Out of Haellador

This is me… from a time about ten years before I formally met Fallan Quoren, a time shortly after I left the Haelladoren.  What… Haellador?  You don’t know what the Haelladoren are?  Ah well, then let me tell you.
 

Haelladoren roughly translates to Hael’s Golden Ones. 
 

Now, it has grown into a global corporation specializing in high profile security issues… on the surface that is.  Underneath, however, it is corrupt to the core and dealing mainly in arms, drugs and human trafficking.  They weren’t much more than thugs and petty thieves when I first joined them though… or I should say… when they found me.  That was a few centuries ago, by Taqqaran years.

You see, I left home when I was eighteen.  I was young and angry and looking for somewhere to fit in.  So I made my way to the nearest city – Naveera.  Naveera wasn’t much either at the time, nothing like the sprawling, thriving modern metropolis it is now – thanks to me by the way.  It’s amazing how quickly things can deteriorate after a couple of hard winters and crop failures.  But nonetheless, that’s where I went.
 

A few underling members spotted me buying food in the market one day.  Determined to take what little I had, they followed me.  What those tough guys didn’t count on though was that I could fight… and fight I did, knocking them all on their asses, leaving one with a broken arm and cracked ribs, the other with a busted nose and a few missing teeth, and the last with a concussion.  Now you would think that would have been the end of it.  But no…  It was the start of a wonderful relationship and my introduction to Haellador. 

In exchange for my services, I had a new home – a new home among young men all full of piss and vinegar, and, luckily for me, more bravado than brains, living together under a code of crime.  And so, I spent the next five years with the Haelladoren.  Rising quickly through the ranks from a mere underling, to a prizefighter, and beyond, I earned my keep… and made them a hael of a lot of money off my back.  I was everything from a collector, to an enforcer, to a bodyguard, a hitman and more.  If it needed doing, I did it… no questions, no hesitation, no regrets.  And that’s how it remained until some jealous goon went sticking his snot-nose into my personal business, and got too close to the truth of who I really was…  So I killed him.  By rights I should be dead.  Those boys don’t let one of their own go very easily; especially not one they consider a traitor.  But respect and reputation can do wonders when you’re choosing sides.  And that’s when I left, carving a path towards becoming the crime lord you read about in Hael’s Bells.

And so my friends, interested in finding out how I pave my own highway to hael?  Read on…

**Artwork by Kachinadoll.
 

My Interview with PT for Hael's Bells

Hi Hanan,

Congratulations on completing Hael’s Bells. 

     Thanks!

How long did it take you to write it?

     Let’s see, I started writing it at the end of May and posted the final part in September, so it took about 4 months off and on.  Of course, that was over summer, so there were plenty of …distractions… slowing things down.

Distractions?  Like sun, sand and surf?

     More like bikinis, bonfires and beer. lol

Well then that brings us to… what do you like to do when you're not writing?

     When I’m not working or writing, I just like good times with good friends, playing hockey, and getting things done.

So back to writing… What would you say is your interesting writing quirk?

     Hmm… Do I have a writing quirk…? Probably that I need to have music on while I write - rock music; I normally listen to Virgin Ottawa.  
 
So music gets the muse flowing, does it?
 
     Yep, it helps to relax and open the mind.
 
Speaking of music, we like the added touch of AC/DC’s Hells Bells in part 5.  It really adds to the atmosphere at the end.  Was this story inspired by the song?
 
     It wasn’t inspired by the song, no.  But it did fit perfectly with the overall theme and atmosphere, like you’ve said.  Music is a big part of us at Passion Tales.  The core group listens to the same rock radio station, mentioned above, both while at work and at play, and most of the stories are either inspired or accentuated by certain songs.  So I felt strongly about adding Hell’s Bells to the ending of… well… Hael’s Bells. lol
 
So what do you have in the works for us next?

     I’ve been working on my novel, Soul Eater, since the winter – Hael’s Bells is a prequel to it.  With thirteen chapters planned, I have about half of the book written so far.  I’m also working on a joint novel with Lindy called Whispers in the Dark.

Can you tell us a little about Soul Eater?

     Sure.  It picks up where Hael’s Bells leaves off and goes deeper into the character’s dark life, his dysfunctional/brutal relationship with his family, and his search for …something more.  Soul Eater pretty much has it all: mystery and intrigue, humour, dark spirituality, sex and seduction, bloody fight scenes …and more of Hanan’s suave badassness. 

Sounds fantastic!  When can we expect it to be published?

     Thanks.  Well, I’m aiming to complete the manuscript by the end of October.  Then it goes through editing and illustrating – yes, it will be illustrated – So, it should be out sometime in the early new year.  That said, however, I’ll probably publish sneak peeks on my blog.

Great!  We certainly look forward to it.  Thank you for taking the time to talk with us, Hanan.  Now get back to work.

     Thanks. lol  Will do.

Hael's Bells - Part 5

     Turning away from the yowling man, Hanan mindfully wrapped his hand around his dagger, and pulled it from the desktop.  With a quick end-over-end flip into the air, he caught the handle and began to twirl the sharp blade through his long, agile fingers.  Knife play always helped him to concentrate, a skill he developed in his younger days, and then later honed as a member of the fearsome Haellador. 

     Freezing the dagger suddenly, Hanan tightened his jaw and narrowed his eyes at Paetar.  “Now that would do nicely as a first instalment,” he insisted under a sly grin, as he tapped the ring on the man’s broken finger with the tip of his blade.  Then turning his back on Paetar once again, he began to tap his chin instead, absorbed in deep thought.  Yaartara… where sky meets the sea, he chuckled silently, remembering the stories Grandpa Klem used to tell him by the fireside.  No one believed it was real, but there it sat on Paetar Kraevalen’s finger.  He knew it.

     Family legend had it that many generations ago an ancestor had stolen it from the king’s treasury.  The ring itself was of little importance, but the stone crowning it was the Yaartara, a dazzling large blue gem of unimaginable beauty and inestimable value.  Through various misdeeds and adventures, all recounted with great zeal by his grandfather, the Yaartara stone disappeared, leaving only a small corner left on the ring after the bulk of the gem had been prised off.  …but big enough to be worth— Hanan cut his own thoughts short as he remembered his poor waiting captive, and the prize within his reach.  “It won’t be much,” he lied, giving his knife a spin on his fingertips.  “But I can’t leave here empty-handed.”

     “I told you,” Paetar coughed and sputtered.  “You’ll have your fifty thousand by sundown tomorrow.  You have my word.”

     “Fifty?!” Hanan, snapped his gaze back to his victim.  “Is that what he told you?   Try counting those zeros again, my friend.”  Deftly passing the spinning blade to his other hand, before adding small bounding flips to his knife play, he continued.  “The kind of information your boss wanted doesn’t come cheap.  I supplied it, at great risk to myself I might add, and so now he must pay, as agreed…” he paused balancing the tip of his dagger on the end of his finger, and then added with a small smirk, “…with interest.”

     “Interest?  On five hundred grand??” Paetar spat in exasperation.  “Hanan, be reasonable… how can we—?”

     “I am being reasonable, Paetar.  I’m being more than reasonable.”  Tossing the dagger high, and then firmly clutching the handle, he pointed it at the bound man.  “Your boss quite willingly agreed to these terms, and those numbers.  Time for payment has come and gone three times now without even one copper to show for my hard work.  So now…” licking his lips, he enunciated each word sharply, “I expect redress with accumulated interest for each day that passes without the fee he promised.  Tell me,” he shrugged with a fake sweet smile, looking ever the angel over his hard, black interior, “how is that being unreasonable?”

     Paetar sat quietly, listening and shaking his head as it hung forward.  He then slowly moved his eyes to look up at Hanan.  “How are we going to get that kind of money?” he rasped flatly.

     “Not my problem.  You’re the treasurer, Consul Kraevalen, you figure it out.”  With a sudden quick turn, Hanan threw his dagger.  Flying a short distance, it landed, the point stuck into the wooden chair between Paetar’s open legs.

     The man flinched with a terrified start, as Hanan laughed, approaching him.  “Don’t worry, Paetar, that’s not the appendage you’re going to lose.”  He assured him, reaching down to retrieve his dagger, a devious grin spreading across his lips.

     “In the meantime, I’ll simply take this…” Grabbing hold of the disjointed finger, Hanan swiped his blade with a forceful flick of his wrist, slicing the finger clean off.   Then with a vicious snarl, he leaned in close to the man’s burned and bubbling face, his voice low and threatening.  “Maybe now you’ll remember not to fuck with me.”  Giving the city treasurer a long cold stare, Hanan then disappeared through the doorway, his footsteps fading under the clanging machinery.

     After he had gone, Paetar Kraevalen let his breath go and blinked at the dingy, empty room, then down at his bloodied hand.  The fine sharp edge of Hanan’s dagger had caused its damage without any pain.  So the treasurer sat, dazed and motionless… until he realized he was a finger short… and missing the seal of the city.

     As Hanan made his way back through the mill, Paetar began to scream – a vengeful cry rising up with the chime of the nearby church bells, announcing the end of morning worship.

**Please click play on the video, and then continue to read.**

     Stopping on the platform to light a cigarette, Hanan inhaled deeply before blowing the smoke out of the corner of his mouth with a self-satisfied smile on his face.  The morning hadn’t gone quite as planned, he thought.  It had turned out even better.  And Hanan knew exactly what his next move would be.  Although he was up one priceless treasure, the Chief Magistrate still had to pay…

     Popping the cigarette between his lips, Hanan smirked, and then pulled the ring from the bloodied digit.  Graegar Tinvellek… he spoke in mind as he gave it a toss before enclosing it in his fist… you will pay, old fellow.  You will pay from where it really hurts… again.  Time to pay your new bride a visit, he chuckled.  Amused with his new plan of attack, he tucked the ring safely into his pants’ pocket, and then stepped down from the mill’s entrance platform, carelessly throwing the severed finger over his shoulder and into the snow.

     Meanwhile, Paetar Kraevalen writhed in frustrated anger, left forgotten in the little room…  “Listen!” his crazed ravings rattled up from his heaving chest.  “The bells… The bells they toll…  Hael’s Bells, Hanan!  They toll for you!!”

     As the happy sinners filed out of the church, their souls cleansed for yet another week, Hanan strolled out into the square, smirking and nodding politely to the passers-by.  Sucking back another deep drag, he blew out the puff with a huge knowing smile. 

     …He knew he had further condemned his own soul to Hael… and that suited him just fine.

**All work copyrighted

Hael's Bells - Part 4

     “No… no!” Paetar Kraevalen cried out, more in terror than in pain, as the drop hit his forehead.  Mixing with the sweat on his brow, the caustic soda reacted with the moisture to start a slow, prickling burn. 

     “The Chief Magistrate, Paetar,” Hanan demanded as he readied another large drop.  “Where is he?”  Gripping his squirming captive by the back of the neck, he let two drops slip by.

     The treasurer groaned as the small splash hit him and trickled into the already intensifying burn on his forehead.  “That information is classified,” he grunted through laboured pants.

     “Nothing is classified to me,” Hanan snarled, grabbing a fistful of the man’s hair and yanking his head back hard.  “Do you want to lose your sight, Consul Kraevalen?”  Tipping the glass vial, holding it poised over Paetar’s eyes, he watched the man squint and try to shake his head. 

     Held fast in Hanan’s grip, he couldn’t move.  “N-no.  Please… please, no,” he mouthed in a hoarse whisper instead.

     “Then I suggest you answer me, Paetar.  Where is the Chief Magistrate?  Answer me!”  This time, Hanan let more than a couple of drops fall.  He poured a quarter of the strong solution over the man’s face, carefully manoeuvring it to control the flow down the sides and over his nose.

     Screaming in a mixture of pain and fear, Paetar Kraevalen began to sputter.  Hanan quickly took a pace behind the man as he spat a spray of the caustic out before him, trying to keep the dangerous chemical solution out of his mouth.

     “Last chance, Consul Kraevalen,” Hanan leaned in, his voice low but clear with no mistaking his intentions.  “Tell me now, or get the rest,” he paused, readying the vial once more, “and I won’t be so particular about where it goes.”

     “No!  No, please don’t,” he pleaded.  “The Chief Magistrate… he… he’s away… on business.”

     “Well, yes, I had gathered that much.  Business, where?”  Hanan tightened his grip on the man’s head, forcing his submission. 

     “He’s off in… Klundlön,” the treasurer conceded at last, squinting hard again in anticipation of another heavy splash of the chemical base.

     “Klundlön?” Hanan repeated.  “What’s in Klundlön?”  But in that instant, he immediately recalled a newspaper report about the Chief Magistrate’s recent remarriage.  Remembering the details of the article, he connected the new young bride, Eyja Riktanders, from a powerful and wealthy family, to Klundlön.  Ooh…  He continued in mind, realizing what that meant.  The Riktanders were not short on money, might or influence… especially influence… with ties to other great families in Sauskria, and even royalty from neighbouring nations.  So the fat bastard is calling in favours, is he?   Tipping the vial menacingly over his captive once more, Hanan demanded, “Where is he now?  Tell me!” 

     “Svaelun!” Paetar Kraevalen choked freely, trying to squirm unsuccessfully from Hanan’s firm grip.

     Ai, he’s after the big guns, he deduced quietly.  First the money and now the might…  “Anywhere else?” he sneered.

     “I don’t know.  I don’t know any more, Hanan, I swear.  I swear!” Paetar gasped, cringing in terror.

     Years of experience with forceful interrogations told Hanan he wasn’t lying.  Paetar Kraevalen told whatever he had to tell… and much more than he even realized.  So Hanan decided to change tactics.  There was still the matter of his long overdue payment to discuss.  “Now, what about my money, Paetar?  Where is that?”  Hanan asked, while securing the cover onto the glass vial, and then setting it back onto the desk.  “You’re the treasurer, so you tell me, please.  Where’s my money?” 

     Paetar watched as Hanan perused the tools on offer once again, and began to beg.  “Please no, no, Hanan, no.”  His pitch increased, reaching near frantic heights.  “I swear to you, he will have it to you soon.”

     Hanan rolled his eyes and tightened his jaw in disgust.  These city bigwigs were all pomp and power in the public eye, but here in the shady backroom of the mill, they all crumbled like the snivelling sots they really were. 

     He’d had enough.  Throwing his gloves down, he lunged at the man and growled.  “Where’s my money!?”  With fists full of his soaked, bloodied shirt, Hanan froze his captive in a vicious stare.   

     Just then, a glint of light from Paetar’s own clenched fist caught his eye, and Hanan noticed the ring on the man’s finger.  “Yaartara,” he murmured, suddenly stunned, but trying to hide it. 

     Paetar Kraevalen wore the ring of the High Office of the City of Naveera.  He wore it in place of the Chief Magistrate whose fingers were too fat to fit it.  But that’s not what concerned Hanan.  Yaartara, he repeated in mind, ecstatically recognizing a rare prize of great value. 

     Letting the treasurer go, Hanan stood upright to his full height with his shoulders back and relaxed.  He took a few steps forward and looked at his captive again, his face now calm with the hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.  “You don’t use your fingers to count your tallies now, do you, Consul Kraevalen?”  Then unleashing his full fiendish smirk, Hanan grabbed hold of the man’s ringed finger and swiftly bent it completely backwards, breaking it.  

**all work copyrighted

Hael's Bells - Part 3

     Hanan stood by the desk letting his fingers glide lightly over the various implements laid out for his perusal.  Picks, pliers, hammers, scissors, saws, he had plenty to choose from.  He merely had to make the best choice for the situation… and Hanan had plenty of experience making these kinds of decisions.
 

     Paetar Kraevalen, meanwhile, watched in gut-churning anticipation as Naveera’s top crime lord got down to business. 

     Picking up a pair of flat-nose pliers, he turned it over slowly in his hand.  “This,” he muttered quietly, but just loud enough for his captive to purposely overhear, “could be quite painful.”  With a long sideways glance at the treasurer and one eye pensively squinted, he considered its possible use.  An image of using the pliers to tug and firmly pinch the man’s tongue in place as he extinguished a lit cigarette on it came to mind, but he quickly banished it.  “Nah,” he uttered decisively, “I need him to talk.”  Putting it back down, he chose the snub-nose ones instead, but then hesitated.  Pulling teeth? He wondered, and then changed his mind.  No… similar effect.  Ripping out fingernails though, that might— His ponderings stopped short as a thick glass vial caught his eye.  “Ooh yes,” he hissed with a sinister smile, reaching to carefully lift it from the desk.

  
     “W… Wh… What’s that?” the bound man stuttered, as Hanan turned, slipping on a pair of lined leather work gloves. 

     “What, this?” he asked, holding the container up to the dim light of the musty room, slowly swirling the clear liquid inside.  “Oh nothing much,” Hanan approached the man, stopping directly beside him.  “Want a drink?” 

     The treasurer suddenly let out a series of protesting groans and panicked muffled cries as Hanan’s hand darted out to grab the man by the jaw, forcing his thumb inside to pry open his mouth.  After a very brief struggle, the captive’s body went still, yet tight, as he whimpered softly in fear. 

     Hanan only laughed and taunted the man further.  Waggling the vial in front of him, he pretended to pour it into his mouth before roughly letting him go.  He loved the control he had over others, loved the look of fear in their eyes.  To Hanan, it even had a subtle palpable sense to it, somewhere between smell and taste. 

     “Oh come on, Paetar,” Hanan chided, “I’m not that cruel.”  He paused, running through a few gruesome and particularly wicked memories, and then carried on with a shrug.  “Well, maybe,” he added and laughed again.  “But you… you will live.”

     Gingerly removing the tight cover from the glass vial, Hanan set it aside, being careful to hold the container well away from his own face.  Instead, he passed it back and forth under his captive’s nose, letting the fumes rise to choke the man.  “Sodium Hydroxide,” he sneered, holding the liquid base in the man’s face.  “Feel the fire.”

     The treasurer began to sputter and gasp as the fumes wafted up to burn his nasal passage and oesophagus, blinking madly with stinging watering eyes. 

     “Now then,” Hanan pulled the caustic away and leaned in close, “we can do this the easy way, or…” Bringing it up over the man’s forehead, he readied a single drop and then looked down with a menacing smirk, “…the hard way.  It’s your choice, Consul Kraevalen.”  With that, Hanan let the drop fall. 

**all work copyrighted

Hael's Bells - Part 2

     One word rang through Hanan’s mind as he looked upon his bloodied and battered captive: Fuck.

     His men had followed their orders, alright – this man had been roughed up and tied up, and then left for hours to wait in agonizing terror – but it was the wrong man!  Hanan sighed heavily and rolled his eyes.  Clutching his dagger to a halt, he clenched his jaw before calmly, almost cheerily, addressing him.  “My boys weren’t too…” he spun his dagger once again, passing it through his fingers as he brought it to point at the man, “…rough on you, were they Consul Kraevalen?” 

     The man’s eyes locked on the twirling blade, and then shifted to Hanan and back again.  The beads of sweat dappled over his forehead began to slowly drip, tracing a smeared path through the dried blood on his face.  Hesitating, he swallowed hard, unsure how to answer.   “N-n… y-ye… N-n…” he began to stutter.

     Setting his foot on the rung of a nearby stool and resting his arms on his raised knee, Hanan smirked, watching the poor man squirm.  Poor man, he scoffed mentally.   Yes, they knew each other.  …Or rather, of each other.  Paetar Kraevalen was the Treasurer for the Chief Magistrate’s office, and Hanan knew he had sticky fingers.  He probably deserved this anyway, after all the money he’s pilfered from the city’s coffers.  

     “H-ha... n-n… p-pocket,” he finally managed to spit out after stumbling over Hanan’s name.  Pushing the left side of his chest outward, he then looked down at it trying to get his captor’s attention. 

     Hanan immediately saw a piece of paper sticking out of the man’s shirt.  Leaning forward, he plucked it from his pocket and began to read it:  Apologies.  The CM was not available.  Found suitable replacement for you.  Enquire of him for whereabouts.  Tools supplied.

     Glancing back towards the desk, Hanan let out a small huffed chuckle as he took in the assortment of tools left at his disposal.  “Well, you’ll have to do then,” he murmured to himself before addressing the shaken man.  “You are the treasurer after all.” 

     The bound man followed Hanan’s glance and froze, his eyes and mouth open wide in fear. 

     “You do look after the city’s treasury, do you not?” Hanan repeated.  “Yes?”   The man blinked a few times and nodded slowly, afraid to move his eyes from the implements on the desk to look at Hanan.  “Right, you have access to what I need…  So you will do just fine, Consul Kraevalen.” 

     Pushing off of the stool, Hanan turned and walked towards the desk.  “Now, how shall we begin?” he wondered aloud.  Twirling his dagger once more, he gave it an elegant flip high into the air before catching it and stabbing the tip into the desktop. 

**all work copyrighted

Hael's Bells - Part 1

     A biting wind funnelled down the alley swirling the powdery snow around Hanan’s feet as he walked past the cheery gathering crowds on their way to morning sacrament.   Moving quickly towards the industrial district, he unbuttoned his coat and loosened his scarf, pulling it from around his neck, and then carefully tucked it into his pocket. 

     Hanan didn’t mind the cold.  He found it rather invigorating, especially before a job like this.  As his boots crunched over the snow, he reached under his jacket to pull the dagger from his belt.  Then stepping onto the stone floor through the wide entrance of the mill, he began to twirl the blade in his hand, passing it deftly through his fingers.

     He had been more than tolerant this time, even extending the deadline twice.  But now, enough was enough.  It’s time to pay up, he thought as he went down one murky corridor, and then turned up another.  Crossing a rickety platform before descending several creaking steps, Hanan knew exactly where he was going.

     “Mm… wealth and power,” he mused sarcastically, as he breathed in the thick musty smell of the place.  A blend of acrid and subtle fumes in the stale air assaulted his senses as he neared his destination.  Money and power he had, plenty.  It was the principle of the matter now.  No one shirked on Hanan Falquor ...and lived to tell the tale.  Walking purposely through the empty building, whirling and tossing the blade in his hand without error, he moved swiftly past the droning machinery, its continuous thud resounding through the airy halls like giant footfalls.  Orders followed, good, he noted.  …enough to drown out the noise.  “But did they get the rest right?” he muttered, tossing the dagger high and then catching it effortlessly by the handle in a firm clasp.

     The sound of a hoarse sputtering cough suddenly echoed down the hall from a nearby room, catching Hanan’s attention.  “…and so they did,” he murmured, answering his own question.  With a wide smirk spread across his lips, he slowed his pace and stepped inside.  There in the dim light, sat a man with his back towards him tied to a chair. 

     Watching as the captive’s body stiffened and pulled more rigidly upright upon hearing him enter, Hanan resumed his intimidating knife play, and began to stroll casually towards him.  “I’ve come to collect,” he said, his voice strong and clear, filling the small room.  Then adding more elaborate spins and flips to his intricate finger passes, keeping the blade perfectly balanced at all times, Hanan came to a stop.  He turned to face the bound man, fixing him in a hard stare. 

**all work copyrighted

My Boss and I

...My boss, Fallan Quoren, and I...
Do you know who we are? Do you know ...what... we are? *smiles*

Artwork by Kachinadoll