Pawn

Chapter One : Smoke on The Horizon

War. A simple word, yet it causes so much pain, destruction, and hunger. Three letters that destroy families and ends life. There has been a war raging in Dystar for twenty-seven years. The once luscious forests are now vast, desolate wastelands. The raging battles have scared all the birds to some land far away. The only bird I have ever seen was a vulture when I was seven.

What caused this human atrocity? Pride. The king of a neighboring land offended our queen Anarosia. The king claimed that Anarosia's servants did not take care of his queen correctly. My king, Adran, was enraged and declared war on the land of Clasta. At first, it was just to force the king to apologize to Anarosia, but when he refused, Adran decided that we would take the king's kingdom and make Clasta pay for what it's king had done; or rather not done.

Millions of men die, villages are destroyed, and children are orphaned because a queen's bathwater wasn't warm enough. It was for these reasons that I wished our government was more like the Ancients. But I couldn't speak my treasonous thoughts aloud, for I would be hung in The Tree. The kings believed that the Ancient's ways were the reason that civilization fell many years ago.

Dystar is located in what was once America. It is rumored that when America was still a nation it had candles that burned at the flip of a switch, boxes that instantly heated food or kept it cool, and most amazingly, wagons that ran faster than the wind with no need for horses. All of these items ran off a thing called electricity. The people thought the electricity would last forever... but it didn't. The entire world fell into the Darktime. There was starvation, sickness, and death. All the leaders of every nation in the world were killed, including America. Governments began to collapse and people destroyed cities, pirated, and did whatever they pleased. The world wasn't a pleasant place to be.

A hundred years after the Ancients fell, three leaders in our region and their band of followers rose. John Dystar, Henry Clasta, and James Sura. They helped find food, create shelter, and did whatever they could to help humanity. After healing the land, the three split it among them. Clasta chose northern land, Dystar in the central region, and Sura preffered the warmth of the south.
There were other lands, but with miles of treacherous sea separating, communication was eventually cut off. Old lore tells of currents that drag those who attempt to travel down into a watery grave.
So with no one to stop them, they became kings, abandoning the Ancients' ways. Democracy was destroyed. The king's word was law. It might not have been too terrible a thing if we got to pick our king, but alas, the eldest son (or daughter if the royal family didn't have sons) was next-in-line. Just because you're born from a king doesn't mean you will make a good king, however.

I believe the Story of the Ancients, however strange it is for me to imagine their treasures. What I don't believe is that they were all wrong. What I don't believe, like the kings try to say is that the Ancients' ways were wrong. There wouldn't be people killed unnecessarily, used as pawns in the royal's malicious game of chess.

Just thinking about our petty ruler's heritage enraged me, and I threw a stone into the stream by which I sat. It sailed through the air and hit my elder sister in the arm. She looked up at me, eyes crackling with annoyance, from the clothes she was washing.

"Hey," scolded Celia, "Be careful." My ears burned with shame. "What if that had hit Luke?" My four-year old brother, who was building a house out of sticks and mud, looked up, hearing his name. His baby blue eyes met mine, and I couldn't help but smile. He was very cute with his dark hair and freckle-spattered nose.

"I'm sorry," I replied, unable to meet her eyes, "I'm just so upset over the war." and our stupid government, I added silently.

Her expression softened, understanding clear in her dark eyes. Celia was pretty in a way I'd never be. She had long, honey-colored hair that shined beautifully. Her eyes were dark brown and large, making her look sweet and innocent. At eighteen, she should've been married off, and everyone knew that she had plenty of suitors, but Mother wouldn't allow it yet. Not with Father away , fighting in the war. Mother needed all the help she could get.