A Chapter by Darruesh Eetraydes

Months after the council and after training. The Gerik and his allies move to intercept the monks as they transport a psychic


Fletcher awoke to the sound of a flute being played. The music sounded gentle, and flirtatiously continued to play through his mind, as if it didn’t want to leave him. He winced as he struggled to sit up. His body ached from the harsh training he had been receiving from Nzingha, Landon, Duncan, and Gerik. For the past three months they have been rigorously training him in the different ways of combat. Fletcher rolled out of his bed, and onto the floor. He counted “one, two, three” as he pushed himself from the ground and dropped again. Fletcher continued his morning workout with crunches, squats, and a number of stretches. He finished his morning routine and followed the smell of his breakfast after a shower.

“Good morning Fletcher” Nzingha called out.

“Good morning” Fletcher yelled back. Their eyes met for a second before she turned back around, and began putting the food on a plate. The kitchen down in the basement of Duncan’s business was small, but it held everything that a kitchen needed. Fletcher’s eyes lingered on Nzingha, and he felt pain in his chest. He couldn’t remember during these months the last time he thought of Ceri, his love. Fletcher sat beside Gerik as he played the flute. Gerik’s tattoo glowed with power as he played the instrument. He had been practicing daily, and Fletcher couldn’t help but wonder how far along he had become.

‘Hey Gerik, do you really think we can win against the church?” Fletcher asked.

Gerik stopped playing, and his tattoo began to disappear,” who knows” Gerik shrugged. “I do intend on saving your little sister, and getting revenge for my family.”


Nzingha walked towards the two with a couple of plates filled with food, “eat up.”


Fletcher could see the determination stamped on Gerik’s face, and didn’t doubt what he said in the least. Fletcher watched the two siblings as he ate his food. Something about how they interacted pulled at his heart strings. His thoughts became filled with his mornings with Felicity, his father’s voice, and the garden at the front of their estate. Fletcher finally snapped out of his day dreaming to find Nzingha and Gerik staring at him. He assumed they had been calling his name for a while.

“Huh?” Fletcher asked.

“I asked if you want to spar” Nzingha stated.

“I’m almost finished, so sure” Fletcher replied.

Fletcher, Nzingha, and Gerik walked into the training room. Many different weapons lined the walls. Training weapons to battle ready weapons, hung on their stands. Fletcher and Nzingha faced each other, while Gerik chose a spot against the wall. The two combatants eyed each other as Gerik began to play his flute. The music notes felt tangible, as they felt the music’s power surge through their bodies. Fletcher felt like his body was on the verge of exploding. He dashed instantly towards Nzingha. To his surprise his body felt lighter than usual, and he felt much faster. “It must be Gerik” Fletcher thought. Fletcher’s fist sped towards Nzingha, but she was prepared. She easily deflected his fist with a twist of her wrist, and returned the punch with one of her own. Fletcher knew he wouldn’t connect with his first punch. He deftly turned his body, and Nzingha missed with her first strike as well. Fletcher continued striking high and low, searching for an opening in Nzingha’s defenses. Her feet were in balanced, her strikes were measured, and no matter what he tried he couldn’t find one a weakness. He calmed his panic instantly, and remembered that fighting a skilled opponent meant patience. Soon he found himself on the defensive. Nzingha spun on the back of her heel, sending her other foot whistling through the air. Fletcher instinctively ducked and rushed forward, barreling his off balance opponent down to the ground. Nzingha, acting totally off instinct wrapped an arm around his head. Angling herself, she forced Fletcher to smash his head into the ground when they fell. Fletcher instantly saw stars. He fought against the blurred vision, but could not get himself out of the predicament. Nzingha still held his head with her legs wrapped around his waist. Fletcher still felt the surge of power through Gerik’s music however, and couldn’t give in to defeat just yet. His face flushed red as he heaved with all his might, easily lifting Nzingha upward. Nzingha tightened her grip, taking away his air, but Fletcher already in the fit of his rage wouldn’t be brought down so easy.

“Hey we got to go” Jaecar Landon yelled from down the room.

Gerik instantly stopped playing, while the combatants stopped their sparring. Fletcher’s and Nzingha’s eyes never left each other. Both their eyes sparkled with an inner glow that spoke of them finishing this fight.

“What’s wrong?” Gerik asked.

“The church just captured a psychic, and they are transporting him now” the monk replied.

Gerik’s light brown eyes seemed to light up with an inner flame. Landon jumped back momentarily from the look in Gerik’s eyes. Gerik turned and handed Fletcher the sword that his father gave him. The bronze and gold plated sheath glimmered in the light.

Fletch looked astonished, “you are letting me use your father’s sword?” he asked.

“You have been training hard. It’s time you fought for yourself, and those you love” Gerik answered. Gerik handed him the sword, walked over to one of the many weapon racks against the wall, and grabbed a great bow. It was carved from the bone of a giant creature mutated from the psychic energy of meteorites. The bow was taller than Gerik’s six foot 2 inch frame, and the arrows than accompanied it were as long as Gerik’s arm. “I don’t plan on getting close to them anyway” Gerik said with a wink.

“Do you have the strength to draw back a bow that big?” Fletcher asked.

“I’m capable of more than you think I am” Gerik replied.

Gerik wrapped his head in a black cloth, and ran out of the room. Nzingha and Fletcher did the same, and followed him out.


Jaecar Landon led the way through New Carson’s streets. Landon told them that the church had caught the psychic on the other side of As-Sirat, the bridge that connects the rich part of the city from the poor side. Gerik remembered the hearing the fable of As-Sirat in the old Muslim religion as a hair narrow bridge that all must pass on Judgment Day to get to Paradise. According to their beliefs the bridge was as thin as hair, and as sharp as any sword. Fires from hell were under the bridge, and its flames licked sinners causing them to fall. Only good deeds helped to transport you across the bridge, and your speed depended on the good deeds done in life. As Gerik and his companions reached the bridge he understood why it had gotten its nickname. The long white marble bridge was beautiful. Pillars stood along the side with braziers at the top. The flames danced beautifully within its containers. The river Rhames ran under the bridge, acting as the flame from the fable. Gerik’s eyes finally fell upon the Rogues District, which represented the whole other side of the city. To Gerik it represented hell. He remembered when Nzingha and he first entered the city, they passed through that district. The images of children with bloated bellies, the smell of unwashed bodies, and the dead bodies littered with worms still assaulted his mind from their last visit. Smoke slowly wafted from the top of the shanty buildings. The stench of the district could be smelled from across the bridge

A large steel gate blocked the path across the bridge. Two guards blocked the way, and Gerik noticed a lever next to one of the guards. The guards’ knuckles were white from gripping their weapons tightly. They were very much on edge. “Halt who goes there?” one guard yelled. His plate mail gleamed in the sunlight, and the light blue motif of the New Carson City hung in front of his armor. His sword hung comfortably at his waist.

“How will we get past the guards without making a scene?” Nzingha whispered her companions as they moved closer.

“Don’t worry sis, I can get us by” Gerik replied.

“Why are you wearing masks, and heavily armed?” the guard asked again. He slowly slid his sword from its sheath and his partner did likewise.

Gerik whistled slow and haunting tune as they moved to the guards. The mark the meteorite bore into his skin glowed feverishly with power. He filled the music with psychic energy. The guards released their swords and stood looking vacantly. “My friends please let us through. We are supposed to reinforce the monks” Gerik told them.

“Yes of course, but the reinforcements have already passed” the guard answered nonchalantly.

“What do you mean?” Fletcher asked.

“Fifteen Jaecars, including Jaecar Wright and the cleric Francis have passed through the gate” the guard replied. His eyes locked into a blank stared.

“I did not know of this, but I have been given orders. Thank you my friend” Gerik said. The guard opened the gate, and let them pass.

“That is a convenient power” Jaecar Landon whispered.

“That isn’t even half of it” Gerik said with a wink.

“Wait was that a smile?” Jathedor asked jokingly. A smile creased the monk’s face.

“Of course not, you are just looking at the cloth weird” Gerik said. The tone in his voice revealed otherwise.

Jaecar Landon mind flashed to thoughts about his upcoming fight with Jaecar Wright. The day Jaecar Landon decided he would fight beside Gerik, Jaecar Wright promised he would be the one to kill him. Landon couldn’t help but smile to himself, “finally we will see who the better warrior is.”

© 2010 Darruesh Eetraydes

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This leaves the reader wanting more, wondering whats going to happen next. Great job your doing with this story/book.

Posted 13 Years Ago

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Added on June 22, 2010
Last Updated on June 22, 2010


Darruesh Eetraydes
Darruesh Eetraydes


Yo whats up people! I'm a 19 year old class clown from Texas. I've recently gotten into writing and I'm trying to get better at it. I'm better at telling stories orally, but hey I got start at some po.. more..