The City of a Thousand Spires - Book One - Rage and the Inquisitors

Chapter 3

Rage awoke with a start. It was one of those half-awake – half asleep moments that make you question your sanity.

Had he heard a noise from downstairs?

He pushed his covers off and slipped his shoes on. It was pitch black outside. He pushed open his bedroom door and glanced along the corridor to see if his father was up. There was no movement and no light coming from within his father’s room.
 
Rage stepped slowly on the top step and tried to make as little noise as possible. A few steps further down he heard a loud crash from somewhere in the house. The time to be quiet had ceased and so he bounded down the last few steps and crashed through the door into his father’s workshop.

That was where he saw the most heart wrenchingly gruesome sight that would live with him until his dying day.
 
It was the smell of blood that hit him first, before his eyes could even take in the grotesque horror of what lay before him. His father had been pulled – no, torn limb from limb. The head sat atop the anvil at the centre of the room with the eyes removed. What could cause such carnage. This was not the work of a person; it was the work of a demon. Rage collapsed into a heap on the floor and blacked out.
 
                                 #
 
‘Today I’m going to show you how to make some basic shapes in the iron’ his father had explained.
 
‘Can we make a sword Father?, Pleaase’
 
‘Settle down Rage, that’s a little bit beyond us yet’ he explained. ‘What would a 6 year old need with a sword anyway’
 
‘To fight dragons’ Rage said.
 
‘Come now, that’s storybook stuff’ His father laughed. ‘How about some horseshoes for old Mr Coats from across the road.
 
Rage sounded disappointed ‘O.K Father, but swords next time’
 
‘Swords next time’ his father chuckled.

Rage had never met his mother. His father had done both jobs. Rage loved him for that. He always treated Rage like an equal. He never belittled him like most parents did. Just being able to help out with the iron work was a huge responsibility. And Rage loved every second. His father had explained to him that he wanted him to be ready for the world. The world was tough and a man needed to be strong and resilient for when his father wasn't around anymore.

But for Rage, at six years old it was inconceivable that he would have to live in a world without his father. That's the curse of all children. Something that some have to adjust to a lot sooner than others. Losing a parent is always something that happens to someone else. Rage was content as his father began to light the stove. He cuddled into his fathers side and forgot about the world.

As his father was heating up the stove Rage could hear someone shouting him. It sounded like a familiar voice.

                                #
 
‘Rage, what the hell has happened?’ the voice shouted.
 
Rage came to on the floor of the workshop with old Mr Coats stood over him.
 
‘Oh Rage, I’m so sorry’ Mr Coats had tears in his old rheumy eyes.
 
Rage stumbled to his feet and walked quickly from the workshop. He needed to get away from here and the way he felt, he may never come back.

He knew from the way that the body had been pulled apart that this was the work of pure evil. An evil that until now he had been lucky enough to avoid. He knew very well what Inquisitors were capable of. The fact that they had done this to his father meant that he had been discovered.

It was just a matter of time until they came for him. He realised that he would never be able to go home. At this realisation, he crouched down and vomited onto the cobbles and then began to cry.

He forced himself to stand up, he knew he had to keep moving if they had come for his Father then they would be coming for him too. In fact, he was lucky he was still alive.

Rage ran and ran. He didn’t want to stop. He felt an overwhelming need to get out of The Spires and never come back. As he neared the outer part of the city he rounded a corner and crashed straight into something. No actually, someone. The stranger was tall and wore a hooded robe. The hood was so big that Rage could not see the wearer’s face. He jumped to his feet but before he could move, a booming voice as loud as a thunderclap came from the depths of the hood.
 
‘Rage Felstead, You must come with me’
 
Immediately Rage’s thoughts turned to Inquisitors. Maybe this is what they look like. The way he felt, he could just give himself up to them straight away.
 
‘Are you an Inquisitor?’ he asked.
 
Laughter thundered from the hood.

‘No boy, quite the opposite’
 
Rage breathed a sigh of relief.
 
‘I know about your powers Rage Felstead, I need you to come with me if you want to survive' the voice said.
 
‘How do you know so much about me?’ Rage asked.
 
‘I’ll tell you everything Rage, but for now we need to get moving. The Inquisitors are not far behind you. They have a taste for your family blood from your father, nothing can stop them coming’
 
‘So why bother running?’
 
‘Because, Rage Felstead, I can teach you how to defeat them’
 
‘Ok, suppose I believe you. Can you at least tell me your name’
 
The figure slowly lowered his hood. Rage was faced by an old man with no hair whatsoever. His eyes were sunken and he looked like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. There was still, however, a spark in his eyes. Rage had no doubt that, in some way, this man was extremely powerful.
 
‘My name is Sarajevan, protector of the spires. Delighted to meet you. Now come, we must make haste’

****Thank you for reading. If you like the story please give it a vote. Rage is about to embark on an epic journey. Stay tuned!****