination New Siandinas. Seeing as this is the second time I’ve saved you, I will not take refusal.”
At last he met her gaze, eyes ablaze.
“Saved me?”
“Quiet,” she hissed, tilting her head away to listen for the guard. He’d wandered away to harass another prisoner a few cells down. Turning back, she met his gaze. He could still barely make out any of her facial features aside from a triangular chin and light eyes that seemed to shine despite the darkness.
“Yes, I’m going to save your life for a second time.”
“When the bloody fuck was the first time?” He hissed, exhuming her face with his furious gaze.
“In Vsero.”
He wordlessly recalled his most recent time in Vsero, nearly three years past. The town was a few days ride from the lakeside port of Aber Pentref, his intended destination. His memory of the time was understandably bleak; aside from the eons that had passed since then, he was, at that time, frequently intoxicated via alcohol or some hazy opioids, or sometimes both. Due to the inability to recollect, he grew irater with the demanding visitor.
“Haven’t the foggiest idea what you’re on about, but I-”
“We lose more time as you protest,” she whispered, receiving his flaming amber eyes with her own steady cold gaze. The guard had abandoned his activity, returning his attention to the noisy visitation. “You want to live? The choice is yours. I’ve left you the tools you need to free yourself. If you’d rather leave your fate to the temper of the ealdorman, well, that’s your decision. But should you choose freedom, you will be in my service upon liberation.” She quickly swept the parchment pieces and twine toward him, attempting to hide their visibility from the guard.
“’Ey, wench, high time ya bid yer farewells to this one,” the guard called, pulling the gate of the cell open once more. In the passing flicker of the guard’s torch, the prisoner, scowling at the rubbish she’d left all over his cell floor, caught a very quick glimpse of a glimmer in the heap. As the guard’s focus fell away from the cell, the bound man silently grasped around the dirt floor, careful not to rustle the parchment pile. He felt the smooth, hard shard of glass and slid it in his palm. Noiselessy, he sawed the wrist binds with the sharpest edges, taking excruciating measures to avoid any sound disturbance as his hands cramped from the awkward position. The guard stood a mere six paces from his seat on the ground; at any moment, he could catch sight of his attempted escape and he would be executed on the spot.
It took him six minutes to cut through the wrist binds. It took three minutes to realize the filth-colored twine scattered on the floor wasn’t twine at all, but threaded steel.
It took him thirteen minutes to lure the guard into the cell to examine the rubbish, strangle him with the threaded steel, and set fire to the body – along with the rolled “wanted” placards – after confiscating the fallen guard’s uniform, keys, and weaponry. It took him less than a minute to open the cell door. It also took him less than a minute to convince the other prisoners that should they choose to alert the guards before his departure, they’d meet a fate worse than that of the fire. And the other inmates were inclined to believe him after watching him plunge his sword down the throat of a prisoner who had tried to scream despite the warning.
By nightfall, Beinn Puma was twenty furlongs away from the smoking embers that were once the Roerdun dungeon, furiously spurring a stolen chestnut mare, and fantasizing about what he could afford with the cremated guard’s money in the red light district en route to Darn Calon. And completely oblivious of the girl who had now saved him twice.
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Title (of the novel): Eastern Spire
Genre: Fantasy
Age Range: Young Adult - Adult
Word Count: 2081 words
The Hook: Why did humans lose the ability of magic? Why were beasts and monsters exiled? Who is the mystery visitor and how did she save Beinn Puma the first time?
Synopsis: Follow the entwined journey of a run-away storyteller, a degenerate debt-collector, and a mentally-damaged child-soldier as they navigate the lands of the "peaceful" mother-country, Sian, ravaged by famine, corruption, misogyny, and misery. The excerpt documentation published well after the events of this adventure may provide further insight.
Target Audience: Thrill-seekers, mystery-sleuths, and fantasy-enthusiasts welcome
Author: Lindsey P. Lightman
Bio: I'm a recent grad seeking employment or a miracle, whichever is first.
Platform: MS Word, Prose., Wordpress, GoogleDoc, hell even iPhone Notes
Education: University of Delaware, BA English & BA Political Science
Experience: None in publishing
Style: Direct, Precise, and occasionally Satirical
Interests: oil painting, eating anything, and playing with my Chiweenie puppy Lola
Hometown: Philadelphia, PA
Age: 22