Chapter 1 - Science part o1 - Lost
Submitted February 21, 2007 Updated April 29, 2007 Status Incomplete | Umm ... see the coverpage for full description, here. This thing wouldn't let me type it all ...
Category:
Fantasy » Misc. Fantasy |
Chapter 1 - Science part o1 - Lost
Chapter 1 - Science part o1 - Lost
I wrote this one for my Earth Science portfolio piece. This is the first chapter I used, and since it's already on the computer I may as well post it. Part one of three. In the end I had to shorten it, because it was to long for what I needed. And school papers aren't supposed to have any blood and gore.
Lost
August examined the map Oliver had given him. No matter what way he turned it, it simply refused to make sense. He had to admit it: he was lost, though whether by Oliver's lack of map-drawing skills or by his own lack of direction it was hard to say.
He stood in the middle of a vast, alien landscape, reddish-brown sandstone worn by the wing into columns and arches, eerily asymetrical, monuments to the everlasting yet ever changing forces of nature that shaped the land. Nothing growing, no plants or animals; no sound save that of the ever-present wind whispering over the stone.
August had been walking for hours. Sometimes he would pass or see in the distance one of the huge striped rocks and think that it looked vaguely familiar, but he could never tell for sure. He very well could have been going in circles for all he knew.
He pulled out the map once more. A dot near the bottom labelled Central City, from whence he'd come; an x in the upper left-hand corner marked his destination, just south of a series of inverted v's that were meant to represent mountains, and sandwiched on the other side by a vast forest of stick-trees that were almost comical in appearance. The remaining space, the majority of the piece of parchment, was devoted to this dusty desert. It was almost entirely bare but for a bold, jagged line cutting diagonally across it. He knew he'd be able to find his way if he found the line ... assuming it existed. Knowing Oliver, it could be anything, an obscure science thing or even no more than a slip of his pen. August couldn't read the label scrawled beside it; it was messy even for Oliver.
As the sun was nearing the horizon, August stopped abruptly. There was a huge chasm opening before the toes of his boots, as though someone had sliced the earth with a giant knife the way you might cut a cake. The blond man was pretty sure he had discovered Oliver's line. The river that had carved it out was barely visible at the bottom of the canyon, a faint line of silver-grey reflecting the uniformly clouded sky. It was dim in the daylight that was fast beginning to fade.
August was just wondering how he might go about getting to the other side, as he would have to eventually, when something struck him from behind. Even running, a regular person should not be able to impart that much force. A pair of human-like hands clamped themselves across his chest as they toppled over the edge of the cliff, the almost sheer walls rising more and more swiftly on either side as they gained momentum. Nine point eight metres per second squared, not counting air resistance. Funny, the things you remembered when you were going to be diced to pieces on a bunch of rocks.
The blond man struggled instinctively against his captor, though to what end he couldn't have told you, as there was no way he's survive either way. A bad idea, as it turned out, for his thrashing had thrown them off-balance, and something had set them tumbling wildly, not to mention the row of small, knife-sharp points that embedded themselves in his shoulder. He gritted his teeth as they hit a nerve, sending pain shooting down his arm.
'Akh, ekelhaft!' his captor grunted. 'Kosten na Menskh de!' August felt a queer numbness creeping along his veins, which seemed to be disconnecting his muscles from his brain. His shoulder, however, did not hurt any less. The river, now below them, now above, was either way coming nearer and nearer, the boulders in it now clearly visible in the swirling, turmoiled waters.
A second away from striking the river, there was a whooshing sound. August feebly twisted his head to see; a giant set of bat wings, thin bony fingers stretched over with a thin, semitransparent membrane that seemed almost scaly in texture, opening like a canopy above them. He wasn't sure if they were real, or a hallucination brought on by pain and the poison that had been on whatever had caused his wound.
But then, miraculously, they were soaring parallel to the river, coming just low enough for August's toes to skim the surface of the water. Then they were rising again, the steady wingbeats lifting them back up the canyon.
The winged creature alighted on a ledge carved into the sandstone, at a level that was peppered with caves, probably once underground springs before the river had cut through them, quarried out to make them suitable living quarters for the winged people. A group of them stood there as though they had been awaiting this one. He knew nothing about their culture, but he could tell that the members of this group were powerful amongst whatever heiarchy they had. Each had different hair and wings, and none of them looked pleased.
'Leiterden! Eindreling fange!'
A male with sleek black hair and poisonously green eyes, and wings like August's captor's stepped forward. 'Ja, abveizen de,' he said in a slithery sort of accent rather like the other's, waving his hand. This seemed to be some sort of dismissal, because the one behind August dropped him, bowed with a murmured reply of verzi-und, and swiftly departed.
'Vesukhen da?' A male with a lighter, more musical voice spoke. August thought he looked like an angel, with his wavy golden hair, wings feathered in snowy white, and eyes of a clear blue.
'Ja,' another agreed, this one a large male with shaggy dull brown hair and similarly coloured muddy eyes. His wings were like the bat wings of the first, but they seemed to be covered in naught but regular skin, blueish veins visible under the surface of the membrane. He dragged a limp August to his feet, and half marched, half dragged the blond man after the rest of the group as the entire ensemble proceeded into the nearest tunnel.
They came out in a sort of conference room, but not in the sense that a human would think of it. It was dim, the only light coming from a torch mounted on the wall, and thus rather smoky. August was set down on a raised, flat stone in the centre of the room; the creatures gathered around, speaking in whispers.
'Jehzt. Auslndren na vas tun da?' This one looked like the youngest; he seemed smaller in general, but he had a powerful aura. He had relatively short, messy copper hair, his wing-feathers striped gold and black, his eyes the colour of molten gold. Despite his youth, he seemed in command, and the others fell silent upon hearing his voice, which, August thought, seemed both light and dangerous at once.
'Essen da?' the brunett grunted.
A female with dark red hair and dangerous amber eyes waved a hand, hissing in dissent. 'Daemonfresr vunskhen nicht!' Her wing feathers were reddish-brown, like dried blood, ruffled in her anger.
'Ne, fleisch na seltzen de,' a creature with black hair, crimson eyes, and velvety black wings stated. The female turned on him, but the angelic-looking male held up a hand, and she turned away, shooting them both a dangerous glare.
'Kommen da?' The green-eyed demon demanded, eyeing August suspiciously.
A male on the thinner side with light grey hair and smooth black wings closed his eyes. 'Daemonsprakh redet nicht.'
The young copper-haired creature lifted a hand. 'Jerdeiner na Menskhenfer redet da?'
They all looked at one another. No one spoke. It seemed that either no one knew the answer, or no one was willing to volunteer.
'Nichtzen da?' Again, no one spoke. He rolled his molten-gold eyes. 'Vas tun da?' he asked again.
'Menskh na gefngnis werfend,' the female suggested offhandedly. The younger one nodded, as though she'd stated something obvious.
He raised a hand again. 'Vhlen na. Meinung na artei da?' All of them raised their hands save the big one with the mud-brown hair. August thought it looked suspiciously like a vote, and he would guess that he was the subject of said voting. 'Dieder, ne.'
The brunett looked down disappointedly, muttering, 'Ich na Menskh du vnskhen essen.'
Now that they had reached a conclusion, they were quick about putting their decision to action. They dragged August once more to his feet, and all of them proceeded to storm out of the chamber, not counting the big one, who shuffled after dejectedly. Down the passage they went, the tops of their wings either scraping the ceiling or getting pretty close. They threw the blond man into a dark room, where he lay, incapable of more than the weakest movements with the aftereffects of the venom. There was a grinding sound as the heavy stone door was pushed back into place.
'Human?' a voice rasped from the darkness; weak, but very definately speaking the Common language.
August's last thought before he passed out was the fact that he wasn't alone in the cell.
When August came to, there was a piece of cloth tied around his shoulder like a crude bandage. He tried sitting up. He still felt a little dizzy, but at least he was capable of moving. His head felt fuzzy, like he was drugged, and he couldn't seem to string two coherent thoughts together.
'Hey,' the voice from earlier croaked. 'Human should lie down.'
August slumped back to his elbows. 'Whahappen'd?' he asked. It was dark, but a faint torch-light snuck in through the cracks around the door. It was impossible to tell whether it was day or night. His internal clock was completely thrown off.
He blinked, faint shapes beginning to appear in the swirling dark, barely illuminated, darkest grey on black. He looked blindly in the direction of the voice, eyes probing the darkest corner of the prison, but to no avail. The chinks of torchlight that outlined the door were too weak to reach that far.
There was a scraping as a brick was pulled out on level with the floor, and a crude bowl of unsymmetrical sun-baked clay was pushed in. The light of a torch streamed in, and for a second, in the relative brightness, the cell's other occupant was visible. August gasped as the light hit him, catching him at an eerily unnatural angle, as it came from the same level as the floor.
His cellmate was one of them. The winged people. He had long, tangled black hair and glowing crimson eyes with those same heavy eyelids. His face was more pointed, and he was thinner, though that may have been because he was on prison rations. His hands were chained behind his back, the chain then running to the wall, where it was embedded securely in the stone. His wings had long, black feathers, but there was something odd about their shape; that being closer to bat wings. There was a small mark centred under each eye, like raindrops turned upside down.
Then the brick scraped back in, and he could no longer see the creature.
'What's wrong, human? You look like you've seen a ghost.'
'You ... you're one of those ... winged things!'
'Ha, that's the best thing I've ever heard them called. And no, I'm not, or why'd I be in here?'
'But ... you have wings!'
'Hmm, s'pose I do. But that don't make me one of the 'winged things'. I'm here 'cause I'm Zhar-ptitsa. The only reason they keep me alive is for entertainment.'
August found himself curious, despite knowing that this creature was probably dangerous, and might try to use him. This creature could tell him anything, and he wouldn't know whether it was the truth or not. Knowing this, he still found himself asking, 'What kind of entertainment?'
'Well ... they lock you in this cage, and all watch ... it's a huge arena. Then, they open this door ... and put some nasty beastie in there with you. You lose, you're beastie food.'
August shook his head. The creature's wording was hardly eloquent; but then, he wasn't one to talk, not being too good at that himself. He reached for the plate of food, at which the creature hissed and, probably due to the fact that his hands were bound, kicked August's hand away.
'What? Don't I get some?' It looked like dried strips of meat. What kind of meat was impossible to discern, but either way, August was too hungry to care.
'No.' The eyes that glowed a faint, glimmering garnet flickered from the plate to August's hand.
'But why not? There's surely plenty for us both.'
His companion hissed again. 'Fine. Take it if you want. But remember, hands are bound, so can't be help if you start dying.'
August froze, hand halfway to the plate. '... what?'
The winged creature rolled his eyes. 'Meat poisoned, stupidface. Or maybe drugged. Don't know what effect is on humans, but makes me sicker than anything you've ever seen.'
'Oh. Do they ever give us food that isn't dr - wait. How do you know it's drugged?' He knew he should be suspicious of this creature, but somehow the other came across as likeable, a fellow prisoner. August, being a kind, happy-go-lucky person, wasn't at all good at disliking people.
'I can smell it on there.' August leaned forward to sniff, and his dark-haired companion laughed at him. 'Of course, weak human nose not able to smell.'
August frowned at him, and he laughed. 'As to Adan's other query ... no, don't always poison. Even menskh can tell, because then it's rotten. Stinks like hell.'
'So let me get this straight. It's either poisoned, or rancid.'
'Quite right. I suggest you dump that down the privvyhole, so they'll think we ate it. They won't feed us for another couple of days after this, but it's better than being drugged.'
'A couple of days! What, are you mad?'
'Of course, there is always the matter of that thing in your pocket. It smells like food.' The glowing irises narrowed. 'You will share, right?' Suddenly, the voice was not quite so friendly.
August felt himself flushing. He had forgotten about the travel-bread in his pocket, that Kitsune had given him oh so long ago. And, quite honestly, he was not too keen on sharing.
'... fine. But I don't have that much. I-'
'Sedho!' the creature hissed.
'What-?' August was cuffed in the face with the wing. It made his lip bleed. 'Ow! What was that for?'
'I said, shut it. They're coming to take us to the arena. Leave the food in your pocket here, lest it be powdered during the fight.'
'How do I know you won't take it?' the blonde man hissed.
The eyes rolled at the cieling. 'Hide it at that end. I'm chained, remember?' He jangled them for extra effect. 'Just hurry, before they open the door. Then it's too late.'
August hid the leaf-wrapped parcel amongst a pile of rubble. He opened his mouth crossly, but the door grated open. No time, it seemed. He was grabbed roughly and shoved out of the cell; another of the creatures went in to undo the chains binding his companion. They were then dragged along and out into the daylight.
August looked up at the cliff walls. <<scientific description whoooooooooooooooo>>
The pair of them were shoved into a large cage. More of the winged creatures filled the stands of the amphitheatre. August was quick to notice that the creatures kept to their own groups. Few mingled with what appeared to be other ethnic groups. Some even looked like they were openly taunting those of another group; making racist jokes.
His fellow prisoner - what had he called himself? Zhar-ptitsa - seemed to read his mind. 'They don't like being forced to live in one place all together. Different tribes don't get along. But then, Demons in general don't get along.'
There was a rumbling sound, and a heavy stone block grated aside. The creature emerged; a huge, poisonous-green serpent. August stumbled back, but the demon ran forward, wings unfurling as he threw himself at the serpent's head. August wasn't dazed long, however; he soon yanked a rusted blade out of the ground, running at the snake with a savage bellow. He swung the blade back, but the blunt sword barely cut the venemous green scales. It was like trying to cut down a hundred-year-old tree with a steak knife.
August glanced up. The creature was quite ignoring him; it was more than occupied by the demon. His cellmate was flying around its head, striking it with wings and anything else he could get close enough. Then it whipped its tail out of the hole, flattening the demon against the cliff wall. August jumped up onto a thick coil of snake, and ran up its body. It was drawing its head back, preparing to strike. Long white fangs glimmered poisonously, just waiting to plunge themselves into flesh ...
August didn't quite fancy his chances as a human alone against such a beast, so he did the first thing that occured to him. He held the sword up over his head in both hands, and brought it point-first down into the length of serpent just before where he was standing. It might not have noticed his earlier hacking, but anything will notice a foot-long piece of metal being inserted into its flesh.
The serpent writhed, and the blond man was thrown off, despite his valiant efforts not to do so. The rusty sword, however, remained lodged in the thing's neck. Now unarmed, August picked himself back up. The good news was, at least the demon had gotten free. The bad news ... the snake was now focused on August instead. shoot.
He picked up a rock, being the only thing in sight, and lobbed it at the beast. It didn't seem to have much effect; on the contrary, it only seemed to further annoy his poisonous green foe.
August dove out of the way as a section of serpent that was over a foot thick swung in his direction. He rolled back in the opposite direction as the fangs came dangerously close to his head. The demon, blocked from reaching August by a roiling mass of snake, threw rocks at the thing, shouted obscenities in what sounded like at least two other languages besides those that August knew, but the snake, angered by its injuries, had eyes only for the blonde man. It seemed all was lost when, as though by some kind of miracle, the sword landed a foot or so beyond the reach of August's left arm.
He lunged for it just as the thing's tail struck the earth where he'd been not a moment before. He shut his eyes as shards of stone rained down on him. He grabbed for the sword, his fingers wrapped around the blade near the hilt. Luckily it was not as sharp as his usual sword; that would have sliced his fingers right off. As it was, his palm was barely scratched. A normal person might then have worried about tetanus from the rusted metal, but August was quite beyond the point of caring. He flipped it into his right hand.
The snake was coming at him again, this time to deal the final blow with the fangs. August grasped the sword with both hands, the blood on his left making it slide slightly, and held it point-up. As the snake brought its fangs down, he thrust the blade up, into the roof of its mouth. The sword might not have been long, the entire thing was shorter than his arm, but it pierced straight through the roof of the snake's mouth and out between its big yellow eyes. Blood sprayed down over him, he could smell it in the air like rust and salt as it soaked through his hair and shirt, making his hands slide off the blade that he no longer needed.
It lost control of its muscles, falling down on August, but it didn't matter. He'd won. The demons in the stands were roaring, shouting in their native tongue, excited by the excess of blood and gore. He raised a fist in triumph, grinning through the blood that spattered his face. A mistake, as it turned out.
Because it was only then that August noticed the length of ivory-white protruding from his arm. A fang. And a split second later he felt the poison creeping along his arm. This poison was not like the previous one; that had been intended to sedate. This poison was designed to kill. And it looked like it would be successful.
He collapsed to his knees, trying not to move. Blackness was clouding his vision, as his own heartbeat spread the poison. What an irony, that the thing that kept him alive would be the thing that killed him ...
Then it was receding, as though something was drawing the contaminated blood back out. He couldn't see, the pain was numbing. Wasn't dying supposed to be painful? If this was dying, then it wasn't so bad ...
There was nothing but blood. It was all he could smell, all he could taste. He was submerged in its stickiness. It was in his eyes, and if blood had made a sound then surely he would have been able to hear it too, but as it was there was naught but quiet; the crowd, the voices speaking demon far-off, like there were feathers in his ears.
And then, everything was gone, spiralling down into cold, empty blackness.
Lost
August examined the map Oliver had given him. No matter what way he turned it, it simply refused to make sense. He had to admit it: he was lost, though whether by Oliver's lack of map-drawing skills or by his own lack of direction it was hard to say.
He stood in the middle of a vast, alien landscape, reddish-brown sandstone worn by the wing into columns and arches, eerily asymetrical, monuments to the everlasting yet ever changing forces of nature that shaped the land. Nothing growing, no plants or animals; no sound save that of the ever-present wind whispering over the stone.
August had been walking for hours. Sometimes he would pass or see in the distance one of the huge striped rocks and think that it looked vaguely familiar, but he could never tell for sure. He very well could have been going in circles for all he knew.
He pulled out the map once more. A dot near the bottom labelled Central City, from whence he'd come; an x in the upper left-hand corner marked his destination, just south of a series of inverted v's that were meant to represent mountains, and sandwiched on the other side by a vast forest of stick-trees that were almost comical in appearance. The remaining space, the majority of the piece of parchment, was devoted to this dusty desert. It was almost entirely bare but for a bold, jagged line cutting diagonally across it. He knew he'd be able to find his way if he found the line ... assuming it existed. Knowing Oliver, it could be anything, an obscure science thing or even no more than a slip of his pen. August couldn't read the label scrawled beside it; it was messy even for Oliver.
As the sun was nearing the horizon, August stopped abruptly. There was a huge chasm opening before the toes of his boots, as though someone had sliced the earth with a giant knife the way you might cut a cake. The blond man was pretty sure he had discovered Oliver's line. The river that had carved it out was barely visible at the bottom of the canyon, a faint line of silver-grey reflecting the uniformly clouded sky. It was dim in the daylight that was fast beginning to fade.
August was just wondering how he might go about getting to the other side, as he would have to eventually, when something struck him from behind. Even running, a regular person should not be able to impart that much force. A pair of human-like hands clamped themselves across his chest as they toppled over the edge of the cliff, the almost sheer walls rising more and more swiftly on either side as they gained momentum. Nine point eight metres per second squared, not counting air resistance. Funny, the things you remembered when you were going to be diced to pieces on a bunch of rocks.
The blond man struggled instinctively against his captor, though to what end he couldn't have told you, as there was no way he's survive either way. A bad idea, as it turned out, for his thrashing had thrown them off-balance, and something had set them tumbling wildly, not to mention the row of small, knife-sharp points that embedded themselves in his shoulder. He gritted his teeth as they hit a nerve, sending pain shooting down his arm.
'Akh, ekelhaft!' his captor grunted. 'Kosten na Menskh de!' August felt a queer numbness creeping along his veins, which seemed to be disconnecting his muscles from his brain. His shoulder, however, did not hurt any less. The river, now below them, now above, was either way coming nearer and nearer, the boulders in it now clearly visible in the swirling, turmoiled waters.
A second away from striking the river, there was a whooshing sound. August feebly twisted his head to see; a giant set of bat wings, thin bony fingers stretched over with a thin, semitransparent membrane that seemed almost scaly in texture, opening like a canopy above them. He wasn't sure if they were real, or a hallucination brought on by pain and the poison that had been on whatever had caused his wound.
But then, miraculously, they were soaring parallel to the river, coming just low enough for August's toes to skim the surface of the water. Then they were rising again, the steady wingbeats lifting them back up the canyon.
The winged creature alighted on a ledge carved into the sandstone, at a level that was peppered with caves, probably once underground springs before the river had cut through them, quarried out to make them suitable living quarters for the winged people. A group of them stood there as though they had been awaiting this one. He knew nothing about their culture, but he could tell that the members of this group were powerful amongst whatever heiarchy they had. Each had different hair and wings, and none of them looked pleased.
'Leiterden! Eindreling fange!'
A male with sleek black hair and poisonously green eyes, and wings like August's captor's stepped forward. 'Ja, abveizen de,' he said in a slithery sort of accent rather like the other's, waving his hand. This seemed to be some sort of dismissal, because the one behind August dropped him, bowed with a murmured reply of verzi-und, and swiftly departed.
'Vesukhen da?' A male with a lighter, more musical voice spoke. August thought he looked like an angel, with his wavy golden hair, wings feathered in snowy white, and eyes of a clear blue.
'Ja,' another agreed, this one a large male with shaggy dull brown hair and similarly coloured muddy eyes. His wings were like the bat wings of the first, but they seemed to be covered in naught but regular skin, blueish veins visible under the surface of the membrane. He dragged a limp August to his feet, and half marched, half dragged the blond man after the rest of the group as the entire ensemble proceeded into the nearest tunnel.
They came out in a sort of conference room, but not in the sense that a human would think of it. It was dim, the only light coming from a torch mounted on the wall, and thus rather smoky. August was set down on a raised, flat stone in the centre of the room; the creatures gathered around, speaking in whispers.
'Jehzt. Auslndren na vas tun da?' This one looked like the youngest; he seemed smaller in general, but he had a powerful aura. He had relatively short, messy copper hair, his wing-feathers striped gold and black, his eyes the colour of molten gold. Despite his youth, he seemed in command, and the others fell silent upon hearing his voice, which, August thought, seemed both light and dangerous at once.
'Essen da?' the brunett grunted.
A female with dark red hair and dangerous amber eyes waved a hand, hissing in dissent. 'Daemonfresr vunskhen nicht!' Her wing feathers were reddish-brown, like dried blood, ruffled in her anger.
'Ne, fleisch na seltzen de,' a creature with black hair, crimson eyes, and velvety black wings stated. The female turned on him, but the angelic-looking male held up a hand, and she turned away, shooting them both a dangerous glare.
'Kommen da?' The green-eyed demon demanded, eyeing August suspiciously.
A male on the thinner side with light grey hair and smooth black wings closed his eyes. 'Daemonsprakh redet nicht.'
The young copper-haired creature lifted a hand. 'Jerdeiner na Menskhenfer redet da?'
They all looked at one another. No one spoke. It seemed that either no one knew the answer, or no one was willing to volunteer.
'Nichtzen da?' Again, no one spoke. He rolled his molten-gold eyes. 'Vas tun da?' he asked again.
'Menskh na gefngnis werfend,' the female suggested offhandedly. The younger one nodded, as though she'd stated something obvious.
He raised a hand again. 'Vhlen na. Meinung na artei da?' All of them raised their hands save the big one with the mud-brown hair. August thought it looked suspiciously like a vote, and he would guess that he was the subject of said voting. 'Dieder, ne.'
The brunett looked down disappointedly, muttering, 'Ich na Menskh du vnskhen essen.'
Now that they had reached a conclusion, they were quick about putting their decision to action. They dragged August once more to his feet, and all of them proceeded to storm out of the chamber, not counting the big one, who shuffled after dejectedly. Down the passage they went, the tops of their wings either scraping the ceiling or getting pretty close. They threw the blond man into a dark room, where he lay, incapable of more than the weakest movements with the aftereffects of the venom. There was a grinding sound as the heavy stone door was pushed back into place.
'Human?' a voice rasped from the darkness; weak, but very definately speaking the Common language.
August's last thought before he passed out was the fact that he wasn't alone in the cell.
When August came to, there was a piece of cloth tied around his shoulder like a crude bandage. He tried sitting up. He still felt a little dizzy, but at least he was capable of moving. His head felt fuzzy, like he was drugged, and he couldn't seem to string two coherent thoughts together.
'Hey,' the voice from earlier croaked. 'Human should lie down.'
August slumped back to his elbows. 'Whahappen'd?' he asked. It was dark, but a faint torch-light snuck in through the cracks around the door. It was impossible to tell whether it was day or night. His internal clock was completely thrown off.
He blinked, faint shapes beginning to appear in the swirling dark, barely illuminated, darkest grey on black. He looked blindly in the direction of the voice, eyes probing the darkest corner of the prison, but to no avail. The chinks of torchlight that outlined the door were too weak to reach that far.
There was a scraping as a brick was pulled out on level with the floor, and a crude bowl of unsymmetrical sun-baked clay was pushed in. The light of a torch streamed in, and for a second, in the relative brightness, the cell's other occupant was visible. August gasped as the light hit him, catching him at an eerily unnatural angle, as it came from the same level as the floor.
His cellmate was one of them. The winged people. He had long, tangled black hair and glowing crimson eyes with those same heavy eyelids. His face was more pointed, and he was thinner, though that may have been because he was on prison rations. His hands were chained behind his back, the chain then running to the wall, where it was embedded securely in the stone. His wings had long, black feathers, but there was something odd about their shape; that being closer to bat wings. There was a small mark centred under each eye, like raindrops turned upside down.
Then the brick scraped back in, and he could no longer see the creature.
'What's wrong, human? You look like you've seen a ghost.'
'You ... you're one of those ... winged things!'
'Ha, that's the best thing I've ever heard them called. And no, I'm not, or why'd I be in here?'
'But ... you have wings!'
'Hmm, s'pose I do. But that don't make me one of the 'winged things'. I'm here 'cause I'm Zhar-ptitsa. The only reason they keep me alive is for entertainment.'
August found himself curious, despite knowing that this creature was probably dangerous, and might try to use him. This creature could tell him anything, and he wouldn't know whether it was the truth or not. Knowing this, he still found himself asking, 'What kind of entertainment?'
'Well ... they lock you in this cage, and all watch ... it's a huge arena. Then, they open this door ... and put some nasty beastie in there with you. You lose, you're beastie food.'
August shook his head. The creature's wording was hardly eloquent; but then, he wasn't one to talk, not being too good at that himself. He reached for the plate of food, at which the creature hissed and, probably due to the fact that his hands were bound, kicked August's hand away.
'What? Don't I get some?' It looked like dried strips of meat. What kind of meat was impossible to discern, but either way, August was too hungry to care.
'No.' The eyes that glowed a faint, glimmering garnet flickered from the plate to August's hand.
'But why not? There's surely plenty for us both.'
His companion hissed again. 'Fine. Take it if you want. But remember, hands are bound, so can't be help if you start dying.'
August froze, hand halfway to the plate. '... what?'
The winged creature rolled his eyes. 'Meat poisoned, stupidface. Or maybe drugged. Don't know what effect is on humans, but makes me sicker than anything you've ever seen.'
'Oh. Do they ever give us food that isn't dr - wait. How do you know it's drugged?' He knew he should be suspicious of this creature, but somehow the other came across as likeable, a fellow prisoner. August, being a kind, happy-go-lucky person, wasn't at all good at disliking people.
'I can smell it on there.' August leaned forward to sniff, and his dark-haired companion laughed at him. 'Of course, weak human nose not able to smell.'
August frowned at him, and he laughed. 'As to Adan's other query ... no, don't always poison. Even menskh can tell, because then it's rotten. Stinks like hell.'
'So let me get this straight. It's either poisoned, or rancid.'
'Quite right. I suggest you dump that down the privvyhole, so they'll think we ate it. They won't feed us for another couple of days after this, but it's better than being drugged.'
'A couple of days! What, are you mad?'
'Of course, there is always the matter of that thing in your pocket. It smells like food.' The glowing irises narrowed. 'You will share, right?' Suddenly, the voice was not quite so friendly.
August felt himself flushing. He had forgotten about the travel-bread in his pocket, that Kitsune had given him oh so long ago. And, quite honestly, he was not too keen on sharing.
'... fine. But I don't have that much. I-'
'Sedho!' the creature hissed.
'What-?' August was cuffed in the face with the wing. It made his lip bleed. 'Ow! What was that for?'
'I said, shut it. They're coming to take us to the arena. Leave the food in your pocket here, lest it be powdered during the fight.'
'How do I know you won't take it?' the blonde man hissed.
The eyes rolled at the cieling. 'Hide it at that end. I'm chained, remember?' He jangled them for extra effect. 'Just hurry, before they open the door. Then it's too late.'
August hid the leaf-wrapped parcel amongst a pile of rubble. He opened his mouth crossly, but the door grated open. No time, it seemed. He was grabbed roughly and shoved out of the cell; another of the creatures went in to undo the chains binding his companion. They were then dragged along and out into the daylight.
August looked up at the cliff walls. <<scientific description whoooooooooooooooo>>
The pair of them were shoved into a large cage. More of the winged creatures filled the stands of the amphitheatre. August was quick to notice that the creatures kept to their own groups. Few mingled with what appeared to be other ethnic groups. Some even looked like they were openly taunting those of another group; making racist jokes.
His fellow prisoner - what had he called himself? Zhar-ptitsa - seemed to read his mind. 'They don't like being forced to live in one place all together. Different tribes don't get along. But then, Demons in general don't get along.'
There was a rumbling sound, and a heavy stone block grated aside. The creature emerged; a huge, poisonous-green serpent. August stumbled back, but the demon ran forward, wings unfurling as he threw himself at the serpent's head. August wasn't dazed long, however; he soon yanked a rusted blade out of the ground, running at the snake with a savage bellow. He swung the blade back, but the blunt sword barely cut the venemous green scales. It was like trying to cut down a hundred-year-old tree with a steak knife.
August glanced up. The creature was quite ignoring him; it was more than occupied by the demon. His cellmate was flying around its head, striking it with wings and anything else he could get close enough. Then it whipped its tail out of the hole, flattening the demon against the cliff wall. August jumped up onto a thick coil of snake, and ran up its body. It was drawing its head back, preparing to strike. Long white fangs glimmered poisonously, just waiting to plunge themselves into flesh ...
August didn't quite fancy his chances as a human alone against such a beast, so he did the first thing that occured to him. He held the sword up over his head in both hands, and brought it point-first down into the length of serpent just before where he was standing. It might not have noticed his earlier hacking, but anything will notice a foot-long piece of metal being inserted into its flesh.
The serpent writhed, and the blond man was thrown off, despite his valiant efforts not to do so. The rusty sword, however, remained lodged in the thing's neck. Now unarmed, August picked himself back up. The good news was, at least the demon had gotten free. The bad news ... the snake was now focused on August instead. shoot.
He picked up a rock, being the only thing in sight, and lobbed it at the beast. It didn't seem to have much effect; on the contrary, it only seemed to further annoy his poisonous green foe.
August dove out of the way as a section of serpent that was over a foot thick swung in his direction. He rolled back in the opposite direction as the fangs came dangerously close to his head. The demon, blocked from reaching August by a roiling mass of snake, threw rocks at the thing, shouted obscenities in what sounded like at least two other languages besides those that August knew, but the snake, angered by its injuries, had eyes only for the blonde man. It seemed all was lost when, as though by some kind of miracle, the sword landed a foot or so beyond the reach of August's left arm.
He lunged for it just as the thing's tail struck the earth where he'd been not a moment before. He shut his eyes as shards of stone rained down on him. He grabbed for the sword, his fingers wrapped around the blade near the hilt. Luckily it was not as sharp as his usual sword; that would have sliced his fingers right off. As it was, his palm was barely scratched. A normal person might then have worried about tetanus from the rusted metal, but August was quite beyond the point of caring. He flipped it into his right hand.
The snake was coming at him again, this time to deal the final blow with the fangs. August grasped the sword with both hands, the blood on his left making it slide slightly, and held it point-up. As the snake brought its fangs down, he thrust the blade up, into the roof of its mouth. The sword might not have been long, the entire thing was shorter than his arm, but it pierced straight through the roof of the snake's mouth and out between its big yellow eyes. Blood sprayed down over him, he could smell it in the air like rust and salt as it soaked through his hair and shirt, making his hands slide off the blade that he no longer needed.
It lost control of its muscles, falling down on August, but it didn't matter. He'd won. The demons in the stands were roaring, shouting in their native tongue, excited by the excess of blood and gore. He raised a fist in triumph, grinning through the blood that spattered his face. A mistake, as it turned out.
Because it was only then that August noticed the length of ivory-white protruding from his arm. A fang. And a split second later he felt the poison creeping along his arm. This poison was not like the previous one; that had been intended to sedate. This poison was designed to kill. And it looked like it would be successful.
He collapsed to his knees, trying not to move. Blackness was clouding his vision, as his own heartbeat spread the poison. What an irony, that the thing that kept him alive would be the thing that killed him ...
Then it was receding, as though something was drawing the contaminated blood back out. He couldn't see, the pain was numbing. Wasn't dying supposed to be painful? If this was dying, then it wasn't so bad ...
There was nothing but blood. It was all he could smell, all he could taste. He was submerged in its stickiness. It was in his eyes, and if blood had made a sound then surely he would have been able to hear it too, but as it was there was naught but quiet; the crowd, the voices speaking demon far-off, like there were feathers in his ears.
And then, everything was gone, spiralling down into cold, empty blackness.
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Trinity_Fire on March 28, 2007, 6:37:16 AM
Trinity_Fire on
Oooh, but it's good. Even though it's a funny language (lol sorry, I just feel like elaborating here) the syllables are very... cooly devised. :D (Sorry, brain-dead today)
Oooh, I like the characters very nice. They're cute. :3
Theeeir story! Awesome! I love your descripts, and it's cool you got to do this for school. :D
Keep it up!