CHRONICLE
BOOK ONE: LYDIA
PART ONE: OUT OF THE GOLDEN CITY
Chapter Five: Treachery
Lydia looked up at the dark sky and shivered. Her breath clouded in the night air, and a layer of frost seemed intent on crawling up into everything, including her cloak. Slivers of cold pierced the worn weave of the fabric every time the wind blew, and her feet were cold, the chill creeping in through the leather. She was standing watch at the sentry post on the south side of the Ranger camp, her back to a tree, and her mind wandering. The skies above were clouded over, with not a star or a shadow of the new moon filtering through. Thunder rolled in the distance, signaling incoming snow on the horizon.
Drayda had been correct after all. With her limp and her age, Drayda had the weather-ache of an experienced ranger in her bones, and it had been particularly bad today. Lydia's apprentice master and old family friend had decided to halt progress and strike a camp early- a sturdy, permanent camp-, in preparation for a heavy snow. Under the clear skies, the younger rangers had grumbled (all except her apprentice Lydia), but the older ones exchanged glances and did what she said.
The flurries started that evening, and now everyone could smell the incoming blizzard. Drayda simply smiled and nodded, not bothering with her usual short-tempered I told you so that she gave to the apprentices. She was a good ranger master, to apprentice and full-fledged ranger alike, but she didn't take well to any idleness or hesitation in taking orders. Nor did she take well to any apprentice not thinking for themselves. Apprentices usually caught themselves in confusion in between obeying an order or following their interpretation. Regardless, whatever they did, they had better do it quickly.
Lydia learned fast.
The night was so still that Lydia nearly jumped out of her skin when she heard Drayda's sharp call for the change of watch. Eagerly, she struggled out of her stiff position and hurried back to camp, passing the next ranger coming to watch on her way into the barrier. Her ranger master awaited her, thrusting a hot cup of herbal tea at her, the sort that chased away the cold the fastest...and could nearly stand up on its own without the cup. Lydia took it with a brief word of thanks and carefully sipped, not quite used to its bitter strength yet.
Lydia was now four months past sixteen, and she had been an apprentice to Drayda for just that long, leaving home at the earliest possible chance. Jonas had become protective and restrictive after their close encounters with death back in Luminara five years past, and to Lydia, it was suffocating. She loved to travel and see new things, and she was desperate to get away from home. Her father almost hadn't allowed her to leave. If not for Alayne's firm support for her daughter, Lydia wouldn't be standing here now. Now she was training to be a forester, someone who protected the wilds and kept the roads and the forests cleared of criminals and natural dangers, and acting as the protection for people living outside Luminara and its satellite settlements, which were fast becoming cities of their own right.
"Cold out there," Drayda remarked, looking eastward towards the storm front. The squall line was nearly overhead already, and still moving fast. "And it's still getting colder. We'll have to call in the next watch early. You hear that, Baulder?" she called to the ranger tending the fire. He glanced over his shoulder and nodded. Turning back to Lydia, she said, "And you go get some sleep. Make sure you wrap up warm- you might just wake up with your tent halfway buried in snow. I'm turning in."
"Goodnight, then," Lydia answered, before going off to the tent she shared with the two other female rangers with the party, full rangers but only just graduated from apprenticeship. Drayda reminded them of that enough to keep them from picking on Lydia.
As the rangers wrapped up and hunkered down for the night, a shadow passed overhead, unseen behind the squall of the storm.
High above the clouds, a dark, bat-winged figure flew on the thin air, striving due north without any notice of the cold. It was no ordinary creature, the rest of it was vaguely humanoid, and it flew too fast to be a bird or a bat. Abruptly, it was beyond the storm and visible against the stars, but by now it was too far to have anyone below to see it. There were simply no people this far out yet.
The mountains below were icy crags, with spears of packed ice thrusting upwards at the sky like thorns. The land was desolate this far north, and nothing grew, not even the occasional spruce or fern. It was too cold, and too hostile. Everything was either rock or ice, or, occasionally, snow.
It called this place home.
The peak of one of the mountains was hollow. Tucking its wings, the figure pointed downwards and dove, thundering straight down into the opening and flaring at the last moment, coming nearly to a dead stop at the mouth of the spout. It was deep underground by now, in a vaulted chamber dominated by a ring of stars, spilling unearthly light about the cold stone and over the dully glowing pools of lava found in these deep bowels of the earth. Twelve glassy eyes stared back up at the figure as he flapped lazily to stay aloft, and he looked down into the portal, contemplating its dizzying depths, a star-filled void below him, and a star-filled void above him through the spout.
With a sigh, it wheeled about and landed on the floor a little ways from the portal. The dark mass of the figure warped and trembled, shifting into a more recognizably human shape without wings. Glowering red eyes opened to the gloom, transformation finished, and a dark-clothed, dark-skinned individual stood in its place, clearly male. The figure considered the natural vaults and pools around him, and decided that work would need to be done on this place before it was all over. This more resembled his thieves' dens in the wilderness than a palace of a ruler. Herobrine still held that glory over him, the figure darkly ruminated, with his city and his palace, his Kingshall in Luminara, built by his human brats for him.
No matter. That would change soon enough.
The figure ascended the stairs to the portal and, closing his glowing eyes, stepped into the portal.
The portal magic flurried around him, twisting him apart and spitting him out on the other side of the dimensional wall. He cursed his inability ever moment of the passage, knowing painfully well all of his limitations because of his lowly rank in the Aether. He could manipulate matter, but not create it. He could transform living creatures, including himself, but not infuse life into creatures of his own. He could create a passage to another dimension, but he couldn't travel between them at will. No, he had to use these portals and small magics like any other disgusting mortal.
That, he hoped with desperation, would change even sooner.
At last on the other side (portal travel is so slow!, he angrily thought), the figure found himself on a barren plain of softly glowing stone, an inversion of the Overworld above. The Void hovered above in its total opaque darkness, and the ground glowed below. There were people here, yes, even here, but their cities were strangely quiet beneath the stone hills. Their obsidian powerhouses were blasted and empty. Some were crumbled to black dust.
So It has gone so far already, he thought to himself as he hovered over a small residence.
Perhaps that would help his plans along.
Moving quickly across the barren plain, he saw the place where great obsidian towers were going up, black on blacker. They were being built by the tall, slender Endermen teleporting up and down, block by block. Their lively lavender eyes were glazed, and their cries lazy and animal. It had taken their minds, the great Thing. They were It's slaves now.
The Thing itself was flapping noisily between the half-built towers, growling at any Enderman seen hesitating. It had grown more solid than when he had been here last, he decided, and certainly much bigger. It was getting stronger.
He hovered patiently outside the ring of towers, knowing that It had already noticed him and was making him wait deliberately. No matter, he was here on It's terms, after all. He had to get on It's good side to get what he wanted.
It flapped back and forth for a while, then at last landed and stood on four feet in the center of the ring, raising a purple-eyed face to regard him on a long, lithe neck. It had chosen an fascinating form, using batlike wings and four legs, and a long, serpentine tail and neck and horns on its head. This created a daunting effect, the very figure of a nightmare beast.
Which was probably the point.
You may approach.
He came forward obediently, remarking to himself on how overwhelming It's telepathic command was. Stopping a safe distance from It, he settled to the ground and waited for It to speak first.
Come closer,It said with a sadistic grin on its reptilian features. He came a few paces closer, hoping he could stay out of range out of pragmatism rather than fear. Even in this form he could not be killed, but injury meant inconvenience. You have come to ask your deal once again? I hope you have fulfilled my demands.
"I have," He said out loud, his voice weak and thin in comparison to It's demonically low and incredibly powerful telepathic voice. "I have created my networks among the mortals, and created sufficient chaos to unnerve even Notch. It is in the form of small skirmishes and abductions and burglaries I have unnerved Herobrine himself, and I have driven him to the point of tyrrany. The mortals chafe against the younger of the Creator Brothers. And the Elder has lost his trust in him. The situation has been stagnating for half a decade now, and it is ripe to begin a new stage to tear the Brother even further from the Aether."
It nodded it's approval, settling down and folding its forelegs before it.
The Elder does not know of your responsibility for this?
"No. Neither of them know."
And the Younger does not know that his brother is turning against him?
"Certainly not."
It flicked a claw at him, sending up a puff of dust that blew past him.
You are certain the Elder is actually turning against his brother? Because if you are not... A whole clawed hand smashed into the rock, throwing a spray of stones and dust sideways. He inhaled and looked It in the eye.
"I am certain," he said stiffly, enunciating every word. "The time could not be more perfect. It is time to make our deal."
It gave him another wolfish grin and a low growl of approval.
Herobrine sighed and waved of the scribe, turning back to view the gardens. His power kept the blizzard off the city, but a steady downfall of snow still came through, carpeting the pebble paths and covering the flowers and trees. It was very quiet, and deceptively peaceful.
It had been a long five years.
The riot of 252 had not been the last, and by no means the most violent. He had been busy night and day, exhausting himself and every resource he had in uncovering the sources of unrest. Things had quieted down over the summer at last, but he was still wary. There was still something wrong, very wrong. He could still feel walls closing in around him, but from what power, he didn't know.
I'm a Creator, Herobrine thought wryly. Legendary even in the Aether. No others came before myself and my brother. Now it has come to this- I am exhausted and befuddled tracking down common criminals.
But even he knew it was not as simple as that. For everything to stay hidden so long, there had to be extra power involved. He had not seen his brother in a long time, but when he did, he should bring up the idea of treachery within the pantheon of the Aether. Either these mortals were wielding mystical powers beyond the gods' control, or they were getting help from somewhere. Besides, someone had led them astray. None of them were meant to become so evil.
Herobrine shook his head and turned back, telling the scribe he was finished for now, and the paperwork could be finished later. The leaders of the city of Luminara were giving him a deluge- petitions, letters, laws... He was simply too preoccupied.
There was another one. He could make a volcano explode with a thought, and got tied up all day by a desk full of paperwork.
Snow crunching under his feet, Herobrine made his way down the street on foot, walking like an ordinary being. The main thoroughfare had been repaired since the riots, showing none of the burnt-out shells or broken windows of those horrifying nights and days. Businesses were back in order. People went back to their daily lives.
And beneath that tranquil surface, everyone was waiting for him to break his word so they could rebel again.
Herobrine had sated their appetite for violence with redoubling his efforts to finding out the wicked, and allowing the people greater freedom in ruling and regulating themselves. They formed their own police force now and elected their own leaders for it, and set up their own tax system and reformed the city council to exclude Herobrine. Herobrine now existed outside the entire system, becoming more and more an outsider.
It had been a long five years.
He went now to the south wall of the city, headed for Kingshall, the finished palace meant for the eventual ruler of the city. But just as he was about to enter, a man approached him.
"Herobrine."
His address was cold and polite, but with no honorifics or titles. Simply 'Herobrine', as one would address and equal. Herobrine turned, hand still hovering before the door.
"The Council wishes for you to complete the report today, sir." The man's voice did not waver, and his tone was slightly reprimanding. Herobrine stopped and considered this. The Council had been growing ever more strict and disrespectful towards him as time went by, demanding more and more. It was as if they were trying to restrict him like he had been before, or so they so readily claimed when he spoke to them.
"Come with me," Herobrine said, beginning to open the tall wooden door. The man stopped him.
"Sir, I-"
"Just come." Herobrine's teeth clenched on the last word, his easy tone vanishing. Turning away from the man, he pushed open the door and swept inside, leaving the man to handle the heavy door himself to follow.
The entry hall was dark, with the brackets empty of torches along the wall and the chandeliers still waiting for their lights. Light filtered in through the windows from the lamps on the street, coming in in hazy blues and violets through the snow, making dim reflections and shadows on the floor. He headed straight through the main hall and into the main corridor, headed for the throne room itself. The man followed behind him, struggling to keep up with his long, unrelenting stride. His footsteps clacked hard and evenly against the tile, moving with purpose and power.
He stopped once inside the throne room. The room, now completed, was meant for the audience of a king, or, if Herobrine had his way, the heads of a Council. The floor was vast, with a narrow blue checked runner pattern in the tile leading up to the dais. A rounded niche in the wall held the dais, walled on its three sides with windows soaring up all three stories, and the high-backed throne centered within. Beyond the central aisle were two rows of arches making up the walls, allowing greater room for audience without dwarfing them with the room. Balconies ran above these arches, creating a second story. Herobrine followed the trail of blue and white checks, going up the stairs of the dais, but not approaching the throne. He clasped his hands behind his back and faced the man, who kept well of the dais.
"Now can we discuss the will of the Council?" he asked, dutifully keeping the impatience out of his voice. Herobrine did not answer at once, instead slowly pacing around and behind the throne, looking out the windows.
"What of my will, for these people?" Herobrine said thoughtfully, not looking at the man at all. He heard him shift from below the dais stairs.
"Sir, the deal stands. You must keep your end of the bargain, or the Council may not be able to keep the peace." The man knew he was running out of time to argue- it was getting very late.
"Oh, I know. Trust me," Herobrine said, turning back towards the man and pacing back towards the throne. "I am keeping my end of the bargain. Tell the Council that they told me a report would not be due until the end of the quarter, at the solstice. They will not subjugate me with their demands now." He laid a hand on the armrest of the throne, stroking the polished wood with delicate fingers.
"What?" Herobrine's reply had given the man pause. Trying not to sputter, the man tried a different tactic. "The circumstances are not uniform at all times. Situations change, sir, and they want a report now. I don't know the reason, I am merely the messenger."
"I know the circumstances better than they realize," Herobrine muttered. "I will not comply. It is petty, and part of a long stream of abuse. I am tired of it. Your best interests are in mind, and more is involved than they care to admit." Then he added, with a sigh, "They overstep their boundaries." The man was taken aback.
"What boundaries, sir? Please, remember the sentiments that started this mess. We want to make things peaceful, too."
"I know!" Herobrine snapped, pacing angrily around to the other side of the throne. "I know all too well the sentiments that began this. But I want them to remember who I am! They have treated me as much as their dog as their superior. These are not ordinary times!" He looked the man directly in the eye, and he shifted back a step. "Tell them I will not. They will have the report at the solstice and no sooner."
The man averted his gaze and politely coughed a few times, subtly straightening his vest and puffing up his chest. He was trying to make up for any lost dignity. He looked up at Herobrine, who was now facing the throne itself, as if contemplating some secret it held.
"Whoever you are to us," the man began as he prepared to leave, "That throne was meant for our king." There was a subtle warning in his words.
"I am not your king," Herobrine answered, turning around to face the man and putting his hands on the armrests. "I am your god."
Herobrine seated himself in the throne.
"Go now," he told the messenger, "And tell the Council what I have told you. Remind them that for all the riddles I speak in, I am warning them of the dangers of abandoning me at this time. Tell them that they must listen to me."
The messenger bowed stiffly and turned, walking out of the throne room and finding his own way out of the palace. The look of distress on his face was barely disguised.
The doors boomed shut after him with a sound of finality.
Herobrine sat back in the throne and closed his eyes.
You shall have them,It answered. For any purpose you may require them for. Destroy the brothers! Prepare a path for me through their world with chaos, and you shall have your great power!It stood and flapped its wings. The figure bowed, nodding to the Thing.
"It is a deal."
He could not keep the smile off of his face as he returned to his mountain home.
End of Chapter Five.
Now it is Huntress speaking here, Amanda the Huntress at your service.
And BOY is it good to be back! Have I got some juicy things coming up for you now! I have action! Tragedy! Intrigue! And as always, mystery! (WHO IS L?! Find out soon!)
NaNoWriMo, as we all know, ended officially for me on December 1st, and allowed me to update Huntress's Tale, and now I have the long (Loooooong) awaited update on Chronicle! Happy now? I hope so. I've been struggling with this story, and I finally have a lot of things straightened out. I can see it now- all of the evil laughs that await me as I write the fate of Herobrine...
Anyway-
I missed you guys.
Thank you for reading, and welcome back! Leave a REVIEW if you liked it, and a FOLLOW and FAVORITE if you want more where that came from!
No. Seriously. Review. Not a drill, guys. I need feedback.
Happy I'M NOT STUCK ANYMORE, and I will see you next chapter!
Huntress out.