Future Kings Collection

By Seth Giolle

Angelina, Gordon, and Simon were born magical in a world that fears all wizard kind. To avoid being Stalked, they escape a town gone mad and head north for the training and free life they so desire. Along the way, they'll learn where they belong and what they're willing to do to defend it.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Jan 10, 2016
• ISBN: 9781329821767

Seth Giolle

Seth Giolle was born on a small, rural farm in southeast Ontario. After Travelling throughout Canada in all its splendour, he once again makes Ontario his home.

Book preview

Future Kings

By Seth Giolle

Future Kings

Book 1

Book 2

Book 3

Book 4

Book 5

Epilogue

Notes Section

Anecdotal

(Some of this can easily be considered a spoiler for the Books to come. If you’d like, feel free to read the Anecdotal after Book 5. That way, you can see some back ground bits and enjoy surprises as they naturally arrive. There are also the Notes Section additions to this collection to give even further background flare to these stories. As always, read or not – it’s up to you.)

Future Kings is a story I first wrote when I was around sixteen or nineteen. I’m including the general synopsis of the original storyline with this much-edited and rewritten version. I was planning on getting someone to copy out the original in full. I wrote it in pencil on lined paper, so there’d be a fair bit of work putting the story on computer.

I finally transcribed the original story in full myself, but it wasn’t easy. I genuinely tried so many times before finally buckling down and doing it. I broke out laughing, eyes watering so many times, unable to finish each previous attempt.

My original plot goes along logically for a time; then, without good reason, I would decide I didn’t like the way things were going, so I up and changed things. Three people split into two groups; then, a chapter later, I continue writing as if they never split.

That split never actually happened. It’s a horrible example, I know, but it gets the point across. The illogic continues in the original storyline for about 333 pages and, well, goes in circles for the most part. It’s most hilarious to read. I just couldn’t take the original seriously enough to transcribe for so long.

There also was a difficulty in rewriting the original because that starting plot got stuck in my head. It was hard to see past what was and start anew. Until I got to book 4 in the new plot, I found myself constantly checking on what I did the first time with each current change.

And there were a lot of changes made the first draft of the new storyline. The original plot had the characters gathered up, hiked north, fought a bit, had adventure, got to the school, had a lot of odd twists involving a maze, world adventure, and arena ending. Then it abruptly ended.

It had all that in about 333 pages. The rewrite had them still leaving the town at page 333, which was later cut down to just over a hundred, so there are a lot changes.

Another of the many changes is the break up of the storyline. The characters essentially do a lot of walking north. The school couldn’t be too close, and wizards don’t usually climb into cars and drive places. And no one in this story has a broom that flies, so they had to walk.

That makes a lot of continuous walking with action, but still, a lot of walking. The one solution was to break up that walking.

Smaller books made for a more manageable plot line. I could have all that hiking and still keep it interesting with smaller climaxes along the way. It did lead me to the question of how to handle reintroductions.

I don’t like reintroducing characters and past events over and over again between books in a series. With such a dialogue and description-heavy story, the constant reintroductions would be more than a little tiring for both reader and author. An alternative would be including all the books of this series in the same collection/anthology. That way, I can assume the reader’s more up on what happened in the last book. I can reintroduce less and keep the story flowing, moving forward.

Separate books are also available of course.

One bit of fun I had writing the first new draft of this story was my ongoing mental state. Yes, this opening statement makes a person wonder what exactly I mean. I will explain.

As I mentioned before, it was hard to write a new version of the original plot for the first few books. The first book where they’re working up to leaving town was the hardest.

I’d get a paragraph or maybe a page in. I’d have to stop because I didn’t know where I was going next. My mind was still going where I originally went, but my new plot wasn’t at all ready or interested in following, so I’d stop writing and work on a different novel or story. Then I’d come back to this one a few months later to do another paragraph, and so on.

The first book was very disjointed and hard to follow as an author. It somewhat meandered, but it was a nice meander.

That disjointed feeling was still frustrating to say the least, so I picked up speed working into the second book, but it was still a struggle between old and new, and there was a new twist in the second book: I got the flu.

Have you ever tried writing a solid story when you had the flu? You can’t even walk straight sometimes or remember why you walked into a room when you’ve the flu. That out of body woozy feeling?

Thoughts just don’t always flow normally, and understanding is delayed at times. Writing a story you already find conflicting in this state of mind is interesting. You get used to it, but it’s never quite real.

This disjointed, out of body feeling continued for a book and a half. The flu passed, but another came. The plot went on, and I was still working out my character arcs through it all in this revised plot.

It was a ride.

It was a challenging mental state, but I forced myself through to get a solid draft to edit later. I didn’t want to repeat book 1 with way too many disjointed moments. And it worked. The draft was finished, and book 5 became a solid book from this process.

Would I take the ride again?

Sure, why not?

For this storyline, I wanted a realistic magic for my wizards and mages to use. I didn’t want the wave of a hand, say a few words, and ‘poof’, it’s something magical that just happened.

That’s tired and overdone. And insulting.

Doesn’t the reader want to know why those words worked? I think the reader deserves to understand what’s going on in the background. If it was just words, why can’t everyone say those words and magic works?

The decision for this storyline was that magic came from the stars. To explain why it hadn’t been working the previous day, there was a comet that passed over. The comet had passed over a long time ago during the rise of Merlin and his likes. That explained how come there was magic then too, but the comet passed Earth, and magic dwindled and died in that past age.

This time, the comet’s effects were held onto, and magic didn’t die. This back story for magic explained the basics in a realistic way. It also gave me the foundations for exact words to use and the order in which to use them in.

Spell casting was a matter of combining constellation names and other between words. The power of the stars was mixed with the elements to create magic. It was a long process of speaking big words. There was the need for shorter spell casting words.

That created a sub-issue in the storyline.

You learn about talismans (wands, staffs, medallions) in book 4 and see them used in book 5. They’ve been there the whole time, but the wizard teaching magic doesn’t believe in them, so they just didn’t come up in conversation until later.

Those simpler talisman commands are based on the old magic, longer spells, of course, so I still had to create the star chart and altered constellation names; give each different constellation its particular meaning; devise new symbols/signs for each constellation; and then develop a short form spell speech which became the talisman command.

Cracken was an interesting character to work with. In the original storyline, he was in pretty much from the beginning on. Near the end, it turns out he’d been corrupt from the start, but in the revised draft, I had a lot going, so I held back. He didn’t get introduced until near the end of their northern hike; then, a short fifty pages later, they were fighting, and he died.

I found that too quickly dealt with, and he was suspect from the start, so I rewrote the Cracken part before continuing and finishing book 4, still first draft of this rewrite. I went back and had Cracken in as soon as they hit the north. He was smooth and convincing until it later turned out he’d fooled them all: big fight where he reveals it all.

That didn’t work either. It was too much work, and with StarBen and Cracken’s history, there was no way StarBen would trust Cracken, so that nice Cracken plot was also unbelievable.

I rewrote Cracken again (still same first draft). He showed up as they got north, yes, but he was suspicious of them and clearly worthy of suspicion himself. He wasn’t an enemy, but he was definitely no friend.

No, thinking again, he was clearly the enemy, but what was his game? They decided to play along guardedly until they could figure out what he was up to. It was arrogant to figure that was a safe plan, but it happened anyway.

I decided to leave him that way.

Angelina’s parents were dead. They’d died in the fire, and that was it. End of subplot. Nothing to read on about. Next topic.

Sigh. Well, it made a nice linking plot tool if Simon’s spying in the past had actually been on her parents (I’d already introduced this bit of plot). Wait, that would mean her parents had been wizards, and StarBen might have known that.

Or had known them?

A tie back to him having read Simon’s mind maybe even (which I’d already also put into play). I decided later Simon had been reading StarBen’s mind, and it had backfired. I decided this after having Angelina’s link with Gordon backfire. It suddenly made sense Simon had been reading StarBen’s mind.

Anyway, StarBen would know of Simon’s connection with her parents. Hence, he’d have known of Simon’s involvement. The thought then became a matter of wondering if StarBen had known her parents?

That’s why he can talk to her and isn’t cross and negative with her. She’s the reason he came south. Things were fitting into place. It meant Angelina was in for a ride.

Her parents were wizards. Simon was the reason they’d been found out and killed. And StarBen had known all along and not told her. He’d also not told her he’d known her parents.

The mind wandered.

What if they weren’t dead?

Cracken was playing with her mind up north, and I came up with the plot change that he suggests they actually didn’t die in the fire. She could forgive Simon more easily if that was true, if they’d just been taken with Simon’s mother to be used or tested on, whatever the town was doing with those blasted wizards they found out about.

This new twist had Angelina in for another loop. Now she was all the way north, and her parents might be alive. It made for a wild ride for Angelina, but her character development as a result is more interesting, and so much in the ever changing plot fits better with this developed idea.

One question I came up with was whether or not I should involve an Epilogue at all. I could cover whether or not Angelina finds her parents alive with an Epilogue. Does Gordon meet up with his parents, and what about Simon’s mother? An epilogue could answer all of the above, but there’s no real action in that ending.

In the original story, they never thought about their parents. They just went north never thinking of their parents, past, or old town.

Anyway, after Book 5, I decided they should end things where they started. They should know if her parents were alive, and the vision had them alive.

Had them captured at least.

So I got them south. In my mind, they were at one point dead, then, gone. Maybe they were alive but not leaving town? In the end, I had them wounded. I even worked Simon’s mother into it and gave Gordon his parents back, kind of. I was feeling generous.

Corobois: it’s a constellation used in this storyline. I couldn’t remember what real constellation I was referring to, so I decided it was Corvus, the crow. Corvus looks like a square box with a little tail off one corner. That fit with what I was thinking, so I connected Corobois with Corvus.

Corobois was actually intended to be linked with Corona Borealis. Anyway, there were a lot of names and allocation changes that took place during just the first draft as well.

Character development was interesting. I’ve already offered up Cracken’s changing moods. StarBen wasn’t all that different. Originally, he was a kind and wise old man who was always communicative, and so on.

I decided he was a bit of a hermit later on, and he had some run-ins with Simon. He snapped once or twice, and kind and wise didn’t fit anymore.

I decided he was old and craggy. He was the hermit who had no social clue whatsoever, but then, he couldn’t really teach them magic. He’d have no patience, so that wasn’t going to work.

He eventually became a mix of the both of the above. He was a hermit -scholar with diminished social skills, but he’d been a teacher once, was still a teacher for some. He knew how to talk to people. He just hadn’t done it often for a long time, and there are other factors affecting his patience and concentration.

Gordon didn’t really change much. He was always a ten year old who started out looking to Angelina for a parental type of leadership. He’d been alone too long and needed that role fulfilled, but he learns to stand on his own throughout the books, so that changes for him.

Simon’s character was always moody. He was involved but distant. He basically has a lot on his plate, and hiking north steady for a few weeks will wear on any seventeen year old’s nerves.

Should I kill him?

In the original storyline, Simon falls off a cliff and dies. In the rewrite, I planned on doing the same pretty much all along until I rewrote the school to be on a mountain in the subarctic. That meant a lot less green and a lot less simple cliff with quarry below.

Should I have him fall off a mountain instead?

The fight in which he fell didn’t happen in the revised plot, so he couldn’t die they way I’d been planning. He survived against my better judgement. I still think it would be more dramatic if he’d slipped and fallen or been taken down in some attack.

Scriptor had a larger involvement in the original storyline. In the rewrite, I decided I had a good enough number of characters. Scriptor was still involved, but he was dropped back to the background. I don’t actually use the scripts for which Scriptor has his name in the rewrite anyway. Scriptor’s basically decoration and someone for Angelina to play off of.

The maze didn’t happen in the rewrite. There is no magic maze filled with adventure and action. There’s a worm-like maze that’s not connected. I just decided to have this stone bump with walls around it. The walls became a maze, et cetera. I miss the original magical maze. It was a good place to visualize in your head.

I’ve been thinking lately that I should write a companion adventure with Angelina and gang heading into a magical maze like the one in my original story. I don’t quite know why they’d go there or where it would be, but it would be fun.

Perspective in this storyline can be tiring. I’ve mentioned how this story is dialog heavy. What I mean by that is that there’s a lot of dialog, and that dialog covers explanation and application, so you aren’t as easily taken along enjoying the moment.

I don’t necessarily love dialog-heavy stories, but they do have a sense of charm. In a story where you get into the mind of a person learning magic, it’s not all bad. You’re essentially learning how to think magic and visualize spells while speaking them just right with the protagonist. Doing all the above is easily when the story is driven by conversation. You’re already directed by a guided hand, so the mental learning fits more smoothly. That being said, it’s still a lot to deal with sometimes.

One thing of note to mention is the use of Iroquois Falls. I needed a town for the story. I figured I could create a new town and make it look like whatever I wanted, but then it occurred to me that it would be easier to use an existing town. Yes, Iroquois Falls is a real town in Northern Ontario.

When I refer to them walking down a certain street and turning right after the Arena and so on, they’re turning down real streets. Of course, the real town hasn’t been run down and gone mad.

Future Kings

Book One

Stalkers

By Seth Giolle

Future Kings

Book One: Stalkers

Shadow’s Veil

Spider or Fly

Walls

Shades of Blue

Gathering Flow

Algrineese

Madness

Cunning

Distracted

Supposition

Shadow’s Veil

The smell of old timber.

Dust on the nose.

The echo of footsteps through the rafters.

Angelina paused in her step to glance around her at the unfinished warehouse walls. Most of the shutter-style wooden window frames were either stuck or cracked open, and the majority of the glass was broken. Maybe gone to time.

A breeze rustled the teen’s hair offering the abandoned building little reprieve from its haunting emptiness. She knew this place, but where from? And how did she get there?

All Angelina saw behind her was thin dust over scraped wood. And two sets of prints. She suddenly became aware of the fact that she wasn’t alone.

The young man to her left was glancing back the way they’d just come too. A faded, brown cloak was tied around his waist with a wide leather band. His collar and sleeves dipped and fell into wide folds up top and below.

The pouch at his back suggested a traveller supported by simple pants and flat-soled boots made of some sort of animal hide. He certainly hadn’t come from anywhere near, not dressed so comfortably, not with clothes in such good repair.

I don’t see anything, the other mumbled. His voice carried a soft echo.

A nod. Not her, not her companion.

Angelina glanced down finding her own clothing a match for the young man beside her, but her clothes were oversized like she was wearing another’s garb.

Like she was wearing another person!

The fourteen year old quickly stepped back withdrawing from the blurred body with a thin trail of brown streaming after her. That brown lingered a moment before returning to a solid, much older man dressed like the first: the man whose place she’d taken just a moment before.

Now removed from that old man with his wispy white hair, Angelina felt a chill. He stopped his nodding to turn staring straight at her with a piercing gaze. His left hand moved to the sword at his hip. Angelina moved to the right, and his eyes followed her, so she stopped.

Kee.Sowea.Ashille, the old man hastily muttered tracing a slanted square in the air adding wayward points.

Angelina smiled. He was a mage.

He had to be a mage. Maybe even a wizard.

Nor do I, the old man softly groaned a moment later returning his gaze to a more general scan of the building. The old man’s voice was equally, almost unreal. But I sense something’s quite wrong here.

What had to be his apprentice grinned cockily. I don’t know what that would be, he joked. Would it be the scorch marks, smells that curl your nose hairs, or mucusy trails maybe?

Angelina turned following the young man’s pointed finger finding recognition. She did know this place all too well.

The second floor had been broken through to their right just ahead. Where the floor had crashed down onto the first cement flooring, nearby wood had been ripped up sending posts and bins outwards all the way up to the outer wall which was of course broken through.

There was fluttering above and speckled light showing the offender had actually fallen from the third or fourth floor to crash down to first before continuing on outside.

By that black scarring around and under that path of destruction with periodic mucusy splatter, it was clear there’d been a fight all the way down and out.

Angelina had been here once, but she hadn’t managed to stay inside more than an hour. The echoes from the wood and walls were too strong. It had felt like the building had been screaming at her. Of all the places her dreams had taken her, they’d never taken her here before, and who were these men willing to brave this building?

This definitely does take one back, the old man grumbled in his gravelly voice, and it’s clear they were unsuccessful in killing the beast, or there’d be the petrified remains of an abandoned pyre outside where they’d burnt the corpse. And the smell does hold as does the darker lore and fear of this place that follows. I did warn you what you would find.

His companion smiled sheepishly. You did.

Stay alert, the old man warned. I know we haven’t seen much more than this sort, but there are too many questions, and there is some merit to the old adage that a place can be too quiet.

The old man gestured towards the far end of the warehouse floor ahead. Stay unseen even if we’ve yet to find a foe. And don’t forget what’s brought us south.

Why would they be here anyway?

In a place viewed by the average man as tainted and unholy due to its unpleasant history, the old man agreed. Another reason this feels like a trap.

Nodding, the young man crept on ahead. The old man walked up to that the great burned scarring. Angelina stepped back and further to one side to keep her distance. Kneeling again, the old man slowly shook his head.

Angelina circled while the old man scanned the floor and walls. She paused to gaze out a window. The sun shone in the blue sky. She could even pick up the low wall built around Iroquois Falls. It had been night when she’d fallen asleep beyond that barbed fence line. Her visions had never taken place out of time before. They’d always shown her things happening at that exact moment in time.

What did that mean?

Hearing the old man walking softly off, she turned back around and followed, careful to tread her quietest as well. No one had ever heard her in previous visions, but this one was different. He did stop at the base of the stairs leading up to turn and scan, and he did pause to stare where she stood a moment longer than anywhere else; then, he frowned and started up to the second floor.

Angelina followed after.

She tried to at least.

Her vision took a spiral turn down as if she was falling to the floor, but at the same time, she felt like she was above gazing down upon the old man as he turned and crept along the second floor. She could feel her arms restrained and breathing tight. Her stomach was starting to turn. Then, she all was dark and she felt intense terror from a place unknown, and she awoke with a start!

A stifled scream echoed in the dim around her, and she fought to slow her breathing. Someone turned over in the far corner, and four people mumbled in different places behind her, fourth, seventh, and twelfth rows. The full moonlight shone through the curtainless auditorium windows above. That bleached light blanketed the barren walls, badly marked gym floor, and warped bleachers.

Sitting up, trembling where she was under the eighth row, her blanket fallen back and pillow rolled over upside down beside her, Angelina let the dim light that fitted through the bleacher slats above identify the single and double clumps around her that were people.

It was early morning. This late, now that everyone had settled, no one moved much but to swat at an imaginary fly or scratch their nose. There were a few squirming, but all had returned to quiet and peaceful.

Her other visions had never left her sweating and fearful like this. She hugged her bare arms to her faded t-shirt feeling them shake. It made no sense. They said the warehouse and those buildings around it were haunted. She’d felt something the one time she’d gone in. That’s why she hadn’t stayed. It was like something dark had been watching her.

Maybe she’d been right.

And now that something dark was watching those two men. She wanted to warn them, but when was this vision set? It had been daytime. Tomorrow or would it be the day after that? It might even be next week for that matter. And who were they? More importantly, how would she explain to anyone in town why she needed to leave to go visit a place no one visited? That is what she’d need to do to warn them.

Even then, she might be too late.

Spider or Fly

StarBen paused in his step to glance carefully, quietly around. A light breeze blew in through the open windows. Most of the shutter-style wooden window frames were either stuck or cracked open, and the majority of the glass was broken. Maybe gone to time.

There was no scent on that breeze as it rustled his wispy white hair and the more unruly strands of his beard where they stuck out.

There was nothing to see all along the way he’d come. Warehouse walls had been stripped bare to show what remained of industrial wiring. Even the insulation that had once been stuffed between those many beams had been removed at one point along with any stray nail.

The floor was badly scuffed. Again, over time. Thin, settled dust sat untouched except to show where he and his apprentice had trod. This apprehension was just old memories that refused to die he supposed.

I don’t see anything, his apprentice noted, seemingly disappointed. He grinned as if to make a joke, but StarBen raised a finger, and the grin was drawn back into a more respectful expression. His breath was withdrawn and held at the same time.

Faded, brown cloaks were tied around the waist with a wide leather band. The pouches sewn at their backs attached to those waist bands hung low enough for a quick retrieval of smaller goods when necessary. Collars and sleeves dipped and fell into wide folds up top and below. Travelling pants and flat-soled, animal hide boots completed their current garb. Larger packs had been discarded outside, then, secured under several layers of protective spell weaving.

StarBen nodded pensively a moment before feeling a chill. He turned quickly, positive he saw someone there. There was a shape, a mind’s image , and he followed it two steps to the left.

Then it was gone. Had never been there?

Bad memories. Or could it be?

Kee.Sowea.Ashille, the old wizard quickly whispered while making a quick series of signs with his right hand. His left hand remained on the medium-sized sword at his left hip. Still unable to shake his anxious mindset but confident the concealment spells were still holding true, StarBen sighed, then, shook his head. Nor do I, he softly groaned, concealment spells or not, but I sense something’s quite wrong here.

His much younger apprentice braved that earlier grin again. I don’t know what that would be, the twenty-two year old hesitantly joked. When there was no objection this time, he spoke on. Would it be the scorch marks, smells that curl your nose hairs, or mucusy trails maybe?

StarBen found a sympathetic smile following the young man’s pointer finger ahead. The second floor had been broken through to their right just ahead.

Where the floor had crashed down onto the first cement flooring, nearby wood had been ripped up sending posts and bins outwards all the way up to the outer wall which was of course broken through.

There was fluttering above and speckled light showing the offender had actually dropped from the third or fourth floor to crash down to first before continuing on outside.

By that black scarring around and under that path of destruction with periodic mucusy splatter, it was clear there’d been a fight all the way out.

There’d been three similar signs of struggle on the other side of this and the other nearby buildings as they’d come around, casing this warehouse in particular before daring an actual entrance.

This definitely does take one back, StarBen rued in his gravelly voice, and it’s clear they were unsuccessful in killing the beast, or there’d be the petrified remains of an abandoned pyre outside where they’d burnt the corpse. And the smell does hold as does the darker lore and fear of this place that follows. I did warn you what you would find.

His apprentice smiled sheepishly. You did.

Stay alert, StarBen warned. I know we haven’t seen much more than this sort, but there are too many questions, and there is some merit to the old adage that a place can be too quiet.

StarBen gestured towards the far end of their current warehouse floor ahead. Stay unseen even if we’ve yet to find a foe, he insisted with a troubled sigh. And don’t forget what’s brought us south.

Why would they be here anyway?

In a place viewed by the average man as tainted and unholy due to its unpleasant history, StarBen agreed. Another reason this feels like a trap.

Nodding, his apprentice found his own wary frown and crept on ahead. StarBen walked up to that the great burned scarring. Kneeling again, he slowly shook his head.

There were signs where bedrolls or blankets had been, but they were old too. Clearly dares were held to see who would stay where the beasts had once been. That was the lot who’d visit such a place anymore, and it was unlikely any of them had actually stayed the night.

StarBen pulled a small blue crystal from one of the folds in his belted cloak. Staring into those glimmering lines, he whispered words of change, and the image cast over the crystal’s surface was no longer his own.

That now solid lighter blue colour wasn’t reassuring. The youth were near, but there was no image of the three they sought. The exact shade of blue suggested only one of the three was present now. What had happened to the other two? They’d sensed three youth before entering.

He glanced around again feeling things were terribly wrong. The greatest question returned first and foremost on his mind.

Why would any of you be here of all places? he mumbled, scanning the floor, walls, and ceiling in turn. What would drive you into a building most others eagerly avoid?

He hid the crystal away, stood, and made some quick signs. Ovan. Ariagas, he added giving power to the constellation he’d traced. Breath turned misty a moment as if exhaled in the snow, and the breeze took a fresher scent. He scrutinized the air around him like a lingering smoke or coloured scent might appear, but the room remained silent and unchanged.

Mosa. Ariagas, he muttered more forcefully with a similar quick weaving of hand and finger. His eyes went to the dust and wood underfoot this time. Nothing but a lifting and gentle fluttering of the dust directly around him. The dust settled again like the silence that surrounded him.

Like it was back then, he softly rued. But you came out of nowhere back then too. A quick glance diagonal where his fair haired apprentice ducked under a leaning beam, then, turning deftly around with hands up. Nothing came at him, and he smiled, crouch-walking on. I was never that young and assuming.

StarBen nodded and started a slow trek towards the stair column leading up to the second floor. Basic wooden construction transferred from the wall to steps and rails. He paused to turn at that bottom step.

He was sure he was being followed.

By something or someone unseen even by his spells. It had been a long day. Maybe his apprentice was right, and there was nothing to fear.

StarBen frowned and visually followed the burnt char back from that outer wall to its crash from above, then, climbed those steps to peer out upon the second floor.

On that second floor, that broken ceiling continued up surrounded by more mucusy black. Two beams had been broken through. Two others had been snapped and left on a bad lean.

Otherwise, walls showed the same bare bones construction with ample open space. Empty pallets were set up in the distance where the ceiling had fallen through. Feathers and rotten insulation had long since settled. StarBen nodded and frowned. Mould caught his nose, and he stalked quietly down the corridor to his right finding an open room with similar telltale signs of past violence.

The broken-through wall on this side had been spotted from outside. In this case, the attacker had burst in from outside, not dropped and raced out.

Residual mucus had splashed up into the corner inside around a concentrated burn indent digging down into the floor below.

His apprentice stepped up beside him and gave the room distracted glance. It’s the same in the next room. There’s nobody here. Something must be throwing our search off, or they were about and then left.

And yet our Search still puts them here.

StarBen knelt and touched the floor. His fingers fanned out with his palm cupped. Words were mouthed with eyes closed. When he opened them again, stains long lost to time resurfaced.

The floor showed ashen remains and black globs. Blood splatter trailed to walls where eleven had died, and that burned indent showed a small family where they’d died, fused with solid wood where the main attack had been. Lifting his hand, his sight retreated from past history to present dust and unimpressive wood.

These smaller attacks were connected, StarBen reasoned, but of different sources. This Algrinai attacked and scooped up its particular targets, he suggested, gesturing to the grooved corner indent, leaving the other bodies where they’d fallen. The survivors likely fled to other rooms where they faced those attackers or just fled out into the night.

Algrinai were known to attack in packs, his apprentice noted sceptically. How do you know they attacked at night?

StarBen winced. They were spread out like they were sleeping. He shrugged. Let’s give the rest of this place a good look-over, then, prepare some wards.

His apprentice’s smirk was evident. I thought only the people down here feared these places anymore? His smirk faded under StarBen’s quick, scrutinizing eye.

Call it practice if you will, the older wizard urged, still in his crouch. Call it precaution. If our search is off, there’s something down here keeping us from uncovering their true location, and that something seemingly wants us to be here. In this place.

His apprentice slowly exhaled. He glanced more warily around. Something unseen and unheard, he mumbled to StarBen’s rather pointed nod. And invisible, his apprentice added, staring at the burned flooring and wall with a quick swallow. You realize the last Algrinai was killed seventy years ago. This is all long past now.

I’ve never been quite convinced of that. StarBen stood allowing his apprentice a brief smile before adding, We still only know a little of what lies beyond the Veil. Don’t give yourself so freely to accepted truth based on incomplete finds.

A stray smell caught StarBen’s nose, and his head darted around. The smell was gone. Body sweat, burnt syrup, something rich but sour – it was gone as quickly as the sense of being watched had come and gone before.

Something was toying with them.

StarBen had never liked the game the Cat and Mouse, and he refused to be prey. With a decisive nod, he started towards the other side of the second floor leaving his young apprentice to sigh and shake his head, before following a foot behind.

Walls

Angelina stumbled from the auditorium as day was breaking. She wasn’t the first up, and other youth bumped past her in their exodus to join the day ahead of her. They stuffed their blankets and various personal items into dented lockers and ran out jostling one another further. Pushing her way into her corner niche beside the empty fire extinguisher, she fed her folded blanket into the locker she’d been assigned in turn.

She peered left and right to make sure she had a moment unwatched. A quick, subtle nod. Finding herself alone for the moment, she plied her locker’s left inner wall back.

The floral silk scarf inside with its royal red border and gold string trim was removed. She wrapped it around her neck with a mischievous grin. The others had yet to find where she kept the scarf, and she wasn’t about to tell them.

Her walk down the echoing corridor was slower. She paused to check her long brown hair in a dirty mirror, quickly tying it up in a hair elastic she’d found the day before. Blue eyes stared back through that dirt. She took in the purple t-shirt and brown slacks with a disapproving eye.

She allotted a stray glance at the cork board with its over-posted notes from yellow to white or green. It was a collection of job lists three, two, and one week old; lost items lists five layers down; and various other notices.

They were all old sports posts from when the auditorium actually saw teams and events. All were turned over and reused. Some scribbled out. All packed to overfilling.

Angelina’s gaze found the wash list, top left.

Tuesday, she murmured with a heavy sigh. She stared into the mirror again and shook her head. Another two days? She shrugged and better fixed her hair in the hair tie. It’ll have to do.

Making sure her scarf was looped just under her chin and hanging evenly down her stomach, she grinned again. It’ll do just fine.

She found a skip at the feel of the scarf and made her way down the corridor and pushed the metal outer doors open. Since the automatics had failed a few years back, they’d never opened well or fully closed. She left them stuck open and breathed in the fresh air.

The remaining chill from the night blew in, and she hugged herself for warmth exhaling a misty breath. Two boys a year younger ran past laughing about something in their heavy black coats.

Bet you get the sewer run again, the one boy teased backwards. Could be a new name for you, he joked. Angelica the Sewer Queen.

It’s Angelina, Crispy, she shouted back, grumbled a few adjectives she chose not to share. And they can’t give me the sewer run today. The boys laughed and ran on. They never give that job on the weekend.

Fearing she might get slotted in late and end up with the sewer run anyway, Angelina ran after them, collecting like the other early risers around the job board and Barker standing on the low podium.

Spider, she called ahead. The twenty year old in his thread-bare suit coat glanced back. Black curls gathered under a dark blue touque. What’s happening with coats? she asked with a quick shiver.

Not much, Spider grumbled back. You shouldn’t have lost the one you had.

I didn’t lose it, Angelina snapped. It was stolen. Spider shrugged like it didn’t matter. There’s got to be something you can do?

Spider frowned. For you Angie, I’ll try.

Angelina wanted to plea for time, but the Barker shouted out a frustrated curse. Quiet everyone, he hissed, or you’ll all draw garbage duty.

There was a round of hushing noises and startled mutters. The Barkers changed up at random. The usual Barker was Mr. Cane, an old man who hobbled on a wooden leg and constantly complained about old joints.

Canker Cole took his part when there was a slow day on the wall. He always spoke too softly to be heard, so the orphans had to lean in closer and, more often than not, fall over each other waiting to be assigned the day’s chore.

This Barker had to be some magistrate or other. Angelina hadn’t seen him before. Moved in with that last lot of traders who’d passed through on their way to riches maybe. Only one of them had actually left again. The rest had stayed on taking odd jobs like everyone else. Angelina was sure she’d remember this man if he’d been around any longer.

He wore a finely woven vest over an even more finely sewn dress shirt. His coat and gloves actually looked new. It made Angelina sick to think anyone had new clothes when she couldn’t even keep a warm coat on her back without someone running off with it. The thought made her hug the silk scarf that much tighter to her body.

Quiet, the Barker shouted again, a silence finally settling over the gathered youth as more streamed out from inside. Now keep it shut.

He started pointing at different youth calling out the day’s chores, and youth from the auditorium along with random free workers and barter agents like Spider slowly dwindled. Angelina couldn’t help but wonder why she stayed. There had to be better places to live than Iroquois Falls.

"You can wash the windows on New

Circle unless you’d rather dig a cistern on Leroux, the Barker was shouting up front. The freckle-faced twelve year old sneered but followed the other four who’d been pointed off. Now onto Leroux," the Barker added with a grin, scanning the dwindling crowd like a vulture eyeballing corpses.

I hear they upped the prices again, someone whispered to Angelina’s right. Her friend nodded sourly. That’s why supplies are late, the first youth mumbled. That’s why they’re holding back on the mill jobs too I’d bet. They’re waiting for the boys to wake up, so they can get more work out of them.

Her friend smiled. I’ll not complain.

Well, yeah.

They shared a quick smirk before glancing forward again and being assigned litter duty on Park. Whining about splinters and chipped nails, the girls disbanded, leaving the Barker frowning down at his rolled-over list once more.

If only they had a proper labour force, someone else grumbled.

His friend rolled his eyes. They do, came the rueful reply. They have us.

Both smiled smartly.

Angelina decided to listen to the Barker more seriously. If nothing else, taking work day to day left her less time to question why she stayed around taking work day to day. She wasn’t sure that made any sense. She wasn’t sure anything made any sense. She stepped up beside Spider as a small group was given a chore, those five youth leaving in turn.

You, the Barker called pointing her way, they need a runner at City Hall. They seemed to think it was important, so hurry along.

It’s always a hurry with City Hall, Spider quietly joked, and yet he waited this long to assign someone. Might explain how come important things rarely get done. Angelina nodded, fighting back a grin. I’ll see what I can do about the coat. There are a few people who are looking for trades. I can likely swing something.

Thanks, Angelina mumbled. I’ll owe you one. It’s getting cold at night. It’s getting cold during the day too for that matter. Spider smiled. Take care, Spider. I’ll catch up with you later.

Will do.

Still shivering, Angelina set off down Fyle. She glanced back once to take in the auditorium’s broken eaves, peeled paint, and chipped walls. The windows on the roof were still dirty above where food stalls had once been. The last chore crew had only made it part way in cleaning the gym windows before calling it quits the day before. The roof top was still quite bad where the birds always perched.

She’d expected to be given clean up duty up top to finish what the last group had started. She’d expected in the least to be asked to sweep up or fix one of the many broken flag poles around the place being fourteen. She had trouble working the mill like the older boys, so she wasn’t surprised she hadn’t been given that chore. But she could hold her own with most else.

Of course, Runner duty for City Hall was better by far, and she could use the run to keep warm, so she picked up a brisk jog.

Fyle was in as good a shape as any other street. It was full of cracks. Sidewalks were chipped and equally unkempt. She jumped back as a large sewer rat climbed out from the opened sewer hole at the sidewalk’s edge.

Shit, she shouted, backing up to give the vermin space to turn and run any direction but at her. Get out of here. The rat loped off, and Angelina closed her eyes. Not again, she mumbled rubbing her arms for warmth.

She nodded for the sake of nodding.

Then jogged on watching those sewer holes, grated and not, more closely just in case another rat climbed out.

She’d had a sense of the future down in those sewers the last time they’d needed valves manually turned. She’d felt assured she wouldn’t have to go down there ever again.

Her visions and sensations weren’t always proven true, but she hoped this one wasn’t false. She’d almost tripped that last time. She’d almost fallen into an exposed rat’s nest. And she’d only just managed to get away from one rat twice any other’s size.

Once she’d found those valves, she’d burned the sludge off and kicked crusty bits free. She’d cranked the two leftmost valves to the right and hastily fled.

It was an adventure she’d rather not repeat.

The sounds of nailing brought her head left. Siding was going back up where it drooped. A window was being refitted at the same time.

She felt the second pang of jealousy that day.

She’d had a house like that before her parents had died. They’d shuffled her off to live at the auditorium with the other orphans: no more home cards for her, no more mornings waking up hearing a kettle whistle, no more hot baths every few days, just a timed cold shower when water rights could be afforded.

Shower day never came soon enough.

There were work cards to exempt parents from working; work cards to allot specialists the better jobs; and duties by slot for older citizens. Everything else was dumped on the young and younger who were forced to grow old too fast.

It was an archaic system anymore created for war time, reinforced by loss, and kept alive by a system that didn’t want to change.

Spider and his like dealt deals under the radar of town police. Most of them demanded a price Angelina wasn’t about to pay, but Spider just asked her to run some goods now and then. She was good with that. It had gotten her the scarf. It would get her a coat. The town certainly didn’t care.

Fyle took a left just after the museum with its fallen statues outside and painted-over windows and walls.

The auditorium had been converted decades past into an orphanage, storage, and town militia building. The museum now worked as a food unit.

After power had died enough times, the museum was the only place left with refrigeration. Most of the inner displays had been taken by fire when half the town had gone mad anyway.

The street hit a left at the locomotive place. It was now a secondary smelting site for the town’s iron needs. Fyle hit Cambridge running right and left, and she stopped to stare out beyond the houses ahead.

They were all needing minor repair, and their lawns got mowed or eaves got tended as the Barker assigned the work in turn. The streets got tended the same way.

Angelina found herself staring past those nearby houses to town limits. The plate metal, outer town wall wasn’t too high here. She dared herself to climb that wall and keep going. It would be so easy. In fact, the towers just beyond those houses were empty right now.

Shift change.

Half of the towers went unmanned anymore. She could just climb those converted scaffolding-style stair wells with those rusty steps bolted into rustier supports. As low as the wall was on this side, she could literally jump and keep running.

Find somewhere else to make a life.

The thought made her smile, but it didn’t last long. A recurring sense told her she’d die out there with the wolves and coyotes. There was a lot of nothing around Iroquois Falls, and she’d have to cross all that nothing alone before hitting the nearest other town. From what she’d heard, it was as bad a place as this one. Not even the group today’s Barker had originally come in with had left again. What did that say for life outside town?

She did long to see one of the cities. They had to be grand. She was sure they wouldn’t send a fourteen year old down into the sewers alone. At least, she was pretty sure they wouldn’t.

Her visions were rarely wrong.

And she didn’t want to run off alone. That created a serious wrinkle in any exodus. She didn’t trust anyone enough to leave with them if they’d even leave town.

It was likely Crispy and his lot that had stolen her coat in the first place. Even Spider could only be trusted so far. She saw the way he eyed her sometimes. Even he had other intentions. He just hadn’t voiced them yet, and there were some things she refused to do for a new coat. She wasn’t anywhere near cold enough for that just yet.

Nowhere near cold enough, she mumbled for the sake of voicing the thought out loud. Town hall was right on Cambridge, just opposite the ball parks. She aimed herself right and jogged on. Take Synagogue? she wondered with a frown.

Cambridge split a few blocks up.

It’s more direct, she murmured, shaking off the newest bit of morning chill, but those ball parks bring out the Crazies.

She shrugged, jogging on.

She could figure that out when she got that far. As Cambridge broke off to include Synagogue, she found the decision basically made for her.

Eddie’s down, came a triumphant shout followed by energetic cheers. The eight kids in their weathered jean jackets and faded joggers moved off hooting and hollering, leaving a trembling child behind gripping his wrist and side and mumbling painfully under his breath.

Let’s go again, someone shouted to more cheers. I vote Hale the wizard this go.

No you don’t. I was wizard last week.

So it’s your turn again.

But you two have never been wizard.

The arguing ensued with Angelina scowling where she held back out of sight. The boy who was clearly Eddie, the last wizard in their game of Stalkers, was trying to rise, but he was still holding his left side and shivering worse than Angelina. She was quite sure Eddie wasn’t shivering from the cold.

Stalkers was a barbaric game, and while it was in play, anyone the players came across could get caught in the middle.

Synagogue was out. Plain and simple.

Straws decide, this group’s leader announced from a crouched huddle as Angelina cut a sharp right for Cambridge’s opposite sidewalk. You’re wizard Danny. You’ve got five minutes to hide before we come get you.

Angelina paused to watch the children scatter. None of them were over nine, but a kick and punch hurt no matter who delivered it. Stalker and other games the children around town played were mirrored in adult jokes and old Wanted posters.

They all kept the message clear.

Anyone not deemed normal by the general populace was unwelcomed. In fact, they’d receive a cold, rather brutal welcoming. That didn’t bode well for her. Another reason to leave. But again, she didn’t know what or who was out there. At least in town, she knew most everyone, so she could blend somewhat. Another reason to stay.

Why was life so conflicting at times?

Too often?

The old sports complex passed behind the discoloured houses on the left. She slowed her jog up this street. A lot the owners who’d lived up this side had died or just plain gone missing, and that made her wonder where they’d ended up. She knew the people who’d moved in after, and she trusted them little. She certainly didn’t want to be the next case of Missing Person’s that no one would bother trying to find.

Open garages showed nothing but rusty mowers and dusty cobwebbed rakes and hoes. Brown bags collected in some corners, and grease stains showed where cars had once been.

Tennis court lights flickered in the morning sun ahead left behind the next set of houses. This block boasted overgrown lawns and covered windows. Moulding had gone green, and ivy bunched under ground floor fencing.

Something had died in the third house on the right from the smell that pricked at her nose. A sewer had backed up fifth house on the left further up. Angelina covered her mouth and nose and hurried past.

She stopped on the next block still holding her breath.

Black leather and shaved heads – there were at least twenty gang members ahead walking up and down the street. A few others with their piercings and silver studded apparel manned doors.

Right. Cambrio Territory.

Another reason Synagogue would have been safer. She’d take the Stalker groups any time over Cambrios. Even if she drew a stray kick from an overzealous Stalker that had confused her for Danny, it would be better than becoming a gang unknown.

It was time for a more direct route. Angelina cut left over unkempt field aiming herself between tennis court fencing and ball park bleachers.

The tennis courts had been so covered in spray paint at one point that no one cared to clean any of it off. No one she knew would take the job even if a Barker handed that chore down. The Cambrios would definitely take that badly.

The ball park wood ahead had peeled. It was cracking to where whole sections hadn’t just broken free in one of the latest wind storms to hit town.

Stepping in closer, she spotted a broken through section leading inside the ball park and crouch-ran through. Once inside, she leaned back and waited.

Some mice could be heard gnawing at wood nearby. It sounded like a wood pecker was making its home just behind first. A bag was flopping along across the outfield nearby. She leaned out to make sure it was just a bag. It was.

She couldn’t spot anyone and anything.

There were no sounds of walking or talking.

Druggies and layabouts sometimes made the ball park their hang out. They were the real Crazies. Stalkers were just kids playing games. Gangs had rules. They could be predicted. Somewhat. These Crazies could be outsmarted too, but it took more cunning. It seemed she was lucky. No one was about.

She kept tight to those inner wooden walls avoiding the infield and bleachers above at all cost. It was too risky to tempt fate that blatantly.

She hurried around the inside of that ball park wall moving quietly. If anyone woke up from a stupor, she could still step out through another crack and make for the rest of Cambridge.

There was no one about when wooden walls became tall cages. Home base, dug outs, and the last of the warped stands were still empty.

She smiled and cut the rest of the way across field directly where Town Hall rose above a pock-marked street and garbage strewn sidewalk.

She stopped to stare up at the empty windows with their colourful curtains billowing out two, four, and five floors up. They’d turned the AC on. She hadn’t thought it would still be working.

Crumbling mortar and dusty cement showed all too well. Angelina turned spotting five youth from the auditorium coming around off Synagogue’s far corner. One of them was holding his eye, and two others were shouting swears back the way they’d come.

Litter duty has arrived, Angelina mused. She turned around once shrugging at the paper clumps, stained mattresses, and random feces. Glad I was up earlier, she mumbled, nodding with a sigh. Not a shovel in sight.

She started up the main steps for the main floor eager to discover what message she’d get to deliver. The coolness of morning was left behind at the door. The steps continued inside, and she mounted those internal cement steps until coming up at last into the main lobby. She paused to glance around.

Marble had turned green on the corner points, and a dirt film had removed the gloss. Columns had held up well enough over time even if desks were looking a little worse for wear. Lights flickered here as well, but that’s all most of them did anymore. A proper power grid would do wonders, but that kind of repair never seemed to happen.

Angelina noticed the secretary in her ancient, horn-rimmed glasses glaring at her from behind a stack of tomes across the lobby. Smiling cheerfully, Angelina skipped over and stood at attention with a salute.

Runner here! she announced.

The secretary glared on. A sneer even formed.

I was sent here to be you Runner, Angelina offered with a tired frown. Why were adults never any fun? You have something you want delivered, or can I have the day off?

Angelina’s playful grin was met by a practised roll of the eyes. Wait here, the secretary as ancient as the glasses instructed. She stood rubbing her back and walked up a flight of stairs and off towards the office doors at the back. Don’t stray! came further instruction that echoed twice.

Like there’s anything here worth straying over, Angelina grumbled. She sauntered over to a bust wondering whose head she was staring at. The paintings were equally old and unknown. There were cameras tacked to walls. Like any of you still work.

Her gaze took in