I know, I know. I haven't written a post on here in forever, and I haven't posted writing in months! I've been cranking out the videos, and focusing on that, but never fear, I've been planning and plotting my writing, but after a page of writing my hand cramps up. That's not enough to post, and it takes a while for it to recover. I'm currently in my brace right now.
Anywho, during #AYearAThon this month I read W.i.t.c.h. 10 A Bridge Between Worlds, and I've been dying to write more on this ever since! So it's FINALLY out! I may just do a second chapter right after this one, if my right hand holds.
It's short, but here it is!
Chapter 5
Kaleb
Meridian
He was thirteen. Young, arrogant, and
self-assured, Kaleb was positive he was ready to join the rebellion. Not that
Aldurin would listen.
“But my father was the leader!” Kaleb yelled
at the now thirty-seven-year-old Quelthar.
“That’s why I don’t want you to join,” Aldurin
replied. “They targeted himbecause he was the leader, and now you’re living
with me.”
Kaleb turned away, furious. Aldarn had heard his
two sons were training in private to take the trials to join the black, double
life of a traitor. So the old smith had browbeaten his blood son first, and now
it was Kaleb’s turn. The tall young man refused to be demeaned into obedience
without a fight.
“Yes, I’m living with you now, but you can
barely afford me!” Kaleb ruthlessly pointed out. When Aldurin’s right eyebrow
twitched slightly, he knew that he’d touched a nerve. He plowed on. “You took
me in, and taught me that I have to work to eat, and I know that’s a truth. I
have lived that truth here in the forge, and in the fields. But I want to do
more!” Kaleb lowered his voice, and tried to plead for understanding. “Father,”
he begged, “I want to help those who were wronged, like I was. I want to
protect people from my fate, and the fate of everyone here. Please. Grant me an
audience for a trial.”
Aldurin was not an old man, but he looked it.
Years of suffering and pain, of oppression and sorrow, had aged him. Thirty-seven
years was a long time to watch the innocent suffer, and the artisan wore the
burden as a cloak that would never be removed. Looking back Kaleb knew that his
refusal was an attempt to spare the last of Lei’s family, but at the time, it
only annoyed him. He could not fathom the strength of faith in him that Aldurin
had to summon before the ironsmith shut his eyes and grunted, “Fine, but any
slacking off before then, and you don’t get one, and you don’t eat.”
Excitement flooded the young man, and he began
to jump up and down, chanting, “Thank you, I won’t let you down! I—”
Pain cut the memory off short. His right arm
felt as if it had been ripped open and boiling oil had been poured inside.
Jerking awake with a cry, Kaleb curled up around the broken limb. It took him a
few seconds to realize something smelled terrible, and that something was
chattering away to him.
“So sorry, honorable master Human sir! Blunk
did not mean to hurt Human rebel’s arm, sir! Blunk only wanted—”
Kaleb had had enough. He’d been reliving a
wonderful memory. In fact, it was perhaps the happiest time in his life, save
when his family had been alive. But he could barely remember back to that time.
His life in Aimbrish was all he had to reflect on, and being there again had
been a blessing as he slowly starved to death in this tiny hole with the stupid
little Passling.
Enraged he punched the small, stinky
creature, and then curled up to sleep.
“No, no, Human sir!” Poor Blunk was
breathless, but still managed to stumble to his feet. Although in pain, exhausted,
sick, and starving, Kaleb felt a little bad for striking the runty, green
being.
“What do you want, Passling?” He groaned, his
eyes closed. “Did you find food?”
“No sir, something better!”
“Like what?” He asked.
“Well Blunk did not find it, Human rebel sir,
but it’s there!”
“What
is?”
“A portal, sir! A portal to a different world
just opened up! And it’s right above us, in the chamber where the opening is!”
That got Kaleb up.
