Creating Chaos One Story at a Time

It only takes them a little over a day and a half of hard riding to get to the edge of the abandoned, ruined city. Now nearly retaken by the forest, a safer place to hide, but steeped in memories that Til had thought he had lost forever. 

They made very few brief stops, which got them there quickly, but they still had time to spare. 

The others sat and spoke to waste time, but the words washed over Til like water over river rocks. 

He looked in, finding the walls and buildings of the city overgrown, crumbling without care from a single living hand. 

It seemed impossible for it to be the same place he’d been born in, the bustling city where he’d trailed his mother at the market, where he’d sat atop his father’s shoulders to watch the parade.

It was not the place of Til’s memories, at least, not anymore.

Less than a lifetime ago, Dana City had been a wonder of the kingdom, a thriving trading hub that had flourished over the generations, growing bigger and grander seemingly every day. A place of knowledge, education, where great minds met. 

And then a fire had wracked the city, and before anyone could begin to rebuild, it was followed by the plague that had taken both of Til’s parents from him. The stronghold at the center of the city had mysteriously crumbled shortly after that, killing many of those who’d taken shelter there after their homes had been burned. 

Til’s parents had already been arranging to join the enclave before it had all happened; he didn’t know their reasons, but he’d been among those who’d traveled there after the fire. Others eventually joined him and his parents, first those left homeless from the fire, many believing the king had something to do with it, though there was never any proof, any certainty of ot. 

Then those fleeing the plague, though some had carried it with them, left Til without anyone he knew. The enclave had Touched trained to heal and help, but growing up, it was hard to find anyone who hadn’t lost someone to the plague or fire. 

They’d learned of the collapse of the stronghold much later; few people who’d been there survived, and of those few, some survived the wounds they’d been left with.

Few would choose Dana City as a meeting place, except those from there.

Til I understood it, it was a reminder of all that could be lost so easily at the hands of an uncaring king.

But still, he wondered who led now, who was taking this step against the king, that they would choose Dana City, remind each and every one of their groups of what the king was capable of.

It could be anyone from Dana City, really. Growing up, he’d always heard mutterings about who the king had been responsible for what happened to their city. Many seemed even more ready to fight the king personally than those who’d been trying to end his reign for generations. 

As a child, Til had honestly thought it was all bad luck, truly believing it was just a matter of happenstance. Now, Til thought it might be true. 

Til remembered the reason in the rumors, that Dana City was preparing to splinter from the rest of the kingdom, to become its own kingdom in effect. They were far enough from the capitals of Tubec and Argest that they were unable to be defended by either country’s forces, so they were forced to build their own walls to keep would-be invaders out. It really would seem to anyone that the rumors of them seeking to stand alone were not only real but possible.

And now Til knew that the king could kill so many of his own subjects over a rumor. 

Ray pulls him back from his memories, physically and mentally, pulling him away from the ruins and back to where the group sits, waiting for sundown. It’s unlike her to reveal the fear underneath the surface, to look to him so boldly for protection. 

She’s not the only one who needs him, though.

Looking around, Til sees a lot of nervous faces, and he’s sure he looks much the same. 

Til tells them more stories, ones that bleed back to him with his memories of youth. Some good, some bad, but all do the job of helping him distract the others from the worry, the fear that creeps up on them all and seems to grow like the plants through the rocks of the broken city behind them. 

His helmet sits on the dirt behind him, behind the rock—formerly wall—that he sat on. He leaves it outside the walls of the city, not on purpose, but because he can’t find it in himself to put it back on. It has no place in the stories about his father teaching him how to haggle, or his mother guiding his hands as he learned to cook. 

The curious faces in front of him—the small ones who hang on his words eagerly, who sit in the dirt where there was once a market—do. 

Between stories, as the children argued about getting to learn from him, Til tries to remember the words and motions he’ll need to pass muster and gain entry to the enclave. He knew that Feter would know, that he could tell them all, and likely would if only Til asked. 

But he needed to remember under his own power.

He needed to remember this one thing under his own power, even though the password had likely changed in the years he was gone, but perhaps it would get him somewhere.

The only memory he has, though, is of his sister, all but spitting fire, a maelstrom of dark hair and eyes full of rage. 

“Anna, please-”

“This, won’t, work, Til! Why can’t you see it? You’re going to fall victim to him like all the rest!” 

“I won’t, I know I won’t-”

“That’s what Adle and Mayer said, and look at them now. Oh, right, you can’t. They’re dead.”

“Anna-”

“We’ve lost so much, and now you want me to lose my brother too?” 

“You won’t lose me.”

“Then give up this fool's errand and help us figure out another way?”

“Getting into his inner circle will be the best way, he won’t expect it-”

“IT WON’T WORK TIL!”

“How do you know if no one’s tried before?” 

“Because we know he’ll know who you are. He’s caught so many of the best spies we have, and they had so much more training than you.” 

“That’s why we need to try something new; he knows what to look for from the spies.”

“That’s not-” 

“Anna, this is going to work, I promise you it will.”

“I won’t- I can’t stand around waiting for you to march to your death. I hope we meet again one day.”

He’s tried so hard, for so long, to convince the others of a plan, any plan, but it had seemed then like no one could be forced to action. They all knew what he’d done, and yet. 

Til had left alone, no one there to see him off or wish him luck. 

And now he returns, spelled, shamed, and seemingly no closer to killing the king than he’d been a lifetime before.

Still, he was sure that they were all there, sitting around the same table trading the same ideas over and over again, nearly never acting, only sending spies to their deaths in the hope of gaining some new information that they would never receive. 

Turning to watch the woods, Til waited for the sign, something or someone out of place to signal back to. 

A light flickers in the woods twice before going dark.

If Til hadn’t been looking, they would have missed the signal completely. He jumps to light his own lantern, a suspiciously new one Feter had “found” a little ways away from where they’d stopped to wait. 

A large circle with the light, then he blows it out. 

The old signal, he hadn’t asked Feter and hadn’t given the boy a chance to tell him, but it seemed to still work.

A handful of darkly cloaked figures separate themselves from the dark of the forest, seemingly appearing from nothing in front of their group. 

“Who are you to know our way?” One speaks, a man Til thinks from the deepness of his voice, but if he knew the cloaked figure, he doesn’t recognise him now.

“One who knows the way, in light or shadow.” He answers, loudly enough for everyone in both groups to hear him clearly.

The cloaked figures exchange looks, and til knows he doesn’t have very long.

“There is darkness afoot, and these children need a safe haven from the king.”

Til’s sure if he could see any of their eyebrows, they’d be raised, but none say anything to that. 

A shorter one, a woman, Til thinks, steps forward, “Follow us then. If you attempt any attack, you will not survive it.” 

Til nods and looks to the others, first taking the babe from Willum, then picking up his helmet. Both objects will keep him from reaching for any weapons, which isn’t exactly what they’d said, but he hopes that they’ll see it for what it is. A display of ease and of trust. 

Feter walks to the cloaked figures, where one greets him with a smile and a pat on the shoulder, before glancing at the rest of the group and schooling their face into careful neutrality. 

Til follows the group the closest, a part of him aching to feel the brotherhood he’d once felt among them, but also knowing that he was no longer truly one of them. The children follow him closely, nearly tripping on his heels in the dark wood that seems to grow darker the further they go. 

Til doesn’t speak as they walk the long, winding route through the woods, much, much further than Til remembered the route to be. 

The leading group doesn’t either, despite the attempts of Rose, with her many, many questions, Willum, and even Noan, when the silence stretches on long enough. Ray is the only one who doesn’t ask any questions at all, though her hand is buried in the babe’s clothing, and she walks closest to him of all of them. 

This is something Til remembers, something he’s sure Feter has been taught from his own silence. 

There were many rules to leaving the enclave as well as returning to it, and while there was no official rule against talking as you returned, many people, nearly all, actually, chose not to. If you were followed or there was a chance of an ambush, keeping silent would give you a warning if they could see you at all. 

Walls made of thickly grown trees without space between them and grown over with wicked-looking plants that seem to have thorns over every inch of them seem to appear from nowhere after what seemed to be hours—though likely much less—of walking. 

Til remembers talk of building walls, physical things that would truly keep out the world, when he was a child, but these are something else. These are barricades, ready for anything that might come at them, and ready to inflict a wealth of damage on their own, all the while protective of whatever lies past them. The trees stand tall and imposing, and silent in the darkness of the forest. Even as one of their guides knocks on a half-hidden section of them, Til’s not sure that they’ll be able to get past them, and with the babe in his arms, he’s not sure he’ll be able to climb anything should that be the way in.

But the knock is followed by another, and then a thicket of roots and thorny vines twists itself out of the way, revealing a path just large enough for two men abreast to walk through.

The difference is like emerging from the water. 

On the other side of the trees, it's still night, but it’s full of life; children nearly run into them, chasing a ball of light, while adults dressed in colorful garb sit around fires and among a mix of tents and more permanent structures, laughing and smiling. There are more people here than Til can ever remember seeing. 

Til can’t help how he looks around, trying to take it all in, and even as he does, people turn to look at them. 

The knights’ armor is distinctive; any who’s suffered at the hands of the king will know it, and many will know it regardless. He’s sure that many people here also know of the king’s apprentice and what he looks like. They’re sure to garner a lot of attention in their time here.

Their guides push them forward, leading them through the town that borders a city, for this place is indeed a city in the heart of the woods, heading towards a larger stone structure at its center. 

The stronghold isn’t as large as the one of the ruined city, but it’s still sizable, as is the room they’re led to and left in. 

They’re told to wait before the door is closed behind them. 

It’s a room big enough for them to rest in, no beds or cots for them to sleep on, but a few chairs, and a fireplace with smaller stools near it.

Til does his best to relax as the second turns to minutes. He checks the babe for a mess and feeds him with the meager supplies they have, glad to be able to do it off the road and for a comfortable place to rest while he does it.

Feter left with their guides, leaving Ray, Willum, and Rose to investigate the room as a way to entertain themselves. 

The wait seems to be pushing Noan to madness, though, as he paces the room after searching it himself like the children. 

This, like the path to the enclave and lantern greeting, is a test. 

To see their intentions, if they know the ways of the enclave, if they’ll try something when they’ve been left “alone.” 

“Sit,” he calls to Noan, “You’ll wear a hole in the floor, and that wouldn’t be very gracious to our hosts.”

Noan, reluctantly, and with almost exaggerated slowness, creeps over to sit beside Til. “You knew what to say to them.”

“I did.” Til agrees, wiping the babe’s face.

“You’ve been here before.”

“I have.” 

“Why didn’t you say anything before?”

“The king couldn't sense anyone here. Can you?”

“Huh?” Noan answers elegantly. 

“You can feel the Touched. Reach out, see what you feel.”

Til watches from the corner of his eye as Noan settles himself to reach out, closing his eyes as he tips his head back, just a little. 

Just a moment, then a broad smile spreads across his face, and Til knows without saying anything that he’s found them. 

A lot of them even.

“They’re- how did you know?” Noan demands, smile on his face undimming. 

“Maybe someone finally came up with a new plan.” 

At least an hour passes, possibly more, and the door creeps open again, nearly silent, but they’d all been waiting for it. 

The door swings open, and the not-so-young-anymore woman of Til’s memories walks through the door. Older certainly, but she projects an aura of calm and unquestionable leadership. 

Til finds himself unable to do anything but look at her, even as she smiles at him and the others, “Well, here are two people I never thought I’d see again. In one room nonetheless!”

Anna steps first to pull a rather shocked Noan into a hug. The wizard peeks at Til over her shoulder before slowly returning it.

Then she turns to Til, “So, how’s that plan of yours going?” 

The question seems to break Til of his spell, and he’s finally able to stand, pulling her into a one-armed hug, mindful of the child he’s still holding. 

“Things have gotten worse, much, much worse, Anna. He’s moved past working in darkness.” Til says, pulling back, unable to smile at her, to admire how she’s grown and aged and the streaks of silver in her hair, and how, in spite of it all, her smaller frame fits against him just the same way. “His Kingsguard is attacking people in broad daylight, killing them for their ability to do magic.”

The children have moved closer, but the shock on their faces is evident. 

Til silently curses himself; he forgot they’d been keeping this from them, trying not to scare them. 

Anna looks at him, then the children.

“Come, there are better places to talk about this.” She pulls Til from the room, the children tailing them like ducklings, but before they can follow them too far, she gestures to two people who’d been standing outside the door, “Please take the children to eat, find them clean clothes and a place to sleep. We have some talking to do.”

The two guards, an older woman Til thinks he recognises and a pretty man who’s around Noan’s age, nod. The man smiles at the children and immediately begins talking to them, asking their names and ages, while the woman steps up to Til to take the babe. 

“What’s their name?” She asks, cooing at the sleeping bundle.

“Uh, he doesn’t have one.” 

His eyebrow raises, and Til returns to being a mud-covered child who’d knocked down a tent with his sister and a runaway goat. 

He definitely recognises this woman, and hopes she doesn’t remember him. 

If she does, though, she doesn’t say anything; she simply follows the other guard as he starts herding the children down the hall. 

Anna takes his hand, and he thinks that even through the heavy armor and thick leather padding, he can feel the soft touch. 

She guides him down the mazelike halls of the hold, barely pausing to look if anyone’s coming before pulling him into a room much like the king’s own war room. 

Unlike the king’s darkly lit chamber, this one has lanterns spread around, all lit and shining brightly. There are bookshelves, but these seem to contain newer books, many of which are handbound. To one side, there’s a stand full of rolled scrolls that Til thinks may be maps. Dominating the center of the room is a large table, its surface covered by a detailed map of the kingdom that occupies the majority of the space; small figurines and flags are scattered across the map. This one is surrounded by people, young and old, male and female; their talking quieted as they entered the room. Many were seated in old, rickety chairs, looking like they’d be better suited to a kitchen than a war room.

It strikes Til that though the rooms may exist for similar purposes, they’ve been built in vastly different ways. 

The King’s chambers are for the illusion of power and control, and really only built for one man.

This room, the one Til stands in now, is meant for meetings of the mind and preparations for battle. This is a room of action, not a room of grandeur for the sake of it. 

“Start again Til. Tell us everything you can.” Anna commands him, and Til can’t help but speak. 

The Council doesn’t believe Til for a lot of it, many of them claiming that the king going so far as to kill the children seems impossible.

At least until Noan pulls out the pouch of Neryen from his belt. 

The immediate outrage from all of them at the crystals nearly deafens Til, and his sister’s—Anna’s—yell for order does as well. Around the room, horror and anger storm, all of them unaware of the grim reality that Til had to show them. IT very nearly becomes a fight for his own head, but Anna keeps them off him, reminding them, telling them, that he was one of them, and without his return, they wouldn’t be aware of the new atrocities the king had begun. 

“We will get our revenge when the king’s head rolls!” Anna calls to them, speaking over the Council, “We always knew simply hiding the children would never be enough.”

“But we should have guessed he’d do something like this.” An older man says, stroking his chin. 

“We knew he was blood thirsty, but this kind of blatant mass murder-” A woman of about the same age says, hand covering her mouth, “He’s not even hiding in the shadows with this. Anyone with a mind to do it could connect him to these disappearances.”

“Why did he send the two of you?” This is asked by another woman.

“I don’t think he actually planned to,” Til says, almost to himself. 

“What?” Someone else asks, but Til isn’t looking at them.

“I said, I don’t think he planned to. When he called for all the knights and Honored to meet and volunteer, I don’t think he planned for any of us to actually volunteer. If Noan hadn’t asked me to, I don’t think I would have either.” Til looks at Noan, who isn’t confirming what he says, but isn’t disagreeing either. “He was surprised when I did, I really don’t think he was expecting it.”

“But he asked for volunteers?” Anna asks.

“Yes. He did, but… No one said anything or did anything. I think he may have planned that there would be no volunteers, so he could send out his guards and claim they were out saving the children.”

“Then no one would bat an eye at them traveling the realm.”

“And you made that impossible.”

“Not impossible, but harder to explain among his own people. Among his knights.” Noan says, for the first time, drawing the council's attention.

“Why do you say that?” someone asks, but Til’s focus is on the man he’d been traveling with for so long. He hasn’t said anything for so much of this. Til suddenly realized he hadn’t been checking with him, checking to see if there were things that he’d wanted to add but were impossible because the others didn't know, or if the king’s magic reached even here through whatever they had done to keep him from sensing the area. 

“You must know at this point that the king has his own magic, and that he uses it most of all on his own people.” There are general grumbles of agreement. “His power as a king comes from being able to command all without question; surely that would be made easier by the use of magic to make people more agreeable, right?” 

Til can feel how looks are spread around the room, but he keeps his eyes on Noan, who only glances at him for a second, but the wide, panicked-euphoric look in his eyes tells him that Noan might be free, at least for the time being.

“So wouldn’t it make sense, make the most sense, to make sure his knights were the least questioning of his ways?” Noan leans forward to rest his hands on the table, looking to each of the people to ensure they hear him, hear what he’s saying, not just nodding along with what he says. “They’re the ones to control his people in his stead; they’re the ones who have to follow his laws most of all of his people. So it makes sense that they’re under more of his magic than most of his people, and that the Kingsguard, who he supposedly rewards so fantastically, are in fact, the most spellbound under him.” 

“So why does it matter?” The old man asks again, matching Noan’s gaze with a subtle challenge.

“For one thing, it means that he wasn’t as under control as the king may have thought him to be, and for another, no one else in that room stood up. No one else offered to go. And he did.” 

Til chances a look at Anna, who’s looking back at him, she seems proud and sad. She knew that he’d volunteer for a death mission to save others. He’d done it before, of course, he’d do it again.  

“Even if they only somewhat linger on it,” Noan continues, aware or uncaring of Til’s distraction, “that’s still something they’re going to think about, something they’re going to wonder about themselves and others. It will force them to think about themselves and those around them. Something the king most certainly doesn’t want. And when Til volunteered, the king hadn’t officially sent the Kingsguard out. Now he can’t make a big show of how loyal and special they are because Til’s already done it.”

“If I’m understanding you correctly, you think that because Til stood up, it makes the Kingsguard… What, less special?” A young man asks, leaning forward himself to prop his head up.

“It makes ripples. It’ll have more and more effects as the knights and honored think about it, especially if they talk about it among themselves. It won’t really stop him, even slow him down that much, but it means that he won’t be able to bolster his Kingsguard with new people for a while.”

“Why not?” Anna asks, voice clear over the eager clamour that arose at the possibility that the private guard might not grow for a time. Til knew what it would be as clear as they did, an opening while he was distracted.

Nearly shouting to be heard over the din, Noan continues, “To become Kingsguard, an honored has to have followed all the rules and be unquestioningly loyal, even if he’s managed to smother people questioning themselves verbally, there’s a chance they’ll still be thinking about what happened. And with the Kingsguard spread so thin, I doubt he’s pushing his agenda that this is the work of Tubeck and King Adem.”

“He thinks King Adem is stealing the children?” An older woman gasps, clearly concerned. 

“He’s saying Adem is stealing the children.” Noan stresses, “Based on what I saw before being sent away, I really don’t think he knows for sure.”

Til struggles to remember anything from the king’s war room that may have given a hint of his thoughts on the situation. Still, nothing stood out in his memory: “The maps he had were clear that it was coming from this direction, but I don’t recall anything to indicate who it may have been.” 

“If he’s so distracted, wouldn't he have someone else rallying his people?” Asks another woman, this one young, not much older than Willum.

“That would be my job, but instead I’m here.” 

There’s a moment of silence, as everyone seems to take that, along with all of the other information in.

There’s a moment of discussion about King Adem and whether they should warn him before someone asks, “If that would be your job, why are you here?” 

The room quiets, all of them curious, but guarded, their faces hard as they examine the newcomer, newcomers in their midst. ”The king sent me along to keep Til on track, and to ensure that at least the handful of children we found would be brought back safely.” 

Confusion, murmurs of concern from the Council, but they are quiet as Noan continues.

“Those ones he would have taught for show, and they would have been comfortable, but they would have been trapped much like I am. Being nothing more than pets for the king to bring out to show his power.” Noan pauses. The man’s head hangs low, and exhaustion seems to weigh every part of him down. Pulling at him and adding to everything else that rests on his shoulders. His breath hitches, and Til wants to reach out, to offer support somehow. 

Before he can, before he can offer anything, give Noan a moment to breathe if he needs it, the man continues, “And when our usefulness has run out, we’re made out to be spies of others, so that the king can kill without question.” 

Shocked outrage across the room, even though the Council doesn’t know Noan, they’re still outraged at the destruction of life.

“He’s done this before?” Til asks, voice low, remembering executions past.

“I can think of a dozen people whom he trained who were killed,” Noan says, more to Til than the rest of the room, though they quiet down once more to hear his words. “If you behave, and do as he says, you’re rewarded by being sent to a town or village to be his eyes and ears there.” 

Til freezes, he’d known the enclave’s spies when they came through, they were all at least adults, but some old enough to be grandparents. There’d been others, though, young, too young. Til had thought that the countries sending them had just hoped that they wouldn’t be questioned, but gods. A dozen? More? Children who’d known what was happening and couldn’t be forced into service. No hope, no one to protect them. No one to even try to help them or risk the same fate. 

Noan shakes his head again, betrayal in his voice as he chokes out, “Just waiting for a Touched child to appear, and then you send them to the very same fate as you.” 

“You obviously don’t care for him. Why haven’t you been executed then?” Anna asks, voice tight and sharp.

“I’m too useful to him as a power conduit. He’s been using me to strengthen himself almost since I was taken to Argest. I’ve been so bound up in his magic both for him to use and to keep me from talking that I don’t think he trusts me in the slightest, but I also think he doesn’t know how to kill me without possibly draining himself.” Noan looks at her, still supported by the table, but clearly weaker than he’d been when he’d started his story, “I don’t know how old he actually is, but it’s getting harder and harder for him to hold back the forces of time. I think he’s hoping that a stockpile of the Neryen will give him more time to train more people to use it like me.”

A moment passes as people chew on that information, and the young man asks, “Are there others in the castle like you?”

“Right now? A couple of kids, they’re all too young for him to really use or even teach. They’re children that had obviously been Touched from birth. There are a few that are a little older, but they can’t really control what they do yet, let alone be useful to him.”

Anna nods, “So there’s no one other than himself who could sense an incoming attack and warn him?” 

“None,” Noan says, not confident, but curious,

“Then I think now’s the time,” Anna tells them. “We have a plan, now we just need more information.

They stop for a while, not long enough, Til thinks, but he knows he’s only here by invitation; he has no power here outside that granted by his sister. 

Anna and a few of the younger people leave, obviously deep in thought, while the elder ones discuss quietly. When the younger council members reenter the room, they bring food and drink to the table along with a pitcher of water and a cloth for Noan.

Noan cleans himself up, washing his face and hands, as he stands to one side of the room where a smaller desk has space atop it for the pitcher. 

Til can’t help but watch the careful way Noan puts himself together, movements methodical even as his hands shake. He knows what he’s doing, though he may not be sure of it, but cleaning himself gives him a moment of privacy, even if the two of them aren’t allowed to leave the room without an escort. 

He can’t remember when he ate last, and Noan was pushing harder than himself to get here; it’d probably been even longer for him. So Til prepares two plates, no meat, nothing that will be hard to eat, and moves next to the wizard for whenever he’s ready. 

When Noan seems to be done and doesn’t seem to know what to do next, Til holds the plate out to him. Noan looks up at him, looking over his face before he silently accepts the food, eating it without pausing to look it over.

They stand together at one side of the room, without words. They’d already said so much, and Til wasn’t sure how much more would need to be said before the night was over.

If you liked this chapter and want more, you can read new chapters early here!

If you want to join me while I write, I'm on Twitch Sundays and Mondays.