The Fall to Power

Chapter One

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Help. I need help. They’ve shot me, and I can’t get away. If they catch me, it’ll definitely be over. I can’t risk calling to Aidon, they might hear me, or he might actually come. Usually that wouldn’t be a problem but he doesn’t know they’re here, and then the Followers would know I wasn’t alone. So I’m hiding. I, who inspired revolutions all over the city, must cower within the bark of this fragile tree; completely uncertain as to the consequences that pertain to my mistake. I was exiled, you see, for inspiring rebellion among slaves.

At the time, I had no idea what I was doing. I didn’t purposely drop hot tea on my master’s lap. It just looked like I did. Apparently, no one had ever dared pour tea on the son of the king, not even in private, and I had done it for the world to see. I guess at the same time, it was my fault for telling him he didn’t own me, but he said I was a stupid slave; followed by a load of the vilest descriptions of my family. Apparently that was all it took for the most of the younger slaves to rebel. It was like cutting a chain link fence, clip one and you send most of the fence shuddering and a hole springs back at the impact, like a droplet in a pond, but in a much stronger scale. Soon even the old and sick were rebelling in one way or another. But the cut chain always disappears one way or another; and so I was sent into exile by the government and the leaders who had been waiting years for the rebellion supported the choice. They said that the people would prefer to know that hope was out there somewhere rather than see it crushed if the revolt was to fail. The funny thing is, Hope actually is my name, Hope Williams. Everyone thought it was a sign. Actually that’s a lie, every slave that wanted to throw off their chains saw it as a sign. The embodiment of hope, and look at me now; all ready to die.

Doing a weapons check, I see I’ve got a dagger on me. It’s quite the work of art, almost rustic looking, in the fact that it the whole handle is wood with figures elegantly carved into it. Aidon spent ages on it. It’s not something amazingly precious, that would be wasted out here. It’s practical. It shows a girl armed with a sword. Although the girl’s face is rather crude, the sword comes to life with an almost decided ferocity.

“The girl is you, Hope,” he said. “The sword is your dagger.”

I think he meant it was supposed to bring courage. Or that maybe this dagger would be like a sword to me. I’m good with a sword. It was the weapon with which I could  always beat Blake. He was already out here when I was exiled. I think he took pity on me at first, but now he needs the company. He said he would go crazy if I died and left him all by himself. That’s why he insisted I practised with every weapon he had, until he was sure I could defend myself. But we never trained with this dagger. I guess now’s a good time to start.

I leap out and climb to the top of the tree, with a silence that outmatched the wind herself, and clung on like a wrap as I looked down upon my pursuers. Or pursuer, I guess. It’s Corvard. He’s on his own. I guess they thought they’d have a better chance of finding me if they split up. They couldn’t get it into their wall-like heads that I might be too much for one of them to face alone.

I jump down on him, swiping straight at his sneering face. Before he and I fully understand what’s happening, he’s gone. No remorse. I don’t feel a thing. Like that link; I’m all metal now. Cold. I let my instincts take over. The other guards don’t know what’s happened. I put a hand round the back of his neck as my legs hit the floor. I find the rope I dropped in my earlier terror as I lower him to the floor. I remember what he said to me over, and over, as he killed my little sister. I reach out and grasp it, Cold and rough in my hands. I tie it into a noose. I push his head through it, blood pouring out from his temples, straight onto my hands, and loop it round the branch I stood on. I don’t stay to see what I’ve done. I turn around and walk away as he hangs on in front of the very tree I cowered within. It’ll be enough to scare of the rest. I couldn’t care less. All I can do is remember his words as I walk away, the ones I carved into his face:

Traitors will hang.