To protect, that was his purpose, to protect and to fight.
He turned to face his home. No sign of his face could be seen beneath the dark helm which was adorned by a single sliver six pointed star in the centre of the forehead. He had lived here all his life, oh there were memories of other places but this was home. He was Benedict, protector of the Voldinar. He bent down and picked up the tightly wrapped bundle at his feet, then turning he left the carnage behind him.
***
The black and white bird watched as the transformation took place, many times it had witnessed this, but each time it was no less fascinating. Now with its curiosity satisfied it took to the wing in search of something small and shiny.
Chapter One
The Games Begin
The arena was packed to capacity, with every seat taken the isles packed with people standing shoulder to shoulder, for these the first games of the year. Up in the mountains the winter’s snow still had a firm grasp, but down in the fertile lowlands spring was firmly stamping its mark on the land, as new life sprang from the previously barren trees and earth.
In the high seats of the arena, where the protection of the walls were minimal, the watchers could still feel the cold snow touched wind that swept down from the mountains as it sought to leach the warmth from their very bones, and so were wrapped in their finest winter furs to keep its chilled touch at bay. Those in the lower seats however, were dressed in their bright summer finery, as the sun’s ray’s caressed their winter chaffed skins and the walls of the stadium, the throng above them kept the ice touched wind at bay.
Richard stood in the top row and was now beginning to feel despondent as the cold wind, for which he was not dressed, ruffled his red hair and managed, no matter how hard he tried to prevent it, to find its way within his clothing. He had arrived late due to an incident, with a very drunk, and very strong former arena fighter, which had led to a large tender lump on the side of his head and a throbbing left foot, and to add insult to injury he had been forced to relinquish his claim on the purse that he had “found,” that the arena fighter claimed was his. Now here at the back where he stood with the poor there would be slim pickings, even for someone with his talents.
He sighed, he was here now so maybe he should just relax and enjoy it, and there would be time later when the drinking had started to earn a few coins. He knew the Lava Women, magical beings of rock and flesh, would be the first of today’s entertainment, which would be fun to watch, even though they would be but a speck on the floor of the arena, especially when Rosemary was one of the racers, so he almost forgot about work and settled in to watch.
He surveyed the arena, far below him the lava flows had been erected, 50ft high rock slides that would ooze molten rock when activated by magic, up which would race the Lava Women. The Lava Women that would control them were in place at the top, standing as still as the rocks from which they came and almost as indistinguishable from them except for the spray of brightly coloured hair that radiated from their heads.
His eyes scanned the crowds, unable to truly forget about business, noting where all the darker characters of the city had positioned themselves ready to make what they could from the throng of people. Amongst the richer patrons of the city there would be many who would be, at the very least, going home without their purse, if not their life.
The city had become far more dangerous than usual. Over the last few days and weeks, there had been strangers arriving in small groups, that were armed to the teeth and who would as soon as kill you as say hello. The movements of these small groups of men were being watched by the city militia, but still something in the back of his mind said that something wasn’t right but what he couldn’t say.
As his eyes passed over the crowds at the far end of the arena he noticed someone in the lower tiers dressed in clothes far too warm for the position in the stands in which they occupied. He studied the figure for a few moments feeling there was something out of place about him other than the clothing, but found himself distracted as the war horns bellowed and the proclamator gave notice of the arrival of the Voldiner, the spiritual leader of his people, and the voice of the Gods.
All heads turned towards the sound and as the Voldiner took his position on the dais the people cheered and stamped their feet. The noise was almost deafening, for he was beloved by his people, and continued for several minutes until the Voldiner raised his bejewelled hands and the crowd reluctantly went silent. “Welcome,” he said in a rich and vibrant voice that caused the thick jowls beneath his chin to vibrate, “let these, the first games of the year begin.” Then as the crowd cheered even louder he sat down in his chair, which was simple in design yet lavish in adornment, as was befitting his station, with his thick white hair being ruffled by a gentle breeze.
Richard stared at the jewels and precious metals with open lust in his eyes, but they were out of bounds. In the main there were two reasons; firstly because they had been gifts from the gods, and only a fool would risk the displeasure of the gods; and secondly Benedict.
Benedict stood unmoving behind the dais, for this was his place as the protector of the Voldiner. He was encased in armour, black as the night, from head to toe with not a sign of the man beneath, not even his eyes could be seen due to its immenseness. The only marking on his armour that could be seen from this distance was a single six pointed star in the centre of the forehead. Around him twelve of the Voldiner’s personal guard’s stood in their green and red stripped uniforms that looked garish in comparison.
In front of the dais stood two flag poles, each flew the identical flags of the Voldiner, the design of which was a black and white bird, the mythical magpie, on a background of green and red stripes that flapped vigorously in the mountain breeze. Richard remembered clearly the first time he had seen Benedict.
He had been only five cycles old, Benedict was leading the victorious army down the main street of the town after having battled the invading Prith on the western beaches and driving them off the surrounding islands that had historically been the lands of Voldin.
As the parade passed Richard, who was stood on the fountain of life, a relic of the gods made from blue glass and metal that no longer gave forth any water, Benedict had seemed to pause in his sweeping gaze of the crowd and stare overlong at the young boy and his brother Mark, and then he had swept on to the adulation of the crowd. No one seemed to notice though, not even Mark, but Richard knew that he had. Moments later his Uncle Tom had found them and to the dismay of the young boys had lifted them from the fountain and had taken them aside away from the throng of the crowds.
“Uncle Tom, I wanted to watch the soldiers,” Richard had said.
“Me too,” Mark had added.
“Hush lads, I have something to tell you,” Uncle Tom had said with a graveness in his voice that had been lost on the boys.
“Where’s daddy Uncle Tom? I want to see my daddy,” Mark had pleaded.
“That’s what I have to tell you, your daddy won’t be coming home I’m afraid, he was taken by the Voldin to live in the heavens” as a tear had run down his left cheek, a solitary tear.
“What do you mean?” Richard had asked.
“Daddy is gone Ritchie, he is dead,” Uncle Tom had replied, hugging them both close, his chest heaving as he had tried to restrain the emotion.
That day had seen the end of his innocent childhood; He, his brother, two sisters and mother had been taken care of by their people as was their custom, but the childlike innocence had gone, and he had taken on the mantle of the head of the home.
After that day Benedict became a figure of inspiration for Richard, seemingly invincible and majestic. And as the stories of his deeds grew so did the awe in which the man was viewed by the young boy, and in time by the man he became.
His life however had taken a different route to that which he had envisioned, which
had found him working the streets to make ends meet as the charity they had received had been woefully insufficient, so when Benedict had stood before him in a darkened alley, with several hooded lifeless figures at his feet and handing him a star charm from his own hand, he had found himself lost for words.
“Wear it always, and may your sword arm be strong.” Benedict had said, the darkness of the helm seeming to bore into Richard’s mind. “Keep it close and do not lose it. One day you will have need of it, and I will call upon you to repay this debt.” He had left then before Richard had had time to speak.
Later that year he had given another to Mark, when he had entered service with the Army, which had made Richard both proud and jealous of his brother, his path having taken that which he had seen for himself. This was unheard of before then, for Benedict did not give away gifts and had sparked much speculation as to why he had done so now.
Since that time he had not had occasion to speak to the man but he had seen him on many occasions always bedecked in full armour and radiating authority and majesty and around their necks the brothers had always worn their gifts.
The horns sounded again and the Lava Women that stood at the top of the lava pits began to exert their control of the rocks to create the lava flows that were needed for the races. As the rock began to melt and flow the skin on Richard’s forearms began to crawl, the scars that had always been there as long as he could remember beginning to itch. His mother had said that he had received them when he was a small boy, when he had grabbed a hot brazier that had left the eight pointed star on his left arm and the crescent moon on his right.
He had learned from a young age that although he didn’t have the ability to use magic, which was rare anyway amongst his people, he did have the ability to sense when magic was being used close at hand or in great quantities, which was unheard of in the general populace, for magic folk were a secretive lot that tended to avoid people and the city except on days like these.
The lava pits began to liquefy, bubbling as the heated air began to shimmer above the molten rocks beneath, then they began to calm and smooth out like the waters on a calm lake. Suddenly, with an explosion of molten rock and hot gas, from the flat surface two figures appeared like synchronized dolphins exiting the ocean, arcing out of the lava and then re-entering with hardly a ripple to be seen. The only evidence that they had passed were the gasps and applause from the watching crowds.
The two figures broke the surface again but this time instead of performing for the crowds they stayed on the surface and headed for the start line, which was at the opposite end of the lava flow from where the Lava Women weaved their magic’s, gliding through the molten rock with their heads held high, as if they were swimming in one of the crystal clear lakes that dotted the volcanic mountains around them.
The two figures were Lava Women in their lava form, for they could exit both in flesh and rock. In this form their lower half resembled one of the many finned ornamental fish that were prized by the upper echelons of society, with trailing tendrils of molten rock. They hailed from the fabled and secretive lands of Fire Mountain, chosen from birth to be merged with rock when they reached puberty.
One had a shock of silver hair and the other golden that cascaded around their shoulders and upper body, and both had the weathered copper skin that typified their kin.
The golden haired woman Richard knew, although he could not see her face, was Rosemary. He had known her since they had been children, for they had lived next door to each other and used to play together in the sun and rain until they were ten cycles in age, which was when the curving of her back that had always been there, had started to intrude on her life and the pain became to much for her to bear.
The condition had left her bed bound and in considerable pain, which could only be alleviated by powerful narcotics that would leave her incoherent and semiconscious. But Richard had made it a point to visit and talk to Rosemary on a daily basis whether she had taken the drugs or not, such was their friendship.
On the days when she was incoherent due to the drugs he would just sit and hold her hands in silence or recount his and Marks latest adventure, for as youths the pair seemed to always find trouble, or as they felt it, found them. It was during this time that Richard’s life had taken the path down which he now trod, when the drugs that she had needed had been beyond the reach of her parents, Richard had managed to “find,” them.
When she had been given the honour of becoming a Lava Woman, Richard had been so elated for her despite it meaning that he would lose a friend, for it had meant the end to her unbearable suffering and pain. He had loved her as a child and still loved her as an adult but it was a love that could not be voiced, first because of adolescence and later because of the differences of their forms and the laws that governed the folk of Fire Mountain.
The horns sounded again and the proclomator stepped forward and boomed the names of the two women about to race, pausing after each name to allow the crowd to cheer for their favourite. On this occasion the arena was split roughly in half.
Richard cheered as loud as he could for Rosemary, stamping his feet vigorously, partly to remove the chills that had begun to settle in them, until he felt he was about to lose all feeling in them.
The noise from the crowd began to subside and the horns blasted thrice more. Silence was total as the crowd held its collective breath in anticipation of the next blast of the horns, which they knew would start the race.
The horns sounded; the crowd released its held breath with thunderous shouts, cheers and screams and the lava women set off at speed, with an otherworldly grace and elegance, down the course.
As the women moved the molten waters began to churn and speed in their flows, as obstacles of rocks and fast flowing shallows placed in their path made the women work harder and harder as the race progressed, which in turn made the crowds cheer louder and louder.
Richard’s scarred forearms tingled as the race progressed, for it was magic that the Lava Women used to control the lava flows. Although it was part of who they were, it was still magic and as such Richard could sense it as they constantly tweaked the lava flows to make them ebb and flow as they were.
The tingling increased to the point where it became an itch and then beyond that. The increase in the amount of magic being used near-by was so immense that he glanced at the two women anticipating some insurmountable obstacle that would cause the crowds to go wild.
Nothing happened, well at least not that required that much magic, yet the feeling was still there, causing the skin of his forearms to burn as if on fire. If it wasn’t the Lava Women drawing more on their powers then who was it?
Richard scanned the crowds but there was nothing that screamed “MAGIC,” at him. He closed his eyes and focused his mind on the source of the magic, trying to find a direction. It took some concentration, as there was more than one person using magic, but what he was seeking was so large that it eclipsed the others and shone like a beacon in a starless sky. He had learned to do it years before when he had discovered his abilities and had practiced it often in those early days, now it came easy and he was able to single out the source that he was seeking.
Turning towards the source he stopped and opening his eyes looked directly at the man he had noticed earlier in the lower tiers, dressed in the furs of winter. He had an intense look on his face and as Richard watched him he began to gesture wildly, causing the people around him to bob their heads about so that they could still see the race and prevent themselves from being hit. Oddly not one person looked at him; it was if they were unaware of what he and they were doing.
The man was intently focused on something at the opposite end of the stadium to himself and had hatred written all over his contorted facial features. Richard turned his head to see what it was that was the object of such hatred.
Benedict had stepped in front of the Vol
diner and had a tight hold of the two flag poles in front of him, one with each hand. He stood there staring at the man at the other end of the stadium, as if daring him to do his worst. As he blocked and absorbed the death magic that was no doubt intended for the Voldiner, his chest plate began to glow blood red and the air around him began to shimmer.
Benedict’s hands began to shake as he absorbed the magic being directed at the Voldiner, causing the flags to flap wildly as if caught in a sudden gust of wind. As the pressure from the magic began to back up the assailant began to glow with a red nimbus that seemed to surround him like a ball of light. Suddenly the assailant threw his hands up in the air and the glow vanished, then without a backwards glance he turned and melted into the surrounding crowd, vanishing with no one seeming to have noticed a thing, even though they had been forced to move during the altercation.
Richard turned back to see the majestic black figure of Benedict standing there on the dais as if nothing had happened. The red glow of his chest plate had gone and he was no longer shaking. He was alone, no one else was near him, obviously his personal guard had spirited the Voldiner away when they had realised he was in danger, and when Richard had been concentrating on the man in the crowd.
No one else seemed to have noticed the altercation as they were all engrossed in the enthralling race below, which one corner of Richards mind noted Rosemary was winning.
Benedict caught Richards’s attention, his rich voice reverberating in his head. As Richard looked towards him he indicated with an inclination of his head, “Meet me outside the entrance to this dais, we are in grave danger.” Richard nodded and headed for the nearest exit that would take him to the foot of the stairs that led to the dais where Benedict was currently stood. It was only later that he would wonder at how he had heard Benedict’s voice above the noise of the crowd and why he had obeyed without question, like a common soldier in the army.
Benedict Page 2
