Nick Marsden's Blog: Knocking a Nick

You’ll find a lot of writer’s blogs and how-to books on character. It’s the most important part of writing a successful (meaning powerful) story. You can have a cliché plot straight out of Star Wars or whatever the latest Rom-Com is but if you have fun, engaging, relatable characters, your plot can be somewhat forgiven. I’ll address plot in a later post. In this post, I’ll go over how to build characters from the ground up.

Forget for the moment the latest “How to make your characters pop” post you saw on the last 500 blogs you’ve been reading. Not to say these aren’t great tips for characters, but I want to go into something a bit more basic, but infinitely more important.

How do you create characters in the first place?

Creating characters isn’t as simple as saying, “Here is a 25 year old man with red hair and freckles who is the life of any party. He never says anything seriously and oftentimes speaks in a clownish voice.” Believe it or not, we’ve seen that before. It’s a cliché. (The funny redhead: See Stephen King’s “IT” and JK Rowling’s “Harry Potter”.)

But you can make even this character interesting and fun to read about.

So where do you start?

Begin with your basic idea of your character. Is it a young woman who falls for the tall, dark stranger? Is it a grizzled hero who will run through a starship with guns blazing? Or maybe it’s the wily spy who gets the encrypted computer disk, the girl and the martini before the final page. Maybe it is the funny redhead.

Before you even start thinking about what a character looks like or how old they are, or any of those physical things, you want to know who they are. What makes them the way they are? What are the things that will cause them to make the decisions they will make in the story.

The most important of these questions is:
What do they want?

Does your spy want out? Does your romantic female lead want to be left alone because of a failed relationship? Does your aging wizard need to train an apprentice before he dies of a terrible disease?

This one question will spawn dozens of other questions:

Who is this person?

What is their current situation?

What was their childhood like? (Where they rich, poor, military family, silver spoon?)

You need to answer every question that possibly comes up. You won’t be including every piece of information in the answers, but you have to know them.

In my book, The Legacy of Shatara, I created a character called Karim Mutanabi. He’s a young soldier who idolizes the main character, Covan Korish. Much of his backstory is never explained in the book. I never found a good place to go into it. But I knew that he grew up in the military town of Silah amongst soldiers and metal workers and machinists in one of the dirtiest places in my world. He joined the military because stories of the main character’s heroic acts that the soldiers told made him want to aspire to be great, like Covan. He requested a position with the main character’s unit, though usually only rejects and disciplinary problems were sent to Covan’s company.

All this informed who Karim was. If Karim had to make a decision, it was always based on these things. In the end, he risks his life to try and save Covan from certain death, because Covan had always been the soldier Karim wanted to be. This is never said, but his devotion for Covan comes through on the page without having to go into the why’s.

Even if you never explain the “why’s” to your reader, you must always explain them to yourself. If you run out of questions, ask “Why?” Like a young child seeking answers from an annoyed parent, always ask yourself, “Why?” This is a question that can burrow deeply into the heart of your story. If you ever find yourself lost in any aspect of storytelling, asking this simple question (with a piece of paper handy) can almost always be used to dig yourself out of a tough spot, and occasionally reveal the need for major rewrites.

Going back to our first question “What does the character want?” as soon as you answer it, ask “Why?” You’ll be surprised at how the answers to these “why’s” will reveal character and plot. Do this with every question you ask; add a “why”, even if it doesn’t make immediate sense. Some things you may never have thought of otherwise will rise to the surface. You’ll be working this out with a secondary character and suddenly a major plot point will be revealed that could change your entire story.

The author Tad Williams mentioned once that in his trilogy, “Memory, Sorrow, Thorn”, a character who was only supposed to be an incidental character (Brother Cadrach was only in one or two scenes at first), became the linchpin to the entire story because the question came up of “why” he was in those scenes. The reasons “why” were only revealed in the third volume and became the backbone of the entire plot. It also, in my opinion, made Cadrach one of the most interesting characters (among dozens of interesting characters) in the entire trilogy. This is the type of “Ah-ha!” moment that makes writing worthwhile.

Now that you know who they are and what types of decisions they’ll make, you can work on physical features. You want to use those physical features to inform the reader about the character’s personality and past experience. Does the funny redhead have a soft face and dull, idiot-eyes? Does the spy have scars on his face or hands from constant fighting? Is the romantic female lead pretty enough to get what she wants just by asking (which might be “why” she’s a snob). It can go both ways, but once you have the deeper aspects of character figured out, it’s easier to figure out and decide on physical features, especially the ones that will stick with the reader.

Case in point: Harry Potter’s lightning scar.

Imagine Rowling’s thought process when she came up with the Potter character. Maybe she came up with the backstory first and decided to add the scar to mark where Voldemort hit him. Or, she could have thought the scar was a great, memorable feature and came up with the backstory to explain it, thereby informing the entire Harry Potter series. (I’m just letting my imagination go with that, I don’t really know.)

I hope this helps when you begin thinking about characters for your next story. In the next post, I’ll address character dynamics and relationships. What is the difference between a main character and a hero? What does every main character need in order to develop and grow throughout your story?

{My debut novel, The Legacy of Shatara, is now available on Smashwords and Amazon for the low, low price of $2.99US (come on, it’s a work of 12 years and 125,000 words). It will be available from the other major retailers as soon as Smashwords gets around to distributing it. My second novel, The Book of Nepharid, is currently in the beta phase and undergoing rewrites. It is due to be published in late May (or early June).}

Most of us know those three components of story. We learned them in high school English class (or earlier for some of us). Yes, I’m talking about:

1) Character – Who is there?
2) Plot – What happens? How?
3) Theme – Why it happens?

When I first started writing, I swore I would only write to entertain people. I disdained theme as preachy nonsense. But as I began to learn more and write more, I finally realized that theme has a place beyond the preaching of ethics.

Theme can be a powerful tool to unlock your characters and your plot. If you only have a slight idea and not much fleshed out, thinking about your theme can spark creativity like nothing else. Let’s say I have a really cliché story idea. Orphan Boy is the only one who can stop an Evil Wizard. (Apologies to JK Rowling)

I can use Theme to bring some originality to my idea.

Maybe one of the themes of my story (yes, you can have more than one) is about bad parenting. We want to talk about how parents today don’t raise their children right (or maybe you think they do). So, this informs us a bit about our characters. Maybe Orphan Boy ran away from home because his parents abused him. If you wanted to get dark, maybe he accidentally (or not) killed his parents because they abused him. What would our Boy’s life be like after an experience like that?

Maybe our Wizard blames his parents for the “evils” in the world. It’s a fantasy story, so maybe his parents laid a curse on the world and they really ARE responsible for the evil in the world. But our Wizard, because he wasn’t raised to know good from evil, is doing all the wrong things to stop (or maybe he’s helping) the curse. Our Wizard may not be so evil at all, just misguided by the poor influence of his evil parents.
See how choosing a theme can give you ideas that you might not have thought of otherwise?

Theme can also help liven up a stale plot. Many stories are about good vs. evil. Not just fantasy, but a lot of thrillers, horror and crime dramas are about the forces of good battling and defeating the forces of evil.

Yawn…

If your theme is that “love conquers all” or some other stale metaphor for “Good conquers evil”, then you probably have a stale plot. You should ask yourself WHY good wins.

Some example themes and how they affect the “Good vs. Evil” humdrum:

-Responsibility: Our good hero makes a mistake that causes the problem of the story. He only solves the problem when he takes responsibility for his actions and steps up to correct his mistake.

-Confidence: Our heroine is shy and unassuming until she is kidnapped by terrorists. After being rescued by a hardened assassin (with a heart, of course) and falling in love with him, she discovers that she has the ability to face the terrorists but must find the confidence in her abilities in order to defeat them when her lover is wounded.

-Tradition: An orthodox religious person must buck tradition to save his family from ruthless mobsters.

These are just examples. I came up with them on the fly only by thinking about a theme and applying it to an idea of good vs. evil. Many good stories, the ones that test convention, are usually the ones that have a deeper theme than just “good vs. evil” or “love conquers all”.

Character and Plot are the parts of a story that are obvious to readers. Too many writers just come up with an idea and set their characters on a point to point path. Using theme can give your characters purpose and your plots meaning. Instead of asking “Why’d that happen?”, your readers will go “Oooh! I get it!”

Theme should be interwoven with character and plot to prevent cardboard characters and plodding plots.

I’ll have more on Character and Plot in future entries.

{My debut novel, The Legacy of Shatara, is now available on Smashwords and Amazon for the low, low price of $2.99US (come on, it’s a work of 12 years and 125,000 words). It will be available from the other major retailers as soon as Smashwords gets around to distributing it. My second novel, The Book of Nepharid, is currently in the beta phase and undergoing rewrites. It is due to be published in late May (or early June).}

I resisted Twitter for years, like I’ve resisted every other popular thing my entire life, like Forrest Gump, Titanic and Lord of the Rings (Yes, you heard me, I didn’t read LOTR until the 21st century, I began writing fantasy BEFORE reading the seminal fantasy work of modern history.).

I didn’t join Twitter until I self-published my book The Legacy of Shatara. I read that it was pretty mandatory to use Twitter for promotion, which is what I did. I’d log into Twitter, send out my promo tweets and log out. I got a kick out of all the porn sites that wanted to follow me on Twitter. (One of my early tweets: “Welcome 2 my new followers. Especially the 1s trolling for my patronage 2 their milf/tty/gangbang site. Read my book.” )

Twitter is better than Facebook in that I’m not confined to my little circle of friends when I want to promo my book. In fact, the only person I know IRL on Twitter is my cousin. Everyone else on Twitter is a total stranger (or just strange). I can follow anyone I want and this is a sort of an invite to have them follow me. Sometimes it actually works.

I used a robo-tweeter for a week or two. That was kind of stupid and I felt like I was a spammer every time I logged on and saw tweets from me that I didn’t send. So, I started Tweeting myself. I used the canned tweets I’d created for the robo-tweeter and just plugged them into tweets by hand (I mean, really, was there any difference?). One day, when I was running a free promo, I cut and pasted a couple to my main feed, then started targeting certain people I thought would like my book. Suddenly, I couldn’t tweet at all anymore. The page told me I was suspended.

I really WAS a spammer!

Oops.

I didn’t know that spamming included targeting specific people and tweeting directly to them (each tweet was personalized, BTW) They all added to my overall tweet count. I got busted by my ignorance and spent a month without Twitter.

“Fine,” I told myself after repeated attempts to argue my suspension seemingly got the cold shoulder, “If they don’t want me, I don’t want THEM!” I even told them to “F--k off” in one of my emails to the silent entity that is Twitter customer service. (You bet your ass I used the entire word!)

So mature, right?

It was frustrating to enter a support ticket, only to get an email a few days later saying, “Since we haven’t heard from you, we are closing your ticket.” Huh?? I hadn’t heard from THEM! WTF are they talking about? After two-three weeks of this and about 5 tickets, I sent them the “F--k off” email.

Two-three weeks later, I get an email from Twitter telling me I could log back on again. It was the slap on the wrist I had expected before the “F--k off”. I don’t think they read that last email, or they probably would have never let me back on. Either that, or they read that last email and were suitably impressed by my command of the English language.

Well, I decided to approach Twitter this time with a new philosophy. I’m not going to just plug my book. And when I do plug my book, I’m not going to use canned or scripted tweets. I decided to tweet with a more conversational tone. I wanted to find people to carry on conversations with. I decided to let Twitter be what it is meant to be: social.

I’m having more fun with Twitter now. It’s more like my Facebook experience now, a place where I can go and hear about what people are doing. I LOVE funny tweets. I love inspirational tweets (which I am happy to retweet). I like tweets that link to blogs (I read them sometimes). I like tweets with cool/funny pics (even Instagram pics... ugh).

I still need to prune my followings. I still follow some people who ONLY promo books (I usually follow every writer that follows me). I’ve cut off people who tweet negativity and people who tweet non-sense.

So my thought here is that, if I use Twitter the way it’s MEANT to be used, as a way to spread online social interaction and not just as a marketing tool, will it reward me back by giving me more followers and helping me spread the word about my fantasy novels? I hope so, but I’m not counting on it. But it’s only been a week since I changed my tweet philosophy, so it remains to be seen. Meanwhile, I’ve had a few meaningful interactions with people (thanks, Paige, for laughing at my bad Aussie joke) and I hope to have many more and to meet many, many more new people through Twitter (and possibly sell a few copies of my books).

{My debut novel, The Legacy of Shatara, is now available on Smashwords and Amazon for the low, low price of $2.99US (come on, it’s a work of 12 years and 125,000 words). It will be available from the other major retailers as soon as Smashwords gets around to distributing it. My second novel, The Book of Nepharid, is currently in the beta phase and undergoing rewrites. It is due to be published in late May (or early June).}

Today, my 90-day self-imposed servitude to Amazon has finally come to an end. I have ended my exclusive relationship with Amazon and The Legacy of Shatara can now spread its wings and fly to other booksellers. I published through Smashwords this morning because they convert to every ebook format and deliver the book to other retailers (some I've never even heard of). This is a good thing, because now, those who don't own a Kindle can read my book without having to use Amazon's kindle app.

A caveat here: I don't have anything against Amazon. I love what they are doing and how they are changing the publishing industry (for the better in the POV of authors). If legacy publishing wants to stay in business, they are going to have to start offering more beneficial contracts to writers. I think there will always be a place for print books, but there are so many ways for authors to self-publish and get print books out there for readers. If an author really does the research, they can only see that self-publishing is the way to go.

Amazon is great, but I made the mistake of joining KDP Select, Amazon's exclusive contract service. They offered free lending and an option to offer my book for free when I wanted. I imagined that hundreds of Amazon Prime members would snatch up the opportunity to read my book for free. But guess what? I didn't have a single Prime borrower in the 90 days I was a part of this. I decided it wasn't worth not having my book everywhere to have five days of free promos every 90 days. It was a good experiment, and I don't regret doing it.

But now, I am a Smashwords author. Smashwords is selling The Legacy of Shatara for $2.99 in any format you can think of, even one or two that no one uses anymore. In a week or two, they are also going to make it available on major retailer sites like Barnes & Noble, Sony, and Apple. Legacy is still available on Amazon, I'm not crazy enough to pull it from the largest retailer EVER, but it won't be available free (unless I make it free somewhere else and they price match). I may do some promos every so often, but for now, I want to see how it sells at full price.

If you haven't already, check it out. It's a great read. The next book, "The Book of Nepharid" is almost done and should be available around the end of May.

In my novel, The Legacy of Shatara, the characters are faced with choices that shape their lives. The overriding theme of the book is Choice and Consequence. I chose to make that the theme of my first novel for a very important reason. This is a topic very important to me.

Many people live their lives as if they have no choice. I lived that way for about two decades (or more). I had a tough childhood and I decided very early on that I would "roll with the punches". I developed a reactionary life style. I'd live the life everyone expected me to live until something bad happened, then I would take that punch and allow it to move me into a new path. I was getting punched around very often and I couldn't figure out why.

Then, I discovered a philosophy of "manhood" called "pick-up". It was billed as a way for "losers" (which I thought I was) to pick-up girls for sex or relationships. Within that pick-up mentality, I discovered there were people who used pick-up as a medium of self-improvement. A number of these "gurus" struck a nerve with me. Two, especially. One was a man who calls himself David DeAngelo. He introduced me to the phrase, "You are the master of your universe." The other is a man named Sean Stephenson, who blew me away with, "Seeing is NOT believing. Believing is seeing."

I began to think about my life and what I was doing to myself. If I was the "master of my universe," I was solely responsible for my life. Not so much the things that happened as a matter of chance, but how I shaped my life and how I reacted to the events I was not in control of. I discovered that I am in control of a lot more than I ever thought I could be. I also discovered that I have the ability to overcome the hardships in my life by conscious CHOICE.

I decided (made a choice) not to allow myself to be pushed around by circumstance ever again. I would not allow others to dictate my life. I would not "roll with the punches", I would dodge them and punch back. This life is not for wussies. If you want to survive and thrive, you have to take control and make conscious choices.

In The Legacy of Shatara, the main character, Covan Korish, has let circumstance shape his life, much as I had. He blames others for the way his life has gone and the unhappy incidents that have driven him to the dark side of his soul. People who are not in control of their lives often put the blame on others (family, enemies, government) for not succeeding in lives. I did for a long time. I blamed everyone but who was really to blame... myself.

I'm not saying bad things are always the result of bad decisions on your part. No one chooses their parents. Many people allow themselves to be shaped by a bad childhood. No one chooses the bad things that are inflicted on them by other people. But people often let themselves be victimized by others.

What I am saying is that you are responsible for how you let other people or events shape your life. You choose to be a victim, or you can choose to overcome. It is a choice, make no mistake. One can be easier than the other.

But is it really easier to live a life of pain than it is to live a life of freedom?

Coming in May 2012:

In the magical world of Terah, dragons and unicorns are real, immortals rule, and a simple orphan "No-Blood" is drawn into a conflict that will span two worlds.

When the powerful and sinister Book of Nepharid is stolen from Gaelan No-Blood's master, the Magus Ulrich, Gaelan and Ulrich are tasked with bringing the thief, Anton Stormhand, to justice. With the help of the mighty unicorn, Michael, and his bonded Rider, Ariel Boreen, the wizards set out to confront Stormhand and recover the Book.

But the quest is doomed to fail and Gaelan alone will remain to carry the Book to a strange new world called Los Angeles to avenge his master and the woman he loved. But Gaelan's promises of vengeance fall to a mighty foe called cowardice until he meets a familiar face with a terrible message.

Stormhand is coming for the Book of Nepharid.

When he does, Gaelan must make a choice: honor his master's memory by facing the powerful sorcerer, or live to see another day.

In the midst of writing a new scene with a new-ish main character, a pivotal back-story element reveals itself as if the character whispered it in my ear. Could be problematic, but at the same time, it adds drama.

It came out of the blue completely when I wrote the sentence "It seemed that, among those circles, killing babies was frowned upon."

I originally thought of this (female) character as more upbeat, but then, this dark backstory comes into it. As the writer, I could just nix it and go on as if it never happened, but this character seems to want a bit more depth and drama than what I originally had planned for her.

The question is, should I cave, or should I run with it?

The answer (for now): I'll run with it. If it causes too many problems, I'll cut it.

I haven't read the John Carter novels yet, but after seeing this, I really look forward to doing so and checking out the differences.

This is without a doubt - and perhaps surprisingly - a Disney "Princess" movie (without the musical numbers). Dejah Thoris is a Disney Princess not only in name, but in heritage. She is a blend of Jasmine (in that her father looks just like Jasmine's father, oh and she gets betrothed to the bad guy) and Mulan (in that she kicks ass). John Carter is Aladdin, if Aladdin were a mature adult with adult problems.

The movie plays like one of the best of Disney's animated movies, except it is not animated (unless you count the CGI characters and monsters). Edgar Rice Burroughs (who is a character, just like the books) has created a splendid world in Barsoom and the Disney Imagineers have taken his concepts and run with them. Airships that sail on light. Six legged dogs that move like The Flash. 8 foot tall, four armed aliens with a Darwinian society. Finally, the "Reds", the humanoid race with reddish skin (from too much sun, I wager) and red tattoos that cover their bodies and faces. The Princess is one of the Reds and her people are in the midst of a civil war started by the "Bad Guy" (can't remember his name). When he is granted ultimate power by mysterious immortal beings, the Princess has no choice but to agree to the peace terms he sets - marriage and an alliance between the two cities (apparently the only two cities left on Barsoom). But that is before the arrival of John Carter.

Carter is played by a man with a most unfortunate name (Taylor Kitsch), and I must admit that I was expecting crap from him based mostly on that name. But Carter was played well as an American Civil War veteran with a tortured past. He is searching for a "cave of gold" in Arizona. When he finds it, he discovers it holds secrets he never would have imagined.

The rest of the story is about John Carter's adventures on Mars and how is gets involved in the Reds' civil war (funny that, huh?). I won't spoil it. If you've read the books, you probably know most of it.

The movie has a perfect blend of action, amazing visuals and humor. It doesn't take itself too seriously, yet it's not total camp like Star Wars episode 1 or Flash Gordon, either. The super-fast dog is one of the funniest humor elements in the movie. But a number of scenes, even toward the climactic end, Had a single funny moment that set the audience I was with to laughing and even clapping. I think it was closest to the first Mummy movie (with Brendan Fraser) in its balance of action/adventure and humor.

Speaking of adventure, Hollywood doesn't do very many of these films anymore. Think Raiders of the Lost Ark, The Mummy, and similar adventure movies of the past (yes, even the first Star Wars trilogy). It has wondrous new things to explore and a grand mystery to uncover. The production design is top notch, especially when it comes to the Reds' airships, which are featured in the very first moments of the film (yes, the "prologue" may seem unnecessary at first, but it makes sense later). They look like solar-winged dragon flies and the large ones are stupendously beautiful.

If you love Disney movies (I'm talking about the traditional "Princess" movies), or if you love adventures like Raiders or The Mummy, then this is definitely a must-see movie. I didn't see it in 3D, but I recommend it if you can afford it.

A foray into what I do quite a bit on my Facebook page: TV/Movie review.

"Awake" is a new police procedural drama on NBC. However, it does the tired genre a service by adding a sci-fi/fantasy twist not unlike NBC's other "hit" po-pro, "Grimm".

Detective Britton is a police detective who just got into a fatal car accident that he cannot remember. But in the aftermath, he lost his wife and his son, just not in the same worlds. When he opens his eyes one morning, his wife is alive and they are mourning their son. When he goes to sleep at night, he wakes in a world where his son survived and they are mourning his wife. He is awake and aware of both worlds.

In his professional life, he is watched over like anyone who just suffered a personal tragedy would be. His superiors are worried about his mental health. He sees different shrinks in both worlds who have differing opinions on his "fantasy worlds". He has two different partners. In one world, he is the senior partner and he clashes with his junior partner who was promoted just to watch Britton. In the other world he is the junior partner, serving with his long-time partner from before the accident.

In each world, Britton is confronted with homicide cases that seem to relate to each other. As Britton uses clues in one world to solve cases in the other world, his partners and superiors in turn wonder - is he a genius? Or has he been driven insane?

As Britton solves (or doesn't solve) these cases, he slowly heads toward the solution to what happened to him on the night he lost his family. Which world is real? Which family member did he really lose? Or did he lose both? Who was responsible for the accident?

Meanwhile he bonds more closely with both his wife and his son than he ever has before. This begs the viewer to wonder: When he finds out the truth, will Britton be the one to suffer the greatest tragedy of all?

The characters in this show are phenomenal. From the newly minted detective who just thinks Britton is losing it, to the seasoned detective who wonders if Britton's new "hunches" are not strokes of genius. Both Britton's son and wife are genuine, likable characters who deal with their grief in different ways. Britton himself is rather well adjusted for a guy shuttling between two worlds, but he takes solace in the fact that when he wakes in the morning, he is with either of his loved ones. Even the shrinks are becoming forces of the story and not just sounding boards for Britton as their opinions begin to diverge and cause Britton to doubt reality... in both worlds.

The only problem is that it is tough to remember which world is which. His professional life and his personal life is so separated that it is hard to remember if he is in the "green" world or the "red" world (which is the color of the bands he wears on his wrist to tell them apart).

Darkness gathered around the Fortress of Jahan.

Though it was long past midnight, the black seemed to deepen as Ard, Aramzia of Earth, watched the pitted shadow of the Fortress in the dark. He knew it was merely an illusion. The tales of horror that came from that place would make anyone, let alone one attuned to the elements, feel a sense of foreboding about the place. In reality, the clouds that threatened to bring rain shielded his eyes from the silver moonlight.

The last time Ard had been to Jahan at night, torches lined the Fortress walls and the open gateway had been bathed in welcoming light. Now, there were only husks of burned-out buildings and crumbling walls, barely visible. It looked as though no one had stepped foot in Jahan for thousands of years, though it had only been two decades since this place was a thriving cultural and trade center.

For those twenty years, the creature that held sway over the Provinces had ruled out of the Fortress of Jahan. The Necromancer thought he ruled the Provinces. Few would say that the archdemon was their ruler. Only the walking dead, the ghostly wraiths and the shambling demons saw the Necromancer as leader to be obeyed. All else cursed it as their dying screams echoed through the Spirit World.

Even the Mystic Council, who had been the first killed and enslaved by the Necromancer, longed for the comfort of the golden paradise of Spirit. The surviving Mystics, whose elemental powers were Rajal’s only defense, struggled to hold back the tide of death. But the unnatural things that poured from the Fortress were too much for even the power of the elements to defeat.

That was why Ard and his four companions watched and waited before the black maw of the Fortress of Jahan. The Aramzin were the last chance for the Six Provinces of Rajal to survive. For nearly twenty years, the Aramzin had fought alongside the Mystics against the undead. Now, as the Mystic forces gathered for one final battle against the Necromancer’s army, the Aramzin had stolen behind enemy lines and made their way to the Necromancer’s throne. It was time to end the Necromancer’s reign.

Ruwah had been the first called. The Aramzia of Spirit was the mortar that held them all together. He was their guide and their connection to the Spirits. He was young enough to have been a child when he answered the call. Now, he held himself as a man. His companions were his children. He’d taken up the mantle of Aramzia with a fervor that not even Nara could match.

Nara, a being of pure energy bottled within a living shell, was the warrior, and an eager one at that. The Aramzia of Fire held vengeance in his heart like others held the memory of their lost love. When the call had come to him, Nara had leapt into the fray without hesitation with a smile on his face.

If Nara had charged in, Jow had flown. A small woman not unlike a bird, she was the most beautiful lady Ard had ever known. The call had found Jow prepared to fly. Yet she had forsaken the skies in order to take her place as the Aramzia of Air.

Maat, beloved of all man, was the heart of the Aramzin and the Aramzia of Water. She loved, and hated, for all of them. Her grace was the grace of the waterfall, her power was the depth of the placid lake. Of the five, she stood at Ruwah’s right hand, while Ard himself stood at Ruwah’s left. She hadn’t so much answered the call, as been there when it came.

Of power, none matched Ard for size or strength. He was a colossus that strained to be contained with the flesh of his human body. Ard was the second to have answered the call, joining Ruwah while both were young.

“What are we waiting for?” Nara asked in a quiet voice. At least, for once, Nara had the prudence to keep his voice down. Still, Jow sighed and Maat shook her head. Ruwah was perfectly still, his dark hair fluttering in the night breeze momentarily moved away from his eyes long enough for Ard to see they were closed. Ruwah was concentrating, perhaps using some sort of Spirit sight that Ard didn’t understand.

“He has a point, Ruwah,” Ard said, conceding to Nara’s impatience. “If we wait too long, we may miss the timing and the last years will be for naught.”

Ruwah slowly opened his eyes. He turned to Ard, as if just hearing him. Regretfully, he nodded.

“He knows we’re here,” The Aramzin of Spirit said.

Jow gasped. Ard put a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“That changes nothing,” Ard said with conviction. “We still need to be in there before dawn. You remember what the boy said.” Again, Ruwah nodded. There would be no other chance, at least not in the next thousand years.

The five Aramzin emerged from the trees around the ruined city of Jahan and strode purposefully toward the Fortress. The city was silent, not just from its abandonment, but from all sound. No night creatures skittered through the blackened husks of homes that once knew the joy of family. No wind stirred to blow leaves across the barren roads and walkways that once welcomed visitors and tradesmen. The cold, dry air smelled of moldy earth. Ard expected to see bodies hung from rooftops or desiccated heads impaled on pikes in the city square. The barren ruin yielded no such atrocities. Finally, Ard stopped, the moldy stench nearly driving him mad.

“What is that?” He demanded of no one in particular. The others turned and saw his nose wrinkled. Jow shook her head.

“What, Ard?” she asked.

“Don’t you smell it?” Ard asked “It’s like...”

“Death,” finished Ruwah. His gaze searched the darkness around them. Jow, Maat and Nara looked confused.

“I don’t smell anything,” Nara said. Jow and Maat shook their heads in agreement with Nara.

“Jow. Light please.” At Ruwah’s command, Jow gathered the static energy in the air, and produced a ball of blue light.

As the light bloomed around the Aramzin, the shadows around them moved back with the scuffling of shod feet. Jow raised the light above her head and made it brighter. The creatures at the edges of the light could not race the advance of that light. With arms raised, the creatures of death who had once been the human inhabitants of Jahan tried to block the light from their eyes. They made no sound. No breath, no vocalizations. Only the shuffling of their feet as they withdrew backward a few steps in a vain attempt to stay out of the light.

Ruwah’s eyes nearly burned with anger as he stared out at the poor souls who had been denied their rest to stand guard over a creature of evil.

“This will not stand,” he fumed. A man of few words, Ruwah looked as if he wanted to string a million of them together at that moment, each one a curse on Shara.

Instead, Ruwah thrust his fist into the sky and golden energy exploded above his head. Ard felt the wave of energy pass though him, leaving behind a peaceful feeling. The energy spread all about them, radiating out toward the undead. Upon passing through them, the undead puppets collapsed to the ground, soundless save for the crumple of flesh and bone.

Jow lowered her light as they watched Ruwah’s wave spread through this part of the city, separating the spirits of the dead from their bodies and sending them on to their rest. When they could no longer see the golden glow down the street, they continued on.

The huge doors to the Fortress were closed tight and looked like they hadn’t been opened in years. The Aramzin stood before the thick, oak doors and looked up at the wall.

“Should we really be going through the front door?” Maat asked Ruwah. “We’d planned on secrecy.” Ruwah looked at her and smiled.

“He already knows we’re here.”

“It was foolish to think we could approach him unseen,” Ard admitted. “We might as well knock.” Ard stepped forward as Maat tried to grab for him.

“What are you...” Before she could finish, Ard drew his arm back. He gathered his strength through the earth below his feet.

The connection of Ard’s fist with the oak door was accompanied by a thunderous sound that shook the very stones of the Fortress and the resounding crack of breaking wood. The heavy beam that barred the door had been broken in half.

Ard faintly heard Nara’s ecstatic laughter at Ard’s display of power, but he was already gathering strength for the second blow. This time, he drew from the stone of the wall surrounding the door. His next blow was an open-handed slap to the center of the wood. This time, the door itself splintered and collapsed, parts of it thrust inward to the dark foyer beyond. Weakened stone and mortar rained down from the door frame, but Ard denied the stone the freedom to fall atop the Aramzin.

As Ard rubbed his knuckles to soothe the abrasions in his skin, Maat shot him a dark glare.

“There were so many other ways you could have done that. Quieter ways.” Ard glanced over at Nara, who was grinning like a little boy, though he was the oldest of all of them. With a smirk, Ard turned back to Maat.

“But none of those are much fun.”

A low growl from the darkness inside drew their attention. Jow raised her light to reveal three dog-like beasts watching them with bared teeth. They were covered in thick, bristly gray fur and stood the height of an average man at the shoulder. Something about their shape was off, as if an amateur sculptor had tried to carve a dog, but had slipped with the chisel. Ard had seen their like before. They were the creatures the Necromancer had summoned to build his army of the undead.

“Finally!” exclaimed Nara. He rushed into the room, his hands thrust out before him. Bolts of fire burst from his fingertips, peppering the hides of the demons. Where the fire caught on the demon’s bristled coats, they spread in a wholly unnatural way, but seemed to cause the beasts little discomfort. Soon, Nara was in the midst of the three fiery creatures. A flaming sword appeared in his hand as he whirled among the snapping jaws and flurry of claws.

The sword came up and severed the head of one and arced around in the same motion to leave a burning scar across the flank of another. Nara spun, ducked and jumped to avoid their attacks, moving with a speed and energy that only the Aramzia of Fire could possess. One of the demons yelped as Nara severed a front leg that had nearly gutted him. The sword came around and Nara slammed the tip into the top of the demon’s head. Its legs collapsed from under it.

Jow screamed as the last demon hound reared up behind Nara, intent on ripping the man in two with its claws. Without turning, Nara thrust his sword back into the creature’s belly. With a twist, Nara spun and held the screaming hound above him with just the flaming sword in its gut. Nara grinned as he looked up at the beast. Suddenly, Nara’s sword split in two, cutting the hound cleanly in half. The two halves of the corpse dropped to the ground. Nara stood facing the other Aramzin, his empty fist still raised above his head like an acrobat finishing a difficult trick.

“Ta da!” he called out with a final flourish of his hand. Jow stomped over to him and slapped his shoulder. Though she was a head shorter than Nara, she looked even more fierce than he.

“One day, your grandstanding will get you killed!”

Ard caught Nara’s attention by clearing his throat. He absently brushed his shoulder and Nara lifted his hand to touch his own. A deep gash near his neck was just now starting to bleed. Nara’s face went pale and he collapsed to his knees. Jow caught him as best she could.

“Maat!” But the Aramzia of Water was already there. Water condensed on her hands, pulled from the air. She pressed her hand against the wound and the water ran down Nara’s shoulder, stained red with blood. The gash closed up instantly. Soon, the cut was gone, without even a scar to show for it.

“It wasn’t all that bad,” Maat said. “If you weren’t so dramatic when it comes to blood.” Ard laughed.

“He’s dramatic about everything.” Ard helped Nara to his feet.

When Nara was back on his feet, Ard took a good look around the entryway to the Fortress. Jow’s globe of light illuminated most of it, but the sheer immensity left the back wall, corners and ceiling in shadow. The interior was tiled in once-polished marble tiles five feet square . To either side, huge stairways rose to a mezzanine level A crystal chandelier hung low from the ceiling, meant to light both ground floor and mezzanine. Ard wondered why the place was called a “fortress” and not a “palace”. It was obviously the latter.

“When it was first built,” Jow answered his thought, “It truly was a fortress. It was built in the only pass between the Provinces and the Waste beyond the mountains. At the time, there were dangers from the Waste that threatened the fledgling Province of Jahan. This is merely a facade on the city side of the fortress. We’ll see the fortress itself the farther in we go.” Ard had been upset the first time to realize that the nature of her abilities prevented her from fully controlling what minds she “overheard”. She described it as hearing someone’s conversation as she walked pas an open door.

“So what now?” Ard asked Ruwah.

“The Council Hall.”

“You sense him?” Ruwah started up the left hand staircase to the mezzanine.

“I know him.”

Before becoming the creature known as the Necromancer, the man called Shara had been the leader of the Mystic Council. The leadership of the Council, which had resided in Jahan, always fell to a Mystic of Spirit. But Shara had wanted more. He began delving into the darker aspects of his power. He secretly experimented with the forbidden knowledge of Necromancy. In exchange for immortality, Shara gave himself over to a dark hunger. One day, twenty years ago, he presented himself to the Council as the new emperor of the Provinces. He backed his power grab with a force of dark spirits. When the Council resisted, he slew them.

At the time, Ruwah had been in training here at the Fortress. For a while, he had served under Shara, as his personal assistant for Council business. It had been a prestigious post for one as young as Ruwah. Most of the Mystics living and training in the Fortress had died that day. Few had survived to flee into the wilderness. Ruwah had been one of the lucky ones.

Ard watched as Ruwah ran a hand up the banister as he climbed the stairs. He didn’t need Maat’s empathy or Jow’s telepathy to know that Ruwah was reliving that night. Ard tried to imagine what this place had been like, filled with life and bustling with the daily activity of a central political and learning center. Mystics of all five sects had come here to learn. The governments of all six Provinces heeded the words of the Mystic Council, almost appointing them as the ruling body of all the Provinces. Leaders came to the Council for guidance.

No more. The Mystics were fewer and fewer every day. Twenty years was all they could give Rajal. If the Aramzin failed, the Necromancer would crush the Mystics and enslave them as he had everyone else; enslave them in death.

Ruwah led the others deeper into the Fortress. As Jow had predicted, the marble walls soon gave way to the rough-hewn stone of the mountain itself. Ard could feel the ancient, impenetrable stone that was layered upon itself thousands of feet into the earth. He drew strength from the Earth. He guessed that he was now stronger than any of the other Aramzin at the moment. He was in his element with raw, natural stone around him.

“There’s so much Fire in the stone.” Nara said quietly, with not a little fear. Ard trembled. He couldn’t sense the Fire, but he knew that Earth and Fire was not a healthy combination. Earth was barren under the influence of Fire. Yet Fire was cold when sealed within Earth. Only death could result in such a melding of elements. The Fortress of the Necromancer was proving to be a place of death in more ways than one.

Ard looked down at Jow. She was hunched over as if she expected the ceiling to fall on top of them at any moment. Her light flickered and grew dim. She was weak here. Ard wondered if that would cause a problem in the Council Hall. How deep into the Fortress was Shara’s seat of power? He opened his mouth to ask Ruwah, but a voice from ahead of them spoke instead.

“Ruwah...” whispered a voice unlike any Ard had ever heard. It sounded as if the word had been spoken with the last breath of a dying man. Ruwah stopped, peering into the blackness ahead. Jow, standing next to him with the light, made a visible effort to make it shine brighter. At the very limit of her ability, the light illuminated an indistinct figure standing awkwardly in the hallway. The meager light seemed to cast more shadows on the man than light. The figure appeared bloated, skin sagging around the face, creating a horrid image of melting flesh around the eyes and mouth that seemed to be sunken into darkness. When the light reached him, the shambling once –man took a step deeper into the dark, averting its face from Jow’s light.

“Alistair,” spoke Ruwah in sad recognition. That would make this creature the remains of Alistair Fawahy, the Mystic of Water who had denounced Shara and led the Council’s resistance of him.

Ard had seen the undead many times during his travels with Ruwah and the rest. This was the first time Ard had heard one speak. Once the living body was dead, Shara often trapped the soul within the rotting shell, giving the new creature a semblance of life, but not a spark of the real thing. They were sad, tortured things, able to slow, but not stop the decay of their own bodies. They could pray for the release of death, but dared not hope for it. This was what awaited the people of the Province if Shara’s demons vanquished the Mystics.

“Please, Ruwah...” came the whisper again. With each exhalation, the creature had to force its lungs to once again expand in order to speak again. The wet sucking sound of the effort sent a chill through Ard’s spine. “Save yourself... my fate... go...” The last word was extended through Alistair’s last breath.

Ruwah stepped toward the dark, one hand raised before him. The golden glow of his power bloomed around his hand. Alistair stepped into the light, dead eyes fixed on the glow. Something about the golden glow of Spirit attracted whatever was left of Alistair’s soul. Alistair’s mouth was slack, revealing the black, rotting gums and tongue surrounded by the melting flesh of his face. He wore the rotting robes of his office, the same ones he had worn when he was killed twenty years ago. Through tears in the material, Ard could see where Alistair’s flesh had burst open from the inside. The reek of the dead was strong.

When Alistair was just a few steps away, Ruwah moved his palm to Alistair’s forehead. Alistair lifted his arms like a marionette toward the glow, but before they could reach, Alistair’s body collapsed to the floor.

“Rest, teacher,” Ruwah said as he stared down at the body. Ard reached forward and put his hand on Ruwah’s shoulder. The Mystic of Spirit looked up at him and smiled thanks for the comfort. “Could you...?” He indicated the corpse.

“Of course,” Ard replied. He made the stone around the corpse soft and allowed it to enfold the body of Alistair Fawahy. When it was done, the floor was again solid and smooth. He inscribed Alistair’s name in the stone at their feet. Ard looked in Ruwah’s face and saw the rage building there beneath the calm exterior.

“It’s getting harder to release them,” Ruwah said.

“He must be close,” Maat replied.

“How much farther down do we have to go,” Ard asked, with a glance at Jow.

“We don’t,” Ruwah replied, “From here we go up.” Jow breathed an audible sigh of relief. Ruwah smiled at her in encouragement. “We came down a little used passage. The main hallways to the Council Hall are surely guarded. There is a servants’ corridor up here.”

Ruwah led them into a narrow passage, forcing them to move in a single file. This was the hardest leg of the journey for Jow. Ard kept a hand reassuringly on her shoulder, giving her strength to keep moving. Nara brought up the rear, checking hopefully behind them for signs of trouble.

But no trouble came. After climbing countless steps and snaking through twisting tunnels, they finally emerged in an antechamber just steps away from the Council Hall. Here, servants would make final preparations for food and refreshment for the Council. Ruwah gathered them all together.

“'A prison with a core of liquid fire to drown him in flame, and a shell of metallic glass sealed by a field of golden light to ensure he never escapes.'" Ruwah’s intonation of their instructions – given to them by the Spirits – left the others breathing heavily. Maat looked a question at Nara, sadness in her eyes.

“I’d pay anything to finish this,” Nara said. His own eyes spoke volumes about the pain the Necromancer had inflicted on him in particular.

The rest nodded in agreement.

“Ruwah,” Maat started, “This place is dry as bone. I don’t know if I can do my part.” Ruwah’s face grew concerned.

“He’s using Fire and Earth to dry the air.” Nara said. Now that Nara brought his attention to it, Ard could feel it too. The stone was like a sponge for all the moisture in the air, and it was being channeled deep into the mountain.

“It’s this place…” Jow said, trailing off, with her gaze upon the stone walls.

“We will do what we can,” Ruwah said.

Ard nodded. Ruwah’s mere presence was like a balm upon their fears. It gave them the strength to continue, even in the face of almost certain failure.

The Council Hall was a giant room with galleries and paneled windows. Shafts in the ceiling led up into the darkness, but no doubt let in sunlight during the day. The galleries above them were cast in shadow, but had once held the people of Jahan, who watched the proceedings of the Mystic Council. The windows were caked in dust, but showed, to the Aramzin’s alarm, that dawn would soon be breaking over Jahan. The gray light gave the Hall enough illumination to show it’s decrepit state.

In the center of the room, the shattered remains of the council table lay on the ground. Upon a dais at the back of the room, an ornate golden throne had been placed. Upon the throne, Shara, Master of Jahan and self-proclaimed Emperor of the Provinces sat waiting the arrival of those who would destroy him.

The sight of the ghoul on the golden throne surprised every one of them. It was known that Shara had forsaken his humanity for the power he wielded, but none had known how far the man had gone. Shara appeared to have suffered the same fate as those he had slaughtered and enslaved. His skin was the pasty white of the dead, his dark hair was long and stringy, and his fingernails had grown to resemble cracked and splintered claws. Unlike his victims, however, Shara’s eyes blazed with life. He moved with the fluid grace of the living, not like an undead puppet being controlled by strings of the Spirit.

The Necromancer stood and regarded the Aramzin.

“So, Ruwah, this is the solution the Mystics have decided upon? These are your so-called Aramzin? The living embodiment of the Elements?” Shara laughed, a sickening wheezing sound that made Ard’s stomach churn.

“Your over-confidence surprises even me,” Ruwah retorted, “I’ve laid the townspeople and Alistair to rest. You’ve given over your power over the living spirit of man to control a puppet army of the dead. What kind of power is that?” The Necromancer smiled, revealing teeth that had either blackened or fallen out.

“It is the only power that is immortal, my son.” Ruwah reddened with rage at the appellation. The other Aramzin glanced at Ruwah in shock. Not even Ard, Ruwah’s best friend, had known the truth.

“You are no longer my father, Necromancer!”

“I will always be your father, Ruwah, even unto death.” Shara raised a hand which began to burn with a black, light-eating darkness. “Do you think the dead is all I control?” From out of a dark portal of energy, stepped two demonic horrors. Like the hounds from the entrance, they walked on all fours, but they had hawkish faces and each had two tails tipped with sharp barbs.

Nara smiled and drew his blazing sword. Almost faster than Ard’s eye could follow, Nara ran toward the demons, his sword flashing. By the time he returned to stand back with the other Aramzin, the demons lay on the ground, sliced open and still burning.

“Try again, Candlestick,” Nara growled. The Aramzia of Fire’s smile never left his face.

Shara raised his arms above his head, dark energy pouring from his hands. Ruwah screamed in pain and collapsed to the floor, his hands on his head. Maat rushed forward and cradled him in her arms. Rustling from above them drew all the eyes of the Aramzin up.

The galleries above them seethed with movement. Bodies of the dead dropped down to the floor below by the dozens. As they hit the floor, there was the snapping of broken bone and the thud of flesh on stone. Unperterbed by injury, the undead shambled to their feet and began advancing on the Aramzin. Nara was nearly ready to rush in again to slaughter the undead threat when a unit of the Fortress Guard rushed in from the main entrance. The undead soldiers wielded weapons of steel that those dropping from the gallery did not. The Aramzin found themselves trapped between the undead from the galleries, overwhelming in number, and the well-armed undead soldiers. Ruwah was unconscious from the pain inflicted on him by Shara’s power. Maat sat on the floor, Ruwah’s head in her lap.

“Do something!” she screamed. Ard nearly jumped. He’d never heard the usually placid woman speak louder than a conversational tone.

The three standing Aramzin stood back to back to back as they considered their next move.

“Ruwah's out. He can’t put them all to rest,” said Nara.

“He needs help,” said Jow, “Without water, Maat can’t help him.”

“Can you make it rain?” Ard asked her, remembering the ripe rain clouds that hovered over the Fortress, no doubt a side effect of Shara’s manipulation of the air within.

“Indoors? Are you crazy?”

“Let me take care of that.” He looked at Nara, “Do your thing. Get the soldiers first. Jow, hold the others back with lightning. When I’m done, be ready for a downpour.”

Jow snorted her disbelief, but launched a salvo of lightning toward the undead. The thunder was deafening as the electricity blackened the stone floor and walls. Where it passed through the undead, they froze and convulsed as the electricity triggered long dead muscles and nerves. But the already dead were not stopped.

Nara rushed toward the soldiers, a gout of fire preceding him. He stretched out his hands and formed a flaming staff between them. He whirled into the midst of the undead guards as they slashed at him with steel. Somehow, he snaked between them and lashed out with the staff. The fire ignited clothing and flesh, but the nerveless dead felt no pain and were undeterred. They fought until severed limbs caused them to collapse, then the remains crawled toward Nara along the floor.

Ard stood calmly over Jow as she lashed out with her lightning. He gathered the strength of the fortress, feeling the stone beneath his feet, then more as he sent out his senses deep within the earth below him. He tapped into the very bedrock of the mountain, the same raw stone he had felt below. He felt his muscles strain as if trying to lift every stone in the Fortress with his mortal strength alone.

“What are you doing?” came Jow’s worried voice from below him. He barely noticed. A soft thrumming began to resonate through the walls around them. It grew in intensity as the entire Fortress began to rumble. Ard barely heard the startled cries of his companions when he made the room jump, loosening the stone joins of the walls around them. One voice did come through clearly, however, like a knife to his soul.

“ Stop him! ” Shara’s voice echoed through the ether as his command worked into the trapped souls of the undead. As one, the soldiers and citizens who had been fighting against Nara’s fire and Jow’s lightning, turned toward Ard. Ignoring the attacks on them from the others, the undead rushed headlong toward the Aramzia of Earth. Jow cried out and Ard instinctively dove over her, covering her small form protectively with his own large one.

“Trust me.” He said to her. He borrowed a minute amount of the strength he was drawing to harden his skin. He felt the strike of steel against his back, feeling the cuts that would have killed other men score his back. He felt the claws of the dead scrape over skin nearly as hard as stone.

Ard pushed all these feelings away and concentrated on drawing the power he would need. The rumbling grew in intensity.

“Get ready,” he said to Jow, who was trembling below him. She looked up at him, fear in her eyes, and she nodded. She reached up with a little hand and brushed a tear of pain away from his eyes. He smiled back and gathered the strength of his legs below him.

With a sudden surge, Ard, Aramzia of Earth, stood, raising his arms above his head along with all the power the Fortress of Jahan and the surrounding mountains could give him. The undead on his back were thrown back. Ard’s power reached out to the ceiling above him. The stone above them blew apart to the tops of the walls. Three stories of stone fell away and rained down upon them. Ard prevented any of it from striking his friends, drawing most of it out into the city.

With all his strength spent, Ard dropped to one knee.

“Rain,” he whispered to Jow. She was gaping at him in shock. Finally, the word sunk in and she closed her eyes. The rain clouds above thickened and blackened as Jow manipulated Air in ways Ard couldn’t imagine. Within moments, the Council Hall was filled with a torrential downpour.

A hissing sound accompanied Nara’s return, as his fiery sword vaporized the falling rain without being quenched.

“Great,” he said, “Make it harder for me.” He grinned, not a bit of sarcasm in his voice. Ard shook his head with a smile.

Ruwah was again on his feet, Maat wrapping an arm around his waist.

“Let me help with your wounds.” She said to Ard. Ard shook her off.

“No time.”

The undead were closing in again, having been flung across the room by Ard’s strength. Ruwah raised his arms, the golden glow of his power illuminating the room, even as the burgeoning daylight filtered through the clouds above. Shara, from his golden throne, flung out a bolt of his dark power toward Ruwah, but this time, the Aramzia of Spirit was ready. The bolt of power was deflected off a golden shield. With a flicker of his hands, Ruwah sent a wave of Spirit through the room, cutting the bonds through which Shara held them to their dead bodies. The undead dropped as one to the floor.

“You’ve grown strong, Ruwah. I am proud.” Shara stepped from the throne and down from the dais.

“You can keep your pride, father.” Ruwah directed his golden energy toward Shara. The strain showed on his face as he tried to tear through the bonds that kept Shara’s spirit in the world of the living. Shara merely smiled and shook his head.

“I am not of the world of the dead, my son. I am something different. Not fire, nor water, nor earth, nor air will destroy me, nor will spirit compel me. I have transcended life and death. I have become truly immortal. Know that nothing you can do will stop me. Join with me or turn away. The mission of the Mystics has failed. Their time is gone. A new age is upon us.”

“An age of death?” Ruwah shot back. Shara shrugged.

“If that is the price. I am willing to spare you for now. For the sake of the bond we once shared. Go and live your lives, such as they are. I won’t come for you until you die naturally.”

“A few years of freedom for an eternity of slavery?” Nara scoffed. The other Aramzin nodded. “I’ve had enough of listening to you, Candlestick.”

Nara reached out with both hands and sent a gout of flame into Shara’s face. Shara walked through it and grabbed Nara by the throat. Nara glanced over at Ruwah, who nodded grimly.

“Thanks for the party, Candlestick. Let’s see how well you light.” Nara said, then he burst into flame. Nara’s flesh was seared away as the Fire within him burst from his pores. The Aramzia of Fire became a ball of living flame.

Shara suddenly found himself wrestling a twisting, burning funeral pyre. The fire wrapped itself around him and encased him.

“Now!” yelled Ruwah.

Jow whipped the fire into a frenzy with a whirling cyclone of air around Shara. Soon, the wind itself became a blazing inferno, with Shara in the center. Shara struggled, but he was fighting something he could not touch.

Maat funneled the falling rain into the fiery whirlwind, soaking the wind and fire in water that did not vaporize, but rather joined with the other elements, creating a whirlwind of liquid plasma.

Ard called upon the metal in the golden
throne and reshaped it, molding it into a sphere that encased Shara and the plasma whirlwind. Completely encased in gold, the conflagration of wind, fire and water whirled around the imprisoned Shara.

Ruwah called forth Nara’s spirit to bond the golden shell to the fiery core. The sphere took on the look of golden crystal and the five elements were bound together.

Ard smiled as he saw that Nara’s sacrifice had not been in vain.

Then, Shara struck back.

Ard reeled back as something powerful struck the golden shell. Jow grabbed at him as he lost his footing, but the smaller woman couldn’t keep him from hitting the floor. The giant golden sphere before them cracked and bent.

“It’s not enough!” Ard called out.

Ruwah looked around at his friends. He fought the evil spirit within the sphere and knew that Ard was right. Nothing would be enough to hold this creature.

Nothing short of a total sacrifice.

Maat, Jow and Ard all nodded solemnly as each came to the same conclusion. Jow gripped Ard’s hand as Ruwah raised his hands to his shoulders, palms up. His entire body began to glow with the golden light of his power.

The Aramzin had been born to be the living embodiment of the five elements. They alone were granted power known to no other. They each were Earth, Air, Fire, Water, and Spirit. Now, in order to stop the threat to life itself, the golden prison must be imbued with those elements in their purest forms. It was their only choice.

Through his link to the human element of Spirit, Ruwah called upon Pure Elements within the others. Ruwah’s body became a shining golden light. Much as Nara gave himself to Fire, Ruwah gave his entire being to his Spirit. This light streaked through the Council Hall and round the other Aramzin. Maat gave herself to him first, she imbued the light of Spirit with her liquid life, becoming one with Ruwah. Finally, together as they always had been, Ard and Jow became Earth and Air, dust blown on the wind.

The four elementals swirled around the prison, sealing it, shrinking it and suffusing it with strength and power. Shara’s struggles ceased and the golden sphere was whole and undamaged.

Then, Council Hall was silent. On the floor, amongst the bodies of the freed undead, lay a shining golden orb.

When it was over, a boy stood at the doorway to the Hall. He was no more than ten years of age. Tears streaked his dirty cheeks. They issued forth from eyes of pure white.

The blind boy made his way through the bodies and wreckage to the orb. He felt the power within it, both from the sacrifice of the Aramzin and the evil of the Necromancer. He lifted the Orb in both of his small hands.

A mind as young as his could make no sense of the sacrifice that nature demanded of itself. But his power, the power of Spirit, drove him to do what must be done.

Driven by Spirit, he had given the Aramzin the prophecy that had brought them to this place. Driven by Spirit, told them of the prison that had to be constructed. Young as he was, he had acted as the voice of the Spirits for the Aramzin. Now, driven by Spirit, he had followed the Aramzin here in order to finish the job of freeing the Provinces.

The boy took the Orb from the Council Hall and followed Spirit through the winding passageways of the Fortress of Jahan. After many twists and turns, the passage opened to a courtyard garden. The garden had long since been trampled and devastated by the powers that came through here.

On the far side of the courtyard, a wall of natural stone rose high above the level of the rest of the Fortress. Set in the wall were the open doors of the Gate of Eternity. The carved stone doors were flung open wide and a wind blew forth from within. This gate did not lead outside of Jahan, but rather through the ether to a realm where evil had gained a foothold thousands of years since.

The boy did not see the demons that guarded the gate with his eyes, though neither did they see him, as he was shrouded from their sight by the power of the orb. Spirit led the boy to the very brink of the portal to that other realm. Within, he “saw” for the first time in his young life. He watched as the powerful lord of this realm of Earth and Fire approached the Gate of Eternity. It’s hatred of him blazed in the light of the thousand spirits this creature had consumed since the Necromancer had come to power.

The boy lifted the orb before him in both hands. Guided by the Spirits, the boy summoned the power that lay within it. Lightning and Fire shot from it, instantly killing the demon guards. Wind and Earth bade the giant stone doors to rumble closed. Spirit and Water covered the closed doors, locking it and sealing it.

Around the six Provinces of Rajal, the demons of the Gate dropped dead, their carcasses vanishing into the ether. The product of Shara’s meddling into dark powers was now sealed away behind the Gate in Jahan.

The Spirits cried out as, for the first time in his life, the boy disobeyed. With a trickle of power, the boy separated the Aramzin from the Necromancer; the Pure Spirits of the entities contained within. From within the golden Orb, the boy withdrew a nightmare orb of pure darkness. If the Aramzin were to be imprisoned for eternity, they weren’t going to be imprisoned with the Necromancer. Also, with the Key to the Gate of Eternity split in two, Rajal would be that much safer.

At least for the next thousand years.

***

The consequences of the boy’s choice are revealed in the continuing story of the Necromancer’s threat to Rajal. Read The Legacy of Shatara on Amazon Kindle.