The One Way Ticket
The One Way Ticket
Author: Stephen


A wet-with-perspiration, flaming red, huge mess of hair scattered itself all over Myan Warray - sometimes coming against his line of vision as he thrusted himself into a grunting, receiving Eveth Engow who instinctively reached for her well worn, threadbare black shawl as a knock rattled on the faded wooden door of her cottage that threatened to fall over.

Myan crossly pulled out of a disappointed Eveth, his mistress.

"Who's at the door!?" Eveth spoke out loud, making no attempt to hide her displeasure at the disturbance as she shot a long, suspicious look at the door before the sweaty body of Myan rolled over to the other side of the silky, straw bed making way for her to get to the door.

The neigh of horses and the bleating of a few goats drifted into the room where Myan lay - lazily as Eveth answered whoever it was that had disturbed their privacy on such an erotic, hot afternoon, subconsciously patting her shawl into place.

"Good day, ma'am. We seek the attention of Sire Myan," he bowed his head slightly at the mention of the name so famous and revered, revealing a small collection of hair that evaded the very centre of his head, "He is wanted at the Unity Board, ma'am. It's about the Board - Board of Chaos, ma'am."

From the inner room where Myan was, observing his mistress' collection of earthen pots and muttering a series of "she needs knew ones, ones made of the strongest, hardened quality of clay - a few from Freward," and running his long, thin fingers over a pot with a chipped edge, his ears pricked and his fingers froze at the words he'd heard, "...About the board of Chaos...".

Eveth needn't no one to tell her how important the Board of Chaos was to Myan who was causing a tantrum inside as he hurriedly swung his vest made of animal hide over his well toned frame and shoved his legs into his flabby trousers.

She recomposed herself as she remembered all of Myan's promises of how he'd marry her once it was all over. She had to appear as graceful as possible even if she was barely dressed and was talking to a stranger, "I'll relay your message to him," she told the man, eyeing him slowly but suspiciously.

The man gave a curtly bow before fading out of her horizon.

"Have you seen him from around here?" Myan asked Eveth sharply as she turned to close the wooden door to her cottage that squeaked slowly like a mourning cat. He looked into her hazel brown eyes and ran his hands over her shoulder softly.

"Uhm, no?" Eveth replied, wondering why he appeared so uncoordinated all too suddenly and why whoever had come to deliver a message mattered, "Why -"

"It doesn't matter, I'll be back, my love," Myan Warray, the current leader of the Elementalists, the god of Fire and one of the four nobles said sternly, his renowned gaze burrowed into the door as though he could see beyond it's confines with his tightened hands that were turning white from lack of sufficient blood flowing to them.


Myan Warray bumped into a wooden cart filled with red apples packed in bunches - their succulence which was estimated to be directly proportional to how ruddy they were determined their price and where they were placed.

Next to the cart was a short, fat man with an unusually large potbelly who was hollering loudly, "buy 'em sweet apples, two Earthian Grerode for five! -" before his apples went about, rolling down the sloped, tarred street, mingling with the legs of passersby and a fair number of customers.

Myan wasn't bothered by the few apples he sqaushed underneath his old, black, metal boots as they ran into his way and he couldn't care less about the pair of wavering, wet eyes of the fruit man or the small muffles and stifled outbursts that trailed him as he walked briskly towards the hundreds of square metres large Chamber of Deputies where he knew the Unity Board held their meetings.

He marched on swiftly not turning as much as a strand of hair to the flies that danced round his face as he passed by a mini slaughterhouse or to the subdued whirls of Agnorht's large picturing machine as a youth turned the arms of the machine 360°, over and over again catching a picture of Myan just in time as a sudden flush of white light bath him, "that'll go for five white Grerode," a smile invaded the boy's long face.

At the end of the wavy, tarred street that forked into another - more rowdy, an horizontal scenery with lots of green, contrasting to the tarred streets adroitly cut across with a small pavement that had lots of pale brown hunches diving it into halves.

Myan stepped onto the pavement and walked apparently knowing where he was headed. His knees and hands brushed against a few shrubs but he didn't seem to notice as he marched on.

After about a minute, he came face to face with the golden brown stockades that had a crown of bristly stones. It ran wide to his left and right, out of his viewpoint.

He stood at the front of the glossy black, lofty gates that had thin, soaring towers to both sides. It was built for troops that surveyed all of Wabrook and it had come in handy during the Century-long War.

The mouth of the gate opened slowly but wide and out of it came about half a dozen troopers, all on snow white horses that raised a thick, ginger coloured dust as they sped past, a few hailing Myan who'd stepped to his left to make way for them, "Ahoy Myan!" "Sire! Beautiful day ahead for ya!".

Myan stepped through the gates into another atmosphere charged with aristocracy and grandeur meshed with untiring Centaurs who whooped and motivated each other as they worked hard in making the Chamber of Duties run smoothly.

He walked on and came to the imposing, dignified, country seat known as the Chamber of Duties. It had different sections all bridged by either a concealed course, a well lawned, green field or a candlelit, ever-cold aisle with frigid walls.

A 9 feet tall, emerald green statue of a man dressed in combat attires - the first monarch of Wabrook, stood a few metres from Myan. The statue had a spear hanging from his hands and from the Statue, the red with a fat, diagonal black stripe - the flag of Wabrook, dangled lazily with the gentle breeze, almost reaching the ground.

Myan took a lasting look at it before knocking on the great door to the Chamber of Duties and pushing his way in.

Everyone that made up Unity Board, two representatives each from the provinces that made up Wabrook - Ingfalls, Hythorp, Peford, Cawic, Deham, Ledale and Ciburrh, were present all dressed in the robes that told everyone the province they represented, were seated in the theatre-styled stage.

"You're welcome Mr. Warray, sir," a shaky, slow voice spoke into a mic which caused utter silence to disseminate to everyone that was present, "We requested your presence here in our midst because -" the short man that looked like an elf with long white beards and tiny spectacles that hung snugly on his nose paused to catch his breath before resuming his verdict, "because we have come to a conclusion."

Myan shifted uneasily on his seat which was located at the front row, giving him an eye-to-eye contact with Signor Gosbald, the long bearded dwarf.

"The special forces ascribed to unearth the causes of the Century-long war have pegged the cause of the conflict that lasted for roughly a hundred years on y'all - the Necromancers and Inyangas, Elementalists and Tofras, too and for that reason, to keep all of Wabrook and the world safe, we will be going through series of activities quickly."

A warm wind blew into the Chamber of Duties upsetting a few blue, spiral binded documents that were held in Gosbald's thin hand causing him to go silent as he reached to the ground for it.

A few murmurs managed to rise slowly like a building wave but it all collapsed and subsided into mere whispers then hush when Gosbald decreed "Silence!"

Surely, he was a wise, old man and had been invaluable during the worst of times - the Century-long war and without him, the world wouldn't be the same but there had been controversies over his mental alertness as he grew older.

He slowly stretched out his arm and signalled that something be brought before him. Seconds later, four average men with notable red hats came forward slowly, a large, golden cup that looked like a trophy, shared in their hands.

"We, my dears, Elementalists and Necromancers, Tofras and Inyangas," Gosbald pointed his hand slowly, extending it all through the Chamber of Duties, "will be drinking of the Cobra's bile." Murmurs of disapproval began to rise into the air but Signor Gosbald calmed everyone as he spoke, "it is the only way out. The only way the world can be safe is when we're gone and we all know this is true." He pointed out a large window and cried out, "see! The birds, they know it to and all I see is them flying cheerfully. We are the plague eating up nature! We have to get rid of us," he squinted his eyes that appeared caged in his spectacles as he spoke slowly, "any oppositions?" his voice cut through everyone in the Chamber of Duties again, no one said a thing, not Myan Warray or the other three nobles - leader of Inyanga, pioneer of the Necromancers and director of the Tofra, "good, let's begin with the activities," he rubbed his small hands together and breath in deep, "pure humans are the true of us. We are curses."


The Chamber of Duties burst into pandemonium as it turned out to be a morgue. Inyangas, Tofras, Elementalists and Necromancers took a sip of the Cobra's bile and not long afterwards, burst open, their guts flying all over. Pure humans are the true of us. We are curses.

It soon came to Myan's turn and although he didn't say it, he knew there was a problem. If truly they were curses to the world, the problem was twice its original size. He was going to have offsprings which had been forbidden of them with special abilities after the Century-long war as a preventive measure till they found a reason why it all began - one from Wrthilda, his wife who'd furiously left him for infidelity and another from his mistress, Eveth.

He slowly lifted the large, golden cup and stared at the bile that changed colours rapidly - one moment, black, and the next, volcanic red, to his lips.

His eyes rapidly explored the crowds, all eyes were on him in return like they expected the god of Fire to be immune to the bile, or death.

As he turned back to the toxic liquid dancing in the bright, golden goblet in his hands, he saw a face squeeze its way into the Chamber of Duties.

It was a boy, definitely not more than twelve, he had freckles all over his face and short, black curly hair. He was whispering and had a writing pad in his hands.

A few drops escaped into the lips of Myan Warray. A blistering, scorching and searing sensation spawned in his mouth and ruptured through his entire body like an earthquake. He lost his sense of touch then after a little while, the bellows of turmoil died down as he grew deaf. It was as though the sun was though the sun was shutdown when a queer thing happened.

A voice whispered softly, too softly into his ears and although he didn't hear anything, he could make out what it was:













Myan Warray regained his eyesight for a few seconds and he saw the boy that had come in a few moments ago, whispering furiously and jotting down. Myan knew what it was, whoever the boy was, he had heard what he did and was writing it down. There was hope!

And with that, Myan Warray, the god of Fire fell heavily to the cold ground of the Chamber of Duties and from there, he visited his ancestors but all of this events happened some two hundred years ago.

What about today?

Comments (1)
goodnovel comment avatar
This is a book crafted by God himself! Can't wait to read more!

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