Lightning Falls: Chapters 1-3
Lightning Falls
He slipped in late, as usual. It went unnoticed, as usual. With a sigh, he glanced at his neighbor's open book, noting the page and opening his own. Such was his way, to slip in and out between the existances of others, living in the cracks of their world. His attention dropped to nothingness as he pondered what he had seen.
All in all, he was a rather undistinguished teen, dressed in black and muted greens. His features were not at all remarkable, other than that they were pleasantly rounded, unshaven, and with more than a trace of Scottish blood in him. His shaggy, moderately long brown hair, more tamed that usual today, with a lock falling to his brow. His dark brown eyes partly hooded in thought. He has a normal sort of roundness to him, his stomach a bit curved from too much soda as a young child. His extremities, however, are oddly formed. His thin fingers, idly twirling a pencil, are set atop a wide palm and an unnaturally thin wrist. He has very skinny arms, rather sinewy, and still rounded with baby fat.
His legs, long, lean, and limber, were strong and used to carrying a burden. And this is Michael, Michael Ruddock. Oh yes, he's known by other nemes. Kamikashin, Kamik, Kashi, Ruddy, "Crazy Boy" even. Only a couple mean anything to him. Oddly enough, he's rather well known here. People tend to shy away from him. It never seems to bother him, not only is he used to it, but it suits his ways.
He is an observer of people, and tends to know what they're thinking before they do. Recently, a flyer has been circling the building, several pages long, published without a name. It explains the character strengths and flaws of many high profile people in his school. They could hardly suspect him though, they wouldn't think of him as being that literate. He's not known for being talkative, this one.
His hand snaps up suddenly, snatching a poorly thrown pencil out of the air, to the angry glares and annoyed mutters of several people. He sets it on his desk, idly correcting his homework. Eighteen out of twenty, not bad. "Ninety," he calls out when he hears his name. He flips to a clean sheet of paper, sketching out what he had earlier witnessed, adding key notes in places. The resemblance to "Golden Boy" is noticable.
Slowly, his sketch comes to life. A tall, powerfully built body covered in dark scales, wings the same, with a strip of dark fur running down the spine. He sighs, wishing he'd had a better look. He then sets to drawing the other her saw, much the same, but quite feminine. A smallish bust, wider hips, and fewer musculine features on this figure.
The male figure is in naught but a loincloth, the female in the same with the addition of a leather chest wrapping. Both had seen him and seemed intriuged. He hears a bell ring, sighing and packing his belongings up before he could finish his sketches. He slips out of the classroom, hearing two people talking in a rough, accented English. One has a deep, powerful vioce, the other speaking in more melodic tones.
Suddenly, he hears a yelp and a light curse. "Dammit, he's heard us!" sounds a familiar, effeminate voice. Another voice sounds in perfect counterpart to the first. "We'll have to take him then."
A large, rough hand covered in scales curls around his mouth, holding an odd smelling cloth. All Michael manages to get out is a muffled "Mmmph!" before he blacks out...
... Hacking and coughing, he awakes. Michael looks around to see wooden planked walls, freshly scrubbed. He sits up, finding that he's on a soft cot in a dimly lit room. The large male enters, interrupting Michael's inspection of the room.
With a cureous bow, wings extending wide, he speaks. "Young one, these shall be your quarters. There is a lavatory in the room to your right, and a study with several full bookcases on the left. It also contains writing materials. Your meals will be brought to you at the mealtimes. Welcome to the home of the Dernaughts."
"Dernaughts?", Michael asks, a puzzled expression on his face. The creature speaks again.
"Yes, we're a relatively old race, at least compared to yours. Our species is a cross between two creatures you call the dragon and the Mist Wolf. We live in the norther parts of your region, New Hampshire, I believe you call it? Or, at least, our tribe does. Wherever there are extreme weather conditions, water, and humans, you can find us. Our mages use their powers to amplify storms, helping to hide our settlements. The majority of our tribe is in what you call Franconia Notch, on Mount Washington. We're up in the area called Tuckerman's Ravine right now."
Still confused, he asks "But... That isn't very far from my home. Mages? Well... My dad awlays did say the Notch has its own weather patterns. Now, who are you? I saw you, that time before... And who was the other person with you?"
"Ah, how rude of me! I am known as Frostbite, due to my blue and black markings, and the conditions we live it. You can call me Frost if you wish. As for the girl... She is Windfire. She takes her name from the red on her back and wings, the silver on her stomach, and the strip of silver spotted black fur on her back. Don't look to closely at her eyes, though you may like to. Yes, they're pupiless, a mark of her calling as a mage. Her mage-name is Ember... She may allow you to call her this. I'm sure you will be seeing her often. You see Michael, we have been watching you for quite some time now. Welcome to our settlement."
"Well... At least I don't have to deal with my real family anymore. What is this town called?"
"We call it Lightning Falls."
Two years later, a very different looking Ember lies lounging on a rock, adorned with many small ornaments, dozing as Michael steps around a corner and whistles at her playfully to catch her attention, intent on congratulating her.
"Hey! Happen birthday, Michael, though everyone else seems to have forgotten," she says.
"Eh, I'm used to it. It was for a good reason this year, though! I can't believe you're a fully-fledged mage now!" He sits down next to her, giving her a playful tickle. His hand rises up to stroke along the thousands of long, thin spines running down her back, the mark of her recent ascension.
"Well, you certainly helped me enough along the way. I'm glad the Elder's took you, if it weren't for that we'd both still be naïve young fools."
"Yeah.... I can't believe you took me when you did though, what luck!" He shifts his hand, resting it on her shoulder. "Though, your father didn't have to kidnap me, with the situation I was in, I would have gone willingly."
Ember, letting out a small sigh, grins toothily as she speaks. "Well, he didn't know that at the time. He just knew you and I were to be Soulbonded to complete my mage powers. Who could have known we would be taking you from such horrid people? We could only spy you out when you were out of doors, and those abusive bastards rarely came outside.
"Soulbonded... Yeah. It's still so odd to me that I can feel you, see what you're thinking..." Michael's cheeks suddenly redden, and he starts shaking his head at her a bit. "Speaking of which, keep your mind out of the gutter."
The Dernaught next to him sticks her tongue out at him, slowly standing up on all fours. "Nah, its too much fun. Listen, you stay here, I'll be back in a couple of minutes. I have to hit the privy."
With that, she pads off back the way Michael had entered, her tail flicking a bit in thought. He chuckles a bit, laying back on the still warm rock. His thoughts turn to his friend, how she's changed. Now's she's still about his height, when standing on all fours. Her wing membranes have turned an iridescent red and silver mix, the fur once on her back retaining its colors but becoming almost like porcupine quills. Her face, while larger, was still much the same, with its pupil-less blue eyes. It had been hard for him to believe the first time he saw her after the Council mages guided them through the Soulbonding, he could have never imagined her like this. Heck, she almost looked like a dragon from the Dark Ages of Europe.
He rolls over as he heard her approaching again. He frowns at the metallic object in her fore claws, not quite making out what it is. "Privy, eh? Looks more like getting something you had stashed."
She sticks her tongue out again, then strides over to curl around him, carefully handing him the item. "It's your birthday present, fool. I found it in the lake near your old home. I though you'd like it. It's a bastard sword, and I got permission from the Elders to enchant it. Mind you, I'm not quite sure exactly what properties it took."
"It feels... Familiar, like I've seen it before. Feels good in my hands, too. Thanks Ember, I think I'll practice a bit, see what I can figure out of it." With that, he lifts the sword in both hands, watching the blade.
Suddenly, the blade turns dark in front of his eyes. His expression takes on a pained look as he slumps to the ground, his friend screaming shrilly next to him before she crumples the shared agony. The last thing he sees before blacking out is the blade splitting in two, his arms falling to his sides as the black and gold wires of the grip and cross guard melt into his hands, molding around his knuckles...
He woke up some hours later, after hearing a shrill screech. Michael opened his eyes, seeing only the late day sun for an instant before an unfocused face hovered in front of him. With a grunt, Michael attempted to sit up, only to disorient himself.
"Elders, he's awake!" the high, slightly hoarse voice calls. She seemed so familiar, though here eyes were red and bloodshot, her cheeks still wet. He couldn't figure out why she was surrounded by a glowing mist, however.
"All right, I'm coming. Tell me, what color are his eyes? Have they changed?" This voice was an old one, tired, and full of life, like an ancient tree clinging to a cliff face.
"They... Michael, look at me. They're red, blood red. What does it mean?" Her face was pale, very pale, almost like a flame through a frosted window. Her name suddenly stuck him.
"Ember... What's going on? Where am I?"
"We're in Elder Sandwalker's home. You've been... The sword, it..." She winced, lifting his arms for him to see. Covered in black fur, his arms were encased in embossed black metal with extruded gilded patterns, up nearly to his elbows. There was a pair of long blades protruding forward from behind his knuckles, and opening between them. "... It's turned you..."
An old, catlike Dernaught steps in just then. "It's turned you into one of use. And a mage, as well, apparently. If your eyes are truly blood red... Gods save us, they are. The prophesy has been invoked. You're a mage, all right. Ember let me see your eyes."
She turned slowly, looking afraid. Michael notices that her eyes are...
"They're red. Just like his. You've become a blood mage, Ember. And Michael... Your aura is like none I've ever seen, but I fear you may be a geomancer. You've both become the most powerful of us."
The elder turned, the air shimmering around him. His aura, it was clear. "The prophecy..."
"What prophesy?"
Ember gulps, starting to sob. "When the one of use that is not ties with the blood mage, the inner sun shall decay, the Great Land shall be reformed, and a man shall once again ride the winds into true hopes..."