Cordolium - 1st Chapters Excerpt

What is it like to live in everyone else’s world? Have you found yourself yet?

What is it like to live in the shadow of others? Have you learned to love yourself yet?

Oron was in pain before he even opened his eyes. He was lying down in a bed somewhere, and everything hurt. His bones ached as fire burned through his veins. He struggled to open his eyes. The light of the room blinded him for a moment, and he had to squint to adjust. His mouth felt parched, a desert that had not seen rain in a long while. Oron had no idea why he was in so much pain.

He tried to sit up but two things kept him down. First, he felt weak. The weight of his body pushed back against him and a sharp stinging in his chest pierced his lungs when he tried to move. The other thing that kept him down, and Oron felt this was odd, was the straps tied around his wrists. “Why am I tied down?” Oron thought. He opened his mouth, hoping to call for help. Only a hoarse throaty whisper came out. 

Eyes adjusting to the light of the room, Oron scanned his surroundings. It looked like a bedroom. Bare walls, a window, a dresser, a desk. Not a whole lot to the room. But it was not his room. Oron did not recognize this place. He had never been here before.

In pain, in an unknown room, and tied down to a bed. Oron’s mind was able to push his physical discomfort to the background as the fear set in. Where was he? 

He needed to move. He tried to think, but only visions of darkness filled his mind. He shook it off. He would fight through this. He tried to pull his hands free, but the bindings held firm. He jerked his arms up, gritting his teeth through the burning pain. Whoever tied him down clearly didn’t think Oron would try and break free. The knots held at first, but they were loose and easy to twist apart. Oron struggled, rolling his arms from side to side until one of the knots finally came loose and he freed a hand.

He untied the other strap and forced himself up. His body groaned from the movement like it had not moved in a long time. He sat up and took stock of himself. He was wearing cheap linen pants and no shirt. His skin, slick with sweat, shuddered when it hit fresh air. His torso though was tightly wrapped in bandages. Oron lifted a hand to the bandages. On his arm, he saw something strange. A long scar on his forearm. He had no idea where it came from, but it worried him. How many scars did he have? Oron was now afraid to peel the bandages back, so instead, he pressed his fingers to the fabric. It felt sore underneath. He could feel his chest, his pecks, but there was something else. Or, more accurately, something was missing. Oron could feel the shape of a deep cut in his chest, and when his fingers grazed over it, a deep sense of hollowness struck him. 

He pulled himself from the bed and walked to a mirror hung over the dresser. His steps were shaky and soft. He stared into his blue eyes, peeking out under his wavy black hair. His normally olive skin looked a shade paler than usual. Stubble on his face hinted that he had been out for a while. 

A glint of light from the window caught his attention. He crossed the room and looked out. He was on a higher level, looking down on the compound below. It appeared to be a large building with some acreage attached to it. He could see a lawn, a garden, a garage with vehicles, and a patio that connected to this grey and green building he was in. Surrounding the estate was a sturdy iron wall. Slabs of steel rose from the ground, at least twenty feet tall, preventing him from seeing the world beyond. A gate by the garage was manned by a set of guards. They wore sleek body armor and carried rifles. 

Oron studied them for a moment. They seemed young, early twenties, close to his age. A slow pace and smiles on their face told Oron that they were either lax in their job, or they weren’t expecting any trouble. Oron looked around but couldn’t see any other guards. Just two guards armed, but not ready for a fight.

Years of training had taught Oron how to read a situation. How to study the environment and make a plan. He could assess the dangers and the odds of his success. He was wounded, apparently, and weak, but he had surprise on his side. And most likely training. The fact that the guards were carrying weapons told Oron that they were not trained like him. They were not ready for him.

“Find a way out,” he mumbled to himself, “Steal a ride, and leave through the gate.” Mapping his route outside was easy. But the interior of this building was unknown. Oron would need to be quick and quiet.

“How did I get here?” Oron tried to solve the mystery, but he was just giving himself a headache. He had a hard time remembering anything. There were only bits and pieces, and Oron wasn’t sure why he remembered what he did. He remembered a fight. He remembered screaming, and pain. Everything else was blank. No past. Only the fight and then, her. He remembered her.

Emma.

“Where’s Emma?” He blurted out. He caught himself and held his breath for a moment to make sure no one outside the room had heard him. He needed to find Emma. He would not leave without her. Whatever had happened, she had been there before he woke up in this strange place. 

To Oron, Emma was a lot of things. His job, his responsibility. But she was also really the only thing he had left. He would not leave her behind. Now was the time to move. 

The door slid open without a sound. Oron peered around the corner and found an empty hallway. A few doors here and there, and a set of stairs that led to a floor above and the floor below. With no shoes, it was easy to creep silently down the hall. Oron felt the wooden floorboards bend beneath his weight, but he was slow and steady enough to avoid any creaking sounds. He had no idea how he was going to find Emma, but he knew he needed to start somewhere.

He went to the first door and put his hand on the knob. He caught himself before opening it. The last thing he needed right now was opening the door on someone else and ruining his plans. He pressed his ear to the door and held his breath. The space beyond was quiet. It was still. A gentle twist of the knob and Oron poked his head inside. Another bedroom, but this one was empty. A few stray items on the dresser gave the impression that this room belonged to someone. 

Oron slowly searched the other rooms on his floor. He found nothing but empty spaces and dead ends. He made his way to the stairs. From below he could hear voices. From above there was only silence. The next floor up was where he would continue his search. He darted up the steps and checked his blind spots to make sure he was in the clear. 

If trouble reared its ugly head, Oron would need to be ready to act. He was always prepared for a fight, but his sore, pained body, and the tight confines of the hallways would make it tricky to win. Oron had not even tried to summon his weapon since waking up. But if he slowed down now to try an arm himself, he would leave himself vulnerable. There were more important things.

The higher floor had several empty rooms. A small study, a room filled with computers and books, other bedrooms. But halfway down the hall, Oron found a room similar to his. All the trappings of a bedroom, but no signs that anyone was using it. Other than the resting body on the bed of course. 

Emma lay motionless on top of the covers. Her arms were strapped down just like Oron’s had been. Her bright blonde hair lay sprawled out on the bed, with some of the strands covering her face. Normally, Emma kept her hair in a simple ponytail to keep it out of the way. She was shorter than Oron, by at least a foot, but she was still taut and fierce. Looking at her now you wouldn’t think it, but a true warrior lay before him. 

She looked almost peaceful, but Oron knew better than to trust appearances. Her hands were bound, and while she was wearing a loose button shirt, he could see she had the same bandages wrapping her chest that he did. Something had happened to them. Oron’s mind was fuzzy, missing pieces, yet the looming sense of danger did not need an explanation. He crouched down beside Emma and undid the straps.

“Emma,” he whispered, nudging her shoulder. She did not move. “Emma.” He shook her a little more. “Lady Emma.” Oron was used to waking Emma from a deep sleep. It had not been uncommon for him to find her late in the morning cocooned in her blankets refusing to join the world. It took a few more jabs to bring her back to life. She shifted her body, groaned in pain, and then her eyes darted open. 

Emma saw Oron crouched next to her and let a startled yelp escape her lips. Oron clamped his hand over her mouth to stifle the sound and Emma responded by jerking one of her arms up fast and smacking Oron in the jaw. They both reeled in pain.

“Shit, Oron,” she groaned. “Don’t scare me like that.”

“Emma, quiet,” Oron whispered. He was already sore enough. He didn’t need Emma adding to it.

Emma met his gaze and then looked around the room. Her eyes narrowed as she came to grasp the situation. Her eyes fell on her own body and she raised an arm to cover her somewhat exposed midriff. “What’s going on?” Her voice was sharp but soft. She pulled her legs in, but a wince in her eye gave away the pain she was in.

“I don’t know. I just woke up. This place is,” Oron stumbled over his words, “new.”

“What happened to us?” Emma saw the bandages on Oron, the wrappings that matched hers, and reached out to feel them. Her fingers hovered just above the fabric wraps. Oron looked away and Emma pulled her hand back.

“I don’t know, but it wasn’t good. We were tied to the beds.”

“What?”
“I had to wiggle free. I untied your straps.” Oron held up the leather straps on the side of the bed. “They didn’t want us moving too much.”

“Well, they should have used chains.” Emma swung her legs over the edge of the bed and stood up. When she stepped forward, putting her weight on her feet for the first time, her knees buckled. She fell forward and Oron caught her in his arms. 

“You okay?” Oron steadied Emma. She tried to push him off.

“I’m fine,” she huffed. “I’m fine.” She tried to take another step, but couldn’t support her weight. She tumbled again and Oron caught her again. He shot a glance at her and Emma growled and rolled her eyes. “Shut up.” Oron hunched over and attempted to grab Emma’s legs. She pushed his hands away. 

“You are not going to carry me, Oron.”

“You can’t walk, Emma. We have to move.” The two locked eyes and held their ground. They knew each well enough to know exactly how this silent argument would end. It didn’t matter what Oron would say to Emma, she would have the final word. She was his Lady after all. Oron relented and presented a compromise. He turned and knelt down, holding out his arms to his side. 

Emma stood still, refusing at first to accept the offer. Finally, she sighed and lowered herself onto Oron’s back. She had always been light. Strong, but light. But even still, the lingering pain that spread through Oron’s body caused him to bulk at first. His legs burned and his chest felt tight. But Oron bit his lip and pushed up off the ground. Emma could sense the strain in Oron’s back.

“You okay?” Emma asked.

“Yeah,” Oron grunted. “Just need to adjust.”

“You got weak.” A sly grin crept across Emma’s face. Oron let out a soft chuckle.

“Look who’s talking.” They smiled.

Oron eased down the steps, careful to not topple over. Emma pressed against his broad back, the pressure on her wounds left her short of breath. But she said nothing. He made his way down past the floor he woke up on and approached the ground floor. The voices got louder with each step. It sounded like there were three, maybe four people somewhere below. Oron hesitated for a moment. He tilted his head back to Emma’s face and she tapped his shoulder.

At the base of the stairs, the floor opened into a large foyer and a doorway led to a large dining room. Through the doorway, Oron and Emma could see bodies seated around a table sharing a meal. One lanky man, one woman with deep umber skin, and an older man. They seemed to be lost in conversation. No one was focused on the doorway. Oron had a narrow opportunity. He crouched low and shuffled past the opening. Behind the safety of the next wall he felt some of the tension in his shoulders dissipate. 

“We haven’t heard from Revka or Ingrid yet,” a young voice replied,” but I bet we get something from them in a few days.”

“Do we send Ezra and Alma out again?” This voice had a feminine tone to it.

“No.” This one was aged and tired. “We need to keep them close. We just have to hope the others wake soon.” 

“Do they mean us?” Emma whispered directly into Oron’s ear. Oron shrugged. It was hard to say, but right now Oron did not want to linger anywhere too long. He continued on silently through the foyer searching for a way out. He found an offshoot that seemed to open up outside.

“Hold on,” the feminine voice cut in. Oron caught his breath. He glanced over his shoulder but no one was there. They were still in the dining area. But the tone had changed in her words. Tension filled Oron. “Something’s off.”

“What do you mean?” the young man replied. 

“When was the last time we checked on them?”

“This morning. I changed their bandages.”

“And they were still out?”

“Yeah. Homer said it would still be a few days before they woke up.”

“I assumed,” the older voice chimed in.
“Well.” A chair scooted out and Oron felt his stomach drop. “I don’t know if that’s the case anymore.” Footsteps made for the doorway, but Oron didn’t wait. He clutched Emma’s legs and moved. He made for the offshoot, Emma tightening her grip around his shoulders. The opening led to an entryway and a set of double doors. Oron grabbed one of the handles as the voice caught him.

“Hey! Stop!” They shouted. Oron did not look back. The door swung open and the hot air slapped him in the face. Oron ran. “Somebody stop them!”

“Frankie, you stop them!” The young man shouted as he gave chase.

“I need a clear line of sight and they keep moving!”

Oron could feel the bodies chasing them. Outside the grounds were wide and open. Not many places to hide, but not many obstacles to stop them. He was about fifty yards from the garage and the gate. The guards noticed him and immediately looked confused. Concern grew on their faces but neither reached for their rifles. The door flung open behind them. Oron didn’t look back. He ran at the guards. They hesitated and Oron took the opening. 

“Can you forge?” Emma asked. Oron held out a hand and tried to calm the storm of anxiety in his mind. He reached out into some spiritual realm but couldn’t grab on to anything. His chest hurt. He faltered.

“No.”

“Dammit.”

“Stop!” one of the voices from behind called out. Oron picked up the pace again, charging through the pain.

“Open that gate,” he snarled. His booming command startled one of the guards. He reached out for the control panel on the gate, but the other guard smacked his hand away. Oron stopped about ten yards short. He couldn’t forge and without a weapon, his gift was useless. He couldn’t risk hurting Emma. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Keep going,” Emma barked. “Don’t look back. One of them needs to see us.” Emma was always thinking in terms of combat. She could be rash and reckless at times, but she also had a keen mind. Oron followed her order and kept going. 

A leather cord snapped at Oron’s ankle and wrapped around, tight. Already in motion, Oron couldn’t stop before the cord snapped taunt and pulled his leg out from under him. He held up his arms to shield Emma as he slammed into the ground. The hard ground knocked what little air he had left in his lungs out of him. Oron looked back to see who had caught him.

Two figures he had not seen in the house stood next to the group from the dining room. One was a tall woman, with wavy brown hair and a scar on her cheek. The other was a lean man with white hair. His hands were on the handle of a whip, the thong of which was wrapped around Oron’s leg. Oron rolled over and tried to tear the whip off him, The man jerked the whip back and pulled Oron’s leg. He dragged Oron about a foot over the rough ground. 

Emma sat up and saw Oron being dragged back to the house by the bastard. “Let him go, you asshole,” Emma shouted as she caught Oron’s shoulder and tried to pull him free. Anger was building inside her. 

“Frankie,” the white-haired man mumbled. “Any day would be nice.”

“I’m trying,” One of the figures stepped forward, hands held at their temples. “They’ve always been stubborn.”

“I’ll show you stubborn!” Emma let go of Oron and smacked her hands on the ground. She reached down deep inside herself, past the fiery rage and into something different. It hurt, pain pulsing through her body, but she eventually reached a chilling sense of cold. Emma took a breath in and accepted the cold within. She felt a chill crawl up her spine as frost sprawled out on the ground around her fingertips. 

It hurt to form the ice. Emma didn’t know why she was in so much pain, and Oron could see the struggle in her emerald eyes. Yet, Emma was never one to back down. She gritted her teeth and shouted through the pain. As her anger erupted from her lungs, a wall of ice began to form.

Shooting out from the ground, a ring of ice rose around Emma and Oron. The ice crept out slowly at first, startling everyone else. Somewhere inside Emma, she smirked. Just because Oron couldn’t use his gift right now, didn’t mean she couldn’t. But the victory of the shock was short-lived. As the ice grew and spread out, Emma felt a searing pain tear through her body. She pushed herself. Bigger. Taller. Thicker. The more ice there was, the more safety they had. She kept shouting, her voice growing ragged and turning to a scream.

Oron watched as Emma poured herself into her ice wall. The fury in her pushing her to keep going. But her face was turning red and blood was beginning to drip from her nose. If she kept pushing like that, she could break herself. “Emma,” He called out, reaching for her, “stop.”

The scream in her lungs died out as the wall of ice reached its peak. Her plan had worked. A curved barricade of ice cut off the guards and the others from their position. Still, it had taken more out of Emma than she thought. She slumped over, her hands sliding across the ground. Oron tried to crawl to her side. The cord of the whip was still wrapped around his leg though, and the whip was now frozen in the ice. He stretched his arm out to Emma. She was only a few inches from his reach.

A chunk of the wall exploded and a mist of cold shrapnel rained down on Emma and Oron. Oron shielded his eyes. A hole had been punched through the ice. Another explosion and another shower of ice shards. The head of a large warhammer broke through the ice. The brown-haired woman pulled the hammer back, having beaten an opening in the wall large enough for someone to crawl through. Oron glared at her. The woman only shrugged and stepped back. The one they called Frankie ran forward and shoved her face through the hole. 

“Let us go,” Oron snapped.

“Oron,” Frankie ordered, “you have no idea what’s going on here. Sleep,” they commanded. Oron felt his eyes grow heavy. He felt his body buckle under his weight, and he laid down in the cool grass next to Emma. Emma looked like she was already out cold, and it took everything in Oron to keep his eyes open. But once he closed them, it was impossible to open them again. He fell asleep in a strange place surrounded by people he didn’t know. 

The last thought that raced through his mind as his head slumped down on the ground was how he had tried to save Emma but couldn’t. He couldn’t save anyone. He had failed.