THE FOUR SECTORS WARS - Sample Chapters

ONE

The thunder rocked the earth like the footsteps of an approaching giant. The lightning split trees and their falling gave a shrill sense of the spread of the giant's feet with each incautious step. Raikin knew the forces of nature were merely conspiring to paint false pictures in his head, but on Hitara, one could never be entirely sure. 

The rain beat down on the roof of a hovel that no one in their right mind would have retreated into in such weather. It would surely provide all the protection of a paper house in a firestorm. But its appearances were designed to be deceiving. Almadra, Raikin's caretaker, did not want anyone drawn to the place for any reason. Like an Egyptian tomb booby-trapped to keep out looters, the mighty house of Pilmadrin could repel the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. And still her creaking floorboards and overhead timbers would live on to play ever-more off-key tunes as they flexed and folded before the stormiest of weather.  

Raikin drew endless joy from testing the house's relentless creativity for expressing its ill-temper against all intruders. He'd don some costume, and get into character, thinking the thoughts of an interloper, pretending to be an assassin, or a common thief trying to break into Pilmadrin, and unleash the worst of the house upon himself. Any without Raikin's gift for navigating booby-trapped interiors would have died long ago. Strange the things he drew warmth and comfort from, especially on nights like this where nature would have happily done him in without the meddlesome Pilmadrin wizardry to keep him from harm.  

The pelting rain beaded against Pilmadrin's windows and, in so doing, formed faces staring in at him. Raikin's unbridled curiosity overcame his spiking fear. He literally ran from face to face to pass his hands over them, caressing their every feature. To him, they were more beautiful than haunting, though the eeriness of the countenances couldn't be denied.  

Still, there were such emotional tonal variations in every face, each visage larger than his five foot six frame. They were extensive enough that he wouldn't miss any of the subtle nuances in their faces. He screamed in anguish as they dissolved, washed away by the changing patterns of wind and rain. His mourning for their loss was interrupted only by the advent of new faces taking shape.  

He was most curious as to their underpinnings. 

Many of the spirits of Hitara were long-dead wizards and other kinds of magical folk; many more, noble warriors and brave knights and, most common of all, legions of darkened souls from the underworld. They had a habit of showing up when things got interesting, and might catch a glimpse of a living being passing over to the other side. Though he knew they sometimes appeared for other reasons, as well-such as at the major turning points in the lives of historically significant people. Hm, I should be so unlucky, or so lucky, as the case may be.  

Tonight, the foul weather alone might provide such opportunity for these spirits to arise from their slumber. More often, overheated battles provided spectator sport for these dear departed spirits that filled the battlefields like spectators in Roman coliseums of old.  

Raikin had been extensively schooled in the history of Earth-the planet mankind had migrated from so many hundreds of years ago, on a forced exodus, thanks to a prematurely exploding sun. The lore and culture from that time remained of infinite value to a people who were thrown to the stars by fate. That indoctrination, taken with his relatively short life on Hitara of fourteen years, meant he understood things often in the context of Earth-allusions rather than real life experiences here on Hitara, far less other inhabited worlds he had not yet had the chance to visit. 

The leaking rafters overhead, quietly saturating the rough-hewn woods of the floorboards beneath his feet, were causing the weathered wood to swell, and now new faces were arising. They did not take kindly to his running willy-nilly over them, having not yet taken notice of their presence, still entranced by the rain-drawn faces in the windows.