Chaos Descending

Late one night the flames of the torches flickered again, sparks shooting out in a quiet hiss. A young man walked down the street path of Arvan. Many weird things had been happening lately. First, the new king had been hailed, and his wife had died of a mysteries terrible sickness… and now, this unusual mist had descended, at first the villagers of Arvan had dismissed it as the front of a hurricane, but now, day after day, till now, two weeks later, the fog had gotten heavier and the boy, whose name was Jonathan Frost, green eyes and light tawny hair, had swore that the weird fog had taken a green tinge, almost like emeralds. Not unlike his own forest green.

Also, as more and more days went by until the last day of work, where only I, the local stockman, and my two friends, Ash Baker a tall boy who was the same age as me, he had electric blue eyes, dark red hair and a very short temper. My other friend was a girl called Syria Cummings. She had long dark brown hair and hazel eyes. They didn't believe me when I told them of my suspicions. Of course fog wasn't green! They had believed me when I said that it was unusual for fog to last this long in the middle of warm season though. Also, a few people had fallen ill, and one man, Java, had fallen into a coma because of some type of poisoning, I suspected the sickly green fog. So now it was July 9th.

I pulled his tunic tighter around my body; it was a dark blue color. My friend, Syria, had already succumbed to sickness, all the sick people's symptoms were all the same, bronchitis, coughing, choking and difficulty to breath, pain and hallucinations' of monsters prowling at their bedside. Ash had also started coughing. The only place that wasn't covered by the heavy mist was Stormsythe, where most people were moving too now that the bad weather had come, and Conall Plains, but that place was ridden with monsters. Parents told their children stories that discouraged then from seeking out the dangerous field. Tales of monsters sized birds reeking of death, thieves and thugs and wolves that came out at night to rip the flesh off your bones, and no one had ever come back from traveling the fields at night. Also, tales of a hero, who was the only one who walked those plains without fear; monsters cowered before him, but who believed in those stories?

I was going to go see my horse, Karoll, who was a chestnut, with a stripe running down her face, she was 15.5 hands, bred for speed and endurance she was one of the best horses Arvan ever had.

As I entered the barn, the warm smell of hay, alfalfa and goats appeared, my horse, Karoll raised her head from her hay, brown eyes sad, as, she too, felt the affects of the mist, but as an animal, the affects were not as strong. Same for the goats; The mayor, Basil, was glad for this because the plants they had been growing had died about 6 days after the mist had descended. The stockman's name was Rhyce, and he was not as sick as every body else because he, like John, was fit from working and lifting. John had a wooden sword from Khaz, the swords keeper, who had taught John the basics of swordplay at a young age. Jonathan's parents had died in the Battle of Avill which was now rumored to be abandoned by many citizens who had fled the battle then those remaining, ran from the constant bad luck that seemed to follow the mist wherever it went. That was all anybody had ever told him, except for the fact that their names were Daniel and Emily Frost.

"How are you doing in this terrible weather?" Rhyce was 6 feet 5 inches tall and towered over me; you would think that he was terrifying but he was very kind to everyone. His hair was short, but for once it had stuck flat to his scalp due to the humid, heavy air, his grey eyes were warm and calm.

You've come down to see Karoll?" I nodded "She's gotten a little depressed from the fact that she can't go outside, maybe you can cheer her up!" He gave me a worn smile; I smiled back, and maybe today wouldn't be so bad after all!

The patter of rain started on the wooden roof of the barn as I grabbed a brush and began to groom Karoll's coat with long, firm strokes. Rhyce's footsteps were in the barn's storeroom, moving hay, milk and butter from the goats. In the half light of the stable, I saw the door open and close as Rhyce left, chores done, to go home. That was the last time anyone ever saw Jonathan Frost.

John decided, even if it was raining, to ride Karoll out into Arva Woods, he wouldn't go into Conall Field, not yet anyways just to the edge of the forest. He tacked up, using an old saddle that had belonged to my dad's old warhorse, Bolt, who had died from colic, three years after my dad had died, I had gathered from some of the tales of his father's battles, that he had been a soldier of Stormsymthe, before settling in Arvan Village. I heaved myself up into the worn saddle and took off down the worn path.

Everyone was inside when I rode past. Arvan, my hometown, had a one-way dirt road and fire torches lit up the streets, but they had been put out by the rain. The houses were log cabins and a bridge over the river, which was cutting right through the middle village. I kicked Karoll into a trot and left the village, but I had forgotten that anyone who went out into the woods after the fog had arrived; didn't come back.

Arva Woods was dark and dreary and the sound of rain hitting the leaves made little plop sounds that sounded eerie in the thick fog. The fog got steadily even thicker, until he couldn't see his own hand in front of his face. I slowed my horse to a walk as thunder rumbled and lightning split the skies, for a second, I thought I saw the shape of a old man walking though the mist, but as I tried to understand why I could see this person when I couldn't see his own hand in front of his own face; it was gone. I shivered, unease cloaked me like the night, and somehow, someway, I knew I wasn't going home tonight. Arva Woods was safe, wasn't it?

The mist became thicker, I couldn't see anything, and I never heard it coming. I was thrown off his horse I landed with a thump, all the wind was knocked out of me. Karoll reared and bolted farther down the path; I got back up and sliced my sword though the air and it swished through nothing, but I was sure that I had hit it… a teasing laugh echoed near my ear; I ran for my horse, nothing had ever happened like this before; but I never got that far… I was yanked back and my screams were cut short as I choked, and a knife drew across my throat.

Jonathan Frost was only 13 years old.

Comments ~Reviews~

AM: - Great use of action!!! Maybe John meets this hero? Loved the legend/story used at the end of page 1!!! Also loved the forbidden feeling of the Conall Field and the description of the birds of death and wolves that rips your flesh off!! I'll help you continue if you like… maybe with dialogue? You told me that you have trouble with dialogue.

ASW:~ This was for my Creative Novel Project for school, I think its pretty good! Review and say what you think?

PS. AM is my twin sister, im great at action, but my sister is better at conversations and dialoge.