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He was alone and lost and so very, very sad. . .
The howling demons of the wind cackled and grasped at his thin, ragged cloak. “Mother!” he screamed, his young voice rent with anguish. “There’s no one,” hissed the banshee-like wind, “no one at all!” The child stumbled a few steps then fell. Dry, bone-hard dust settled inside his mouth as he spluttered on the ground, nearly picked up and thrown down again by the vicious wind. Tears dribbled down the sticky mess of blood and soil caking his face. He fought to his feet, only to be pushed down to his knees again. “Please,” he called desperately. “Please. . .”
The child was weak and the dark was strong. The boy felt strength, his last, seeping from his limbs into the night. A darkness covered him, but it was a beautiful darkness, gentle though fierce, soft and all-enveloping. . . No, he thought fuzzily, say it. He shot bolt upright, heart pounding. Say it! It was forbidden knowledge, he had learnt, hanging round the edge of adult’s conversations. He couldn’t! It was breaking the Oath! The darkness sang to him to forget it, sleep. But. . . For his life! Yes! And he screamed its name into the wind, the Third of the Six Great Beings, and knew no more.

Then there was pain, and the pain sang to him everywhere, throbbing from his mouth, shaking his spindly frame. But it was a pretty pain somehow, and the black flames that surrounded him were cool and soothing to the touch. He knew with an awful certainty that his tongue had been ripped out by the force of the word he had cried, but strangely he didn’t care. Lying as he was in some sort of dreamworld, he had no need for a tongue. He had a new name too. Struggling through night and day had left him with no memory of his previous name, but his new name was Beltan. Beltan. He liked that name. And sometimes, when the pain grew too fierce, and his tongueless mouth shrieked at him, he would feel a calming peace in his mind, and the words Rest, Beltan. Little did he know who it was.
For 41 days and 41 nights he lay in the black-fire world, healing, resting, becoming whole again. Gradually he realized there was a presence near him, protecting him, guarding him, and mentally talked to it, the guardian as he called it. A roll of man laughter would boom in his head whenever he thought sentences at it, but the guardian talked back, and they soon were mutual friends. And time passed as time will, Beltan’s hair growing inky black and his eyes lightening to a piercing blue. He knew he must go soon, but was too happy and content to care. And then the Turner came.
His first warning was a flicker, a curl of the black flames, and then crackle the flames disappeared. Beltan leant forward, and slowly his body tilted upright. What is it? he asked the guardian silently.
A Turner from the Fourth-- A dangerous creature. replied the guardian, his voice heavy with anger. Stay here! There was a snap, and then Beltan was locked still. The guardian vanished with a brisk splop, the air flooding into the space where he had been. I’m not staying here, thought Beltan grimly. Unleash! he snapped. Nothing happened. Unleash!! he cried furiously. The air around him seemed to quiver and then snapped back. Beltan put all his power, anger and rage into the word and roared UNLEASH!!!!! It was like breaking a dam in his mind. Thoughts, ideas and feelings rushed forward, throwing him out of the shell like a toy. Stop... he thought dimly. Monster... Guardian... Help... But the torrent of thoughts was too much for him. With a sigh, Beltan collapsed, lying limp and floppy like a broken rag doll.
The guardian was losing. It’s shimmering, fizzing spell-body was becoming visible, the silhouette of a badly injured man appearing. “No!” he snarled, and swept his hand round in the familiar motion of a Bind, the magic leaping from him like a bird in flight. But the Turner lunged forward, ducking it easily, and growled almost playfully. “Come on, spell-follower,” it taunted, it’s voice rasping and stuttering “won’t you come and play?”
It was currently wearing the body of a tanner, the hunched-over body of an old man twisted and deformed by the magical air. In reality the creature was a soul-feeder, persuader and tormenter of those whose souls were afraid to change, until they were weakened enough for the Turner to devour their souls.
It lunged forward again and raked a long, festering wound down the guardian. There was a hiss of dark ice meeting warm fire and the guardian was flung backwards. The spell-soldier leapt to his feet and inwardly prepared himself. He was a mere Walker, Second Class, and when the grating scream of his master’s name had come, he had no choice but to follow.  Sending the child into the Middle-Realm had been hard and inside his heart he knew the crude door he had made had splintered and infected the child. So for safety he had Named the child. Beltan, the Silent One.  It suited the boy. What was puzzling the guardian was why a Turner, far stronger than him, had known to come 5 days before the child’s release. He knew he would have to retreat, let the Turner into the protected area where the spells would destroy him. After all, the boy was Bound. . .
The spell-warrior drew his sword. “Turner,” he intoned. “Turner of the Fourth Class, why have you come?” The voice, when it came, was gurgling and guttural. “The. . .package has been Claimed and I am merely the collector. My master has right to him by all the laws, legal statements and blood-binds ever made. You are puzzled as to why I am here. I am puzzled as to why you are here. You have no right to stop me. Lead me to the child and I will show you his Mark.”
“He is not Claimed!” cried the guardian, red in the face and breathing heavily. He stood there for a moment or two, motionless, then with a splop disappeared. The Turner stood still for a second, planning, then with a smile of glee began twisting and writhing until, with a sluurrgggup, his stolen form slid off him. The foul monster then quickly bounded after the guardian. . .
“No!” the guardian groaned when he saw Beltan. He lay limp and unnaturally still on the ground but was, nevertheless, free from his bindings. “I must take him across!” He ran two hasty steps towards Beltan, and then leapt back. Before him materialized the Turner. “Missed me?” gurgled the Turner. “Let us fight!”
Free from its stolen body, the Turner was just a blot of inky black darkness. It slid towards the spell-sending, before striking like a snake with lightning-fast speed.  The guardian jumped to one side, ran towards Beltan and hurled his sword backwards. The Turner, not anticipating this, was pinned to the ground by the enchanted sword and struggled frantically to free itself. Focusing all his magical strength, the guardian threw Beltan through the barrier. Beltan slowly spun through the air, his arms flopping below him. With one sinuous movement, the Turner leapt forward, tearing at Beltan’s chest. Darkness seeped through to the boy and the Turner cackled with glee. “He has been Claimed and Taken! Claimed and Taken!” But the slow arc of the child didn’t stop. He curved through the air and slipped through the barrier like a fish. I was too late. . . The guardians mind echoed numbly as he collapsed. The last thing he saw was the Turner descending on him, needle-sharp claws at the ready. Too late. . . . . .

Well I got this far on my story. Any comments?

More books!    I'm joining.

So... I'm Nomolos, a HUGE fan of writing, reading, and such. I love the Harry Potter books, the Fablehaven series, and E. Nesbit. I would like to join for more writing and motivation to finish my book!

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shiguy101 wrote:

I tried to join on the website but it did not work.
here is my forum

Username
Fred

An overview of yourself
I read a lot of book and I have writen a few stories.

Favorite book series
Theodor Bone
Bone
Harry Potter
Alxe Rider
Eragon

Favorite authors
John Grisham
Jeff Smith
Christopher Paolini
J.K. Rowling
Neil Gaiman

You're in!

Last edited by Gagamonster105 (2013-04-13 04:29:22)

Hi Gaga, sorry I haven't posted the next chapter yet    I've been busy with other collabs and stuff. I might have one by Monday, but don't be surprised if I don't. Sorry again.

there should be a forum on the site and can I edit my page?

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Story chapter or review? Story Chapter
If it's a story chapter, what number is it? Chapter 1: Birth and Childhood
Title of your OWN story or the book you are reviewing (with author)? Benedict Arnold: Famous for his Flaws
Content: 
Benedict Arnold was born in Norwich, Connecticut on January 14th, 1741. His family was a wealthy one, and they sent him off to a private school as soon as he was old enough. Unfortunately, his education was cut short in 1755 due to money loss in the family. His father became a drunk. Ashamed, Benedict often got teased and bullied by the other boys. One day, he decided he wouldn’t be bullied any longer. Benedict began to do more daring things to get the other boys to respect him.
    An example of one of these tricks is the time where he grabbed the methodical, rotating mill wheel spike and held on the whole rotation, in the water and out of it again. He relived the performance several times to the pleasure of the crowd. Another time, Benedict and some friends decided to make the largest bonfire their town had ever seen! They only succeeded in rolling barrels of tar up the hill before the constable stopped them.
    Soon, Benedict became too much for Mrs. Arnold to handle. She arranged for her only son to be apprenticed. His mentors were to be her cousins, the Lathrop brothers. 



(PastScript: Could you add a "Biography section to my page and put this under it? Thanks!)

Thanks! 

That sounds so awesome Nomo!! It sounds like a book I would read if I found itin the book store!