Introduction

Welcome to 'Pebble', a modern fantasy story set in the midst of war on another world.
This story is being written as part of NaNoWriMo 2013 (National Novel Writing Month), so a few notes before we begin;

- Sections are posted unedited and unbetaed, this is a first draft written as I go. This is a NaNo story so the goal is just to keep writing. Any inconsistancies, bad grammar or poor writing are, sadly, inevitable for now. Join me on my crazy journey.

- Sections are written on a day and saved at the end of my writing, so sometimes they may stop mid-paragraph or even mid-sentence to be picked up in the next section, just keep reading.

- I will also be writing at home on a word document, I will do my best to upload any additional sections I've written so the story flows, but if I miss them, I apologise.

- Read it backwards, the beginning of the story is the oldest post, so to start from the beginning you'll need to go to the end of the blog.

- Questions or comments are welcome, but remember this is a NaNo adventure, I know what's happening only slightly more than you do. And sometimes less.

11/11/13

Suddenly, there was a commotion from the deck above and moments later the cabin was flooded with light as the hatch was thrown open.

"Surely they can't be finished already?" the young boy commented, turning to look at the hatch curiously even as the older man in the cabin moved to more defensive positions. Even Leo instinctively reached for a bow that wasn't there, reminding himself last second to change tactics and reach for the knife at his hip instead.

"There's people down here! Non-traders!" the shout went up from above them, and suddenly a figure dropped down into the area, he was a soldier, obviously startled to see them dressed in trader garb, and he eyed the old man's tan with some suspicion - until his mind provided him with an appropriate explanation and he appeared to draw his own conclusions about what was going on.

"We're here to free you, come with me," he motioned for the small group to follow him back up the hatch. The young boy followed without hesitation, the others lingered a little, glancing around at each other for ideas. They didn't want to go back to the mainland, even during a time of peace, their life now was better, more free.. and yet... they all had families they hadn't seen in years, places they wanted to visit. The homesickness faded but it never quite went away entirely. Underneath all the indecision was the knowledge that they had to play their role as freed slaves or everything would be ruined.

Reluctant as they were, they knew what they had to do, and cautiously they followed the man up onto the deck, dreading what they would see. Some of these men had been aboard the same ship for years, the crew were their new family, they hoped the mainlanders had not been too harsh on them in their 'rescue' attempts. Their fears, it turned out, were unfounded. The rest of the crew were lined up against the edge of the ship, surrounded by serious soldiers pointing swords, the crew's own weapons lay before them on the deck, but none of them seemed injured. An officious looking man was receiving a report from one of the soldiers - the ship had obviously been the victim of a spot-check. They'd all heard about them, but never seen one before, a raid of sorts upon the ship to check for smuggled goods and to free slaves (who, of course, were always assumed to have been captured from the side doing the rescuing) - the Traders hated them, but they were a necessary evil in order to continue trading with the mainland.

7/11/13

"So... Where are you from?" The boy was clearly almost as antsy as Leo was being below deck, and was eager to start a conversation, but once again the old man foiled his plans, shaking his head slowly.

"That's a bad question to ask, boy," he explained.

"Why? What's wrong with it?" the young man threw up his hands in exasperation, angry at how the old man seemed to take offence at everything he did.

"What good does it do you to know?" the old man asked him calmly "None, who cares if somebody lived two streets away from you, who cares if they served in the same regiment? Doesn't help you to find out they were your ally and helps even less to find out they were an enemy. Look at us, all of us, can you tell which side we came from? Can you guess, just by looking, whether Leo there was pointing his arrows for you or at you?"

"Well...I..." the boy's eyes widened, suddenly realising that for the past two years he could have been surrounded by the enemy he so hated and never even realised it.

"All just mainlanders here, boy. Look at you, even knowing any of us might be your so-called enemy has made it worse, would it be any good to you to know who? Put it all behind you boy, that life ain't any good to you any more."

The boy fell silent again, shaken by the old man's words. Leo was surprised he hadn't had this conversation already, this wasn't the first time he'd seen it happen, some young man full of zeal, unable to understand that his own side sold slaves too, that the enemy were all around him and he had no idea who they were underneath the uniforms. They'd try and start something or bring up some topic or other of conversation and one of the older men would take him aside - if they were feeling kind - or stand up and take them down a peg or two. Which side were you on? It didn't even matter, barely mattered then and it didn't matter now. Some of them couldn't deal with it, became desperate to prove that there was some difference between them and their enemies, sometimes it drove them mad. Some of them took a while but came round eventually. Sometimes they pretended to come around, and then snuck around, finding ways to weed out their former enemies and picking fights with them - that kind didn't last long. After a while, almost all of the ex-mainlanders became fiercely protective of their new life. Things were good amongst the Traders, and anybody who threatened that would be dealt with.

6/11/13

skipping down the ladder after them with ease as one of the Traders closed the hatch behind them. There were a handful of non-Traders amongst the boats, particularly Archers, who had a presence all over the known world even down to the Southern Isles, but it was a rare sight (as far as the mainlanders were concerned, anyway) and anybody who had been sold as a captive was always kept out of sight just to be on the safe side.

Normally, a ship would only have two or three former captives on board, if that - especially if they were likely to be trading with the mainland. The lead boat of this particular Trader fleet, usually, traded mostly with the Southern Isles, it being a particularly fine and fast ship that was well suited to the long journey, but circumstances were different. The long years since the last peace treaty meant trade was long overdue and more ships were needed, the Loosed Arrow - the lead ship in question - had just returned from a trip to the Southern Isles while many other Trader ships had just set off for them, so the Arrow was called up despite the six former Mainlanders aboard her.

Below decks, the mood was awkward and uncomfortable. Despite all knowing the rules it was still stifling to be confined, away from the action and so temptingly close to their former home. Though a couple of them had previously served on other ships that traded with the mainland, they were so used to trading with the Southern Isles that they were accustomed to having full run of the ship. The archer, particularly, was pacing uncomfortably, tail flicking in irritation. As a race, the archers were used to being up high, to having the long view, it was a common trait for them to suffer from claustrophobia, particularly when one is used to the giddy heights of a crows nest and the views of a distant horizon.

"Leo, sit down," the old soldier commanded gruffly "or climb the rafters if you must, your pacing's making me dizzy."

"This hold is making me dizzy," Leo retorted, but he did as the old man asked, scrambling up the central beam and clinging to the top of it, monkey-like.

((slow day))

5/11/13 - Chapter One

-Four Years Later-

The sun rose high, glittering off the bright blue of the Alloan sea and making the spray sparkle as the fleet of ships cut through the water. It was a long awaited time of peace between the warring nations on the mainland, so trade was at an all-time high. There was usually a peace treaty, quickly made and just as quickly broken, every couple of years to allow the two nations to regroup and for trade to continue, but this one had come around after six long years of fighting. The two enemies were too evenly matched for one to truly defeat the other, and the uneasy peace between them couldn't be guaranteed to last very long, so speed was of the essence for the traders. They had to resupply the mainlanders and make their money quickly, lest they get once again caught up in the conflict.

The Trader nation were pirates, more often than not, born at sea for the most part, their only true homeland a grouping of small islands - excellent for the growing of supplies and stocking up on freshwater, but the farmland was too valuable for the place to be truly habitable. Instead, the islands were extended by a network of boats. When a Trader boat was no longer totally seaworthy, it would join the Fleet. Broken up to make walkways or simply anchored alongside the rest and used to expand the place the Traders called home - with the addition of the Fleet, the Trader's island home was almost as large as the mainland. During mainland war, the majority of the nation was far away, across the sea and trading between the islands to the South, or engaging in piracy (an excellent way to reduce the competition; if it wasn't Trader, it wasn't safe) while the rest were getting themselves involved in the war - whether picking a side or shooting at either side that dared tried to form a navy, or trying to get what supplies out that they good, it varied dependant on ship.

The Traders also took captives - anybody that was unlucky enough to be in one of the ill-fated navies, and any captives either army wanted to sell off - but where most people thought they were kept or sold as slaves, or worse, as the stories went, it turned out to be very far from the truth. Trader captives spent two years working the fields, it was a busy, often strenuous life but a good one, they were well fed and comfortable kept, and at the end of the two years they were given three options - stay where they were, join the Traders on a ship, or sail to the southern islands and start a new life there. Some wanted to return home, but that was one choice that was denied to them unless they made their own way there - if the mainlanders knew what really happened to Trader captives, they'd stop selling them off, and nobody wanted that.

A figure hung from the crow's nest of the lead ship, clinging to the edge of the basket by the prehensile curl of a brown-furred tail, one hand lifted to shade his eyes from the glare of the sunlight as he took in the rolling waves ahead.

"Land!" he called down, the shout taken up by the Traders in the rigging and passed down through the boat "Land ahead!"

A few moments later even a human would have been able to see the dark shape on the horizon as the mainland came into sight, so the archer loosens the grip of his tail, dropping himself down dangerously to make a last minute catch on the rigging below. He was naturally a good climber, as were all of the archer race, but two years spent aboard a Trader vessel had enhanced his skills further still, and his daredevil nature was one borne of total confidence in his own abilities.

"Mainlanders to stay on boad," the Captain called out, voice ringing across the deck as the crew began to make ready for dock "below decks as soon as we're in sight!"

"Captain, please, I just want to see," one of the sailors pleaded, a young man, only on board a month or so, young enough that he'd probably lied to enlist.

"Come on boy, that's the rules. If you can see them, they can see you, and that's just asking for trouble." one of the older men told him, giving him a nudge towards the ladder that lead below decks. He was a grizzled, ancient veteran, probably on his last voyage or nearing it, tanned enough to almost look Trader himself. If anyone could have gotten away with staying on deck, it would have been him, but he was long used to tucking himself away when the mainland came into sight.

"Oh come on, they wouldn't even recognise me!"

"We can't take that risk, boy, we ain't Traders, they know that much, so we go below deck, that's just what we have to do."

"But, but, what if I got tanned like you? Could I stay up then?" He asked almost desperately. A port-town dweller in his youth, at a guess, wanting a glimpse at familiar streets.

"There's more to Traders than a tan, boy, come on down below deck, safer for all."

Eventually the old soldier managed to urge the younger boy down below deck, and the rest of the handful of non-Traders on the boat, robbed of their theatre for the afternoon, headed below with them. Bringing up the rear was the archer from the crow's nest,

5/11/13

"Well, well, enemy spies." the captain announced, glancing over their uniforms. Even covered in mud they were recognisable enough. The scouts versions were much more subdued than the rest of the men, but Emilio's archer uniform was a little more obvious, and he hadn't had chance or forethought to change. It was designed for camoflage in woodland, but the cut and the detailing claimed his allegience obviously enough to prevent any friendly fire.

"You're the enemy," Harper shot back, obvious rage in his eyes. Here was someone on whom the propoganda had obviously had an affect. Emilio wondered how that was possible, as a scout surely he saw first hand just how much the enemy weren't any different to them, how could he keep up such a fervent hatred? Obviously James felt the same way, if the subtle roll of his eyes was anything to go by.

"Not from where I'm standing," the captain told him, motioning his men forward "Search them."

A few minutes later the enemy soldiers were holding a small assortment of weapons - none of them from Emilio - though he noticed that James' dagger was conspicuously absent, not that it was doing him any good as they were quickly tied up. Somebody must have already spotted them and had a chance to run back and get the rope, because they were surprisingly prepared. This wasn't a patrol that had stumbled across them, this was a team sent specifically for their capture.

Their captors lead them into the enemy camp, straight for the tent Emilio had flagged up as the command base - not that it was really the time to take any enjoyment out of being right. The commanding officer was waiting for them, making it even more obvious that somebody had been sent for them.

"Gregory James," the officer spoke as soon as their group was deposited in his presence, distracting Emilio from taking in his surroundings.

"Alfie," James responded, causing the officer to wince. Obviously James just wasn't the talkative type, but he certainly knew just what to say to make his point.

"Commander MacKay to you, James." he barked out, regaining his composure, "Grass not so much greener on the other side, hmm?"

"Just as green on both sides, no difference who I work for," James shrugged, causing Harper's eyes to widen in betrayal. He was clearly taking it hard to find out that his partner had been one of the enemy, so hearing him outright admit that the two sides were essentially the same was more than he could really take. He jerked against the bonds towards James, but the soldier restraining him held fast. The only effect it had was to draw the commanding officer's attention to his other captives. He ran an assessing gaze over the two of them and Emilio felt like he knew eveything he needed to know in one look.

"Take these two to the traders in the morning. Leave James." Harper began to struggle against his bonds again at this command, the soldiers took two steps forward to restrain him, deciding to take care of both of them in the easiest way possible. Emilio had just enough time to see one of the soldiers strike Harper on the back of the head before he received the same treatment and everything went black.

---end of prologue.---

04/11/13

This, at least, was something that Emilio knew how to do. He may have been clumsy on the ground, but every archer knew how to climb - no matter what. For once he didn't even have his bow or any of the rest of his equipment to take into account, so even in the dark and the rain he scrambled nimbly up the tree, the two scouts following hot on his heels.

"So what am I looking for?" he asked in a low murmur once he was carefully settled in the highest branch that would hold his weight. He noted with some satisfaction that the two scouts, though having climbed the tree as easily as he had, were not ensconsed quite so comfortably, in fact the way they were perched on branches below him looked downright awkward.

"We need to know if there are any gaps in the patrols, any places it would be easy to sneak into the encampment," Harper explained, his voice equally low, "and make sure the uniforms match our intel, it's vital we properly blend in."

"Is that all?" Emilio muttered under his breath, annoyed. Visibility was bad, but did they really need him to do that? The patrols were easy to spot even in this weather, and they just needed to wait for someone with a little light around them to check the uniforms.

"No, command tent." James interrupted gruffly, causing Emilio to raise an eyebrow - clearly he was chosen to scout for his hearing.

"We need you to try and see where it is." Harper clarified "We want to look like we know where we're going when we infiltrate." Nodding, Emilio settled in to look.

He had to stay ensconsed in his tree for a good couple of hours to properly observe the comings and goings of the patrol, giving the two scouts whispered descriptions of the uniforms from all angles to confirm they matched what was already known. So far, they did, which just made him feel like his time was a waste, though the rain was at least starting to let up and he was comfortable in the tree despite the damp - he usually was. It was also somewhat amusing to see how much the scouts fidgeted - oh they kept still enough by any normal point of view, but it was obvious they hadn't positioned themselves comfortably enough. It wasn't that Emilio was any expert in stillness, but he was extremely good at finding the optimum place amongst tree branches, archers often had to stay in the same place for a very long time after all.

In between waiting for the patrols to come by, he kept a close eye on the goings-on inside the camp, watching the movements of the troops - much like their own camp there wasn't a lot of movement, it was too damp and too miserable for anybody to want to be wandering around, which made it a little easier to spy. When everybody was moving about, it was hard to tell who you needed to keep an eye on, because it was hard to tell which movements were important. In this weather, the only moves anybody made were the important ones.

Eventually, he'd been watching for long enough to make an educated guess where the command tent was, and he explained as much to the scouts in the branches below him. Between that and his reports of the patrols, which were tight but not impossible to slip by, he hoped he'd given them enough to be able to get back to the camp. His bedroll was waiting, and that was at least slightly dryer and warmer than it was out here.

Just as Harper opened his mouth - hopefully to say that was enough and that it was time to head back to camp - James stopped him with a sharp hand signal and he immediately fell silent. It didn't take long for Emilio to realise what the issue was, within seconds he felt the familiar prickle on the back of his neck that indicated there was an arrow aimed in his direction, several arrows unless he was very much mistaken. Figures melted out of the shadows around them, two or three enemy soldiers with swords at the ready.

"Climb down now, quiet and quick," their Captain ordered, motioning with his sword to the three of them.

"We can take them," Harper half-whispered, glancing between the other two. James nodded in agreement, already sliding a hidden dagger from his sheaf.

"No, archers." Emilio whispered back, nodding discreetly in the direction he felt the familiar arrow-twinge coming from, lifting his hands to indicate his own lack of bow. The two men exchanged looks before reluctantly climbing down, James' dagger disappearing back into his pocket almost as quickly as he'd taken it out.

Beginning

The rain was coming down so hard no one was even bothering trying to find shelter, the second you stepped out into it you were soaked, and even in the relatively dry areas the very air was still damp and everything you touched seemed already sodden. The fires were all but impossible to maintain and the chill seemed to seep through to the bone. It was, without doubt, the most depressing night the camp had faced so far. The battle – more a skirmish, really – had been a good one. No casualties, few injuries, an easy win. Spirits should have been high, but then the rain set in.

“It’s them that’s doing it,” Emilio overheard as he walked past a group of soldiers trying vainly to take shelter under a tent flap.

“Doing what?” Another remarked.

“The rain. It was blue skies earlier, right? This ain’t natural rain, I bet you anything. We won the fight so they’re doing this, it’s one of those, wotcha-call-its, morale things.”

“That’s against the rules,” someone piped up, Emilio heard a dismissive snort, but he was too far away now to hear the first speaker’s reply. Typical conversation really, especially when things weren’t going their way - inclement weather, a bad loss, mistakes on the supply line; whatever it was there were plenty of men amongst the battalion who would be the first to declare that the enemy had broken the rules of engagement and had started using magic. The higher-ups practically encouraged it, oh they wouldn’t say it outright of course, it was simply bad luck or poor planning, but they’d have their clever little turns of phrase, their hinting looks, and suddenly everybody would be clamouring to take down those bastards and their illegal magic usage. When you weren’t allowed to use magic to so much as stir a cup of tea without twelve forms signed and stamped in triplicate, nobody liked the idea of the enemy being able to conjure luck or weather spells whenever they felt like it.

Personally, Emilio was of the opinion that nobody was using magic – after all, it was raining on the enemy as well, and he was quite certain that a stroll around their camp would result in overhearing the exact same accusing conversations. Everybody liked to think, during a war, that their enemy was irreconcilably different to themselves, but the truth of the matter was that – in times of peace – the two overground nations that made up the mainland of the Averling Isles were so close and so isolated from any other influence that they were practically indistinguishable from each other. Even before you started taking into account human nature and the similarities inherent within it.

“You wanted to see me, sir?” Emilio asked as he reached his destination, stepping into the officer’s tent. He couldn’t be bothered to stand on ceremony and wait to be admitted, not with the rain the way it was. He couldn’t help but notice that the officer’s tent was both warm and dry, probably attributed to the heater in the corner. Magically powered, of course, the army were fastidious about filling in the proper paperwork so that all the essential mod-cons were provided – for the officers.

“Ah, yes, Barnes.” General Low turned with a nod, he at least didn’t seem bothered by Emilio’s breach in manners – though his lip curled slightly at the amount of water the young archer was currently dripping in the rug. Emilio would have apologised, but the man was sitting in the dry and the warm while his soldiers froze, not to mention that most of the tents out there had waxed canvas flooring, and it was all covered in mud no matter how hard you tried to take your boots off before you went in, so he could put up with a damp patch on the carpet. He wasn’t a bad general, he gave the right orders and he looked after his men, but his idea of looking after merely involved keeping them alive, their comfort wasn’t exactly his top priority. Emilio wasn’t sure if he was ignorant of the conditions they had to put up with, or simply didn’t care, and he knew the better quarters were army standard rather than personal choice – that didn’t make him any less bitter about it when the weather was so bad, of course.

“We were rather hoping you could go on a scouting mission for us,” General Low continued, turning to his planning table to pull over a few maps. Emilio took the hint and came over to look at them, sweeping damp brown hair out of his eyes so he could see more clearly. “I realise you’re not one of our ordinary scouts, but with the weather it’s rather hard for them to see, we were hoping your eyesight would be able to help them out. They can get you close enough to take a look at the camp undetected, you just need to let them know what you can spot.”

“…Stealth isn’t really my strong suit, sir…” Emilio replied reluctantly. It should have been, everybody expected it of him, with his slim form and nimble fingers, but he was compact – leanly muscled, fingers designed for drawing a bowstring not picking a pocket. He had a tendency to jangle when he walked – okay that was his equipment, but he never had to try to be quiet. He was always far enough away that stealth wasn’t an issue.

“Well that’s why we’ll be sending a couple of our usual scouts with you, two of our best, good enough to guide you so you don’t make any mistakes. We really need to know what they’re planning, Barnes. We want somebody on the inside, but we need to know everything about their defences first, that’s what we need you for. Visibility is poor tonight, that could work in our favour, but we have to know the weakspots in order to exploit them – you can see that better than any of our scouts. We need that eyesight now.”

It wasn’t exactly a tempting offer, traipsing through the wet, muddy woods with a couple of scouts who’d probably berate him for every twig he stepped on, in order to sit in a tree somewhere and stare at the enemy camp reporting everything he saw until the scouts decided they had enough? Not his idea of an evening well-spent. The problem was that it wasn’t exactly an offer at all, more of an order.

“Yes, sir,” he replied with a sharp salute. No point in arguing or he’d likely be accused of not wanting to pull his weight. Best just to get it over with now and hope he still got a decent night’s sleep at the end of it. Maybe he’d be lucky and the rain would stop, but he doubted it, luck and him were not exactly on the best terms.

“Harper and James are waiting at the forest edge of the encampment, they’ll tell you what to do,” General Low nodded, waving him away dismissively and turning back to his papers. That was his way, tell the man what he needed to do, give him a pep talk if he was being reluctant and send him on his way. He was a productive sort of mine, no time for dalliance.

Emilio turned on his heel and left the tent, unable to think of a reason to dawdle no matter how much he wanted to stay in the warmth of the tent. It wasn’t that he’d been there long enough for any of his clothes to dry, but the whole place held the promise of dryness, a terrible temptation when one knew you weren’t going to be dry again anytime soon.

He made his way back through the camp, wading through the mud without really caring for his boots – they were already covered and soaked through, it wasn’t going to make a lot of difference. The other men watched him with idle curiosity as he strode past, it was rare to see somebody walking with such purpose at this time of night, and he could tell they were probably wondering if it was going to end with them having to do some fighting – probably the only thing that would make this evening worse than it already was. Nobody actually stopped him to ask, of course, nobody wanted to get in anybody’s way without a damn good reason to, and it wasn’t like they wanted the confirmation, that might mean they actually had to do something, and they’d done quite enough for the day.

It was easy to spot the two men waiting for him, even if Emilio didn’t already know their faces from around the camp, they were standing at the edge of the encampment with expectant looks on their faces, obviously waiting for his arrival, compared to everybody else who was doing their best not to get noticed, huddled into tents and trying to keep as warm and dry as possible. “About time, let’s get this over with,” James said bluntly, turning to head into the forest with no further comment, Emilio glanced at Harper questioningly, but the shorter man just shrugged.

“He’s impatient, and we don’t really have a lot to explain, just follow us and try not to make too much noise. The rain should mask most of it so you don’t need to worry too much.” He explained, motioning Emilio to follow them as he too turned and headed into the trees. It was quieter under the canopy of the forest, but still loud enough – as Harper had said – to cover the fact that Emilio was not exactly as light of foot as the two he was following. They moved easily through the trees, almost instinctively making the right steps, sure-footed and silent. Emilio wasn’t exactly making a lot of noise, but he felt like an elephant behind them, stepping on twigs and muddy ground that made him slip, stumbling along behind them. It was a good job it was so dark and the sound of the rain masked his footsteps, because this mission would have been next to impossible otherwise. It was maybe half an hour of miserably silent trekking before they finally reached their destination – the other edge of the forest, where the enemy encampment lay in plain sight.

“Just climb one of these trees,” Harper told him, slapping a nearby tree trunk “we’ll come up after you and tell you what to look out for, you just let us know what you can see.”