Author’s Note: Children of a Dying Sun belongs to me, Crystal Child, and solely to me.  Do not use any of the characters here.  I can take any and all uses of characters without my consent, to court.  Please, don’t use them without my permission.  Please????  I’d love you forever.

 

Wow, I just realized an error I made writing the prologue.  During the part where the guy (who has no name) is telling Blade about the others, he says there are only 5 Children under 20.  That’s an error.  There are 6 left.  If you read it over carefully, it’s easy to see.

 

~*~Children of a Dying Sun: Chapter 1: Lady of the Sands~*~

 

The Great War had taken millions of lives, so long ago.  Including, it turned out, my great-grandfather.  My great-grandmother had made the journey alone, yet surrounded by millions of other mourners.  She had been the last in my family to see the old planet we had flourished on, so many years ago: Earth.

 

My name is Blade, and I have been given a mission.  When humans first colonized on this large planet, Karmana, we were given a name by the original inhabitants, they called us Children of the Dying Sun.  There were so few of us left, compared to the billions that had existed on Earth, that we let the name stick, although it was forgotten by most.  I had never learned the name till the day I got my mission.  To survive, we mixed out culture with theirs, creating different DNA.  The biggest flaw to the new DNA was the life expectancy.  It was lower than a full-blooded human’s (which is about 100 years, now) by almost half.  But that was OK with society.  Suicide has been on the rise among the mixed blood for years now.

 

Full-blooded humans, Children, grew harder and harder to find.  I didn’t even know I was one.  But I am.

 

I’m 5’10”, 17 years old, with dark brown-with-blonde-streaks hair, and blue eyes, a kind of rare color.  In windows and mirrors of past towns I have wandered through, I could see my tan skin, which was due to the hot sun that made the days last 32 hours.

 

I wear white, because of the heat.  A white, loose shirt, white baggy pants that now blow in the slight breeze, and usually a white turban with a cloth mask, covering my face.

 

This outfit is not worn merely because of the heat, but also because of where I now exist.  A dry, desert land.  So unlike where I had been last week, where I had stood in the rain and watched the mansion.  That is far North, VERY far North, of where I stand now.

 

The cloth covering my face now, is used to keep the sand from my mouth.  Sandstorms seem to appear everyday at the same time.  The next is due in about an hour.  The small, beat-up town stretches only about three miles, and is about five miles away.  If I hurry, I can reach the town before the storm.  My pace quickens, I do not wish to have to fight another ‘storm, I injured my left hand during the last one, and now the blood has dried, forming a crust around the wound.

 

Maybe here, I think.  My mouth is too dry and my lips are cracking.  Maybe here.  The thought forces me into a jog; I’m too tired to run.

 

Far too tired.

 

~~@~~

 

I can hear the clouds of dust rising behind me now.  The town is so close.  I trip in the sand, falling to my knees.  The wind is beginning to pick the sand from around me.  But I’ve lost my strength.  I can’t move.

 

I’m going to die.

 

The thought hits me and I surge to my feet.  The last of my strength.  If I fall again, I will most likely not rise.  I struggle forward, trying to keep the sand out of my eyes.  Buildings begin to surround me.  I’ve reached the own.  But my foot catches and I fall again.

 

I have no more strength.  I can go no farther.  I have let everyone down.  Everyone I never met, everyone who believes in me.  The sand is rushing around me.

 

And suddenly, there is nothing.

 

~~@~~

 

I’m warm.  Am I dead?  I think I am.  The last thing I remember is the storm.

 

Someone holds the base of my neck and pours warm liquid into my mouth.  Instantly, I swallow.

 

“I think he’s coming around.”  An older man’s voice says.  There is a shifting of people.  I smell smoke from a pipe.

 

“Boy,” the new voice is slightly gruffer, “Boy, can you hear me?”

 

“Leave him be, Sam.”  A woman says, she sounds farther away, “Poor things been through enough.  He needs his rest.”  A chair moves.

 

Another hand slips under my neck, raising my head, “Poor, poor thing.”  It is the woman.  A cool towel brushes my forehead.

 

Unexpected and unwanted, a hand touches my neck, feeling for a pulse.  I move slightly and try to force my eyes open.

 

“Damn, he IS alive!  Such a nice sword too.”  Another woman, younger, probably my ace, mutters.

 

“Linna!”  The older woman whispers angrily.  There is a threat in the younger woman’s presence.  I move my hand to where Blade should have been resting.  But I find only blankets.

 

“My sword!”  I cry, shooting into an upright position, my eyes opening.

 

The room is dark; there is no older woman.  There are no older men, smoking.  There is only the silent, dark room.

 

My eyes adjust to the dimness.  The room is falling apart, wood beams, from the walls, lay on their sides, while pieces of the dust-covered floor are missing.  I am alone here.

 

No, not alone.  I hear a click and the smooth sound of Blade being pulled from its protective case.  I hear an intake of breath.

 

I finally force myself to ignore the being, after several seconds of silence.  I take account of my injuries.  My hand is bandaged, the one I hurt in that past ‘storm.  My shirt and headgear are gone. There are three thin scars, memories of past street brawls that run down from my right shoulder to the middle of my abdomen.  My mind drifts for a moment.

 

But I snap out of it.  Someone moves in the darkness.  Blade is still missing.  Sweet scents of raspberries appear around me, before there is a sound of whispering metal and a blade is at my neck.

 

“So, you’re awake.”  A familiar voice, “Who are you and why have you come to this town?”

 

“Linna?”  I ask, still slightly woozy from the sleep.  She stiffens and the blade moves away.

 

“The ghosts told you that, didn’t they?”  She sounds angry, “Linna’s not here anymore.  There’s only what’s left of her.”

 

She still stands behind me.  “And that would be?”  I act casual, but I’m desperate to get my sword back.

 

“Me.  Phoenix.”  She whispers.  She shifts her position, “Who are you?”  She sounds like she finds no danger in me, “Why do you carry this sword.”

 

“Call me Blade.”  I do not answer the second question, but give one of my own, “Who are the people?  The old men and woman?  Where did they go?”  I turn.

 

She is sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at the sword, which rests in her hands.  She has short, chemically dyed blonde hair.  She smiles, closing her green eyes.

 

“Ghosts.”  She answers, her pale pink lips pressing together, “They haunt your dreams when you sleep here, in this place.”  She stands. “They were relatives, I think.  I don’t remember how I knew them.

 

“What happened?”

 

“One night, when they lived here, with Linna-“ She winces when she says the name, “-with me, I mean, she- I – had a nightmare.  I don’t know how it happened, but when I woke-if I ever did-there was fire.  It burned around me.  But I was never touched by it.”

 

“So you are Linna?”

 

“I was.  When the FirePolice came to put the fire out, Linna died.  Because she- I – knew they were gone.  But I remain.  Phoenix, that is what I am.”  She falls silent, disappearing into the shadows again.

 

“Phoenix.”  I whisper, there is no reply.  A small sliver of bright light appears across the floor.  It grows, ever so slowly.  I hear Phoenix grunt.  The shaft becomes wider now.  Finally, Phoenix appears again.  She throws a bundle of white at me.

 

“Don’t just sit there.  Get up, get dressed, and get out.”  She turns away again.

 

I pull my shirt on, “Where is my sword?  And my necklace?”

“Be happy I didn’t kill you while you slept.”  She whispers fiercely.

 

“I want my belongings.”  I stand.

 

She turns slightly, to glare at me.  The light reflects off the charm of the pentagram, which she wears on her neck.  She doesn’t speak, but her eyes offer challenge to me.

 

For a long time, that’s how we are.  Finally, she asks, “Why?  What’s your story, you haven’t told me yet.”

 

The only thing I can see now is the pentagram.  Suddenly, it’s not attached to a chain.  It’s spinning in the air.  But Phoenix isn’t there anymore.  Around me, there is only gray…and the spinning pentagram.  Faster and faster it spins.  Then the image shatters.

 

Phoenix is staring at me.  I realize why.  I have fallen back onto the bed.  My hands grip the thin white sheets.

 

Phoenix has extended her arm towards me, probably an instant reaction.  Now I see it.  Her wrist carved with pale scars.

 

“Linna.”  I breathe, reading the letters scratched into her wrist.  She realizes what I’m staring at and pulls back, clutching her arm to her chest, as if it has been wounded.  I stand again, trying hard not to look at the silver necklace, for fear that the gray vision will return.

 

She takes a step back.

 

“My story,” I say, not moving, realizing how frightened she is, “Starts back last week.”

 

I know she doesn’t want to listen to me anymore, she wants to run.  She wants me to leave.  But I  continue.

 

“An ally of mine told me of my roots.  Of where my family comes from.  Then he told me a name.”  I take a step towards her.

 

She shakes her head and raises her hands to cover her ears, “No!  Shut up!  Just shut up!  You can leave.”  She takes off the necklace and throws it to my feet, “There!  Take it!  Just GET OUT!”

 

“Then you do know the name.  You are the one I’ve been searching for.  You are one of the—“

 

“SHUT UP!”  She screams.  Tears fill around her closed eyes.

 

I kneel and take the necklace.  When I stand again, I touch her shoulder.  She pulls away, crying.

 

“Come with me.”  I say, my voice barely above a whisper.  Phoenix’s eye’s open and meet mine.  Her eyes are like emeralds, surrounded by a pool of tears.

 

She looks stunned by the question.  She stares at me.  Slowly, she nods.

 

“Is there anything you want to take?”  I reach towards Blade, which is lying on a tilted table, not far away.

 

“Everything I own, I carry on my back.”  My head shoots up again at the familiar phrase.  She only shrugs, as she wipes her eyes.

 

The bright light from the door has lit the room and now my eyes are adjusted.  I had thought the door went outside, but now I find it goes into a garage.

 

Phoenix steps through the door, then turns to look back, “C’mon,” She glances at her watch, “The next ‘storm is due in about an hour and a half.  We should go.”

 

“If only we had-” I look one last time at the room, then turn around.  I freeze.

 

Phoenix is standing on the far side of a massive All-Terrain Hover-Vehicle.  She gestures at the other side: The Driving Seat.

 

“If you can drive it, we can use it.  It runs very well, but I can’t drive it.  It’ll work great if the ‘storm catches us.”

 

I study the beat-up HV, before walking to it and climbing in.

 

“Where to?”  I ask.

 

“Where ever we wind up?”  Phoenix offers.  I give a slight smile.  I think I’m going to like Phoenix.

 

Yeah!  First chapter done!  I’m so happy!  Everyone, please, R&R by e-mailing me at [email protected]!!!  Was it as good as the Prologue?  Catch ya later!