SUMMARY: He was the pawn of Jack of Blades his entire life. This is Maze's story.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Yay! Finally, an update! Apologies for the delay. Some of it was due to procrastination, some of it to homework, some of it to writer's block, and some of it to replaying Fable. About that… I've decided that Fable has some glaring inconsistencies that annoy me to no end. Leave it to Lionhead to write a plot hole so big you could drive a starship through it. Grrr! This might affect my story or it might not. Oh well, I'll elaborate later when I write the relevant pieces. In the meantime, enjoy!
Fable
Dawn of Sorrows
Chapter TwoYou cannot imagine how many lives he has wrecked…
--Maze
"Wake up!"
The boy mumbled something unintelligible and rolled over, the voice quickly forgotten. He would quickly regret it. A single bolt of lightning jabbed him in the back, so forceful he spilled onto the stone floor. He released a surprised shout. Had it been any other lifetime, he might've found it funny, but the boy's life was long since devoid of humor.
Now, so rudely awakened, he peered over the edge of the bed, jerking in surprise to see Jack's masked figure. "Get yourself ready and meet me in the courtyard," and with that he was gone, the sound of his footsteps fading into the distance.
The bewildered boy gingerly picked himself off the floor, rubbing the sore spot on his back and silently wondering what that was all about. Something was up, but for the life of him, he couldn't possibly think of what could be so important that Jack would wake him up himself rather than entrust this task to his usual morning attendant. But whatever it was, he'd best not keep Jack waiting.
The boy sighed, stealing one last glance at the empty doorway before setting out in search of a change of clothes.
Four years had passed since Jack had personally taken the boy under his wing, six years since the death of his parents. And everyday he continued to train. Under Jack's tutelage the boy learned much, but his teacher also had a streak of singular cruelty. Every accomplishment was met with mockery and insults—true praise was far and few between—and every failure was met with a painful burst of magical lightning. Jack was always demanding something of him, and everyday the boy pushed himself to the brink of exhaustion to accomplish it. The boy hated it, and he hated Jack for it, but he also had a certain fear and respect for the man so that he could never lift a hand against him—even if it were possible.
Jack was waiting in the courtyard as promised. The boy shivered. The sun wasn't even up yet, and it was dreadfully cold. Even the gentle wind was biting against his exposed skin. The boy pulled his cloak tighter around him. He approached the dark figure with complete deference, if not with a little bit of query.
Jack ignored his silent question. "Take my hand."
The boy swallowed. He dreaded any physical contact with the man, but his tone booked no room for hesitancy or doubt. He gripped the man's gauntlet; it was cold as death. A melodious ring swirled about them, and the two disappeared in a haze of magical light.
The first thing he noticed about his new surroundings was the stench. It was the smell of burning wood and flesh. All the shanty houses were ablaze, and he could hear the horrified screams coming from within. Outside, bodies lay strewn on the ground. Some he recognized to be the guards of Jack's citadel. Others—well, they appeared to be human enough, except for one thing: they all had white hair.
A village of Will users?
Before he could make any more sense of it, Jack took off running. The boy ran after him, dodging fallen bodies, small fires, fierce combatants, and smoldering buildings. What was going on here?
He tried to keep up with Jack as best he could, but the man's stride was much longer than his own. Soon, Jack's dark figure was out of sight. The boy slowed to a halt, leaning on his knees to catch his breath. Great. That's just great, he thought to himself. He took a few deep breaths to calm his pounding heart, but he dare not stay here for too much longer; the battle was still raging all around him.
He was about to take off running again when he felt the ground rumbling under him. The boy's legs became as jelly. Something was rising out of the ground! There was a mighty earthen roar, and all the boy could do was roll out of the way as a massive rock troll emerged from where he was standing just moments before.
Fear gripped his heart at the sight of the monstrous creature. Few people have ever gazed upon a rock troll, and even fewer have lived to tell about it, much less summoned the courage and the power to bring it down. It was easily four or five times his own height and would be impervious to any of his physical attacks. He would have run, but the troll was the only thing standing between him and Jack. He had to get around it. Despite his fear, he could already feel his training kicking into action.
The creature let up a mighty roar and bent down to seize a big chunk of the earth. Lofting it into the air, the troll hurled it at the defending boy. But he was smaller and faster and he easily dived out of the way. The ground shook with the forceful impact.
Bruised only, the boy quickly recovered and was back on his feet. He held his arm out, his mind focusing all its power on his first attack. Already he could feel the heat that was in the air gather around his arm and cause it to glow. Waves of it spilled off and warmed his cold face, yet his blazing arm remained untouched. Suddenly, he became aware of another upcoming salvo and dodged it just in the nick of time. The flying dirt of the boulders stung against his face, but amazingly enough, his spell remained intact.
Finally, the fireball became too much for him to handle, and he hurled his fiery projectile at the massive creature. It caught the rock troll in the face, and the creature roared in agony. It thrashed about, flinging pebbles and other small rocks left and right. The boy fell to one knee as a fist-size rock struck him in the thigh. Shrugging it off, the boy took this as his chance to escape.
But he ran smack into something else. Falling at its feet, the boy looked up to see a white-haired man, standing regally with his arms in the air. Even with the boy's largely undeveloped Will powers, he could still sense the power flowing off the man in waves. A summoner—either that or he was somehow enslaving the rock troll to do his bidding.
The boy's poor sense of direction jarred the man from his spell, and he looked down at the boy with incredible surprise. "A child?" The boy gasped; the man's eyes were glowing.
He backed away from the man, still too bewildered to clamber to his feet. Suddenly, he became aware of the rock troll that was still behind him, and the thing hadn't forgotten the injustice that was inflicted upon its face. The monster roared, stomping toward him with murderous rage.
He thought for sure that he was about to die—a bloodied smear in some nameless town—but thankfully, that didn't happen. There was a flash of light and a thunderclap, and suddenly the rock troll was completely without a face. The boy looked up to see the decapitated creature swaying dangerously. There was another burst of lightning, and the thing fell backward. The earth trembled and a shower of dust erupted into the air.
The boy shielded his face against the offending particles, but it was still enough to make his eyes water and his lungs sting. When he could finally see and breathe again, he looked back up at the man, but it wasn't he who had destroyed the creature. Instead, Jack strode up, his fingers still crackling with electricity. The Will user turned to face the newcomer, but he jerked in surprise at the sight of the man. Was that horror? His eyes darted between Jack's and the boy's own, as if trying to make sense of the situation. Finally, his gaze came to rest on the boy. He seemed to have an epiphany, and realization dawned on his face.
"Y-you don't know what you're doing," he said with all the desperation of a man who knew that his end was near.
And Jack acknowledged that. "Your line is ended. You will serve me now."
In an instant, the Will user fell, pierced through the shoulder with a magical bolt. The boy cringed. He had seen this ritual before, and it never ceased to chill his blood. Jack raised his black gauntlet into the air, palm up. A fierce wind seemed to emerge from the ground under the dying man. The Will user screamed, a howl so piercing and so unnatural that the boy had to cover his ears. It was the cry of impending undeath. It was the cry of a screamer. The boy watched in horror as the man's spirit was torn from his body. It swirled into a massive vortex, tossing hair and leaves and fabric until it finally came to rest in Jack's hand. Then, he crushed it.
All was quiet now in the battle for the village. The only sounds were the raging fires and Jack's guards picking off the rest of the survivors.
The dark figure walked over to where the boy still lay. His yellow eyes seemed to boil with contempt. "Weak," he growled. "Don't make me rescue you a third time."
The boy swallowed, fear and anger welling up within him, but he said nothing. Instead, he picked himself up and the two continued their jog into the carnage.