Children of War (Chapter 1)

On December 23rd, 2012, the first shots of the last war of Earth were fired, to be followed by billions more, as all of Earth waged war against six men. These men banded together, trying to gain supreme power. The created a force of soldiers, and used them to instill terror in the Earths population. Together, they succeeded. They achieved ultimate power, and together they ruled all of Earth. But that wasnt enough for some of them. After a while, they began to thirst for more and more power. They divided the Earth and its entire population amongst themselves and turned their own armies against each other. Divided, they failed. All but one. One rose above the rest and conquered each of his comrades. Above all else, he wanted power. He, in time, acquired all land masses on Earth. By treachery against his friends and comrades, he became what he referred to as the only true ruler.
In time, more and more men tried to take the throne, more and more men succeeded. The throne was passed from hand to hand, each more treacherous than the last. The armies grew, and with them, so did the resistance. One resisting army grew strong and tried to dethrone the ruler, but to no avail. Nearly the entire force was defeated, and the throne was kept. Now, fifteen years later, that same ruler holds the throne. Now, fifteen years later, that same army is ready for another shot.
The Mayan calendar terminates on December 23rd, 2012, what many thought was going to be the end of life as we know it. The Mayans knew it would happen. Maybe they were right.
There can be no true leader, for true power corrupts.

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Chapter 1: Sierra
The white-hot sparks flew from the glowing red iron bar as Sierra Catahecassa brought her hammer slamming down against the metal, shaping the blade on the worthless sword she had been ordered to make. These swords would never see battle, would never be used to defend a life, or even take one, though she might detest them more if that was their purpose. They were only for ceremonies, to be carried by one of those stuffed shirt commanders. They never saw the battle field; never saw what their war mongering brought. They only saw the cold, hard cash that flowed into their forts and their fiefs and their palaces every day. They only heeded the flow of the sparse number of pennies that went to supporting the innocent people that they forced into conditions not fit for any living creature. Since the beginning of the last great war of earth, people had been living in utter destitution, huddling in whatever meager shelter they could construct from the scorched rubble. They wept for the loved ones lost in the fighting, they cried out of hunger and thirst. Thats all that was left, now. Destruction, famine, and loss.
Sierra picked up her tongs and placed the metal bar back into the forge, the only source of warmth or light in the entire smithy. She nearly sent it clattering to the floor when someone pounded firmly on the door. She quickly set the bar back onto the anvil and hurried over to the door, hurriedly covering her face with the veil that was hanging down from the ragged piece of cloth that covered her hair. She carefully pulled open the door, peering out at the two figures standing outside.
Two cold, dark faces loomed on the dingy stoop of the smithy. The cold, bottomless gaze of these creatures pressed down upon her, their pupils lost in the blackness that filled the sockets of these strangers eyes. She stood frozen in the doorway, horrified at the sight of these creatures up close. She had seen them before, but only from a distance. She could have only imagined the otherworldliness of these horrifying beings. They towered over her, standing well over six feet tall. Their skin was a mottled, sickly gray. Their jet black hair, thin and limp, was worn long and pulled back from their faces with plain black ties. Their bodies, however, were lean and muscular, powerful, like the bodies of young soldiers who had devoted their lives to combat. There was no hint of color to them anywhere, from their mottled gray skin to their sharp, clean, dull gray jumpsuits.
The taller, more imposing one to her left reached into his pocket and draw out a neatly folded sheet of crisp, white paper. He held this up in front of him and began to read in a droning, monotonous voice. "Sierra Catahecassa, you have been chosen by a random selection process to be included in the next group of young ladies and gentlemen to join the ranks of Coburn Terenados soldiers. You are to report to Fief Dakota by Tuesday, June 11th, of the year 2211. From there, you will be transported to the induction site at the Dakota Palace of my lord in Fief Dakota. Your induction will take place on Friday, June 14th, in the year 2211. If you do not report to Fief Dakota on the given date, you will be found and severely punished before induction. If you are suspected of trying to escape induction, the punishment is death. All details have been given directly to your guardian and/or keeper."
He folded the paper back up and placed it in his pocket as the other one took a similar piece of paper from his pocket and began to read with a little more inflection than his partner. "Please be prompt. You are relinquished from your duties and are to report to your home and/or shelter. Sincerely yours, Coburn Terenado." He also folded his paper back up and placed it into his pocket. He looked up at her with a cold light in his bottomless eyes. "We are to escort you to your place of residence."
The taller creature produced a set of handcuffs from yet another pocket and gasped one of Sierras wrists firmly, pulling her towards him. He slapped the cuff over her wrist, and turned her around, forcing the arm behind her back. He secures the other wrist in the cuffs. With a glance at his companion, he grabbed her upper arm with a firm grip and guided her out the door. The other creature more loosely took hold of her other arm, and together they guided the dejected girl down the dingy, narrow space that formed the road between the rubble and broken-down buildings of the shanty town.
The smithy that Sierra worked in was one of the finest buildings in town. Even so, it was still blackened by soot and crumbling from battering by various military projectiles and the damage caused by acid rain. It was owned by the government, and was used by orphans who lived in the miserable conditions of the federal orphanages. They were forced to earn their keep by working at government-owned locations, doing hard labor for as many as 18 hours a day, doing as the government ordered. They would work for the bare minimum of living requirements, barely staying alive long enough for the government to claim them and force them to become soldiers before the age of 18. The type of work they would do was chosen for them, based on their talents. Sierra was one of the lucky ones. She was found at an early age to have the kind of skill required to work in the smiths shop, and was later found to have the accuracy and artistry required to make the ceremonial swords that the military demanded. Because she held this honorable position, she lived slightly better than many of her peers.

She was treated like the rest of them back the orphanage, but at least she didnt have to deal with the rats and disease at the docks. Plus, some days she didnt have so many orders, so she was finished early, some days even before sunset. Then, she would wander off to the city limits, where the unkempt wilderness that was growing over the deserted areas of the land was flourishing. Many of the plants were dead or dying because of pollution, but it was still beautiful, somehow. Sierra always felt that the land should look something like this, all green and alive. She would wander among the trees until dark, taking in the silence and the space. She would go down and sit at her favorite spot, a stone down by the tiny stream that ran through the woods. She didnt dare go in it, it was probably polluted, but she loved to listen to it as it bubbled. She savored these moments of silence, and cursed every dreadful noise that came from the nearby Fort Dakota.
Her keeper, a dreadful, arrogant man named Percy Callahan, didnt care where she was, as long as she got all of her work done and was back inside the walls of the orphanage by the time the doors were locked after the dock workers. Even if it meant staying with Percy in that rat-hole orphanage her entire life, Sierra had always hoped that her skill as a smith would have somehow saved her from the fate of every drafted youth, induction.
All of that hope shattered as they approached the vast steel door that covered the entryway into the run-down orphanage. The taller creature knocked sharply on the cold metal. Then, the sound of bolts and locks being undone came from inside, and the gaunt, sallow face of Mr. Callahan himself peered through the crack between the door and the frame, and she froze as he smiled wickedly. The door opened before her and she was forced through, a sense of dread filling every fiber of her being. The next time she left that building would be the last.


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