The Red Harlequin - Book 1 Of Masks And Chromes (Extract)

The Black Nation

The next day I was awakened by messengers running through the streets, shouting a proclamation. All the day's activities were to be suspended. Everyone in the city must gather in front of the Palace of the Elders by midmorning, for the Eldest, himself, was going to address us.

"Hurry. Put on your robes," said my mother, nervously.

"Must we go?" I asked. I was still shaken by the Harlequin's execution but I did not want to admit it.

"Just do as your mother tells you!" shouted my father, surprising me further. He almost never raised his voice.

"Here, Asheva, wear this." My mother said, in a more soothing tone. It was my black mask – a gift from my father that was delicately carved from a thin sheet of onyx. To me it was more precious than gold and I only wore it on the most important occasions. I obeyed without saying anything further.

We Blacks normally wore Bronze or silver masks. Our black masks were to be used only for proclamation of wars, death of an Elder, or for a festivity. The next festivity was still far away in the calendar and no news of an Elder's death had reached our house.

By the time the three of us arrived at the Palace, most of the city had already gathered. The tension was palpable and no one dared speak, not even to whisper to the Chrome next to them. The Elders stood on the Palace's marble stairs. Unlike our sturdy wool black cloaks, their robes were made of fine spun silk and their black masks had gold ornaments on them. But even among such splendor, there was one mask that shined brightest. It was the mask of the Eldest – the most beautiful mask I had ever seen. It was fashioned of black gold and it was said to be older than time, having been made by Lapis, the Shepherd God and protector of our nation, as a gift to the very first Black Eldest.

The Eldest's deep voice commanded attention. He measured his words carefully to make sure everyone understood the gravity of the situation. "Devout sons and daughters of the Black Nation, the Gods are listening!" he began, "This morning, a herald of the Red Chromes delivered to us a vile message. A message we have been long expecting."

The Eldest paused, as if waiting for the crowd's reaction.

"The Red Chromes have declared war against us! Against the Black Nation! Against the Gods' chosen! Against the most honorable and ancient nation of the Chromes!"

The response to his words was immediate. Everyone around me shouted in anger and dismay. The guards struggled to hush us so that the Eldest could continue.

"Yes, My Brothers and Sisters. They want to invade the land that was given to us by our ancestors and, as a further insult, they have already occupied part of the Forests of the East."

As the Eldest spoke, I could not refrain from feeling a profound admiration for him. I had never seen his face, but like all of us Black Chromes, I was devoted to him. He was the most experienced Chrome in the Black Nation and I had no doubt that he would know how to lead us to victory. His solemn voice echoed throughout the city. "The First Army will quickly be mustered. They will prepare to move in the direction of the Eastern Forests."

The First Army consisted in our Nation's most experienced warriors. They were considered the primary line of defense in case of an attack. The First Army also bought precious time for the Second and Third Armies, which consisted of younger and lesser-trained Chromes, so that they could adequately prepare. My father, having fought valiantly in two of the toughest wars our Nation had ever endured, was a battle-scarred veteran of the First Army.

Yes... He was a real warrior, my father. He had experienced, firsthand, the atrocities of hand to hand combat.  Along with the loss of friends. And the fear of death. He never wanted to speak about his experiences at the front. "In war," he told me, "there are no Chrome winners, only losers. The only victor is Jaries, the God of War and Vengeance. He yearns for blood to spill from every Chrome, regardless of color. In the end, he always gets what he wants. His thirst is always quenched."