CHILD OF DESTINY (The Rising Saga Book 1)

by M. K. Adams

  Her time exploring the city streets came and went. Lyvanne had progressively spent more time outside the safety of her sewer tunnel, occasionally coming dangerously close to being spotted by the king’s men, but always managing to stay one step ahead of the threat. Tonight was the night it mattered most though, either she made it out of the city or the chances were that her journey would end in the king’s grasp, entirely at his mercy. After making sure that everything was safely packed away in her sack, she tied her traveling cloak around her neck and took the first step out of the sewer— and there he was. No more than five metres away with a hood over his head was the tall and slender warlock who had abandoned her in the Accord.

  “Hello Lyvanne,” he said as though they were long lost friends.

  Lyvanne didn’t reply, she only froze on the spot. She considered running, back into her tunnels or straight past him she didn’t care, but it was too late to throw away her chance for escape. Equally, she wanted to speak to him, to ask him where he went, to ask him what happened on that night?

  She did neither, instead she slowly walked towards him. He held out his hands to show that he meant no harm, but in doing so left himself unguarded. Once he was within her reach, she balled up her fist and punched him straight in the gut. She knew that her punch would do nothing, but it was more about the message it sent to this stranger.

  “Did that help?” he asked as dusted off the impact of the punch.

  Lyvanne scowled at him. “Let me do it again just to check?” Lyvanne replied sarcastically as she began to walk straight past him.

  “Why’re you living in the sewers?” he asked, following closely behind her.

  “Can you be quiet and leave me alone? In case you hadn’t worked it out yet I’m trying to stay low,” Lyvanne scolded.

  “Yeah… the sewer smell gave that away.”

  For a few minutes, Lyvanne walked on in silence, deciding that his company was not something she wanted, yet she didn’t force him away. She felt unusually safe with him around.

  “I saw you the other night, out on Creek Street. Decided to give you some space.”

  Lyvanne carried on walking, her hands balled up into fists and her frows burrowed.

  The young man, whose pale skin almost shone in the night’s sky, walked up to her side keeping pace stride for stride as she made her way through the streets.

  “I’m impressed that you made it out of the Accord,” he continued, evidently trying to make her talk to him. “Once you didn’t follow, I thought for sure that I’d lost you to the guards. So… sorry about that.”

  The compliment didn’t work; in fact, it only served to antagonise Lyvanne as she recalled the way he had run off without making sure she was with him.

  The young man sighed, “My name’s Turiel.”

  Lyvanne stopped on the spot, toying with whether this complete stranger telling her his name actually meant something to her or not. She decided it didn’t and carried on walking down the street. This time it took Turiel a few moments to carry on walking behind her, almost as though the latest rejection had stung.

  Voices, coming around a corner up ahead of her. Lyvanne froze, the clink of chainmail and the gentle swing of steel swords was growing closer. A moment later, Lyvanne realised that she had failed, she had let him distract her and three of the king’s soldiers had now turned the corner, two with torches and the third, evidently in charge, with a sheet of parchment that Lyvanne had no doubt featured a rough description of her.

  Turiel’s arm landed firmly on her shoulder. He held her in her place as she attempted to shake free of him and to run in the direction she had just come.

  “Don’t move!” Turiel demanded.

  “Are you crazy?” Lyvanne shouted as she tried once again to break free, only to feel Turiel’s grasp harden.

  “Do not move,” he repeated, eyes never once leaving the dirty street that they were originally heading down.

  It was then that Lyvanne realised that the soldiers hadn’t said anything. They weren’t chasing her, and they hadn’t even acknowledged their presence. Lyvanne gazed up, the three soldiers were still walkingin their direction, but talking amongst themselves, completely unaware of their existence. Turiel, whilst holding her firmly in place with his right hand had outstretched his left, and around his open palm were the white streams of magical energy that she had seen him make use of down by the Anya. She looked up at his face. Was he hiding them? hse wondered. The look on his face indicated that he was in some level of discomfort, more so than when he had been weaving the key into existence the last time she had seen him use magic.

  “Don’t move,” Turiel said once more, struggling to get the words out.

  The guards grew closer; they were audibly discussing the search for “some nobody whore.” The words stung Lyvanne more than she would have expected. She had never done anything to these people, but through the order of their king they already hated her. It was a painful yet revealing moment, she wasn’t made for this city, for these people.

  As the guards passed them by, no more than a few feet away, Lyvanne found herself naturally holding her breath. Glancing sideways at Turiel who was panting heavily, she grew embarrassed and started breathing again. The soldiers passed by and once they were out of sight and earshot Turiel released the concealing spell that he had weaved together the moment he saw Lyvanne freeze. Lyvanne watched as Turiel bent over in pain, the same way he had done in the Anya, but this time the cause was clear. As Turiel clutched at his body she watched as a small scar, the size of a thumb, appeared on his chin.

  “Did… did the magic cause… that?” Lyvanne asked nervously, not wanting her safety to be the reason that he was in pain. Her mind raced back to that day in the river, all the scars she had seen across Turiel’s body and wondered if they were the result of magic too.

  Turiel let the pain pass before turning to face her. “I said I would teach you the way that magic works and there will be time to explain all of that, but for now… we need to get you to somewhere safe,” he said, drawing one last deep breath mid-sentence as the pain finally subsided.

  Lyvanne didn’t really know who Turiel was, but in that moment she decided that he was worth her trust, despite all that had happened. Besides escaping the city would be easier with him by her side. She’d never had a big brother before, but she was almost certain that this was what it felt like.

  “There isn’t anywhere safe in this city though” she argued, hoping that he would offer there and then to help her escape the city entirely.

  “I know somewhere,” Turiel said softly as he grabbed her by the hand and led her through the city streets, swift and without hesitation. She could have fought his pull, to insist that he told her where exactly it was that they were going, but instead she just moved as he did, allowing him to take the lead. She had to admit, that despite her reservations, it was nice for someone else to be taking responsibility for once.

  Turiel managed to avoid patrols for the rest of the journey, only ever taking them down quiet or entirely deserted streets. Lyvanne had grown used to the streets of the Upper level, where even at night there would be rarely be a soul to see outside of the taverns and Lady Houses. But down here, in the lower level, Lyvanne found that the deeper into this maze of houses, shops and blacksmiths that Turiel led her, the more frequently they crossed paths with people carrying on with their lives as if the sun had never set.

  “Don’t pay them too much attention,” Turiel said as they passed a line of beggars who reached out with frail hands in the hope of being offered food, their bones showing through thin layers of skin. More than a few times Lyvanne had to look away in horror as she saw lifeless bodies slumped against buildings or signs. Whether they’d withered away due to starvation or been quietly put down she wasn’t sure. What she had figured out however was that she would never have made it out of the city alone. The streets surrounding her sewer entrance were nothing like the streets a few hundred yards away, which were nothing l
ike the streets another hundred yards after that, all of which were nothing like the Upper level of Astreya.

  The amalgamation of cultures, structural design and variety of goods on offer astounded her. Even in the dead of night goods and wares belonging to Shimmering Islanders adorned far more stalls than would be commonplace in the Upper level. Then there were the goods and stall design that looked nothing like what she was used to. Wooden constructs with loosely hanging animals skins and decorative patterns replaced the bland and monotone style stalls that were rampant in the Upper level.

  “Where are all these from?” Lyvanne asked quietly as the pair made their way through a quieter market street.

  “People from all over the world come to Astreya to sell their goods,” Turiel replied.

  Turiel slowed his pace. They reached an alley, not unlike the one that been the location of Abella’s home, only this one didn’t have any burned down buildings. Instead, they were all just as equally unpleasant looking as one another. None of the buildings seemed large enough to house a family of any decent size, and all of them seemed poorly constructed. Some with misshapen walls, others with small holes in hastily constructed doorways.

  Turiel stopped outside a bland wooden door, motioned for her to wait, knocked five times and stood there in silence, constantly flicking his eyes back to the alley’s entrance as if expecting their luck to be bad enough that a pair of soldiers were almost due to arrive.

  By the Goddess’ fortune they didn’t and a few moments later the door slowly creeped open, revealing the inquisitive face of a Hemeti.

  Chapter 7

  It had been years since the one and only time Lyvanne had seen a Hemeti in person. She had been wandering the small docks on the Anya in Asterya’s Upper level and on board one of the merchant ships she had seen him… her… it, she wasn’t sure. They’d had chains around their wrists, enforced into servitude for committing one crime or another. It was a nasty life to lead and it was reserved for only the lowest rung of society. Slavery had been abolished throughout The Rive and all subservient realms of the king’s kingdom, but Hemeti criminals came about as close as you could get to the label.

  This Hemeti however was very much a free person; their skin as was standard was tinged green and they had ink decorating their arms with elaborate patterns and symbols. The Hemeti appeared to be studying her just as much as she was studying them. But after sharing nods of approval with Turiel they were motioned inside.

  “So this is her?” Lyvanne heard the Hemeti ask Turiel as they were led down a creaking wooden corridor. To their left were a number of doors, of equal looking poor craftsmanship, and to the right a staircase with no railing that led up to what Lyvanne could only assume was the only other floor of the house.

  Turiel ignored the question, “The king’s soldiers are all over the place, nearly didn’t make it here.”

  “You weren’t seen coming in were you?”

  “No, we were in the clear” Turiel assured the Hemeti. “Is Jocelyn home?”

  The Hemeti shook his head. “Left this evening. Gone to Avagarde on… business.” The Hemeti glanced back at Lyvanne.

  The corridor opened out into respectably sized living quarters. There was an assortment of chairs, a table for eating at, and some basic cooking equipment. Lyvanne had to admit that it was little better than the life she’d been used to at Abella’s.

  “Turiel, we need to talk.”

  “Yes, we can, but first I believe that proper introductions are required,” Turiel beckoned Lyvanne forward. “Lyvanne, this is Sinjin, he is one of the few good people in Astreya.”

  Lyvanne cautiously walked over to the Hemeti. He seemed just as nervous about the meeting as she was. Her staring at the front door probably hadn’t helped matters, but she reached out her hand regardless and watched as a relieved smile crossed his face. “Good to meet you, Sinjin.”

  “It is nice to meet you, Lyvanne. You are welcome here in my house. May Iridu shine upon your time here.”

  Lyvanne had only ever heard about the “strange and unwelcome” Gods that the Hemeti believed in, and this was the first time she had heard one of them named. More so than hearing the name of a previously unknown God, what surprised Lyvanne most was the way Sinjin spoke. The way that people in the Upper level spoke of Hemeti made them sound like creatures new to the idea of sentience. But to Lyvanne this person seemed no different to everyone else; he was just a man of flesh and bones with a peculiar coloured skin.

  “Why don’t you go and get some rest, Lyvanne?” Turiel continued. “Sinjin and I need to talk, and I doubt you’ve had a lot of rest since the last time we met”

  Lyvanne nodded, but not knowing where to go just stood there awkwardly.

  “I’ll show you to your room.”

  Room? Lyvanne hadn’t seen much space in the house, let alone enough for her to have a room all to herself. But she didn’t question anything, bowed, and said goodnight to her new host and allowed Turiel to show her to a small bedroom located behind one of the closed doors to the left of the entrance. The room itself was far from special, it was barely large enough to house a small wooden bed and a chest of drawers, but it was far more than Lyvanne could have wished for.

  “Get your rest, Lyvanne. We have a lot we need to discuss and tomorrow will likely be a heavy day for you,” Turiel said as she stood at in the doorway, ready to depart.

  Lyvanne didn’t know what he was on about so just said goodnight and allowed him to leave. Turning back to her bed, she noticed that the blanket on top was much thicker than the one she was used to at Abella’s, and whilst small, the bed itself was made of much softer material. She undressed, wrapped the blanket around herself and dumped her whole weight onto the bed.

  Sleep came easily but it didn’t last for long. What could only have been a few hours later Lyvanne heard a commotion in the corridor outside her room. After listening carefully, she determined that Jocelyn had returned, her trip to Avagarde a failure. Turiel sounded happy that she was there regardless.

  “She’s here,” Turiel said, the noise filtering through to Lyvanne’s room. In her half sleep state not realising that she was the subject of his comment and not Jocelyn.

  Before long, the conversation was moved to the living quarters and out of Lyvanne’s range of hearing. Without realising she was doing so, Lyvanne began to fall back to sleep shortly thereafter, wakinghours later to small streams of sunlight peering into her room through small holes in the wooden wall to her right.

  There were voices coming from down the corridor, so groggily she got out of bed only half remembering the arrival of Jocelyn during the night. She went to reach for her clothes but recoiled when the smell hit her. Spending a whole night out of the sewer had made the smell foreign to her again, and she felt incredibly embarrassed that she was going to have to go and see the others smelling the way she did. Not making the connection that she would have smelt the exact same way the night prior.

  She opened the door, and to her surprise, nearly tripped over a small pile of clothing that had been placed right outside her room. Not knowing whether to be ashamed or relieved, Lyvanne took the meaning of the pile and swiftly changed. Despite being tall for her age, the clothes were still too large for her, but she was grateful nonetheless. The new trousers were long and slender, the tunic woolen and about two sizes too large for her body. The boots, however, were the right size and she couldn’t ever recall having footwear so well made before. Her gifts made her blush; she’d never had the luxury of having real presents before. Her friends had done their best. Oh used to share his toy soldiers for the day, but they always ended up back with him, which made the small foot soldier she’d found in her pack mean all the more to her. Lira had once brought her flowers that she’d stolen from a small gated garden, and Lyvanne had cherished them every day until they withered. Abella had never given gifts, otherwise she would have felt the urge to give them to every child who passed through her care, and that was too much to ask. But L
yvanne had treated her stories as the gifts she could give, the tales of far off lands and people. They were the knowledge that Abella had passed on to Lyvanne and the gift she would always have with her.

  Lyvanne walked into the corridor and down towards the living quarters. The smell of food was strong, and it served as quite the motivation to overcome her nerves and to go and say good morning to the others. She’d always been sociable, she had to be in her environment, but it had been just Lira, Oh, Abella and her for so long that it felt strange to be under the same roof as complete strangers.

  In the living quarters, she found Sinjin, Turiel and Jocelyn, who like Sinjin, was Hemeti.

  “Good morning, Lyvanne,” Turiel called out. “Come, sit”

  “Good morning, everyone,” Lyvanne said timidly as she made her way towards an empty seat next to Turiel. Her usual confidence and assuredness overwhelmed by the unfamiliarity of her situation.

  Sinjin walked over to her, a bowl of hot broth in his hands. It didn’t look like much, but Lyvanne was incredibly grateful when he handed it over.

  “Good morning,” he said with a smile.

  “Good morning,” she replied, unable to hide the smile as she took a deep breath of the broth.

  Everyone turned their gaze towards Jocelyn. She looked of similar age to Turiel and was of similar height, which Lyvanne found strange for a woman. Her skin was green like Sinjin’s, but she didn’t have any visible ink on her body. Jocelyn was more obviously female than when she had first seen Sinjin. Her hair was longer, falling down by her shoulders, and her figure the same as some of the more strapping ladies Lyvanne had seen in the Upper level.

  “Good morning, little one,” Jocelyn said, offering out a hand to greet Lyvanne who made quick work to shake it in return. “My name is Jocelyn. Turiel has told me a lot about you.”

  Lyvanne shot a quizzical look at Turiel. He’s barely met me himself, she thought.