This is what happens when I get bored and have inspiration. I write. And write. And write.... Anyway, this is a sort of background thing mostly for Locke, providing a reason why he's scared of his own shadow. Also, the website's been fully updated with all the new information. Aaaand if anyone wants an abridged version of what's happened lately so you can stay caught up, I totally don't mind giving those out. Though I'll have to do it between work.
------
It was a cool, rainy day, but most days in Alluska were rainy and a fair few were cool. So Locke took comfort in his knowledge that this day was just as humdrum as all the rest. He was in their family's cottage after a long day of weeding his father's garden, nestled in a cozy corner at the kitchen table with an old book of fairy tales. Or at least he assumed they were fairy tales, but he'd always half hoped they were the stories of great heroes and heroines from the past. Whatever the case, the book let him escape to a world of adventure without having to worry about getting eaten by trolls or killed by vagabonds and thieves.
Occassionally his father would tell him stories of the old days, the journeys he used to make into the swamp or to the bigger cities like Damagra or Odith Liet, the celebratory tournaments held in the capital, and tales of his grandparents and great grandparents. Warren hardly had the attention span to sit through the stories and Madoc was usually out having his own adventures, so Locke was the sole heir of his father's legends. But there was always a sadness in the telling, since things could never be the same again. Not since his father had been handicapped some many seasons ago.
Madoc entered through the front door, his hair dripping onto his drenched shoulders, Warren following him in like a puppy. "Laka, look at you in here, reading...," his eldest brother said with a laugh. "Don't you want to go outside and do something?"
"It's raining," Locke said as though that would be answer enough.
Warren shook his head violently, then his entire body, in an attempt at getting all the rain off him, sending water everywhere. "It's wet out there," he stated before heading toward the fireplace and warming his hands.
Madoc took off his jacket and hung it on the coatrack nearby but it fell off. "Well, I'm not going to let a little drip stop me from having some fun," he said as he picked it up off the ground and hit his head on the rack when he stood up. He rubbed his head and added, "Went down to the pub and everyone's all worked up over this man coming to town tomorrow."
Locke marked his place in the book and set it aside, his curiosity piqued. "What man?"
"Think they said his name is Ballack," Madoc answered. "He's some... captain in the King's army. There's supposed to be a parade. You should get out and see it. You might meet a girl."
Locke blushed at the last. He didn't speak to many people, least of all girls, afraid he might make a fool of himself. But a parade didn't seem so bad. It might even be fun. He didn't know much about this captain or even a lot about the King, but maybe Madoc was right. It would be good for him to get away from the house. "Alright, you win. I'll go with you."
"That's my boy," Madoc said with a grin as he reached over to rough up Locke's hair.
-----
The parade was one of the more beautiful things Locke had seen in several years. There were soldiers on horses covered in trappers, trumpeteers blaring their horns as they marched through the streets, drummers beating out their steady rhythms, jugglers and firebreathers and all manner of circusfolk, ladies walking in procession exhibiting their finest dresses and finer beauty, and flags of many Houses flailing in the air. The longer the parade went on, the more incredible the sights became for the young Fendras Three. And at last, at the end of this line of fanfare and frillery, was the man Madoc had mentioned, Captain Ballack, riding nobly on his horse in what must have been his most stunning armor. He followed the parade to the heart of town where a stand had been made for the occasion and as he moved through the city, the people flocked after him.
Madoc grabbed Locke and Warren's hands. "Come on, he's going to talk!" he shouted excitedly, pulling them through the crowd toward the stand where Ballack had already taken his place and begun. The oldest Fendras came to a tree perhaps twenty yards from where the captain stood speaking and climbed up into its branches to get a better view.
"...I understand the needs of Alluska better than anyone in King Malphas's command, not only because this is where I came from, but because I have seen first-hand the city's weaknesses," Ackbar said and paused as a few of the people cheered. "My father was too afraid to fight. Too afraid to stand up for the people of Alluska when we were faced with threats from the Hawks. But I know we cannot be afraid any longer. We cannot continue to be a humble farming city-- or even the pinnacle of philosophic ideologies. We must militarize and we must do it now!" This last line was met by a roar from the crowd. Even Madoc cheered from the tree limb up above Warren and Locke.
"I will be recruiting soldiers here over the following days. While I believe it would be best for every able-bodied man to be thrown into the King's ranks, I understand that sometimes change can move too quickly. Still, I urge all of you: do not be afraid to defend Alluska. Do not be afraid to fight and even die for your people!"
As the captain finished his speech, others took over to provide details on his recruitment schemes. Madoc climbed down from his tree, absolutely glowing with pride in the city and the spirit of nationalism Ballack had unleashed on him. “I’m going to do it,” he said with a radiant smile. “I’m going to join.”
Locke looked on his brother, bewildered. “What are you talking about?”
“Don’t you see it?” Madoc asked. “He’s right... Alluska is pretty much completely unprotected from rebels.”
“I wanna go,” Warren said next to him. “Sounds fun.”
Locke disregarded him, turning to Madoc again. “That’s insane, Maka. What if something happens to you? What if you get hurt? You could end up like--”
“Nothing’s going to happen to me,” Madoc shushed him with an heir of confidence. He placed a hand on Locke’s shoulder. “And anyway, better me than the city, right? Better me than other innocent people.”
Locke backed up, his brother’s hand sliding off him. “Better no one. Better none of this ever happened.” He felt odd, like the world was spinning around him, a weird buzzing in his ears. It seemed like even though they were surrounded in a sea full of people, they were alone, just the three of them.
Madoc smiled in a way that made him calm down a little. “Laka, things happen. You can’t help that. But we can try and prevent it-- and if we
can, then we
should. Trust me; I know this is right.”
“W-well... but if you two run off, where will I go? You’ll leave me here all alone?”
“Come with us,” Madoc urged. “You’re the one reading those silly stories all the time. Why don’t you make one of your own? Waka and I will protect you. You know I wouldn’t let anything happen to you.”
“I couldn’t...,” Locke replied as the hot sting of tears started to form in his eyes. His heart was pounding now and he couldn’t seem to make it stop.
Madoc frowned a little but he nodded. “Think about it. Promise me you’ll think about it.”
Locke agreed, if for no other reason than to put the thought behind him. “Let’s go home. I don’t like being around all these people.”
----
He hadn’t been able to get to sleep at first, that night. His mind kept going back to the things that Ballack and Madoc had said. He worried about what would happen to his brothers; he imagined them on a battlefield and all he could think of was blood. Blood everywhere. The thought made him sick from the inside out. But on the other hand, what Madoc said was true: if they were able to defend innocent people, it was only right that they should. And then he thought of all the blood that had already been spilt by rebels and Crows alike. It was a nightmare. The entire day was a nightmare.
Eventually, his body shut itself down, forcing him into sleep, but even there all he found was nightmares. He dreamt he was there, at war alongside his brothers, that he watched as their bodies were torn apart by swords and arrows while he stood there, too paralyzed to manage anything. When it was over, he was the only one left except for a few ragged rebels remaining. The rebels shouted at him again and again, making him pick up the bodies of the dead, forcing him to drag them off the field. When he finally found his brothers again, they were almost unrecognizable and though he wanted to stay with them, to mourn them, the rebels threatened him with swords and daggers to keep it up, to move them away.
But when he got up and turned around, he didn’t see the field anymore. He saw the marsh country of his home, the cypress trees towering above him. And instead of daylight, the sky had turned to darkness. He felt as though an ice cold brick had hit the bottom of his stomach as soon as he realized where he was. It was the same old dream he’d always had, though he was never able to sort out fact from fiction. His parents were there, fishing in the moonlight, his mother laughing as his father tried to catch one with his bare hands. He felt small, much smaller than everything else around him and when they spotted him, they called him over like a child.
Even though he knew somewhere in the back of his mind how this horror story ended, he couldn’t stop the pull he felt. He walked toward them, downhill toward the waterside, careful to watch the ground for slick spots. He was almost there when he looked up and saw the glint of something silver in a bush not far from where his mother sat. He watched it, stared at it, knowing what it was but at the same time not being able to comprehend. Then a shadow moved out of the bush and again there was blood all over as his mother’s happy giggling faded away.
His father leapt into action, jumping out of the water and onto the solid ground between the shadow and his son. He was shouting, but the sound was fuzzy, incomprehensible at times but the message was clear. RUN. GET OUT. As on the battlefield before, he was paralyzed with fear. He couldn’t take his eyes off the sight of his mother’s body lying there on the wet ground. Then the flash of silver came again, the only visible part of the shadowed figure, and his father fell on the ground, clutching the place where his knee had connected the bottom half of his leg.
The figure stepped over his father, who groaned at the agony of his lost leg, still cursing and shouting, demanding that Locke leave, run, go get help. The shadow was at least three times as tall as Locke, looking down on him with a hollow expression-- for now that it had come closer, he could see there was a man cloaked in black. He reached down to grab the boy by the throat--
Locke woke with a jolt, a cold sweat dripping all over. Madoc and Warren were still asleep in the other two beds in the small room on the second story. He got out of bed as quietly as he could manage, walking over to the window that overlooked the water, studying the brush carefully to see if he could catch sight of any silver. He grabbed a blanket and brought it to the window with him, sitting in the chair next to the wall and slept there the rest of the night.