The Fallen Being Chronicle(s)- The Forgotten Past

Cale awakens from a long, arduous slumber with no recollection of who he is or how he ended up in the middle of a forest crippled with injuries. Cale discovers that he can perform powerful magic, which is a forbidden act on Tuereras, punishable by death. However, the only way to rediscover his identity is to run to the people who would kill him if they found out who he really was. He soon embarks on a journey to discover his past, upon which he comes into contact with dark magicians, ashamed royalty and even Death himself. When he finds out that his existance is set to start a huge war, he is given the choice: save the ones he loves or save the rest of the world.
Cale must pick a side.The clock is ticking...
I haven't ever written a movella before and I would appreciate it if people could read this and comment and to any of those who do read it, I'm sorry that it's a bit boring, but I hope it will improve as I get further into the plot
Thanks

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2. The Awakening

The Awakening

 

            The youth’s slumber was disturbed by a woman’s whisper which seemed so close by, yet so far away also. The message seemed broken, much like a phone seems to sound when there is little signal, however this wasn’t a phone call and this wasn’t earth, this was Tuereras, and this was telepathic communication. ‘Cale… w…re…Cale.” was all that he could distinguish. It was his name, he knew, but how he did was a mystery. It just seemed right to him. The voice seemed disturbed, but there was so little of the message left that he couldn’t really tell the emotions of the sender.

            When he awoke, all that he could recall was his dream which just consisted of darkness, darkness on all sides, only to be awakened by the voice. After and before that seemingly endless dream, there was nothing. No memories and no familiarities, all his preceding memories were non-existent, though all common sense and simple understanding of the world around him began to kick in once he began to regain consciousness.

            His whole body throbbed and each muscle seemed to ache in agony like he had been pummelled to a pulp with a sledge hammer, and it felt akin to the feeling in his lungs as his chest staggered, struggling for breath. Cale attempted to slow his pulse with slow, deep breaths but that just caused too much effort for his lungs and it was hard not to panic when the liquids seemed to swirl about in his brain, causing him nausea and dizziness.

            However, the longer the youth lay there on the ground, the more heightened his senses seemed to become, and slowly he began to become conscious and accustomed to his surroundings. He started to taste the dirt and dust stuck to his tongue, and rough and dry around his parched mouth, and he could feel mud smudged up the side of his face. The aches Cale felt were more of a distant numbing pain but the fatigue seemed more prominent than before. As his senses strengthened he could feel something digging into his right thigh, and he could sense his matted hair clogged with dirt and sticking in odd angles. It pricked his eyes and tugged on his scalp, as it seemed ensnared in a nearby plant. A faint light pressed in on his eyes and when he inhaled through his nose, he discovered the scent of dampness and dewy grass.

            The effort it took Cale to open his eyes could have equalled the force it would take to lift a lorry with one’s pinkie. When they open, he was lying in a small patch of soggy grass which was drenching his clothes as if he were sprawled out in a pond. The grass the youth lay slumped in, stuck up around him but felt soft and comforting, and the crushed greenery beneath him felt like a mattress. A quite unrestrained groan fell from Cale’s lips as the thin rays of sunlight peeping from between the tree’s limbs highlighted the dust present in the air. The bright beams that fell where he lay stung his eyes. He longed desperately to move, to get comfortable on his earthen bed, brush his hair from his eyes, kick away the object digging into his thigh and spit out his mouthful of dirt, replacing it with a drink of water, but it took all the energy the youth possessed just to keep from falling back into slumber. Falling back into the dark and empty place, where only confusion resided.

            Cale didn’t so much watch, as he did see, a corpulent robin swoop overhead before touching down upon a nearby branch which bobbed up and down on contact. The creature whistled its cheery tune and turned its head towards him, its beady eyes locked onto his, giving it a strong sense of intelligence. The boy had the peculiar feeling that it knew who he was. Due to the fact that it held its rich breast up high with a look of pride and royalty, while the youth just lay there, unmoving, admiring the minute bird, also gave the scary thought that it knew what he was thinking. He felt like laughing and crying at the same time, when he viewed the bird, and this seemed to give him an extra ounce of strength. This new found strength coursed rapidly through his veins and before he knew it, his lips were pursed and he was whistling, creating a gentle, beautiful note that seemed to bring to life every creature in the forest.

            As the note faded into the atmosphere, the robin tilted its head, seeming to communicate, ‘interesting, very interesting.’ The two stared at one another for a moment before the robin quickly span its head, looking as a dog looked when cocking its ears. It stared deep into the forest. When it withdrew its gaze, it briefly locked eyes with him for the last time, then with a little flutter it disappeared into the canopy ahead, leaving the only evidence of its presence in the clearing, the still-bobbing branch.

            That was when Cale, too, heard it, a rustling of leaves and the snapping of dried twigs under-foot. The youth let out one final sigh and let his eyes droop shut to a squint, hoping they weren’t foe, for if they were he wouldn’t even have the energy to yell at them to leave him be, let alone fend off an attack they might impose.

            Then two burly men broke through the vegetation and into the clearing, both wielding axes, though they also held an abundance of other weapons slung over their backs and around their waists. Upon viewing this, the Cale swallowed and inhaled deeply. Yep, he was doomed. Never in a million years would someone ‘nice’ have that many weapons, for to hold that many was an obvious way of proclaiming, ‘I intend to murder someone’.

            The two men were very similar in appearance; both having short black hair, which glistened with sweat in the morning light, they were both broad shouldered and tall (though one more so than the other) and they both wore black clothes, and leather armour. Their outfits consisted of black short sleeved tops, black leather trousers tucked into boots, and they also wore small amounts of protection on their arms, for they both had bows slung across their backs. They also wore gloves which had metal spikes over the knuckles, and the youth was pretty sure he could see red smears over these spikes, but he didn’t think any more about it for the notion made him sick.

            The pair had clearly been running as they were both sweating like snow-dwellers would in the desert. The shorter of the two men had, also, a gash across his cheek where he had probably tripped and cut it on some vegetation, though Cale thought it equally likely that the man had cut himself on one weapon in his monopoly, for he had so many he was practically wearing them like a blanket.

            “I think we lost him” the smaller of the two growled, peering over his shoulder. However, he stopped short as he saw the sprawled body of the youth, harmless and unmoving upon the floor. Cale wasn’t all too surprised of their noticing his presence; he was sprawled out in the middle of the clearing after all. The two thugs had a silent conversation before the smaller man strutted over and loomed over the boy, putting him into shadow, himself a silhouette blocking out the sunlight. Cale’s heart pounded hard and strong in his chest and with each stab came the thought ‘I’m going to die’

            The man frowned evilly down at him, cleared his nose through his throat and spat the contents onto the ground beside the youth’s face. In some ways, this act just made him look ridiculous, but Cale was more preoccupied with the middle-length sword the man was drawing from his belt to think too strongly about it. With a grunt, the hulk began to talk to him and his tone definitely could not be mistaken for kind, but if he were mistaken, the sword pressed against his neck was a good enough indicator.

            “State your name and the reason for your presence here? Speak, or I’ll use you for a pincushion!” He knew that this would be the perfect time to remember the art of speech; however, he just didn’t possess the energy. When the nasty guy realised Cale wasn’t going to reply, he hauled him up by the scuff of the neck and violently pinned him to a nearby tree, his sausage fingers and clamps for hands keeping Cale there by his neck, rather quickly removing the little oxygen that the youth possessed. Cale didn’t know how senseless this man was, but if he wanted him to talk, suffocating him wasn’t the best way to get it done.

            Ordinarily, the youth would have fought for his life, wrestling with the man’s fist no matter how little it would achieve, but as he was as good as paralysed, his arms just hung limp at his sides. Just hanging there like a ragdoll.

            Cale’s lugs now just felt like empty paper bags and his vision was blurring, indicating seconds before unconsciousness.

            “I asked you for your name!” the man bellowed again, into his ear. Why this fact was important mystified the youth, but he attempted to reply anyhow. However, despite the two men’s extremely thoughtful hospitality so far, Cale decided that it probably best not to trust the thugs and to not give them any information about him. Best make something up. His first attempt just came out as a wheezy puff but began to become more decipherable.

            “I’m f, f, Fi” Then Cale began to slip from consciousness. The last things he was aware of were of a peasant upon a white stallion charging at his attackers, sword in hand. Meanwhile, his vision faded to black and he heard his voice, faint but understandable, gasping a fake name, ‘Fin’ followed by the feeling of his body sliding down the trunk and landing in a heap upon the roots. Then he blacked out.

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