by Riley Tune
Riley Tune
WARPER: ORIGINS
WARPER: ORIGINS | 1st edition
Copyright ©2016 by Riley Tune
Cover Design by Isikol
Interior Design by BEAUTeBOOK
Edited by Invisible Ink
This novel is a work of fiction created by the author, and is not intended to reflect any actual person, place, action, or event. Any resemblance to any of the mentioned is entirely coincidental.
All Rights reserved No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the author, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
PROLOGUE
PART I 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 - 10 - 11
PART II 12 - 13 - 14 - 15 - 16 - 17 - 18 - 19 - 20 - 21 - 22 - 23 - 24
PART III 25 - 26 - 27 - 28 - 29
EPILOGUE
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I would like to thank the following for their help and support: First and foremost, the LORD, I am thankful for the life I have and the ability to create worlds within my mind to make something beautiful; my parents, they gave me love and the best childhood a kid could want, and from those moments my imagination was born; Marsha for her support since day one years ago when I told her I wanted to be a writer, she never laughed at my dream and encouraged me all those early mornings; Johnathan Echeverria for believing enough to come out his own pockets; and finally, all of the friends and family who have supported me up to this point, the journey is just getting started.
I can’t thank you enough for buying this book! If, after reading, you find that you enjoyed it, please leave a review on the site from which it was purchased. I’d love to hear what you think. Also, if you would like to be added to my email list for updates on new projects, cover art previews, and bios of new characters, please click below:
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PROLOGUE
It happened again a few days ago.
A part of me feels like I’m going crazy; at the same time I can’t help but be intrigued. If I believed in the Keeper, this would be the point at which I'd would pray to him and ask for guidance but I don’t spend time worshiping mythical beings that I can’t see.
I closed my eyes and allowed my head to tilt back. If my eyes had been open, I’d have been looking up directly into the evening sky. Instead, I kept them closed, and let the snow fall onto my face and melt. It felt good.
Today was a day that contained snow. That was how it was in Thera. Thera, like all the kingdoms in the Prime Sovereignty, had snow every day. And every night, without fail, the rain came to wash the snow away, and the cycle started all over again. This was the world I lived in. Snow and rain, snow and rain again. Day in and day out. It never froze, though. Even when it snowed, the warmth of the sun kept it from staying.
Horrible weather was the least of my problems, though. I was dealing with an internal battle of nerves. I had just turned fifteen, and by Thera standards, that meant that I could work, and held almost as much say in things as an adult. I wouldn’t be ignored as a child anymore. This new-found responsibility wasn’t really, well, exciting. It simply meant that I would have to find a job.
That’s why I was here: standing outside this, building waiting for my mother to come outside.
She was supposed to see if the employers of this grow shelter needed extra workers. If they did, then, hopefully, I would get the job. That would mean three incomes in the house instead of two, and we would finally be able to breathe a little.
I heard a door being opened from the interior of the grow shelter. This entire time I had been leaning on the building, facing the almost empty-streets of Thera. I turned around and looked into the building. It was large, by grow shelter standards, and the outer layer was made of mostly glass.
I couldn’t really see inside the shelter. Instead, I saw a warped reflection of myself. I’ll admit I looked a mess. I could see in my tall, lanky reflection that my black hair was sprinkled with snow. The same went for my brown trousers, and my shirt, once white, now gray. I stepped closer to the building, trying to see inside.
Leaning in, I clasped my hands around my eyes, and allowed them to touch the glass. It was cold against my skin, and grainy from the dirt that coated its surface.
I couldn’t see the massive amount of crops being grown on the inside. That happened deeper inside the grow shelter, and this was only the entrance. What I could see was a woman walking toward me. As I had hoped, it was my mother. She was dressed in her normal work clothing—one piece, which covered her from her neck to her feet.
Her massive crop-attendant gloves made her hands look monstrous for a woman of her small stature. Her brown hair was in a tight ponytail, and she waved at me gently as she began to undo it. My mother hated—and I mean hated—wearing her hair in any way other than falling freely on her shoulders. She said it always made her hair feel like it was being held hostage.
I went ahead and opened the door for her so that she could walk out onto the city street with me. The door was heavier than I expected and made a loud creaking sound as I slowly opened it. Immediately, snowflakes began to find a home in her hair.
“So, how did it go?” I asked her.
“I spoke to him. He just isn’t looking for any more workers right now, sweetie. I’m sorry,” she said, leaning on the building and looking around, avoiding eye contact with me. Her voiced cracked as she spoke.
Just as her voice betrayed her, so did her glossy eyes.
“It’s okay, Mom. I’ll stop by some local shops tomorrow and ask if anybody needs help,” I said, pulling away from her.
“Maybe I could do metal work for the guards.” I paused, thinking about it. No, that job would be horribly dangerous. The guards were well known for doing extreme things to the workers who messed up their orders. So that was out.
There was always work for a person who wanted to be a Torch Runner. Torch Runners were people who patrolled around a predetermined section of Thera, before the rain came each night, to light fires atop of large metal poles with their ends enclosed in glass. This glass would protect the flame from the rain, providing light to the city at night. This was one of the few jobs that were done the same way no matter which kingdom you lived in. It was simple work, but it was work nonetheless, and somebody had to do it.
My mom wouldn’t want me doing that, either, I’m sure. So I didn’t even bother mentioning it to her.
“I think the lady who works near the palace entrance could use some help.”
My mother wiped her eyes. “What makes you say that?”
“Any time I walk by, it’s only her working, and she always seems to have more customers than she can handle alone.”
My mother raised a brow. She was seeing the glimmer of hope, no doubt. Hope that the fate most common for boys my age wouldn’t happen to me.
But that's right; I was fifteen now. I was a man. She was worried about the fate of men my age. The fate of the Yolar Mines.
The Yolar Mines were mines located in every kingdom. The men worked them day after day to find the metals used to make currency for the Prime Sovereignty.
Yolars came in three different metals. Bronze, silver, and gold. Gold was the most common Yolar, and, as such, carried a lesser value than the others. Bronze was the most precious of the three.
The more valuable the metal, the harder it was to find, and the harder it wa
s to mine. Naturally, because my luck was always the worst, the mines located in Thera were bronze mines. That meant longer hours and harder work to find the elusive metal.
I wasn’t keen on becoming a mine worker. Many went in at fifteen and never saw the light of day again until they were well into their fifties. The irony of it all was that, for a job that literally found materials to turn into wealth, it paid less than any other industry. You only ended up in the mines if you had no other options. The mine bosses knew this and used it to their advantage.
“Head on home,” my mom said, as she removed the excess snow from her hair and pulled it back into a tail again. “Nowrt should be there with the twins by now, and will likely need your help.”
I nodded. Nowrt, my mother’s current husband and my stepfather, worked in a grow shelter too, but in a different area. He was a good guy. Better than my father had been, for sure. My father—I wouldn’t have known him if he'd walked past me and waved and stuck his tongue out. He'd left my mother well before I could talk. At least that’s what I’d always been told.
“I love you, Lox,” she said, as she placed her hand on my face and ruffled my hair.
“Love you too, Mom,” I said, with a smile.
Mothers were special that way. Here I was, a man now, who towered over her, and yet she still made me feel like a little boy. If she'd only known what was happening to me.
How would she react?
With her massive work gloves back on, she opened the door, and vanished back into the inner workings of the grow shelter. I clenched my jaw as I turned and faced the street once more.
There weren’t many people walking during this time of day. Most of them, like my mother, were at work, and seeing as I didn’t have a job, and had completed school like every other fifteen-year-old, I had time on my hands.
For the most part I was alone, except for a figure that was across the street. From the build, it was clearly a man. A well-built, solid man. I couldn’t see his face, for he wore a cloak that covered most of his body, and the hood was up.
Smart, I thought to myself. It wasn’t cold, but if I had had a way to keep the snow from continuously falling on my face, I would have used it too. A cloak wasn’t my style, but it seemed to be working for him.
I could have been wrong, but was he looking at me, or the grow shelter behind me? I began to move a few feet in the direction of home. As I moved, the figure's head turned slightly and followed me.
He was definitely looking at me, and here came the nerves. I figured the best thing to do was to get moving and avoid not make eye contact, so I picked up my speed. I walked a few feet. In my mind I kept telling myself, don’t do it, don’t do it, but I couldn’t help it, and I looked over my shoulder as I walked.
Sure enough, the figure was walking too.
“Stupid,” I said to myself as I looked forward again. I was sure he had seen me look. I tried not to, I really did, but I looked in his direction once more. His black cloaked flapped a little behind him as he walked. His hands were drawn now, and he seemed to have on some sort of protective layer covering them. That was odd. Only guards wore armor of any kind.
My throat felt dry as his cloak moved slightly and revealed what was unmistakably the handle of a knife.
Carrying a knife in Thera wasn’t uncommon; it was actually almost expected. But a man carrying a knife and following me was a bit of a bother. Against my better judgment, I looked over my shoulder across the street again to see if I was still being followed, and prepared myself to run like my feet were on fire.
I exhaled as I saw that I wasn’t being followed anymore. I stopped mid-step and looked back toward the place the man had been in moments before. He was gone. I relaxed, turning back around.
I screamed as I walked directly into the cloaked man.
He was standing in front of me. I looked across the street to where he had been, and then back to him in front of me. I could feel my chest rising and falling rapidly. How had he gotten from behind me and across the street to in front of me that quickly, and without being seen? I could still run, I told myself. I was pretty fast.
I began to back away, but his hand shot out with such a speed that the snow falling around him was dispelled. His grip on my arm was strong. Too strong for me to break away.
“I know what you are, boy.” His voice came from under the cloak. It was smooth, yet coarse.
“Know what I am?” I repeated, in shock, as I tried to remove his hand.
“I know what you are, and what you can do.” He looked at me as his other hand removed the hood of his cloak. “And now, you belong to me.”
PART I
1
For the following two years, I did in fact belong to him. On occasion, I would see my family again. I was happy that I was experiencing one of those occasions now. My mom placed four square plates on the table.
From where I sat in the living room it was easy to see almost all of our little house. There was the kitchen, currently almost empty. All of the brown cabinets were bare, and so was the icebox where we kept the meat.
In the middle of the kitchen was a small square table that had been in the family for years. It was almost as old as the plates.
It was worn, the legs wobbled, and the top was likely to give you splinters, but it served its purpose.
Then there was the living room. It was my personal favorite room, and where I was currently sitting, on the red rug. The same red rug that I could remember playing on as a child.
Once these rooms had seemed so cramped. My mom had shared with Nowrt, and I had to share with the twins. Now, things were different. Now, the twins slept in a room to themselves. Since I was unable to live here anymore, it provided them with plenty of space.
About a year ago, Nowrt had gotten a transfer to work in the grow shelter with my mom. Things had been great until the accident happened. Most of the people working in that area had lost their lives that day—Nowrt being one of them. My mom wasn’t hurt physically, but it had done something to her. She hadn’t been able to work since, and now she, too, had a room to herself.
“Luka, Kula!” she shouted through the house. “Come and eat.” Even when she yelled at them, her voice was soft, and even though she didn’t work, she always sounded like she was tired. Likely she was worried about me, and spent her time thinking about that.
I could hear the twins running from their room. They entered the kitchen in their favorite red sleeping clothes and, despite being almost time for bed, they were both full of energy. They both looked so much like my mother that it was scary. They both had her brown hair, and lots of it.
Luka, my brother, had her round eyes, and my sister Kula had her nose and her grin. I didn’t see my mother use that grin much now, but I did remember it. They didn’t have many of Nowrt’s features, though. My mom used to joke that she hoped they would get his height. “As long as they aren’t as short as me,” she'd said. That was back when Nowrt was alive, and her joking and smiling was more common.
She began putting food on the plates. I didn’t know what it was. It looked like chicken, or some sort of meat that I hoped was chicken. Whatever it was, it smelled good, and I was hungry. I pushed myself from the floor and stretched as I peered out the window. It had gotten dark outside. The snow had stopped about an hour ago, and the rain had begun to fall. I let out a sigh. My time was almost up, and I would be leaving soon.
“We still have some time,” my mom said as she glanced at me and put the last pieces of food on the plate.
“Plenty of time,” I said with a smile. I’m sure she could tell I was faking it. She always could.
I handled most of the family expenses now. I was seventeen, and had been working for two years. That was also why I didn’t live here anymore. My job, if that’s what you could call it, kept me away a lot. It was hard work that I really didn’t enjoy doing, but my family needed me. My curse had become their gift, I supposed.
We all began eating and, as usual, the food
was good. It actually was chicken. I enjoyed it—not just the food, but the family time, as well. I wished the time would go by more slowly. It would be an entire week before I got to see them again, maybe longer. We ate our food in silence at first; then Luka looked up at me from his plate. Sauce was spread over his face and all on his fingers. Even at seven, he preferred to eat with his hands.
“Want some?” he said as he grabbed a handful of food and extended it to me. I tried not to, but I could feel my lips parting in a smile. Between their natural innocence, and those little voices, almost everything the twins did was adorable.
“I can’t eat yours, bud.” I held up my food. “I got my own right here.” He looked down at his plate, and then, unexpectedly, hurled the food at my sister.
Kula screamed as the food landed in her hair and fell to her almost-empty plate. She still had plenty to throw some back at him while screaming, “I can do that, too!” at the top of her lungs.
“Hey!” I yelled at them, to get them to stop. I began to stand up, but my mom placed her hand on my leg.
“Let them play. If it wasn’t for cleaning up their messes, I’d die of boredom in this house.” She smiled as she watched the food fight unfold.
“If you say so,” I said as I picked my plate off the table, to eat my food without worrying about getting caught between them.
“They seem so normal, don’t they?” she said, almost absently.
“Are they not normal?” I asked, as I looked at her with my brow raised.
She shrugged. “Maybe.” She paused for a second and let her eyes shift to me, but she didn’t turn her head. She nudged me in the side. “Then again, you seemed normal at that age, too, and look at you now.”
I cleared my throat. “Oh.” That was all I could say. As she sat there in her night clothes, I couldn’t help but think she had a point. We looked at each other for a moment that seemed to last too long. “I’m sure—”
