To the reader:
I know exactly what you are going to think the moment you reach the second word of the fourth paragraph on the first chapter (not the prologue below, but the first chapter). In order to cushion the blow, I will tell you what the word is. Brace yourself.
'her'
I shall give you a moment to compose yourself. I understand the shock you must be feeling.
Now that you've gathered your wits, allow me to explain myself. You see, I always find myself restricted to vignettes and short compositions when writing fanfiction that is based on the characters within a novel. I find myself bound to the canon of the original author and am unable to break myself away from these accepted truths in their world. Their characters, their storylines, their world is pure and sacred and I, with my bumbling ways, would not dare to alter that which has been set in ink.
So, what is a fanfiction author to do, you ask? My answer: take the thought and run off with it.
I have made my own characters. Yes, characters. Plural. Not only that, but I have cast off the old characters. The fellowship you know will remain untouched by my inept keystrokes. Instead, I will draw up my own map, write of my own world, and allow you all to see my own characters.
I give you heed now: I am not at all adept in writing romance. Thus, I will not attempt to do what I know I cannot. Instead, I will write action, adventure, intrigue, and the complex workings of a soul caught at an impass.
This is my story. Maybe it can become yours too.
Thanking you for your time: C. A. Sterling.
The Fourth Age may seem important to some, but really, there is very little to tell. After the fall of Sauron, another power rose to be, and he had many names. The Alpha, the Omega, the Almighty I Am, and the list just stretched on for ages, to the point where some would question his sanity. Mainly, however, he selected the name God.
Of course, God's real name was Biggles. However, nobody ever noted it and this fact fell into obscurity.
At any rate, Biggles sought to resurrect the race of Man and bring them to new heights. He wished them to rule the vast expanses of Middle Earth and all who dwelled there, be they human or beast, magical or no. In order to achieve this, he created two perfect humans, who could do this task, naming them Adam and Eve; and to show how very perfect they were, he put before them the Tree of Knowledge, and told them that they should not eat its fruit.
Which, really, is much like telling a child not to push a button.
So, Eve takes the fruit of the tree and eats it. She even bakes a pie of it and serves it to Adam after a full and lovely day. With their newfound knowledge, they did resurrect Man and cast off Biggles, doing all the work by themselves. One would think that Biggles would be pleased by such an event: after all, his plans were going accordingly. Only, there was one thing he didn't realize: by recreating Man, magic will be lost.
Magic was lost, and the Five Inauspicious Ages of Man passed without much event, leading humanity through evolution, wars, assassinations, and far more tumult in the short three thousand years of existence than had been seen by the Ages of Old. Man killed man, brother killed brother, and progress marched on. The lives of people passed through Dark Ages, Middle Ages, Renaissance, and Scientific and Industrial Revolutions. They passed through Classicism, Baroque, Romanticisms, Modernism, Impressionism, and many other isms that the art world so loves to flash around. God was killed by man, and man learned to live on in peace. Despite the wars, progress continued onward and upward, and the general populous lived in tranquility, moving into the Fading Age of Man, or what history would call, the Tenth Age.
And as the Tenth Age will show, evil never really dies, and the cords that bind magic cannot hold down the powers of old forever.
Chapter One: Untitled (for now)
Smoke, cloud, and ash swirled in the air, creating a poisonous fume that was death to inhale. The atmosphere was thick with angry thunder, glancing off of the lightning that cascaded onto the scorched earth. Gaunt trees stood against the blood-read sky, praying silently to the war-gods fighting above, asking for release from their torment. The sky glared down on the earth, raining blood from the overhead battle to give the ground a false dampness. Sanguine rivers trickled in otherwise dry riverbeds, the parched earth unable to consume the sin-filled drink. Barren mountains lay like jagged teeth on the landscape, carving madness in the smoldering ruins. Nothing of life remained here.
Atop a distant mountain lay an impenetrable patch of darkness. It seemed as though all light in this world was drawn to it and ravaged before it lay on the ground in shattered pieces, a burnt offering to the lords of destruction. It wasn't a wisp of cloud or a natural anomaly, for an incantation sprang from it, dark and menacing that it could blacken the souls of the innocent. The mirth of evil could be distinctly heard in the foul voice, taking great delight in the pain and chaos it wreathed the world in.
However, it could not blacken all things.
From her perch on a lonely mountain, she could see the great expanses of destruction before her. Putrid wind combed her hair and felt through tangles of cloth for a foothold, or perhaps a refuge. Waves of pain floated through her heart as she stood alone, silent, and still on the mountaintop. Should she shift, dry gravel would crunch beneath her feet, sounding above the thunder, echoing the pain of split flesh and powdering bone in her ear.
She could feel a great sorrow in her heart, greater than the scene before her should have called for. It was as though she were somehow responsible, as though the fabric of the world coming undone could have been prevented and she knew how. It was, of course, how all people felt in the face of destruction. They wish to take action, but cannot, and are therefore left to frustrated fantasies of what may have been. Her scarred heart absorbed the sadness and pain that blanketed the land until it could hold no more.
It all ended abruptly and she found herself laying in bed, drenched in a cold sweat, the walls trembling around her.
After a few minutes the trembling stopped and with a groan she rolled over and turned on her radio. The announcer came on after a brief scramble by the small clock radio to find a secure wavelength. His droning voice spilled out of the speakers, giving basic facts on the minor earthquake that had just passed: twenty-third tremor in the past two weeks, possible series of pre-shocks, be sure to have supplies, and other random trivialities not to be bothered with when getting ready for school. She wiped a bit of matted hair from her eyes and grumbled at the already horrid start of her day. Now, she merely waited until her mother came down the hall and yelled at her to get out of bed. She gave it about five seconds. Four. Three. Tw-
"Mirem? It's time to wake up." Just slightly early.
"No," she grumbled, dragging out the word pathetically.
"Get out of bed, or you won't get to school and get an F on your math test." She whined at her mother plaintively. "And don't forget your term paper. I went to Kinko's last night and printed it out for you, so you had better not forget it. Now, get up or else you'll have no breakfast."
All of this was said in that tone which plainly told her to get out of bed, or else. Unsure of her legs, she stumbled out of bed, half-walking, half-crawling to the dresser and grabbing what she hoped would be a matching outfit before dragging herself to the shower. Her entire wardrobe consisted mainly of black pants or jeans, blue or white tops, and her always-worn black coat. It was her favorite article of clothing and reached down to just past her knees; if the day was cool enough, she was not seen without it.
Once she finally managed to cram enough breakfast in her to tide her over for a few hours (or at least until the end of her first class) she hopped into her car and sped off to school, passing around cars on the freeway like a seasoned player of the traffic game. She turned up her stereo until the car door was vibrating against her arm and started singing along, loudly, and ludicrously off-key. It was some cheerful tune, with underlying lyrics speaking of rebellion and standing alone in the face of opposition, all the making of very good morning music.
Remy ran into her class exactly as the bell rang and dropped into her seat with a huge, innocent smile plastered across her face. "Good morning, sir."
Her teacher frowned at her briefly before turning to speak to the class. "Now, as I can see by the grey circles under all of your eyes, you have all finished the paper due today at, I'd say, three in the morning." There was a general mutter of discontent from the students. "Please pass in your papers."
She opened up her backpack and dug inside for her paper. Her stomach fell slightly when she didn't spot it at first. Remy brought her backpack up on her desk and dug through it. Nothing. She even took everything out, examining the contents leaf by unorganized leaf. However, she didn't find anything of value to her present situation.
"Mirem? Do you have your paper?"
She looked up meekly. Mr. Hill was staring down at her expectantly. "Um," she gulped, "I left it at home. Can I, ah, drive there now and get it?"
"Oh, no, don't go to all that trouble," he said with a saccharine smile. "Just bring it in tomorrow."
She sighed with relief. "Thank you so much, Mr. Hill."
"For a twenty percent grade deduction."
"But sir-!"
"And maybe next time you'll come to class better prepared?"
Remy moaned, putting her head down on her desk. She felt about ready to cry.
"And please don't add insult to injury by sleeping in my class."
'This isn't high school,' she thought, picking her head back up. 'This is the ninth circle of Hell in disguise.'
The sun was not shining brightly on Remy that morning as she wandered into math class. The moment the math exam hit her desk, the words and numbers melted into gibberish. She blanked completely and could not understand one word on the page, if they were even words to begin with. Just a random string of characters that comprised a nonsense language.
She was on her way to a bright red G. It would go so far below an F that her teacher would, most likely, not even dignify it with an F. And her foul luck didn't fade as she went into her history class; in fact, it only got worse. Because she had spent the entire night previous working on her term paper (the one that was sitting on her kitchen counter at present) she hadn't done any of the homework and was drilled on the assignment in front of the class. Her teacher relished in her ineptness on the assignment, and she merely struggled her way through, making up what she could.
By the end of Spanish, she was ready to collapse. She had failed her second test for the day, a pop quiz on verb conjugations. What killed her was that it had to be the basest verb for Spanish in existence, the verb "to be," and she couldn't even remember the root word. After fifty-five minutes of debate, she still hadn't decided whether it was "ser" or "ná" and handed in a blank sheet of paper with "Mirem Calhoun" hastily scribbled across the top.
She flopped down tiredly at a table in the cafeteria beside her friend, promptly banging her head on the table.
"Rough day?"
"One might say that. Got any chocolate?"
"Chocolate before one pm? This is bad." She scrounged around in her bag. "I have soda."
"Thanks, Chloe," she said, popping it open tiredly, as though flipping up the tab took a great deal more energy than she had. She took a long drink from the can before putting her head back down. "I'm going to take a nap, I think. Wake me when the bell rings."
"Okay."
"And do it gently. I'm not fully stable at the moment."
"No problem."
Chloe sighed. "I'm glad you're coming to the concert after school today."
"Yea, I'll be there. Let me sleep a bit though. Otherwise, I might pass out during your solo."
Surrounded by bubbling conversation, she drifted into a nap. It wasn't long before she found herself dreaming of a peaceful place, tranquil and calm, with green hills and quiet streams. She was sitting under a tree, hiding in its shade and reading a book. Of course, the words made no sense in the dream, but she had the sense of reading a sort of fantasy novel, about mysterious quests and slaying dragons. It was all very peaceful and calm until the bell rang; she woke up with such a start that she knocked over her soda and spilled it on herself.
"Great," Remy muttered. "Just great. Please, let something more go wrong today."
"I'd be careful asking that," Chloe said. "We have chemistry sixth and we're doing a lab today."
"Not the hydrochloric acid one?"
"That's the one."
Remy walked to her theatre class with hardly anything but the impending doom of chemistry class weighing on her mind. She was lucky enough to have her teacher be in a less foul mood than average; however, this wasn't saying very much. He still managed to reduce her to a pathetic puddle of unrehearsed, unblocked, unprepared, and unskilled being, which was one of the last things she needed that day. She walked into chemistry a broken woman.
When they were paired off, she made sure to be in a group with Chloe. However, since there was an odd number that day, their teacher Mr. Jamka stuck Kevin Goddard, class clown extraordinaire, into their group.
"This does not bode well," Chloe whispered.
"No kidding."
The three of them set promptly to work; rather, the two of them set promptly to work while Kevin sat back and watched, giving input at random and rather unnecessary times. "You need to watch the meniscus," he said. "Be careful to dilute the acid just right." "Don't forget to convert it all into moles."
Remy glared at him. "How about this? Why don't you do the experiment, and Chloe and I will sit around on our duffs and watch?"
Surprisingly, he leapt off of his chair and proceeded to work with the chemicals. Remy and Chloe looked on in shock as he poured everything into exact measures and set up the experiment. He tapped the last drops into a small beaker as Jamka strolled up to the table.
"Well, Mirem, why don't you show your experiment to me?"
She looked down at the beakers, sighing confidently. For once, something may go right today. "Well, you see, when we mix the acid with the base, we're going to get a chemical reaction in which heat is expended. We've diluted the acid to a ratio of 0.06 moles per mole of water, so that the reaction won't be too violent." Having explained that, she combined the chemicals.
Things went downhill from there; or, rather, they went up in the air. Hydrochloric acid shot all over their lab table, and the four of them had to dive out of the way so as to not be burned by the chemicals. This volcano sputtered for about ten seconds, during which the entire chemistry lab was thrown into a frenzy of evading acid and guarding homework. At the end of it all, Jamka was staring daggers at Remy.
She swallowed. "I'm getting a detention for this, aren't I?"
"Well, at least you know that much."
Remy groaned, muttering softly to herself as her teacher wrote up the detention slip. "Maybe you can study the properties of hydrochloric acid while you're in there," her teacher offered as he handed her the detention.
She took the pink slip of paper and sighed again, putting her head down once more on her desk. "This day can't get any worse, can it?"
"You all right, Rem?"
Remy rolled her head sideways, looking up at her friend like a bruised ferret. "No, Chloe, I'm not. My day has gone from bad to worse." She proceeded to enumerate, at length, everything that had gone foul that day, from waking up late and without coffee to this most recent crime against her day, the detention. Her entire tirade was garnished generously with swear words, in multiple languages, enough to make a land-starved sailor blush.
At the very end of it, Chloe was staring back at her in amazement. "Well, if you can do that with a golf ball and five feet of PVC piping, I'd like to see it. Wait," she said, pausing. "On second thought, maybe I wouldn't like to see it."
Despite herself, Remy laughed. "I guess it all is pretty funny."
"Not really funny so much as unbelievable. Too many things for too little day. A little unbelievable if you ask me."
"Believe it," Remy muttered. "I have the scars to prove it. Or at least the D minus."
"Hey, Remy!" Kevin was calling her from the doorway, flashing her a thumbs-up. "Way to go with making the lab due tomorrow!"
"Yea," chirped someone else next to her. "Nice hydrochloric pyrotechnics."
She glared at him. "Bite me. Come on, Chloe."
Convincing Chloe to walk her to detention took the better part of two minutes, during which Remy's name can be explained. Her grandmother on her father's side was named Mirem, and he wanted desperately to name his daughter that. On his deathbed, he made Remy's mother promise to name their daughter Mirem, or more specifically, Mirem Joy Calhoun. Once Remy was old enough to have a say in the matter, she chose the nickname 'Remy' for herself, and everybody except for teachers and her mother address her as Remy.
Returning to how things were progressing for Remy, she walked into detention and signed Mirem Calhoun with a bitter flourish before flopping down angrily into her seat. As she threw her backpack down, a zipper ripped open and her pens, pencils, and calculator spilled on the floor, giving everybody the signal to laugh at her. With a definite note of frustration, she started picking them up.
"Here, let me help you."
Remy looked up at the source of the voice that had offered to help. The word "thanks" died on her lips as she stared into the most unbelievable pair of blue eyes she had ever seen. They were set behind ludicrously long lashes, framed by flawless skin, all accompanied with gorgeous cheekbones, a perfect jaw line, beautiful dark hair, broad shoulders, and if she kept going, she would probably lose consciousness.
Instead, she swallowed, moistening her dry throat enough to squeak out, "Thanks."
He gave her an awkward look. "Sure."
One of the ladies administering detention cleared her throat and gave them a very distinct look, which said 'Get back in your seats or prepare to suffer the consequences.' She assumed 'the consequences' probably constituted of detention, which she was all too happy to get out of. She flashed a quick smile at her incredibly good-looking helper and sat back down. Opening up her chemistry book, she began working on her homework for the next day. After about five problems, a small scrap of paper landed on her desk.
My name's Dean, by the way. Are you a freshman?
She stared down at the paper, somewhat hurt. No, she wrote back. I'm a junior. Flipping the note back to his desk, she continued on her homework, still miffed.
A few minutes later, the offending piece of paper returned. Sorry, you just look young and not really tall, so I thought you were a freshie. Do you have Jamka for chemistry? If so, can I see your notes for today's lab?
Remy grinned bitterly. I don't take notes. Besides, I'm barely getting a C as it is. I couldn't help you.
He took the paper from her and shrugged after reading it. Leaning over, he whispered "thanks anyway" to her, which earned him a stern look from the detention monitors. Remy nodded and continued on with her homework as best as she could, sneaking occasional glances at Dean when she thought he wasn't looking. She didn't get very far in her assignment, needless to say.
When they were finally let out, Remy almost sprinted to her car, worried that if she was by Dean any longer, he would probably file a restraining order on her. She walked quickly down the hallways, weaving her way about a little, still wanting to catch a glimpse of Dean before she left. It was unfortunate that with her intent focus on Dean, she quite missed seeing Mr. Hill, slamming right into him as they rounded a corner instead.
Papers sprayed every which way, with both student and teacher laying flat on their backs, staring up at the ceiling. Remy sat up, staring at her teacher in amazement. "Mr. Hill! I'm so sorry!"
"Perhaps you should be more careful, Mirem," he grumbled angrily as he sat up.
She hastily began collecting his papers, scanning them over quickly as she tried to get them into some semblance of order. However, as she began sorting, he ripped them angrily from her hands. "Let me do that," he barked.
"Sorry. Just trying to help. Not like I could read it anyway."
"Shouldn't you be working on your paper?"
She sighed. This was it; this was the end. Remy had officially reached critical straw mass and would not stand for this. "I told you already, I finished the paper. If you weren't such a jerk about it and let me go get it, I could have had it to you by the end of class this morning. But no, you had to be a soulless teacher and deduct 20% off of a paper you're already going to give a C to, before you even read it. Do you even understand the concept of good and kindness?"
"Vendë pénya handa."
"I do not, and you'd know that if you'd just read my essay."
He looked at her oddly. "You really did finish it, didn't you?"
"Yes, I honestly did."
Mr. Hill leveled his gaze with hers. "All right. I trust you. If you bring it in tomorrow, before class, then I'll let it slide."
She gaped at him. "Are you serious?"
"Yes. Now go home and get your homework done. I expect you bright and early, before the bell rings."
Remy leapt up, nearly knocking all of the papers out of his hands again. "Oh, thank you, sir! Thank you so much!" Without thinking, she gave him a quick hug before sprinting off to her car, screaming jubilantly the whole way there. She was so excited that she dropped her keys as she struggled to open up her car.
"I don't know what you just did," she said, looking up at the heavens, "but thank you very much!" Finally managing to get inside, she turned on the car and pulled out of the parking lot, listening vaguely to the news.
"... predicting more seismic activity before the end of the day. Scientists are uncertain as to whether these are pre-shocks, or merely a string of small earthquakes. There will be more on this-" The story abruptly cut off when Remy changed the channel, looking for some music to listen to as she drove home.
* * *
The next morning, Remy woke up with a drowsy start at the phone. She glared at it as it rang, waiting three rings before picking up.
"This had better be good," she grumbled into the phone, not really caring whom it was on the other line.
"Rem? It's Chloe."
"Have you gone mental? It's five thirty in the morning."
"Dad's car is busted, and he has to take mine to get to work. We need to know if you can drive me to school."
Remy paused, earnestly thinking over the great debate of being the good friend or getting enough sleep. "You owe me."
"Actually, no."
"Come again?"
"You see," Chloe said in a rather high-and-mighty tone, "there was a concert you were suppose to make an appearance at yesterday-"
"Oh, no."
"Oh yes. Can you be here at seven thirty?"
"I'll be there at six thirty, with big, angry bells on."
"Thanks so much, Rem! You're a lifesaver!"
"Yea, yea. Let me sleep." With that, she set the phone back into its cradle and passed out for another good fifteen minutes of sleep. When she finally had to get up, she threw on her typical outfit (jeans, camisole, white collared shirt, black coat, sneakers), managed to French braid her short hair into pigtails and ran out the door, grabbing a piece of toast and her traveler's cup of coffee on her way out (a bit of cream and two sugars, as always). Her paper was securely in her bag as she flung her things into the backseat. Without heed for the speed limit, she drove down the road to pick up her friend.
"Chloe!" she shouted from her car, honking the horn as she sat in the driveway, engine running. "Hurry up! I have to give this paper to Mr. Hill before the bell rings!"
Chloe dove into the car as Remy started pulling out, staring at her breathlessly. "I thought you said Mr. Hill was too big of a spiteful piece of filth to let you hand your paper in late."
"I said 'spiteful piece of filth'?"
"Well, not exactly, but I'm not into swearing before school. I prefer saving those strong words for when I need them."
"Makes sense. As for Mr. Hill," she trailed off, shrugging. "He had a change of heart, I suppose. Or change of species. I'm not quite sure." Remy glanced at the clock, noting the hour; she had half an hour to get there. "Anyway, I don't care how it happened. Blame God for all I care. It happened, and I'm thankful. Now buckle up." Remy didn't wait for her friend to fasten her seatbelt as she plummeted into traffic at a reckless speed.
"Shouldn't you slow down?"
"No time. Must drive."
Chloe shrank into her seat. "This is bad. You've gone monosyllabic."
"Hn."
They drove silently to school, her tires screeching slightly as she pulled into a parking spot. Tossing her keys at Chloe for her to lock the car, she sprinted as quickly as she could to Mr. Hill's class. She burst through the door, panting heavily. "Mister... Hill," she gasped. "I have... the... paper..."
That was when she noticed he wasn't the only one in the room. Sitting in two desks were Kevin Goddard and (her knees went weak) Dean. Dean, without a last name, but Dean all the same, and it was far more refreshing than coffee could have ever been.
"Did you guys not hand in a paper either?"
"Oh, I turned mine in," Kevin said. "Apparently, we have to discuss it still."
Dean shrugged. "I'm just here to talk about my extra-credit assignment."
Remy was about to continue when Chloe burst into the room behind her. "Here are your keys, Rem. Your car is safe and sou-"
She might have finished her thought if the ground hadn't started to shake and the room didn't go dim. But they did, and the sound of crushing pillars and collapsing roofs made any further conversation impossible.