Ascension, Chapter 7

Another week, another late post. It's partially because I've been at postgraduate open days ( for Cardiff University and Goldsmiths College), so there' been a lot of dashing about. I then managed to lock myself out of my blogger account, so there was a fun 5 minutes while I went through a list of passwords trying to find the right one.
 Enough of my excuses. I'm still struggling to come up with a name for Naren's mother. If anyone has any suggestions, I'd really appreciate them.

Chapter 7

The Faceless reached the end of the final row and turned, their empty hoods raised towards the crowd gathered on the balcony. As one, they bowed low to Azrael, who returned the gesture with a slight nod of his head. There had only been a few unusual transformations. A couple of the initiates had sprouted wings, which would no doubt lead to fresh rumours about the royal family and wild oats. There was the poor girl whose Blessing had manifested as rock-like skin, and had been subdued by the Healers before being removed from the courtyard. One boy had manifested what appeared to be dozens of eyes, although he didn’t seem the least bit surprised. Probably a hereditary Blessing, Naren decided. And other than a few changes in skin and hair colour, it seemed that most of the Blessings were internal, without any visible outward signs.

 The Faceless in the courtyard gathered in a circle, no doubt comparing notes of the transformations that had taken place. For the good of the nation, those who had Ascended today would be assigned career paths dependant on their powers. Some might even be invited to remain in Haven, if they had a particularly strong or unusual Blessing. After all, it wouldn’t do to have too much power going unchecked among the commoners.

 Naren made his way to the centre of the hall. Behind him, three other initiates from noble houses stood in a semicircle. From the corner of his eye he saw the priests of the Faceless- Bishops, unlike the regular priests in the courtyard, approach the waiting children. Silence fell over the Hall.

 His mother rose from her throne and descended the steps towards him. She placed her hands on his head. As far as he could remember, Naren had never lied to his mother; there was no point. Naren had grown up with his mother’s thoughts a continual presence in his own mind. His whole life, she had been privy to his every thought, every secret, every desire. Whether he liked it or not.

 But this was different. The feeling itself was familiar, although her presence in his mind more cautiously than it ever had before. He felt her probe through his psyche gently. And then her mind darted forward, slicing through his thoughts like a knife. Naren clenched his fists. He would not- could not- show any sign of weakness. Not here, not now.

 He felt her power coil around a space at the bottom of his brain, sending a shiver down his spine. This was it. The tension increased, filling him with a roaring silence that drowned out everything else.

 And then her mind pulled back, retreating from his brain like a startled animal.

 Naren opened his eyes. His gaze locked with his mother’s. It took him a moment to decipher the look on her normally placid features. It only took her a second to recompose herself, but Naren knew what he had seen. It was shock. Shock and fear.

  His mother turned her back on him, addressing Azrael where he sat on his throne.

 ‘He is Ascended,’ she declared, her clear voice filling the silent Hall. Naren glanced behind him, and saw the Faceless retreat from the other teenagers, who’s Ascension had been completed without him even realising.

 ‘He is Ascended!’ The words were echoed by the crowd, quietly at first, and then louder and louder, until the Hall and the courtyard beyond were filled with the sound of chanting.

 Pain shot through Naren’s mind. He stumbled forwards, barely catching himself from falling to the floor. A second stab, like the blade of a heated knife, exploded behind his eyes. He locked eyes once more with his mother as she turned back towards him, before silence and darkness muffled his mind, and he sank into unconsciousness.

Ascension, Chapter 6

This week I've actually started thinking about my future! Shock and awe indeed. I'll be attending not one, but two postgraduate open days next week; one at my current university (Cardiff Uni) on Wednesday, followed by a jaunt (by which I mean a surprisingly complicated and expensive odyssey) up to London for the Goldsmith's open evening. Such fun. 
Anyway, enough about me. Things are starting to hot up a little in Ascension, don't you think? The ceremony is about to start, so our heroes are on the verge of undergoing some rather interesting changes...  

Chapter 6

 The initiates had been arranged into rows of ten. They were faced by ten priests of the Faceless. Mari and Shan were in the third row back.  Mari craned her head to the side, looking round the back of the boy in front of her to watch the first row. As one, the Faceless placed their hands above the heads of the children. A few of the initiates let out muffled groans, or tensed slightly, but mostly they remained still. After a few moments the Faceless lowered their hands.

 A girl at one end of the row let out a muffled shriek, holding her hands up in the air as her skin flushed a deep shade of purple. A boy diagonally in front of Mari sunk to his knees. The air was filled with the sound of ripping cloth as a pair of bat-like wings burst from his back, sending arcs of blood through the air. A pair of healers were beside him in a moment, gently raising him to his feet and leading him away through the crowds.

 Mari bit her lip. The rest of the row seemed unchanged by the experience. Of course, appearances could be deceptive. Only the Faceless new the transformations that were going on under the skin of the teenagers.

 By now the faceless had begun the ascension of the next row. Mari clenched her fists; it would be her turn next. The girl in front of her rose a few feet above the air as the priest withdrew its hands from her head. She floated there for a moment, before falling to the ground in a heap. A ripple of laughter rant through the crowd as another healer helped her to her feet. Mari heard Shan’s snort of derision above the noise.

 And then it was Mari’s turn.

 The hooded figure placed its hands gently on her head. Mari braced herself for the intrusion of another mind into her own. It was something that they whispered about in the village; the older children revelling in the looks of horror on the faces of the younger ones as they described the experience. The physical pain of Ascension was one thing; the rapid transformation from a body that was almost human to one that was so much more. But having your very soul exposed to another person, having that force rip into the depths of your mind in order to tease out the spark of divinity and ignite it. That was something else entirely.

 But when it came Mari hardly noticed at first. It was a slight pressure, a feeling of grogginess, like the onset of a headache or a cold, and then she felt it. A gentle probing.

 Mari was in the kitchen. Her mother stood at the stove, stirring a pot. The cupboard opened, and a pot gently floated through the air until it reached her mother’s elbow. She turned, and saw Mari watching her. She smiled, reached for the pot-

 The vision faded, and Mari felt the alien mind retract slightly. The apology didn’t come in words. It was more a gentle feeling of regret and embarrassment. Mari did her best to think positive thoughts.

 And then something clicked. Somehow, along the way, the mind of the priest had found what it was looking for.

 Mari’s mind turned inside out. She could see everything, hear everything, feel everything around her. It wasn’t just that she was aware of her surroundings. She knew how thick the wall surrounding the courtyard was. She knew what the temperature was like in the corridor on the other side. She knew how wide it was. And that was just one direction of space. Mari could feel all of the spaces around her for a hundred metres, two hundred, a kilometre.

 And then her mind was shrinking again, retracting back to the single point of her body. It took her a moment to realise that it was the priest that was drawing her back, wrapping her expanding conscious tightly round her physical body.

 Mari felt the mind retreat from her own. She opened her eyes, and looked into the empty hood of the faceless. It nodded slightly, and stepped back. The whole experience had lasted for little more than a minute.

 ‘No, No!’ the cry broke through the peace that had settled on Mari mind. For a moment the panic didn’t fully register. What could possibly be wrong, after all, in this wonderful, beautiful world?

 And then she saw Shan sink to her knees out of the corner of her eye. The other girl held her hands up to her face, a groan of horror escaping her lips. Shan’s skin, which moments before had been a healthy, glowing olive colour, had become a pale grey, covered in a smooth, hard surface that cracked with every moment. Shan let her hands drop from her face, revealing a surface like an unfinished statue; a vague sense of human features hidden under harsh lines and irregular cracks.

 Shan let out a cry that echoed around the courtyard, and began to tug at the rocky flesh of her arms in a desperate attempt to peel it off. Within moments she was surrounded by healers and members of the Faceless, and her cries soon faded to whimpering sobs, and then to silence.

 Mari’s last sight of her cousin was only a brief glimpse as she was carried away through the crowds by the healers.

Ascension, Chapter 5

 Ok, it's a couple of days late. Sorry, sorry. I've officially accepted that I'm going to fail at NaNo this year, considering that I'd have to write about 2,500 words every day to reach my goal of 30,000 words. Hate to say it, but the degree has to come first. The good news, though, is that I'm still committed to Ascension, and I fully intend to keep posting a minimum of two chapters a week until I finish the first volume. So yay for commitment!
 This chapter is dedicated to Saskia Greenhalgh and Jack Parker, whose comments made my day.

Chapter 5

Naren hurried through the corridors of the palace, keeping to the passages frequented by the servants in order to avoid being spotted by any visiting dignitaries or important guests. He tried to ignore the covert glances of servants and guards as he hurried past. He paused in front of an inconspicuous door, knocked, and entered.

 His father stood in front of the window, the wings folded at his back like a cloak. He barely turned when Naren entered, and only acknowledged him with the slightest nod of his head. Rei and his mother were in deep conversation at a small table, which they broke off as soon as he entered.

 ‘Darling!’ his mother said, rising to her feet and enveloping him in an embrace. She wore the purple robe of a cleric of the Faceless, augmented with a few pieces of jewellery. She had left the order to marry Azrael, although she could still claim certain rights as a member of its order. Like the Ascension of her son.

 ‘M-mother,’ Naren stammered, as she released him. They stood facing each other, her hands resting on his shoulders. He tried to remember the last time that she had hugged him, or even touched him for more than a passing moment.

‘Such a wonderful day,’ she said, finally letting go of him. Behind her, Naren caught his reflection in a floor length mirror. Despite multiple fittings, the military uniform still hung awkwardly on his body. He was growing too fast for the tailors to catch up, he supposed, so that his wrists and ankles were exposed where the fabric wasn’t long enough. But the gold piping and the black shoes gleamed in the light from the window, and his dirty blond hair had been arranged into what could pass as a sort of order.

 ‘You look just like Cristo, my darling boy,’ his mother murmured, following his gaze to the mirror.

 ‘He would be proud, wouldn’t he, darling?’ she turned to Azrael, who still stood by the window.

 ‘It’s time,’ Azrael said, leaving the window and heading towards the large door at the other end of the ante-chamber.

 ‘Do not let me down,’ he said, addressing Naren for the first time. He took his wife’s hand.

 ‘Anything I should know?’ he muttered to his sister, as she came to stand behind him.

 ‘Wait and see, little brother,’ she said, as the door opened and they followed their father into the hall.

Ascension, Chapter 4

Somehow, the threat of impending assessment has actually hindered me in doing any work whatsoever. Not just on the novel, but in absolutely everything. Perhaps I'm just developing one massive mental block? The good news is that I've finally got round to editing the University's Creative Writing Anthology, which will hopefully be with us in time for Christmas (we were originally hoping for the Christmas fair, but that's on December 5th, so we'd be increadibly lucky to get everything done by then).
 Anywho, here's the next chapter of Ascension:

Chapter 5

‘Are you nervous?’ Mari whispered, as they were lead along the corridor. The other teenagers pressed against them, and Mari was struggling to keep alongside Shan as they walked.

 ‘Why would I be nervous?’ Shan asked, glancing down at Mari. They had left their parents and Set when they entered the palace grounds.

 ‘What if something goes wrong?’ Mari said. A boy a little taller than her pushed between them, the toe of his boot crushing her ankle in the process. Mari bit her lip, and fought the urge to reach out for Shan’s hand.

 ‘What could go wrong?’ Shan asked, as Mari drew level with her again ‘It’s Assension. Everybody does it.’

 ‘Yes, but what if we Ascend and turn into giant slugs. Or grow a hundred eyes. Or something.’

 ‘Oh, that won’t happen.’ Shan shrugged.

 ‘But how-’

 ‘Oh, I just do Mari,’ Shan snapped, glaring at her cousin ‘Stop being such a little baby and grow up, for Mother’s sake.’

 They were led into the courtyard. The upper levels of the pyramid rose above them to one side. Mari could see where a large section of wall had been removed about ten feet up, allowing the nobles inside the building to look down over the heads of the crowd below. She could see them in their finery, milling about in the cool shade of the building.

 A crowd had gathered around the edges of the square, leaving a large area clear around the statue that stood at the centre. Mari wondered briefly who the statue was meant to represent. Some member of the royal family, probably. Perhaps a former Lord of Death?

 Mari spotted her father and Set, as well as her aunt. The two men smiled and waved when they aw her, while her aunt remained completely expressionless, except for an air of disdain directed at the rest of the audience around her.

 Mari and the other teenagers- about a hundred in all- were guided to the centre of the courtyard. They were then redirected, positioned into rows so that each boy and girl was a little over arm’s length from the people either side or in front of them.

 They stood in silence for a moment, before a heavy metal gong sounded somewhere in the cavernous depths of the palace. Almost as one, the assembled crowds in the courtyard turned their attention to the open wall of the hall above their heads.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Ascension, Chapter 3

 It's only taken half the month, but I think I've finally hit my stride with the NaNo. Of course, this is coming the day before I get my essay pack for this term, which means that the real work is about to start (the five hours a day spent in the library so far being just the warm-up).
 I've really struggled with coming up with names, which actually gave me an opportunity to use the NaNo Coach on Twitter, a lovely lady who recommended an excellent database. Now that most of the major characters have names, things seem to be progressing much more smoothly. Of course, I may decide to rename any and/or all of the characters later on, but at least I'm not using 'Bob' and 'Dave' to fill in the blanks any more.
 I's also finding, as usual for me, that things are easier once I get the 'scene-setting' part of the story out of the way. I know that a story should be interesting from the start, but I often find the first chapters a bit of a drag to write (their often the ones that get really heavily rewritten in later drafts).
 And so, without further ado, I present the next instalment of Ascension:


Chapter 3

 Naren stood behind the curtains, his eye to a gap in the heavy fabric. The Hall was a hive of activity, with servants and officials darting back and forth across the cavernous space. The audience, many of whom had been present at the feast the night before, had already started to filter in, sitting and standing in the areas that had been cordoned off around the edge of the hall. Some of them had travelled miles, hundreds of miles, to be here. There were representatives from every corner of the Empire, and the Hall could have been used to teach a geography lesson on local customs and costumes from across the nation.

 The screen that made up one of the side walls had been folded back, allowing the congregation to view the courtyard below. The noise of the crowd below filtered in through the wide opening, mingling with the more subdued conversation and music of the Hall.N aren's own Ascension- and that of the other noble children- would only take place once the representatives from the local area had already undergone the ceremony outside.

 ‘Nervous?’ Naren turned, startled at the voice. Gawen stood behind him, the dim light gleaming on his golden skin. Naren had once seen a statue of an ancient human god; a fat man dressed in robes, with an oversized belly and a grin that was balanced between comical and creepy. To Naren, Gawen had always seemed like a copy of that statue, cast in gold and brought to life. Naren smiled, relaxing slightly.

 ‘A little,’ he admitted.

 ‘It’s a big day; you’ve reason to be a little scared,’ Gawen said, coming to stand beside him and pushing the curtains further open. Although the man was fifty years his senior, Gawen head hardly reached Naren's shoulder.

 ‘That’s reassuring,’ Narren said, ‘I thought you’d tell me I had nothing to worry about.

 ‘You’re old enough and intelligent enough to be spared babying,’ the elderly healer murmured.

 ‘Mother, what a fuss,’ he said, gazing out at the tumult, ‘Then again, it’s not every day that sees the Ascension of a future Lord of Death.’

 The words cut through Naren's stomach like a sword, and he tasted bile in the back of his throat. He let out a long, hissing breath, the air rattling between his clenched teeth.

 ‘But what if I’m not-’

 ‘Not powerful enough? You will be,’ Gawen said, smiling gently.

 ‘You can’t know that,’ Naren countered.

‘Of course not, but look at the evidence; in five generations, the house of Mori have been nothing less than the most powerful among the People,’ Gawen placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder ‘It’s in your blood. Look at your brother and sister.’

 ‘Besides, I’ll be there, just in case,’ Gawen added. Naren nodded. He recalled, dimly, the scene five years ago, when Cristo and Rei had undergone their own Ascension. Cristo, naturally, had born the transformation easily, had been applauded for the strength and restraint he exhibited. Rei, however, had found it much more difficult. Naren remembered seeing her in her bedroom, lying on her front with her wings in the special cast that the healers had devised, moaning in pain as her bones grew hollow. He recalled also the girl’s sobs as visions of the future had forced themselves into her newly awakened mind, and the soothing murmur of their mother’s voice as she tried to calm her. He remembered how she had looked up, her eyes settling on him with a look of pure hatred, and, finally, the door to her bedroom closing in his face.

There was silence on the other side of the curtain. It's cause was obvious when Naren looked through the gap in the curtain. The large double doors at one end of the hall had swung open, and a procession of hooded figures had entered, gliding silently across the floor. The priests of the Faceless glided across the hall, arranging themselves in a semi-circle in front of Azrael’s empty throne. Naren repressed a shudder. No one trusted the Faceless; whose vows of silence and unparalleled telepathic abilities made them unnerving at best, and terrifying at worst. There were no secrets when the Faceless were present.

 ‘You should join your family; the ceremony will start soon,’ Gawen said, slipping through the curtain and into the hall beyond, ‘It wouldn’t do for a prince to miss his own Ascension.’

 

Ascension: Chapter 2

It's a day late, but here (finally) is the latest instalment of Ascension. NaNo this year is turning into a real struggle. We're almost half way through the month, and I've only written about 4,000 words. Of course, I am in my final year of university, so I think that gives me a little bit of leeway, no? Still, I'm back in Cardiff now, so there's no excuse for not posting. Enjoy!

Chapter 2

 Mari leant her head against the glass as she watched the ground drop away. The view beyond was obscured by the grey-green of her eyes staring back at her, bloodshot and bruised from lack of sleep. She gripped the metal rail, desperate to still her shaking hands.

 ‘You should be watching this; it could be the only time we visit the city,’ her father said, gripping her shoulder. As he spoke a shadow fell over the bubble. Mari pushed away from the rail taking in the view from the curved glass walls for the first time since boarding.

 Haven hung in the early morning air, a semi-sphere of white light shining in the dawn. They were too close to see beyond its underside, so that they seemed to be rising towards a second moon that hung a mile above the earth. Already, the fields had been reduced to a series of green and brown patches of colour beneath them, and the town had become a collection of children’s toys. Mari glanced back at the bald force-worker who sat cross-legged in the centre of the glass bubble, ignored by the other passengers. Mari’s mother was a force-worker too, but could do little more than moving building blocks across construction sites. This was something else entirely. And for all Mari knew, she would be able to do something similar by the end of the day.

 ‘Look at that,’ her brother said, brushing his hair out of his eyes. A mother nearby drew her own young son a little closer, eyeing the pale silver ‘T’ tattooed above his left eye with distrust. Nobody trusted tech-heads like Set; they were a constant reminder of the technology-dependant humanity. Of course, Set could do things with machines that humans could only dream of.

 They had drawn level with the rock now, and could see the shining towers of Haven through the wisps of cloud. They were among the traffic of other bubbles now, each one carrying groups of tourists and pilgrims towards the floating city. The city was like nothing Mari had ever seen: wide avenues that cut in straight lines between towers and domes, sumptuous gardens, and courtyards dominated by ornate fountains. At the centre of the city were three pyramids, arranged around a courtyard so large that it could have held their entire village.

 ‘That’s where we’re going,’ her father said, pointing at the nearest pyramid. There was a something like a skull engraved on the side, a symbol that Mari recognised as the emblem of the Lord of Death.

 ‘I’m not sure about this, dad,’ Mari said. The other two pyramids had symbols of their own; the all-seeing eye of the Faceless, and the scales and swords of Parliament.

 ‘Mari-’ her father began, shooting a warning glance at the other passengers.

 ‘I don’t see why we have to do this,’ she hissed.

 ‘It is a great honour, Marianne,’ said a voice behind her. Mari hadn’t heard her aunt approach, but now the woman stood behind her, impeccably dressed as always. Beside her stood Mari’s cousin, Shan; a younger copy of her mother.

 ‘Yes, Aunt,’ Mari said, conscious of attracting the attention of those around them.

 ‘Only a few children from each region get chosen to receive their Blessing in the temple of the Faceless.’

 ‘Yes, Aunt,’ Mari smiled. She knew that what the woman said was true, but proud was the last thing she felt. Shan sidled up to her, a smile on her face that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

 ‘I’m sure everything will be fine, Mari,’ she said, squeezing her arm a little too hard. Mari grimaced back at her. For all she knew, her Blessing would be something ridiculous, or useless. There was a little old lady who lived on the edge of town whose Blessing granted her invisibility. However, she could only sustain it for fourteen minutes. And only on the night of a full moon. And what was that, compared to people like the bubble pilot? People who could levitate twenty people at a time with ease, or the power-brokers who could generate enough energy to light a whole city, or the weather-workers who could summon a typhoon with a gesture.

 The bubble shuddered slightly, and the minor vibrations that ran had shaken the vehicle ever since it had risen from the ground subsided.

 ‘What was that?’ Mari asked.

 ‘Oh, don’t worry dear. We’ve just passed through Haven’s shield.’ Her aunt pointed to a line of men and women who stood on the edge of the city walls.

 ‘The city has a whole team of force-workers who keep a force-field round the city. So that people don’t get blown away and stuff.’ Shan added knowingly.

 ‘Have you thought about what you want?’ she added, lowering her voice so that their parents couldn’t hear.

 ‘What?’ Mari asked.

 ‘You know, what Blessing do you want?’ Shan pressed.

 ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Mari cast her eyes downwards ‘I guess I’d like to by a force worker, like my mother.’

 ‘She’s not very good though, is she? Still I guess it’s better than being a Linguist like your dad, or a Tech-head.’ Shan smiled. Mari grit her teeth to stop her from pointing out that her father’s ability to understand any language after only a few minutes was part of the reason that their town did so well when traders came through. Or hitting Shan for being a stuck-up cow, whichever came first.

 ‘What about you?’ she asked instead.

 ‘Oh, I was thinking a Luck-worker like mummy, but more powerful. Or an Alchemist,’ Shan smiled; the first genuine smile all day ‘That way I can get out of the town and live in one of the big cities. Maybe even Haven.’

 ‘That would be nice,’ Mari said, as they were joined by Set. Shan nodded at her other cousin, and then drifted away, as though repulsed by Set and drawn to her mother by some obscure form of magnetism.

 ‘That girl is deluded,’ Set muttered, ‘As if any of us would ever end up in Haven.’

The Ascension: Chapter 1

 Ok, so I'm a little behind on this already. In my defence, it's largely because I've spent the last couple of days in deepest, darkest Sussex, where finding a spot with a single bar of internet is like striking gold. Still, here's the second instalment of Ascension for your reading pleasure:  

 Naren looked up into the face of his brother. The white stone gleamed in the light from the windows that looked over the courtyard, so that the statue seemed to glow in the darkness. The image was perfect; an exact likeness of Cristo as he had been the last time he had left the castle. The Faceless ones had sifted through the memories of everyone present that day- Naren included- in order to furnish the sculptor with the image he needed to complete the statue.

 Looking into the marble face, Naren saw an idealised version of himself. His cheekbones were not as defined as his brother’s; his nose was not as straight and noble. Naren’s eyes were closed together. Cristo had been strong; a noble warrior, a natural leader. Naren knew, in his heart, that he was none of these things. Of course, Cristo had been 19 when he died, less than a year away from claiming the throne for himself.

‘You should be in bed,’ Naren turned to see his sister standing behind him. Rei had been Cristo’s twin, born only an hour later, and a full decade earlier than Naren.  Her purple eyes matched their mother’s, like both of her brothers. Her hair was black like her fathers, while Naren and Cristo were both blond. She had also inherited their father’s wings, although hers were a delicate dove grey, while Azrael’s were black as night. Unlike Azrael and Rei, Cristo had not been Blessed with wings. Although it was a common trait in their family, there was a good chance that he would remain earth-bound following the ceremony tomorrow. Just like Cristo He rolled his shoulders, the skin on his back itching with the thought of wings.

‘You have a big day tomorrow, and the Ascension can be tiring, physically and mentally,’ she added, coming to stand next to Naren and gaze up at the statue of their brother. Naren nodded.

 ‘I’m going now,’ he said, although he didn’t move. He and Rei had never been close, largely due to the gap in their age. When Rei had received her Blessing, and began to see the futures of the people she met as shadows in the back of her mind, she had grown increasingly distant. Cristo’s death had only driven them further apart. Suddenly, ten year-old Naren was the heir to their father’s throne, while Rei, already a grownup, was passed over because she was a girl.

 ‘Do you see anything? About tomorrow?’ Naren asked, trying to keep his voice steady. Rei shook her head.

 ‘There are some things that are beyond my ability,’ she said. Naren glanced up at her.

 ‘Are you sure? Nothing?’ he pressed unwilling to believe her.

 ‘You know as well as I do that anything could happen,’ Rei replied. ‘Still, I suggest that you get some rest. Whatever happens, you’re going to need it.’ With that she sprang into the air, buffeting Naren with a downward rush of wings as she vanished over the rooftops.

The Ascension: Prelude

 As promised, here's the first instalment of my NaNo WriMo novel: The Ascension. I'm not completely sold on the characters names, though, so those could well change before I reach the final draft. Please let me know what you think in the comments section below.

Prelude: The Fall of Man

 The humans came first. Their movements were stilted, jarring back and forth under the protection of their technology and armour. And yet there was a kind of grace in their lack of fluidity as they went about the worship of their infernal devices. If there was any beauty to them it was in their harshness, in the aura of barbarism as they lunged at each other. The men and women fell into groups, splitting apart and reforming without any notice as they warred and made peace over their trivial idols and barely-distinguishable systems of thought. The world around them was sick and twisted, so that even the air was heavy with their pollution. The humans went to war, violently clashing against each other. Fists gave way to rocks, swords were replaced by guns.

 And then she was there. She rose out of the melee of weapons and blood without a warning, merely appearing in the middle of the human strife like a gentle breeze on an arid day. She was grace and beauty personified, her movements liquid and entrancing, everything that the humans which surrounded her were not. She spun and glided between them, dressed all in white, with her auburn hair flowing loose behind her.

 One of the human men stepped forwards, a knife in each hand. He brought one of them down in a vicious, mechanical arch towards her chest. She stepped away from the attack with ease, and lightly pressed her hand to his chest. The knife fell to the ground with a clatter, followed a moment later by the human’s lifeless form.

 The humans stopped their fighting and turned on her as one. United at the end. All of their weapons, their strategies and technology, were nothing to her, though. She swam between them, and men and women fell at the slightest touch. But more and more humans were coming now, joining in the desperate fray even as their fellows lay heaped on the floor.

 In the middle of the maelstrom of blood and violence, she began to spin. The humans drew back, afraid of being touched by even the edges of her white clothes. From out of the white whirl stepped one, two, three, four figures. The first was winged, and his face was hidden behind a skull-like mask. The next was a giant of a man, taller even than the figure in white, his body a mass of tightly-wound muscle, but who moved with a grace at odds with his size. Behind him came a dark figure, wrapped in armour made of ice. And finally, a creature that was less like a man than a living tumour, an ever-changing mass of flesh that at one moment had two legs, then four, then none at all.  

 And now she stood against the humans, with her sons at her side. Death, War, Famine, and Plage moved around her in an intricate dance, each as devoted in their love for their maker as they were in their hatred for humanity. Now she was everything that she was ever meant to be, at the height of her beauty and glory. Now, she was Mother.

 Her four sons dashed around her as she resumed her dance, adding their own rhythms and patterns to her movements as they became increasingly confident. The humans fell around them, and soon no more arrive. Mother stood, triumphant, over the corpses of humanity, her four sons around her.

 A hand reached out of the carnage, a single human still alive with barely the strength to lift its arm. The fist gripped Mother’s leg above the angle. She gave a sharp tug once, twice, three times, and the hand fell away. But it left a deep red stain on her skirts which, even as she strode away from the bodies, began to spread. The red blossomed across the pure white of her dress, spreading and darkening until its purity was masked by a red so deep that it was almost black. Mother gave a convulsive shudder, and slumped forwards.

 Her sons gathered round her, moving with uncertainty and disease for the first time in their existence. Winged Death reached forwards to place a comforting hand on the shoulder of his Mother. She snapped back from the touch, whirling round in an animalistic blur of speed.

 Mother crouched, glowering at her sons. She sprang forwards, hands outsretched like claws. And now the dance began again, only now Mother was fighting her own sons, even as they were were trampling the remains of humanity into the dust. At first they evaded her grasp, unwilling to fight back against the one who had given them life. But it soon became clear that Mother would stop at nothing short of total destruction.

 War struck first, a blow to her shoulder that turned Mother in a graceful summersault towards the ground. She sprang again, however, only to be blocked by one of Death’s wings. The dance was intense now, as mother fought with her children.

 Finally, Death stepped forward, landing a blow to Mother’s chest. She staggered, and fell, disappearing beneath the carpet of deceased humanity that surrounded them.

 It was over.

 Around the hall, the dimmed lighting was returned to its former brilliance. The images of the dead humanity, of the Four Horsemen, flickered and faded, leaving only a man and woman, dressed in figure-hugging suits of sheer plack. They bowed low.

 Naren looked over his should at the throne, and the winged figure who sat upon it. Azrael said nothing, but bowed his head slightly. Beside him, his wife began to clap gentle, a motion that was picked up in a wave that travelled around the hall, until the entire room was filled with applause. The performers bowed again before retreating.

 Azrael stood, the feathers of his wings sweeping the floor.

 ‘120 years ago, humanity was destroyed by Mother Apocalypse and her sons. Among them was my ancestor, the first Lord of Death. Tomorrow morning,’ he said, his voice carrying round the hall with no apparent effort ‘My son, and my heir, will Ascend, and take his rightful place among the People.’

 Naren felt the eyes of the crowd turn on him. He raised his chin slightly, and endeavoured to appear taller than he was. Now his mother came forward down the steps, the light of the hall gleaming on her shaved skull. She bent down slightly, and kissed him on the forehead, before leading him back towards the throne to stand before his father. Azrael was a head taller than his son, and he towered over the boy, his eyes cold and emotionless. He raised a hand, and placed it on his son’s head; a universal sign of blessing.

 The crowd began to applaud again. Naren turned to look out among the assembled noblemen and dignitaries. There was always a crowd on the night before Ascension, but he was too young to remember seeing one this large. It had been over a decade since the last royal child had received their blessing. Among the crowd he saw his sister, Rei. She clapped, but only half-heartedly, and there was no joy in her eyes. Naren felt a chill run down his body as her gaze met his own.

 His father led the way down the short flight of stairs and out of the large doors at the far end of the hall, his wife and a number of servants following close behind. The crowds returned to their seats, to eat and drink, although with a more subdued air. The celebration proper was at an end now that the Lord had left, and it would not be long before the last of the revellers retired to bed, leaving the cheerful room cold and empty.

 No longer the centre of attention, Naren slipped out of a side door, leaving the heat and light of the hall behind as he fled into the gloom of the castle.

The Lady In Grey: An All Hallow's Read

 Way back in the dim and distant past (2010), Neil Gaiman came up with a new tradition for Halloween. Yes, I did just use the phrase 'new tradition', and no, I'm not going to apologise for it. At all.

 This new tradition (there, I did it again, just to prove how unashamed I am of this illogical and flagrantly anti-traditional idea) was called 'All Hallow's Read', and it is very simple. On or around Halloween, you give a book, or story, or comic, to someone as a gift. The book can be old or new, and the recipient can be a friend, family member, or total stranger. (Disclaimer: like sweets, books from strangers should be treated with the utmost caution, kids.) The only real rule is this: they must be scary.

 I love the idea behind this, because people simply don't share literature enough these days. Some of the most interesting conversations I've ever had have been those discussing books read, not for school or work, but for pleasure. Moreover, horror novels are so much more scary than horror films. It's just a fact. And sharing is caring.

 Here's a video in which Mr Gaiman talks about All Hallow's Read. Those figures in the background are people who prefer film and TV over literature. You can also find out more about All Hallow's Read here.

 In the spirit of All Hallow's Read, I've decided to give everyone a little gift. This is one of the first horror stories I wrote. In fact, it's one of the first stories I wrote, period. It won me a prize for one of the monthly competitions at Cardiff Univerity's Creative Writing Society (but not the month you might expect). Alumni from a certain prep school in Chichester, West Sussex will probably recognise the legend behind it, and I am thus indebted to the generations of schoolboys (and schoolgirls) who came before me.


The Lady In Grey

 Of the three matrons at West Street Boarding School, Marion was the favourite.

 Marion had never been married. She had been engaged once, long ago, and still wore her engagement ring on a chain around her neck, together with a small, simple cross which had belonged to her fiancée. She never told anyone about it, of course. Just like she never told anyone about the day that she had returned home from work, only to find the building engulfed in flames. She never spoke about her dead fiancée, and she always kept the ring hidden from sight. She wore, at all times, simple grey clothing, having decided that black was too severe a colour to wear twenty years after the fire, and had earned the nickname ‘The Grey Lady’ from the boys under her care.

 She had lost her eye- indirectly- because of the fire. The fire that had burnt down her home, that had killed her lover. She had stood outside their house, watching as the firemen battled the inferno, fighting back her tears. And then something hit her in the eye. There was a moment of searing pain, in her eye, which she quickly managed to brush away. An ember had blown into her eye, damaging its surface. Although she had thought little of it at the time, (who would, at a time like that?) the wound became infected and, a few months later, she returned to her mother’s house from the hospital, her right eye replaced with a sphere of glass. The fire that had robbed her of everything she owned, of her future as a wife and a mother, had also partially robbed her of sight.

 Marion loved all of the boys under her care, with the possible exception of Jack.

 Jack was, to Marion, everything that was bad about children. The student was, like so many others, a chorister. But while most of the other boys were quiet and polite as a result of the extensive time spent in the Cathedral, Jack was the exact opposite. His talent as a singer had made him arrogant, and too many midnight feasts had made him fat.

 When Marion found Jack stealing sweets from other boys, she punished him. That night, Jack was sent to bed before the other boys, without his evening snack. That night, Jack decided to get his revenge.

The dormitory in which Jack slept was called Long Dorm. It was a large wood-panelled room which was both too cold in the winter and too hot in the summer. It had twenty beds, although only twelve of them were occupied. The room had hard, wooden floorboards, which gave any boy who walked across the room without shoes a foot full of splinters. In the far corner, behind a locked door, was a spiral staircase which led all the way through the building to the ground floor, and served as the fire escape.  In the event of a fire, or a drill, it was Marion’s job to wake the boys, unlock the door, and lead them down the narrow staircase to the safety of the school playground outside.

That night, Marion woke with the sound of the fire alarm blaring in her ears. She was out of her bed and on her feet before she was fully awake, striding down the hallway to Long Dorm. She knew that this couldn’t be a drill; she wouldn’t have gone to bed if there had been one planned. As she passed a staircase leading down to the rest of the school, she smelt smoke. She quickened her pace, trying to move as quickly as possible without appearing panicked.

She entered the room and flicked on the lights, quietly pleased to see that most of the boys were already out of bed, sleepily pulling on their dressing gowns and slippers and shuffling towards the door to the spiral staircase. Jack was already there, waiting by the locked door. For a few boys, the only response to the alarm had been to drag the covers over their heads. Normally, Jack would have been one of them. A moment of suspicion flared in her before she fought it down. Jack was a prankster and a bully, yes, but even he wouldn’t set fire to the school. Would he?

 With all of the boys out of their beds, Marion began struggling with the old, stiff lock of the disused door. Behind her, the boys stood in a ragged crowd, some chattering with excitement, some fidgeting nervously, some practically falling asleep again where they stood. Only Jack remained entirely still, waiting at Marion’s elbow.

Marion stood at the top of the staircase, feeling in the dark for the light switch. Just as she reached it, she felt a pressure in the small of her back. She turned as she fell, and saw Jack’s grinning face framed by the light which spilled out of the dormitory. She fell through the darkness, bouncing off one wall after another as she tumbled all the way downwards. She landed on the narrow landing which opened out onto the floor below with a thud which knocked the glass eye from its socket and sent it skittering off into the gloom below. By the time anyone knew what had happened, Marion was dead.

Time passed and life, gradually, returned to normal. A memorial service was held for Marion, at which the choristers, including those from Long Dorm, had sung. Despite an extensive search, her glass eye was never found. A new matron was hired; one who was just as strict as Marion had been, but lacked the other woman’s kindness and sense of humour. The damage to the library, where the fire had started, was repaired. The cause of the fire was never firmly established, although a cleaner- an old man with a habit of leaving cigarette butts in the bins- was fired.

 At first, Jack was the same as ever. He was still just as loud and rude. He still stole chocolate and biscuits from the smaller boys and, by the time the summer term was nearly at an end, he was even fatter than he had been before.

 It was two weeks until the end of term when things started to change. Jack found himself waking, again and again, in the middle of the night. He would lie perfectly still; uncertain of what had woken him. And then he would see, in the corner of his eye, movement in the shadows near the door to the spiral stairs. Or he would catch the smell of burning. Or worst of all, he would hear the sound. It was like a marble, a glass marble, rolling along the wooden floorboards, starting in the corner and approaching his bed, before stopping abruptly, only a few feet away.

 When he told the others, he was ignored. Everyone knew that he was a liar and a trouble-maker. He had tried to scare them, or trick them, or bullied them in the past, and they were tired of it. When he tried to tell the teachers, it was worse. There was talk of sending him to a psychiatrist, murmurs that he wasn’t dealing with the trauma of Marion’s death properly.

 The end of term was greeted, as always, with much excitement. Long Dorm was a hive of activity long after lights out, as the boys excitedly discussed their plans for the long summer holidays which stretched out before them. Only Jack was silent. He lay in his bed, perfectly still, refusing to be drawn into any conversation. He didn’t even stir to join in with the customary midnight feast. He lay awake long after the other boys had fallen silent, finally falling into a light, fitful sleep.

 Jack woke a few hours later, covered in sweat. The room, always warm in the summer evening, now seemed unbearably hot. Without opening his eyes, Jack kicking the sheets away in an attempt to cool down. He froze as his nostrils were filled with the smell of burning. Gradually, he became aware of the sound of a glass marble being rolled along the floor of the dormitory. At first it was quiet, so soft that he wasn’t sure that he had actually heard it. It grew louder as it approached. And then it would stop, the sound quickly fading away as the marble switched direction, moving away from him. A moment later, it would start again, as it drew gradually closer to his bed. Each time, it would stop just before reach the place where Jack lay, his eyes firmly closed.

 Finally, Jack could bear it no longer. The smell of burning had grown so strong that it stung his nostrils and made his eyes water. The sound of the marble, the noise rising and falling as it moved around the room, echoed through his head so that he felt he would scream. He opened his eyes.

 Someone was standing at the end of his bed.

 The moonlight streamed through the window behind it, illuminating the figure from behind. All that Jack was certain of was that it was a woman. A woman dressed entirely in grey.

 The sound of the fire alarm ripped through the building. It wasn’t until the school had been evacuated, and the boys were gathered in the playground, that anyone realised that Jack wasn’t there. They searched the building, but the boy could not be found. When the new matron checked his bed she found, nestled in the crumpled sheets, a glass eye. Jack was never seen again.