Author's Notes: Sorry about the delay. Lots of maths, playing StarCraft, watching Husky, abusing linear algebra, etc.. Oh, also, hacking real life and photoshop-ing my face. Only costed me three bucks, too. Now I look like Snape!
Not really.
Under any case, hope you enjoy this chapter. A little info for ya: Lyra used to have a boyfriend from another universe (it's messed up. If you think it sounds Japanese and cheesy, read His Dark Materials. I know the title SCREAMS stupid and Twilight, but it's not. Lots and lots of particle physics, quantum tangling, and in general, cynical awesomeness. Read the series. One little reminder, though. No offense, but the book series features Jesus dying at the end. Enoch was the antagonist, and Jesus was a fumbling old man, dying of age. Enoch took over power. I'm no Christian, but I think Christians would find the book offensive. I don't see why they would, though. But most Christians did find the books offensive, a large reason to why Golden Compass was not such a successful movie in America. People over in Britain are much more open-minded, I feel. I don't think religion should be brought into account for whether a book series is good or not. Rant over.), and his name was Will, for those wondering.
(Roll eyes)
No, I don't know whether or not they get to reunite. In the original His Dark Materials, they get separated not because "We can't be together, my loooooove", but because Dust fields get scrambled when they are placed in entropy fields not of where they originated. Scrambled Dust fields means scrambled humans, and scrambled humans means dead humans. Dead? Not good! Capische? Good!
I dunno, though. I might just have them reunite in this series. Or I might just have diablos ex machima and have them forever alone. I dunno, does that count as diablos ex machima? Ah well. As you can possibly tell, the plot isn't entirely thought out. But I have the rough outline.
Enjoy! A review would be much appreciated!
BTW, DaLintyMan, more background info will be up soon on why the battles take place. Remember, though. Information travels slowly in Minecraft. They don't have email. People over in the Winterlynds might think that the problem is only diamond transports, but maybe the people in Bryton are already assembling an army of indestructible Iron Men. Or Diamond Men. Or Obsidian Men. Still can't decide which sounds cooler.
Hang on.
I may have just ruined the plot for ya.
Sorry. Slipped.
OR DID I?!
OMINOUS MUSIC
Anyway, big thanks to DaLintyMan for reviewing. Really appreciate it. REVIEW! MOAR REVIEWS! ARHARGHGHGHGHGRHGH!
THIS IS SPARTA!
Enjoy! :D Next chapter out... maybe 2? maybe 3? Days, i mean.
LYRA
It had been quite some time since she had picked up her dropped coat and walked away from the scene of the conflict. A bit of asking around and pretending to be tough (not that she needed to pretend) told her the location of the nearest inn.
Lyra pushed open the twin wooden doors and walked into the medieval-looking inn. She peered about, taking in the rather odd surrounding. Small groups of grown men sat on high stalls (which were made of cubes), conversing over small glass bottles of what she presumed to be liquor. She slowly approached what appeared to be the main counter and asked the red-bearded man behind:
"Excuse me? I want a room."
"Four nugs a night," the man said without even looking up.
Lyra had gathered from eavesdropping on conversations that the local currency was something called a "nug". She even caught a glimpse of them once or twice. They were small, golden nuggets that would've been smaller than her palm. A curious thing, though: they, too, were made of cubes.
The only problem was that she didn't have this currency or anything that looked quite like it.
"I got no nugs," Lyra said, showing no sign of weakness in her voice, "but I'm willing to pawn something in. Would you be willing to take this silver coin?" She flipped a small, silver coin onto the table.
She had found it when she picked up her coat after the incident with the black creature. Evidently, it had fallen out of one of her coat pockets. With any luck, this little thing would suffice.
The man finally looked up. His eyes turned a comedic size of dinner plates when he laid them on the coin.
"Good gracious…" he muttered, slowly and gently picking up the coin. "It's… It's… Real…" He caressed it with his fingers, marveling at the smooth edges, feeling the outline of the bump on the heads side.
"Um… So this will do?" Lyra asked unsurely, rather taken aback by the man's odd behavior.
"Yes," he breathed, not taking his eyes off the coin. "Yes, ma'am." He suddenly ripped his eyes from the coin and barked at someone in a cube-made brown tunic: "Eric! Show this lady to her room, will ya?"
Eric gave a small grunt in response and walked up the stairs on the far right, motioning for Lyra to follow him.
Lyra followed.
Her room was made of dark wooden planks, complemented by cobble on the edges. To be sure, it was small. A miniscule red bed lay in the corner of the room, while a chest and a curious working table was on the other side. All were made of cubes, even the lone torch that shone above the workbench and the small piece of glass that was her window.
Eric gave Lyra a gruff nod, stared at Pantalaimon a bit, and left, shutting the wooden door behind him.
Lyra threw her jacket on the floor next to her bed. She then sat down on the bed, finally allowing the fatigue of the day to wash over her. After lying on the bed for a bit, staring up at the low ceiling, she took her alethiometer out of her satchel and prepared herself for reading.
Where is this? she asked the alethiometer.
She watched as the needle swirled about, rapidly pointing to different symbols, and read:
A land of cubes.
Then an idea came to her.
What alternate world is this?
The answer came: A land of cubes.
Which confirmed her suspicions.
How do I return to my home?
After a while:
A man with blank eyes. Then something curious: Sword.
Lyra blinked. This answer was most peculiar. But the alethiometer wasn't finished:
Apple, Hourglass, Thunderbolt, Tree.
Lyra had no idea what that meant.
Then something else hit her like a hammer. Shaking, she twisted the dials of her alethiometer to mirror her question:
How can I meet my love again?
After a while:
Apple, Hourglass, Alpha/Omega, Bread, Anchor, Apple.
Again, Lyra had no idea what that meant.
"Bloody muse, eh?" Pantalaimon commented from Lyra's shoulders.
"D'you know what time it is?"
"Not an idea," came Pantalaimon's small voice.
"Let's sleep, then."
With that, Lyra put up her alethiometer, undid her ponytail, and collapsed onto the bed.
Lyra jolted awake.
She sat up in her bed, her hair stuck to her face with sweat, her breath shallow, her body shaking. She had a horrible nightmare, but could not remember what it was. She looked out the window and saw the moonlight streaming in from the window, indicating that it was still rather late. Lyra rubbed her eyes and pressed her temples, hoping to relax herself.
"Nightmare?" Pantalaimon mumbled sleepily from the pillow.
"Bloody right," Lyra replied in a whisper, her eyes closed.
Thump.
Lyra heard a distinct thumping noise from outside the door.
"Did you hear that?" she asked Pantalaimon in a voice barely recognizable, suddenly tense.
"Right," Pantalaimon replied.
The thumping did not resume. Lyra thought it might have been the bad dream, but something told her that this was real.
She slowly climbed out of her bed, approaching the wooden door cautiously, taking care not to let the floor creak…
The wooden door slammed open, making Lyra jump and Pantalaimon retreat to the confines of Lyra's mess of hair. In walked the man she had encountered earlier, a nasty scowl on his face, and a dangerous-looking shimmering silver sword in his hands. His eyes moving across the room like a predator, until they finally landed on Lyra. His eyes narrowed.
"Well," he breathed. "Look who we have here."
He walked to the center of the small room, allowing more cronies, at least four, to stream in. They were all built powerfully, and gave Lyra the impression of coyotes in a cage too small.
Lyra backed into the corner, fully aware that the five men had effectively cut off all means of escape for her. She picked up her coat along the way out of instinct, hugging it close to her chest out of some primitive sense.
"Well, we'll teach this princess a lesson," he hissed maliciously, his mustache twitching, his arms rising to bring down the sword on Lyra –
Who saw a beautiful opening.
She darted past the man, ducking under his armpit, and rushed past to the other side of the room, seemingly about to collide with the wall –
And did the last thing anyone would expect.
She jumped out the window, breaking it with her body.
(She had no way of seeing this, but the men simply stood in her room, still from shock, mouths hanging open, gaping at the hole where she had made her escape. They were, quite simply put, dumbfounded.)
She landed on a soft woolen canvas above a small shop, and rolled off the cover. She fell to the ground with a heavy "oof" and winced, though she knew she had no spare time. She stood and peered around and, after seeing that her attackers did not immediately pursue, made for the boundaries of the village. Hiding in the village was no longer an option.
She dashed past several small stands closed for the night, dodging the tray of raw fish (was it just her or were they made of cubes, too?) and rolling under a table full of apples (cubes as well?). She jumped off a relatively steep cobble road and landed with a rough grunt, rolling on the ground to disperse her momentum. Quickly standing back up, she spared a quick look behind her, and saw that the attackers were hot on her trail. With a nudge from Pantalaimon, and feeling rather hopeless, she continued running.
After running past the fifth bar, she saw the sands of a large clearing beyond sparsely placed houses. She pushed herself a bit harder and ran faster than she ever had before, which only caused more panting and wheezing than before. She could hear the men behind her shuffling, cursing as they struggled to keep up with her…
Until a small ball flew over her head and landed right in front of her.
She bumped right into the materializing body of the mustached man.
"Going somewhere?" he asked with a malicious grin, hungry in nature, formed upon his face.
Lyra turned and ran in the other direction. For the second time, she ducked under the armpits of the men closing behind her and darted right past. For the second time, the men's eyes followed her with shock as she skedaddled, their bodies petrified with amaze.
"Chase her, ya fools!" she heard the man shout at his companions.
She soon wound up in the same area with shops again. She even saw the tray of fish she dodged earlier, though the table of apples were nowhere in sight. Deciding that the men must have knocked it over during their chase, she headed for a narrow alleyway which led to some ladders, hoping to gain some high ground on her attackers, a trick she learned in her years of being a youngster to be quite useful against tails, if you had ammunition…
As she ran right past an empty table. That in itself was not the remarkable thing; it was the dull gray sword that lay next to it.
Lyra paused herself, hesitating for a moment. Should she take it? It could be useful…
"Just take the bloody thing and run!" Pantalaimon urged Lyra, his body shaking, panting.
Lyra picked up the sword and headed towards the alleyway.
The sword was almost perfectly balanced in her hand. It was neither too light nor too heavy, but just right for her strength. She estimated it to be a little over two feet and a half in length, which was perfect for her liking. She never did like long weapons; they were too difficult to swing, especially for a child.
But she was no longer a child. It had been such a long time since she was chased down alleyways, running from unknown pursuers, handling clay balls and wooden sticks that substituted for weapons, laughing in joy as she was caught and tickled and fell to the floor, giggling, begging for mercy…
Except here, if she were caught, she wouldn't be giggling.
She climbed up the ladder, onto the small balcony that overlooked the entire open-market area.
And she saw her pursuers closing in on the ladders.
She readied her sword, preparing to swing.
The first man, a bald, young man in his twenties (whom she'd never met before), climbed up the ladders with only one hand, the other hand holding a cube-y iron sword (it just couldn't be silver). He swung at Lyra with a malicious glint in his eyes, and Lyra only barely managed to deflect it with her own. Both swords were knocked back, and Lyra struggled to keep her balance. She toppled back a bit.
The first man climbed up the ladder and onto the balcony.
Several more followed him.
Well, so much for taking advantage of the ladder and high ground.
Lyra was surrounded again.
Another man charged her, bringing down his sword right on her head. She raised her sword to parry the blow instinctively, but the other men were joining in. Another sword reached for her chest, and she blocked it narrowly. A flash of silver came from nowhere and sliced open her ankle, spraying blood everywhere like a water hose. Lyra felt sick and gasped in pain. Pantalaimon clutched at her blonde curls in anxiety.
She pushed with her sword and knocked a man off balance. Taking advantage of this opening, she thrust her sword forward and felt the tip of her sword sink into the man's silver chestplate. Lyra knew that her sword probably couldn't even put a dent in his chestplate, but the blow did knock the man off the balcony. The man stumbled backwards and fell off the battleground with a scream and, later, a dull thud.
Yet another blow. She raised her sword to deflect it from her chest (all of the men were either aiming for her head or her chest; they clearly wanted her dead), feeling the resonance of the metallic screech of sword on sword deep in her bones. She grinded her sword up the man's, taking him by surprise, disarming him, casting his sword flying away in a large arc.
But another blow came at her back. A sword was thrust deep into her shoulder blades. She felt her dress grow thick with blood, and suddenly perceived that she was crying. Pantalaimon was growling between sobs.
Her sword was now smeared with blood, probably her own. She swung at a man once more, her shoulders shaking, only to have it disarmed. She instinctively clutched her hand, feeling the sharp pain of the flat of the sword.
A sword emerged from nowhere and was perched at her neck. She backed away in response, only to have it pursue her further.
"End o' the line, doll," said a gruff voice that she recognized as the mustached man.
The sword sliced open her throat.
She fell to the floor, gasping, convulsing, choking in her own blood, trying to cling to her own consciousness –
She could feel her life slipping away from her. She refused to die, or rather, tried to refuse, but found herself too tired, too drained, to do so. She slowly raised her hand, clutching her throat, trying to stay alive –
But she would die –
I mustn't!
There was no denying it –
I won't die! Not here!
Pantalaimon fluttered about next to Lyra's fallen body, licking her wounds, tiring, and eventually falling next to her as well, gasping.
Lyra was dying.
She could only faintly make out the screams in the background, as if coming from someplace far away, reaching her from a distant land. They were eerily quiet, echoing deeply within the recesses of her slipping mind. She could faintly see the outline of a dark, gray-black skeleton, descending upon her.
Surely this was Death.
Death was coming to claim her.
Then she heard to clash of sword on sword.
And the breaking of glass (she did not have time to comprehend how odd this was).
And she knew no more.