Gods of Dusk

New A/N: So, the first three chapters of this story were written a year ago, and lately I\'ve been bitten by the bug to continue writing this. I\'m curious if it draws any attention here, since it has gotten absolutely none at fanfiction dot net. Going back and rereading what I wrote, I can\'t get over how awesome it all is, and really can\'t wait to continue working on it. If it doesn\'t generate any attention on aff, I might scrap the whole posting it online thing and simply save it til it\'s finished and see if I can find a publisher.

Also, a word of warning (I mention it vaugely in the original Author\'s notes) but this is an original draft, and might kind of wander a little and confuse (and for those who\'ve never read anything I\'ve written, I can tend to get a little confusing and then unfold it all in later chapters). This has always been my pet-project, playing out in the back of my mind, so when I write things, they might not make sense to someone, so even if it\'s something small, please, point it out to me, that way I can either keep it in mind for future chapters or go back and edit a part so it makes more sense.

It would be greatly appreciated! ^_^

Original A/N: Okay, so this is just the FIRST DRAFT, I already know it’s rushed and it probably doesn’t make a whole hell of a lot of sense. But forgive me, it’s the FIRST DRAFT. This is one of those stories that just demands to suddenly be unleashed…just had to be written. Probably because I’ve taken a pause in writing everything else and picked up RPing in Instant Messaging (hi Kel, Trin, Leo!!). Anywho, yeah, drop me some hints on what needs to be fixed besides the fact that it needs to be slowed down and a bit more detail should be added to the culture and religion (because I already see that but I’m gonna leave it until I’ve finished)

Gods of Dusk

1


He sat, wrapped in cloths of a thousand colors, high above the Temple doors. Inside, they moved like unnamed shadows, praying as they always did. From his perch on the rooftop of the building that encircled the Temple, he saw what they could not. They were faceless, a mass of those who thought they believed, thought they knew and were separate and equal.

He knew the truth.

“She is dead.” He whispered, blonde hair and strips of colored cloth flashing around his face as the wind slashed at him, “She is Death.”

Of course, the unnamed mass below couldn’t hear him. It was all the better. It simply meant that he was the only one who could possibly understand. She was dead; Her spirit turned away from Her body, Her eyes no longer seeing, Her ears no longer hearing. They could never understand the complexities of Her death.

Her transformation into what they most feared.

He was created from Her, so the stories went. He was the Goddess’s own blood. They called him bastard-son, sent him off to the Temple, where he trained in Her ways. The Great Lords of the Temples sentenced him to silence for seven years. Silence brought less and less interaction, and brought Truth. Long after his silence-sentence had been lifted, he continued to maintain a silent aura. It made them think he was like them, a ‘strong’ believer in Her.

He saw Truth, dreamt it on the longest nights of the year, or when his Mother found the time to Show him.

The Temple below him was like the Temple he had trained at, a whisper from a dying religion, following its already dead Goddess.

~~*~~

Arleon laughed, spinning around to make sure his pursuers were still behind him, and then continued in his running. Diving in and out of crowds of people, the slight, red and brown-haired man caused a stir in the street, outbreaks of shouting following him, giving his chaser’s his location easily.

Arleon found this game easy, weren’t they supposed to have captured him already? Sent him tumbling to the ground and beating him till he was black and blue. It was the Lin-atash ika, the Race for Enlightenment, the third step in his testing for a spot among those training at the Temple in Gavi, capital of the country of Pollret.

It wasn’t just any training Arleon sought, but that of the Ika shi, Enlightened Guards, the elite of the order of the Goddess, Her chosen warriors, who fought in heroic wars and lived on in legend forever.

And here he was, laughing as four Ika shi chased him…or tried to. It shouldn’t have been funny, but there was the rush of adrenaline as he charged down the streets. He only had to make it back to the Temple gates to have done what only one had been able to do since the Temple began it’s training of the Ika shi…finish without harm.

The gates were ahead, the Ika shi would know this, would find a way to get ahead of him, to block his entrance. He only had to try and think like them, try to predict their movements…

That’s where everything went wrong. He darted into the side street to his left, thinking maybe he could outrun them, could get around them before they realized his position. He failed to notice the flash of colors that moved ahead of him at the turn he was going to take. Or the shadow that passed over him.

There had been four, before. He cast a glance over his shoulder. Only two now. Damn. He had to think, think, think. Someone bumped into him and he shoved them away, his green eyes only half seeing others as he searched for the bright colors of the warriors.

There was a flash of yellows and reds and greens, and then the Lin-atashi ika was over. A force slammed into his back so hard that he spun as he fell, his eyes catching briefly the smile on one of the Ika shi’s face, before he hit the ground.

A foot landed on his chest, pushing him farther into the sand-covered street. He tried to cough, to breathe, and failed at both. He began to utter something, but the world became awash in a blur of colors and the feeling of fists and feet.

~~*~~

They would not dress his wounds, if he did not ask. He did not ask, because it was a sign of weakness. Arleon fought to focus, as they carried him down a set of stairs, and tossed him hap-hazardly into a dark room. Shadows moved about, whispers cutting through the silence.

“Looks like he must have pissed them off.” One whisper carried a heavy accent from the north.

“Wonder what he did? I got away with a bloodied nose and bruise in my side.”

“Looks like his arm might be broken.”

And on, and on, and on. Voices filling the void that should have been sweet silence. And would be again, if he had anything to say about it. To achieve his much needed silence, he groaned, and tried to turn himself over. The voices hushed as he rolled onto his stomach.

He rested that way, the cool concrete against his forehead, one hand poised to push himself upright. The other hurt too much, maybe the arm was broken. Eventually, there was movement, a soft hand brushing through his hair. It startled him into sitting up. No one had touched him with that softness in years. Not since mother had died…

It was a boy several years younger than himself, with no hair, and dark eyes. In the darkness of the room, the others sat against the walls. This one had been the only one to come forward. And there was no fear in this one’s eyes. The eyes of the other boys in the room shied away, as if he might reach out and hurt them.

“Are you alright?” A strong accent from southern Pollret. This boy had come a long ways from home, if his accent was any indication of him.

Arleon shook himself out of his blank stare, and smiled grimly, “So to speak. Nothing time and the blessings of the Goddess won’t take care of.”

The boy made the sign of the Goddess, right hand across the chest, touching his left shoulder and brushing back and touching his right shoulder, before nodding, “May She care for us all. I am Xion.”

“Arleon.” The boy seemed to relax a bit, offering a gentle smile. Arleon decided he liked this kid.

Names piqued up around the room, most came from local accents, some were hard to place, and others spoke in such a heavy sound Arleon couldn’t have picked out the name in it if he tried. It didn’t matter anyway; he took an instant disliking to all the other boys in the room. Xion was the only one who seemed to remember the Goddess’s kindness that She had given freely to them.

The hushed voices returned again, and Arleon moved, scooted across the floor to the wall. His injuries burned, his arm screaming as he tucked it to his stomach. This must have been a period in between the tests, to give time for a bit of recovery before the next and final stage.

The door burst open, a splash of light sweeping into the shadows and casting Arleon and those few sitting along the same wall in a shadow-creating light. Arleon blinked, heard a struggle just beyond his view, before a figure was shoved inside the room. They stumbled, dust lifting as their feet kicked to keep balanced and upright. There was a string of foreign words, which Arleon took to be curses, before the figure straightened.

He was tall, with black hair. That alone set off the whispers. Black hair was a rarity, but the attitude that came with it spread a wildfire of conversation. The boy stood in the center of the room, head bowed. It was obvious he was listening to them, his fists clenched at his sides.

But Arleon ignored the attitude and reaction to the other boys. What drew his attention was how the boy stood. While his head was bowed, his body was perfectly erect; the curvature of his spine set him at an elegant angle, his sculpted figure setting off a sense of royal training. Was the boy a member of the massive Royal family? Or the son of a Lord?

The boy turned, as if sensing Arleon’s thoughts, and glared at him, with hard, ice ruby-shaded eyes. Arleon, growing up on the streets, was used to the type of look, and tried to match it with one of his own, but settled for a blanker expression. That seemed to tick the boy off even more. His lips moved into a sneer.

“How was your Run?” A soft voice broke the locked gazes, and two pairs of eyes turned to look at Xion, who was staring calmly at the black-haired boy. The rest of the room seemed still, tension thick enough to cut with any movement.

“Short.” The boy grunted, after sizing up the small, monkish looking boy.

Arleon snorted, “Move too slow?”

“Hardly.” The boy turned his ice gaze back to him, “Lin-atashi ika is supposed to be a test of your wits, as well as adaptation to your environment. I wasn’t ready for the streets.”

Arleon held back a mocking laugh. The boy saw this, his fists clenching at his sides again.

“You have no injuries?” Xion, breaking up the fight the boy clearly wanted to start.

“They go easier on the ones who they catch quickly. A punch in the stomach was all I got.” He smiled, “Although they did sound pretty angry about the previous participant, wanting to ‘teach’ him a bit more.”

“What’s your name?” Arleon abruptly side-stepped the comment aimed at him.

“Kahyo.” He looked about ready to make another comment, when the door swung open again, and four warriors filtered into the room, shades of yellows and oranges, lower ranks.

The higher up in ranks a person was the more colors they were permitted to wear. If Arleon made it into the Ika shi’s training, he’d have to start at the first, lowest ranking. The absence of color.

White.

“Rise.” One of the Ika shi said, voice raspy, “Prepare yourselves.”

Together? We’ll be going together for the final testing? As he moved towards the door, boys jostling around him and hurting his already pained arm even more, he felt the brush of a hand, pulling him back a bit. He looked over his shoulder, seeing Xion motioning, asking if he’d stay with him.

He fell into step next to the younger boy, and felt a cool presence beside him. He didn’t have to look to know Kahyo was there. He smiled inwardly. They had gotten off to a rocky start. That was good; it would keep them both on their toes. Kahyo reminded Arleon of how he saw himself, cool exterior, bursting with energy and the need to do something, to have a purpose.

The group of boys, larger than Arleon had originally thought, in the shadows of the cell, filtered through two massive wooden doors, hand-crafted with images of the Goddess and Moon flowers, her fauna symbol. The arch around the door was adorned with small blue crystals, catching the light of the hall windows and reflecting it in a million different ways. Arleon hardly had time to admire it.

The room they entered was far larger than the cell had been, or any other room he’d ever been in. Its ceiling arched high, soaring up so high, he thought that surely it was an illusion, since the building had never seemed so tall from the outside. The ceiling gave way to a row of mosaic-ed windows that formed the peak of it, in shades of blues.

Boys ahead of him fell into rows, dropping to one knee and bowing their heads. He followed Kahyo, who had somehow gotten ahead of him, turning his head to the ground, studying the small rust-colored tiles that covered the floor, sinking to his knee in the proper spot.

“What a presentation to the Goddess…” A voice whispered, so soft he wasn’t sure if he had heard it. Who would dare talk? It didn’t sound like Kahyo, and certainly not like Xion. “Surely She would love to see these hopefuls…if She could still see.” The whisper was still so slight, and yet he heard the sarcasm clearly. To speak of Her in this place, in such a way, who would do such a thing?

He risked a look up. In the center of the front of the room was what he had missed when he had first come in. A huge golden throne, carved in vertical pipes that dropped almost from the ceiling, spilling into a plush blue, crushed-velvet pillow, upon which sat an old, wrinkled man. He wore a brilliant amount of colors, and must have been the High Lord of the Temple. But Arleon’s eyes went to the man beside him.

Was that boredom written upon that man’s face? Cruel, dark eyes flashed across the sea of boys, searching and yet not seeing. The man scared Arleon. He shuddered and dropped his head again, fearing the man’s wrath.

“I will not stay for this. There is nothing here of interest to me.” Again with the whispering! Who was it that dared defy the silence? “Even in my silence, I can hear their devotion to the dead.”

This was insane. When Arleon chanced a quick look at Xion, he saw nothing but patience. Did no one else hear this voice?

“Keep your head down.” That was Kahyo. Arleon had let his head turn a little too far, or else Kahyo had been guilty of the same thing.

“But someone is talking.”

“No one’s talking but us.” Kahyo’s voice was harsh, quiet enough that Arleon barely caught it.

“Pardon me, High Lord. This has no point; those who make it into the training will never finish it.” Again, the sarcastic voice.

“Shut up.”

“I’m not talking, Kahyo.”

The black head turned slightly, glaring at him, “You just said…those of us training won’t finish it…” his voice hissed.

Arleon went to whisper a reply, but heard a rustling of cloths, and sunk his head back to its proper position, trying to ignore the voice that continued to whisper, mocking the High Lord’s speech, and failing so miserably, that he couldn’t concentrate on half of what the Lord said.

When they were permitted to stand, Arleon’s eyes were immediately drawn to the blonde man with the cold eyes, who stood in the exact position he had been in when Arleon had first seen him. The eyes scanned the crowd. It seemed as if none of the other boys took a notice in this man, figured him to be another servant to the High Lord. But Arleon must have seen what none of the others had seen.

There was a band of deep blue, a strip of cloth on his upper arm, wrapped tightly, almost lost among all the other colors.

The blue was almost unheard of. It was the color of the Goddess, given to the highest of the high. The blue, the darker it went, was the color of rank that came closest to the absolution of color: Black, the color of Death. It fascinated Arleon.

“Within you, the Goddess breathes. You are Her life! As She is yours!” The Lord cried to them, but the beauty of the speech he was making was marred by the sarcastic remarks that continued to whisper to him.

The building was old; perhaps a ghost had found its way in and had decided to pester one of the hopefuls. If that was the case, it was doing its job well. Arleon wanted to spin around and see if the voice came from anyone behind him, but protocol demanded different.

Ika shi came, suddenly, the same rankings as those who had been in the cell, moving among the crowd, handing each boy a small piece of red. When Arleon finally received one, he learned it was a small envelope, a little wider than his pinky and about as long as his thumb.

“Here lies the final test!” Cried the Lord, “Open the envelope!”

Arleon tore into it. Easy, where was the test in that? Inside was a strip of paper, as red as the envelope had been. He glanced at Xion and Kahyo and the others around him, and began to understand. Some of the envelopes held red paper; others were blank, white as the day they had been pressed.

What if the red meant you were done? White was the lowest rank, it would be probable that they would send away the colored ones. A sick feeling settled in his stomach. But Xion had received a red one as well; surely they wouldn’t turn away someone like Xion.

“If your paper is white, I bid you good day. If your paper is red, step forward. Come, come now, don’t have all day.”

The crowds parted, most being guided towards the exit. Many angry shouts cried out, but were quickly hushed with swift movements from the Ika shi present. Stunned, Arleon stood stock still, the red paper in his hand. He was left alone, as the others who had received the red paper surged forward, wanting to be closer to the High Lord.

I passed?

A hand landed heavily on his shoulder. He looked up, expecting to find an Ika shi guiding him towards the High Lord. But it was Kahyo, eyes hard as jewels. Arleon couldn’t read his expression, but understood what he was saying. ‘We earned it, don’t blow it now.’

Arleon nodded, looking towards the throne. Kahyo’s hand fell away, and the tall dark boy brushed past, heading into the crowd that quickly gave way to him, then swallowed him up.

Arleon took a step forward. “Stupid children.” He froze. That voice was still going?! It must have been a ghost, there was no one nearby. He turned, searching behind him, and found no one. Still searching behind himself, Arleon took another step towards the crowd. Then another.

His movement in one direction was abruptly halted, as he hit what felt like a wall. He winced and felt himself begin to fall backwards. His eyes closed in a reaction and waited for the jolt from the floor. But another surprise happened, a hand roughly grabbed the front of his tunic, tugged him upward again, continued pulling him, until his feet barely touched the floor.

Arleon’s eyes opened, met eyes of the darkest blue he had ever seen, widened as a shutter rushed through his body. It was that silent warrior…the one that wore the blue cloth. Arleon quickly averted his eyes. Surely he’d angered the Ika shi; he had to show his humility at his actions. The hands that had held him up quickly lowered him again, as if the Ika shi was even more angered by his movements.

“Hurry.” The voice was quiet, but deep and instantly made his eyes seek the face again, “They will leave without you.” The blue eyes had turned towards the throne. Arleon turned as well. The chosen ones were being ushered towards a side door. Arleon turned back, and bowed to the Ika shi. When he lifted his head again, however, the man was gone.

~~*~~

Like moths to a flame. Look how they ran to the High Lord. Fools. Stupid children. He whispered to Mother, sometimes. It was more habitual than anything else. He knew She couldn’t hear, wouldn’t listen. It didn’t matter though. She was something that he could pretend to rely on.

And then…Mother must have turned her head. A chosen one found his way to him. A force that jolted his senses, beyond the physical, making him reach out and catch the small figure before it fell. Blue eyes widened as he looked down. The child looked terrified and awed, thrown together.

And then, the eyes moved away from his face.

Stupid. Just another one of the sheep being led to slaughter. Look, Mother, at the newest sacrifices.

“Hurry.” The boy’s face rose to look at him again, “They will leave without you.”

And that was his dismissal. He turned and left, with nothing to look back on.


~~~*~~~

Ch. 1 fin

So, for those of you readers who didn\'t bother to read my long-ass A/N at the top, let me quote myself: \"This has always been my pet-project, playing out in the back of my mind, so when I write things, they might not make sense to someone, so even if it\'s something small, please, point it out to me, that way I can either keep it in mind for future chapters or go back and edit a part so it makes more sense.\"

Please, please, PLEASE let me know what you think! I\'ll be releasing the other 2 chapters already written within the next few days if there\'s any interest shown in the first chapter.