I can't very well decide which category it fits into… fantasy ? Sci-fi ? Horror ? The horror is more or less hidden… there is less fiction to the science than meets the eye… and there is too much science in the magic

Synopsis

Mareq the innkeeper was a happy, unimportant man, living a quiet and safe life in a backward village on a backward planet. He minded his own business, and kept out of the way of the Maldane, the ruling class.

The coming of a stranger leads him onto a new path, and it does not go over roses; there is not a single rose anywhere in sight, to be honest. To save his village and his beloved daughter, the Maldane make him do things which later he regrets, and to redeem himself does other things that should never have been done.

Could you do better ?

He soon realizes that he is only a toy, a plaything for his enemy, kept alive as a showcase of human inferiority. Hate makes him ask questions, but the answers he gets only lead to other questions.

Will he discover the truth ? The one Truth, or just one possible truth ?

I decided it this morning. I was standing in the yard, and saw my face, reflected in the water of the washing bowl. Well, I did not like what I saw. My hair is white, to early for my forty-odd years, and my eyes have a piercing look, they have seen too much. On the other side, while the last years have been hard, they kept me in condition, and my body is leaner and tougher than the average.

And because I did not like what I saw, I decided to write it down, the story of the events that forced me to take this path. Now that we have finally secured a way to learn to read and write, in this 254th year of the Law, in Earth reckoning 2918 AD, we must make sure that we keep the memories alive.

The watchtower is a good place to write down one's memories. It is quiet here; nobody ventures this high up, 250 feet above the hilltop, except the outlook on the roof. Here, two stories below, in the old taproom, I'm left alone.

When the place was built, it was easy to get up here, you only had to enter the hoist cage, and get out on this floor. In these years, this mansion used to be a large inn, a resting-place on the road from the harbors on the seashore to the capital on the plain of Zacastan. But that was long ago, before Lorenda's World fell under the power of the Maldane.

Looking out of the watchtower windows, I can make out the western shoreline in the distance, if the weather is clear. And I imagine I can hear the surf breaking on the black basalt cliffs of Dalesclaw, as I heard them on the terrace of the Palace at Calithea. There, halfway the continent's western shore, where the black outcropping of Dalesclaw marks the frontier between rock and sand, but a mile to the south, the men of Earth have built the great palace of Calithea. There the Lady of Calithea lives, in her halls of white marble.

Further to the south lies the Forever Coast, the long white beach that stretches from Calithea to the South Cape, three thousand miles without interruption. Here and there some fishermen have built unseemly villages out of driftwood, and live from what the sea gives, because the desert is behind them. The merchant ships of old did not come here, but passed on the horizon, on their way to the Southland. Even the Maldane do not come here now, to that lonely, godforsaken region. And anyway, the region belongs to Lady of Calithea. She leaves the fishermen well alone, to live or die as they may. No ships are allowed to pass from the North to the South beyond Dalesclaw's harbor. Is that part of one of their experiments ? Is it maybe also an experiment that I am now here, and that Ranna is here too, chained to the cellar wall, stripped of power, and of garments ?

From Dalesclaw to the Northern Ice, the shore is a ragged line of cliffs and deep fjords. Life is good in these parts; it does not get better anywhere on Lorend. The villages prosper, being difficult to reach, except by sea or by foot. That will not keep the merchants away, nor the hunters who bring meat and furs from the dense forests on the mountain slopes. But it keeps the Maldane away. They are few of them in the villages on the shore. Most Maldane don't like the sea and do not want to risk their long lifes on the waves of the ocean, far from their seats of power. There is of course an Eye of Maldan in every house, on every road. But the Eyes only see, and they cannot see everywhere. And thus the Law can be bent, even broken, somewhat, if it is done with caution.

Ah, I am sure the Maldane know that, and could do something about it. Something quite simple and effective. But they prefer to leave it this way.

I turn away, to face northeast, It is to far to see, but I know what lies there. Behind the coastal mountain ridge that shields the inland from the winter storms, behind the snowcapped Icy Mountains, lies Zacastan.

It is a land of rocky highlands, littered with fertile green valleys. Of al Lorend, it resembles Maldan most. And because of that, it is the area where the Maldane flock together. In Zacastan they built their mighty citadels, dominating the cities of where the Zac are forced to live. In Zacastan are their mines, and the halls of machines that make anything they need or want. In the valleys you will find farms, some Zac that are allowed to work the land, to produce the much needed food, and but a few Maldane - but still too many.

It is in the cities where most of the Zac live, in great numbers, many of them toiling for the Maldane, in the mines. Many others are surviving as they may, and every day some break the Law. They are easily caught by their own kin, and taken to the gates of the citadel, never to be heard of again. Life is not good, in Zacastan. Happiness is rare, and laughter is seldom heard. Fear is everywhere. Fear to break the law. Fear to obey the law too well, and be hated for that. Fear to be too happy, and taken to the citadel, out of hate or spite. Yes, my memories of Zacastan are bitter.

Due East lies Lorencenter. Before the fall, it was the capital of our World, the seat of its government. Now it is empty, cursed, dangerous, a place where death lurks in dark shadows. A place where dangerous animals live, between ruins of tall buildings, taller than this one, a place where even trees cannot be trusted. But the key is there, in Lorencenter, I sense it. A means to end this horror, to restore Lorend to what it was.

And when finally I turn away from that direction, and look to the southeast, I see the forest covered hills of the Woodland. I used to live I the middle of the Woodland, in the area called the Old Forest. Ah, the forest is a good place to live, if you compare it with Zacastan. People live in small villages, each the property of a Maldan Master or Mistress. Their lifes are happy and simple, if they abide by the Law. It is not that difficult, to keep on the right side of the line. Even I did never break the law, as long as I lived there. My sins and banishment, I can only blame myself for what happened. My wife still lives there, probably thinking I am dead; Even if she heard our story, which I doubt, how would she understand that the Mareq-sama of the Stronghold is the same Mareq who was Maarnburg's innkeeper. I cannot go there. I cannot send a message. I do not get news out of the Woodland.

Damned. I said I would write my story, and write I will.