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The Orc and the Quill | It was a cold and lonely night in the city of Albion. The cobblestone streets were filled with people from all walks of life. The bazaar was a bright array of shades of amber and violet, and the air was filled with sweet exotic scents from lands far away. Godwin sat alone on his balcony. He saw the entire city for miles. The moon slowly rose from its slumber to embrace the city in its comforting light. A part of him wanted to go down and enjoy the festivities.
But Godwin rather enjoyed the company of a quill and parchment.
He thought about the quill and how he had found it on the side of a road outside the city. But here he was hours later, with no inspiration. He dipped his quill in ink and wrote. "Lord
Odin sat upon his lofty throne alone."
He put the quill down and brainstormed the following few words he should write. He heard a sound while gazing at the Moonlite mountains in the distance. Scribble, scribble, scribble. The quill was writing. "Ahhh!"
The quill did not notice and just kept writing. Godwin quickly grabbed the box the quill was in and slowly reached for it like he was about to squash a bug. It stopped writing as he reached for it and gently eased itself into his hand. He locked it quickly in the box and, for a brief moment, thought. I should throw this over the edge. However, something stopped him, and he just placed it on the small table before him. He didn't know how he should feel. A part of him was terrified, heart racing and extreme anxiety, but also a hint of curiosity.
Magical items were common; however, he only saw magical items that acted on command, never one that acted uninstructed. He looked around to see if anyone was playing tricks on him. None of his neighbors were out, and the crowd below was focused on the festivities. Godwin shot a glare at the box. Godwin looked at the parchment to see what it had written. "Why was King Odin alone?" That is what was written. Godwin's curiosity got the better of him. He reached for the box slowly as if it were to jump out and stab him. Damn, pull yourself together. You're an orc. It's just a quill. What's the worst that could happen. He thought. Click. Godwin opened the box and took the quill in his hand. Plop, Plop, he dipped it back into the ink pot and wrote. "Who are you or what are you?"
The quill wiggled in his hand; he eased its grip on it so it could write its response. "My name is Ava. What I am is your quill bound to serve you." "Serve me?" " Is this a Jinni in a quill ?" He thought
"Are you a jinni?" "Not exactly who I am or who I was does not matter. I'm here to serve thee." "So what do you do exactly?" "Write what you desire, and you shall have it; however,
be careful what you write, for you can not take it back." "I don't know what I want." "Let me make this easy for you. Do you want love?" "No." "Do you want untold vast riches? Could you get a new parchment ready? I feel I'm nearing the end of this page." Godwin hadn't realized how much space was already taken up. He pulled out a new piece. "To answer your last question…No." "Okay… how about power? How does that sound like love? I can tell by your grip you're an Orc. Orcs love power, don't they?" "Sorry to disappoint, I'm a strange Orc. No, I don't want power." "I don't understand what you want?" Godwin thought for a moment.
What do I…want? He just noticed that this was the most in-depth conversation he's had with anyone. He felt pretty relieved to be able to speak to someone. He knew at that moment what he wanted was company. He wrote. "I like company." "Wonderful we're making progress love thank you. What kind of company are we talking about? The romantic kind?" "No… Your company is fine." The quill stopped writing momentarily and wiggled its way into Godwin's hand. Bounced and swayed around the parchment as though it were confused. It then turned sharply, facing Godwin, slowly moving inches closer to him. He felt like it was giving him a strange and irritated glare. Odd, it had no eyes or face, but he could feel its frustration. It turned its back sharply at him, lodged itself between his fingers, and nudged his hand to the parchment. It wrote “ I…Wish….For…” "Tell me more about yourself." The quill gave in. "You're strange for an Orc and definitely the most interesting one that has held me. For once I don't feel like I'm being used. What do you want to know?" "What is your name? Where are you from, and how did you end up in this quill." "My name is Ava. I come from the Briar lands. How I ended up here is a long and complicated story." "Summarize it for me. I have time." "You're the first Orc or anyone who's ever shown a keen interest in me instead of my abilities. You're very strange, and I like it." "That's because I understand what it feels like to go unnoticed and for others to see how they can benefit from you." "Well, to keep a long story short, I was once an elf, a wood elf, to be more precise. As I said, I was raised in the Briar lands. Definitely not the place you'd want to raise a family. Full of werewolves, vampires, and necromancers.
I was the daughter of a witch…" "That's unfortunate." "yes, especially when I figured out what my mother had planned for me. I never knew who my father was. My mother told me he was just a traveler who used her for her body and left her. I asked if I had any sisters, and she said I did, but they had passed on." Godwin flipped the parchment so she could continue telling her tale. "My mother would raise me until I was at the ripe age of 20. I was young and beautiful and had long Auburn hair. Many young men wanted my attention…I…"
Ava stopped writing. "Is something wrong? If it pains you to continue, then you can stop." "No, it's been some time since I spoke about this." "How long?" "300 hundred years.." Godwin's problems seemed less serious now. He couldn't empathize with Ava, but he did sympathize with her. "She told me to come in one day and look at a beautiful quill she had made. And asked me to test the ink in it for her on a parchment. I then wrote my name, and shortly afterward, she uttered an incantation. The sensation I felt was my soul being torn from my body, like cotton caught on thorns. Godwin grimaced at the description. "As my soul left my body, I was transferred to this quill, and I could see my mother's soul entering my body and leaving her skin. I found out later that the skin she was in was that of her previous daughter. And now, Here I am serving my Purpose." "How did you escape her?" "I don't know. I just prayed and got whisked away in some random part of the world." "The three wishes you can grant?" Godwin wrote "Are a failsafe just in case she was to lose me. People would be so focused on their needs and their desires. And I would not have control of myself or my actions. I can't speak unless commanded to or asked a question.." Godwin thought momentarily, and an idea suddenly zapped into his mind. He grabbed another parchment and wrote. "I wish for the skills and abilities required of me to help you break free." "Why are you doing this?" "Because all my life I've been stuck in this damned city, I want to experience life and tell stories. And help others where I can. So, How do we break this curse?" "You have to bring me to the Briarlands, where my soul was taken deep in the lonesome forest."
Godwin dipped the quill in the inkpot. Tap, tap, he hadn't realized how low he was on ink. And that his conversation with Ava had filled six pages. He gently placed Ava back in her ornate box. And sat silently on his balcony, contemplating what had just happened.
He'd had an actual meaningful conversation with someone. However long this was going to take, Godwin was happy. For once in his life, he was doing something different and exciting. To ensure he didn't come back home, he would sell all his belongings to his landlord with no intention of returning to Albion. 5 years later "Ay, we're here. This is as far as my carriage goes, shaman." The carriage stopped outside a long winding path between two mountains. "Thank you for the trip." Godwin tossed a small pouch of coin to the driver. "Best you turn back now, driver, before the beasties come out. A full moon's coming." The driver didn't hesitate and instantly sent his horses into a gallop in the opposite direction. Once he reached the end of the path, he was greeted by two colossal statues the size of mountains. The one to his left was that of Lokar wielding a staff, and to the right, Thoran wielding a mighty hammer with one hand. The beautiful Briar lands, a vast sea of copper and golden leaves that looked like an enormous Water painting, took him aback. In the distance, he could see the mountains and how they curved into a valley. He could see the city of Hallow's end. And smaller villages sprinkled between. He remembered her instructions and needed to find a place to make camp and talk to Ava. He pulled out a map and looked for the landmark of the weeping widow statue. He began his journey east.
Night had fallen, and using the earth, Godwin made a tent large enough to make a fire and thick enough to protect him from intruders.
The shamans of the western Highlands had taught him how to harness the elements and nature to aid him. A skill few orcs carried but one he was happy to master to help Ava. He pulled out his journal and ink pot and began writing. "We're here, Ava." "Good. Remember what I told you and what you must do." Godwin felt a stabbing pain in his heart. He and Ava had grown close together over the last 5 years. They both had grown fond of each other. "Yes, I just wish there was another way." "Godwin, I do, too." "Will I see you again in the next life, Ava?" "Maybe.." "I don't want to lose you." "Neither do I, Godwin, but this life isn't the end, only the beginning." Godwin and Ava both knew how this would end. He wanted her but couldn't have her. Having her meant to keep her his prisoner. And he wanted her to be free and to rest in peace.
Even if that meant he'd end up alone.
The day dawned crisp and cold. He knew he was getting near the weeping widow's statue, for he could hear low cries and sobs that got louder the closer they got to the witch's house.
Ava shook violently in his satchel. Her mother is trying to bring her back . He could see smoke in the distance and assumed it had to be the witch's hut. Her home was not as ominous as he'd thought it wasn't cozy, but it had a small garden of exotic herbs.
And was carved into a large tree. As Godwin made his way, the door opened. And he saw Ava's body or rather her mother in her skin. "Come on in, my dear. I have a proposition for you." "I will make no deals with you, WITCH!" "Even if it means you and my Ava can live happily ever after?" Ava was shaking in Godiwns satchel. He could hear the box crack as Ava went piercing out, aiming for her mother's throat. "No no no dear this isn't how you greet your mother." She lifted her finger, but Ava lost control and floated obediently beside her mother. Godwin had no choice but to obey. He came inside the witch's home, which was spacious. It had a cauldron in the center by the hearth, a table carved from the tree they were in, and a closet in which he could hear muffled cries. "Now take a seat Orc." "You've obviously grown an attachment to my daughter." "How do you know." "I made this quill. Do you think I don't know what it writes?" Fear gripped Godwin, all his conversations with Ava, and their plans. Her mother knew it all. "Now that I have your attention."
She smiled. Ava was beautiful, and Godwin couldn't help but notice her deep green eyes, lustrous Auburn hair, and an amber locket around her neck. Her Elf ears were long and Curving towards the top. It's not her , he told himself. "You can have her, and she can have her skin back, for I found someone else." She walked towards the closet and opened it, and another young woman came falling out. Her mouth was wrapped, her hair a mess, and her eyes red from crying. "Now all you have to do is sign your name on this parchment, and the girl's soul will transfer from her body into the quill mine to her, and oh come now, you get the rest." Godwin considered it. He could be with Ava, and they could live out the rest of their lives together. What would she think of me if I sacrificed someone else for her ? Godwin looked at the Girl with fear in her eyes. He tightened his fist, readying a strike. "I see you've made your choice. Cut him up Ava be quick.." Ava began slicing away at him. The pain was excruciating. He was not able to cast any spells or incantations. Slice slice slice, the cuts became more profound, and Godwin had difficulty moving. He knew what he had to do but didn't want to do it. With a heavy hand that felt like the weight of the world, he reached out and snatched the quill. Crushing it. "NOOOOOOO You Fool!" Godwin was in shock. He didn't know what was going on, and he felt an uncontrollable rage begin to boil inside him. "AHHHHHHHHHHH." He lunged toward the witch, and she threw everything she had at him: flying blades, fire, Ice, and storm. Nothing was working, but he kept getting closer. Godwin wrapped his wrapped one hand around the witch's throat, and before she could speak, he snapped her neck. He could see her soul leaving Ava's body as it went limp. The Girl who was to be the next sacrifice fled the house during the carnage. Godwin stared into Ava's dead eyes. I killed her twice. He fell to his knees and began to sob, holding Ava's lifeless body. I'm sorry, Ava, I've failed you. The silence was long and deafening until Godwin heard whispers near the quill. Ava's soul or remnants of it were in the feather. He noticed the amber locket around her corpse. Yes, yes, this could work , he thought. He cleansed the object to make sure nothing was inside of it. Using the life magic he was taught, he transferred some of his soul into the locket. He then grabbed the remnants of the quill. "Let us be one. Let us be whole." The toll this took on him was heavy. He wasn't sure how much of his life he had given away. But, it was enough so he and Ava could have a few more years together. He wrapped the amber locket around his neck and waited for a few moments. Shortly, an apparition of Ava appeared. "Godwin, what happened? How am I still here? Did you kill my mother?" "Yes, but I wanted to ensure your spirit had a safe trip to the other side." "What did you do?" "I gave some of my life to bind you to this locket. I can break it, freeing you, but I won't get back what I had given." "Why would you do this?" "So. I could see for the first time and say goodbye." "Godwin, after all we've been through, I finally have the choice to leave or stay." "The apparition paced back and forth. I know what I want." Godwin looked up at Ava. "Will I be free after your life in this locket fades?" "Yes, once my time ends, the magic holding you will fade, and you'll be free." "Take my hand, Godwin." Godwin reached out for Ava's hand. Her spirit gave him the strength to rise. They embraced one another. She looked up at him. "I'd love to spend the rest of your life with you." When they kissed, it felt strange, for she wasn't fully physical but just enough for him to feel the initial sensation. For a long time, Godwin held Ava in his arms, and he had no intention of letting her go. For once, he had much more in life to experience, and now he could do it with the elf he loved. | o2m88l |
No Man's Land | It is incredibly taxing to recount all of the pertinent events of our history, let alone the full account of mine without mentioning some horrific details I had only discovered this month. My memory has been rather hazy due to severe shock and trauma throughout the past few months. I suppose I should begin there while I have my faculties. Part One: Travail We had set sail on a journey across an ocean that had not been traversed for generations. Our entire community was blighted with an affliction causing the population to dwindle to just us men aboard our ship. The last vestiges of humanity as we saw it. A dangerous and likely suicidal journey was ahead of us, but we were without anything to return home to anyway. Desperation can make any task seem less daunting, I suppose. Our young had been dying off while our elders ceased to bring us offspring. We were not certain of the cause any more than we were certain of our impending extinction.
Yet we had hope. An old tale of a far-off island known only as No Man’s Land, named such as a warning against all who tried to reach it. The surrounding waters breed only sickness, misfortune, misery, and death for all who try to approach it. All who have attempted have done so for one purpose. The Goddess of Immortality, a special idol that was rumored to grant eternal life, was told to be stored there. For most, a chance at eternal life, rumored to be true and never proven, was never worth the higher risk of losing their life. But, we had run out of options. All we had left was promise of myth and legend. Off to No Man’s Land we set sail. Among rank on ship was one of the oldest and only surviving members of our village’s officials. Fortunately for us, he was our local doctor. He became quite handy while we were aboard the ship. Many had never left the island and the voyage was cruel on their bodies. Despite our doctor, named Banks, helping, we lost a few of our already small crew. The air grew full of stink as we could see the island on the horizon. The waters were full of dead marine life. No monsters of the sea to ward off, only the foul, gut-wrenching odor of the salty dead.
“No, you don’t ever get used to the smell. No matter how often you smell death, it smacks you in the face each time. Then in the stomach,” Banks put his arm around my shoulder as I lost my lunch overboard. The putrid water stared back at me and tempted my breakfast as well before the Doc spun me around. “You hang in there, Bub. We are almost there! We are but a day’s journey from fortune and glory,” and he was not wrong! The island was growing ever closer. We had only to look for a spot to anchor before we set out on our pontoon.
There were not many of us left for a proper split party to maintain the ship and the sick while we sent a crew out to search for the idol. However, Banks could not be persuaded to stay and tend to the sick and dying. “They won’t make it anyways, and I’ve come too far to die with those who are already dead,” was his only argument. Who were we to question his call? It’s not like we could if we wanted to. If they had no chance at surviving, maybe he had a point? We hardly even knew one another as it were. We had all been dying off so much, even before our journey, that we hardly saw it fit to properly get to know one another. It is quite an effort, especially for one to suddenly drop dead the next day. Banks happened to know most of us, being the village medical official that is. Perhaps that gave him the authority to boss us around at the time. He led those of us who were still able-bodied, which amounted to but four crewmen including myself and Banks who stood at the bow of the pontoon before barking at us, “Listen up, men. I have a bit of a confession. Admitting this is hard, but you must understand where I am coming from in order to trust me properly going forward. I have been here before. To this island. Put your hands down. I will answer questions later as I see. I need you to hear me out now. I have been here before and I am the only one to have been here and lived to tell about it as far as any of you lot or I know of! The inhabitants of this island are very dangerous and very territorial. They hate visitors, especially us. When we make landfall we will need to be quiet and discrete if we hope to have any chance of survival. Nod if you all understand me, because I will not go down WITH any of you for not paying attention to me now! Good. Now the other thing that is very important; if they do talk to you, the inhabitants, and they might try to, but if they do, do not listen to anything they say! They are liars and tempters. You have never encountered their kind before and I promise you will regret not being careful if you do! They are mystical and have magics they can use against you. I’ve seen many a man do strange things as a result of encountering these kind. Heed my warning, I will not think twice to strike one of you down if I think you are compromised by them. Nod again if you all understand! Good. Now, let’s start rowing,” he sat himself down after the speech and stared at us with a pleased grin as we all rowed in unison to the shore. Part Two: Booty Our main source of entertainment in the village was stories. We had many written works. Most of our free time was spent recreating stories we had read with variations or twists. Mostly tall tales much like the one we were following. My favorites of those were always the ones of pirates in search of booty. Not mythical treasure, just unfathomable wealth. Yet, here I was on a quest for immortality, something I wasn’t even sure I wanted. Living forever seemed a bit long then. Now, no time would seem like enough to me. We reached shore as night fell. Banks held us in a single file line and used hand signals and whispers. He warned none of us to make a sound as we got out and quietly pulled our pontoon to a dry section on the beach. The ship looked impossibly far away anchored off-shore, the moonlight passing through the cracks in the sails giving her an eerie glow. I could see the death emanating from her. A harsh tap on my shoulder spun me around to see that Banks had gathered our attention. There was a small clearing ahead at the edge of the treeline. He put his finger to his lips before turning to face the clearing and slowly we began our approach to it. As we could make out the tree line edge, we began to notice that it was actually a beautifully painted mural. “Shit,” Banks managed to sigh before collapsing to the ground in a slump. Before any of us could make any sense of what had happened, I felt a sharp sting in my neck just as my knees went weak and also began collapsing to the ground before my eyes refused to stay open for me.
Part Three: The Friends Along the Way I awoke in a small room on a very comfortable bed. The clothes I was wearing were neatly pressed at the foot. I found myself to be wearing a very comfortable sleeping gown. I changed back into my clothes and found the door to be unlocked. As soon as I
opened it the aroma of a fresh meal being cooked pulled me in its direction. I followed my nose down a set of winding steps and into a massive banquet hall. At the head sat a very oddly proportioned man. His face was rather slender and pointed with long flowing blonde hair held back with a band at the forehead. His body seemed even more perplexing, along with the fashion. At his chest, there were significantly swollen masses almost perfectly proportioned to each other and evenly distributed to take up the entire section between the arms. He looked at me with mutual curiosity as he gestured for me to have a seat. “I’m sure you have a lot of questions. Allow me to try to explain,” he spoke with such a soft and sweet voice, that I found to be soothing. He sounded nothing like Banks. “Your… friend, “doctor” Banks,” he said doctor while holding up both hands and scrunching his middle and index finger in rhythm with the syllables, strange behavior, but it definitely gave the impression that this man did not believe him to be a doctor, there was a tone that carried with it as well that I could not place, aside from when Banks had something to say about our ineptitude. “...he has been here before. He stole some things of ours, as well as one of our women. Ah, yes, you don’t know what we are, do you? My apologies for this crash course in history but, it is necessary. Have you never wondered why only Banks and a few of your other officials could speak? Never crossed your mind? What DO they teach you where you are from? Nevermind, you can’t answer quickly enough, we have much to discuss. Help yourself to some food while you have the stomach for it. Yes, the chicken is delightful! As is everything else on the table. Help yourself to drink, you have had quite the journey,” the woman took a sip from his chalice as I began to eat feverishly.
The food was delicious and my stomach screamed for more after the first bite. I had never had such foods. “Banks had come here long ago, as I said,” he continued, looking even more relaxed after having some of their drink. “The wine is quite good, you should try it. It was opened this morning at its natural peak! You won’t get another glass like it. You see, we have cut out a safe haven here. We need or want for nothing. Men like you have come here intermittently, rarely do they get this opportunity. I suppose you are wondering what happened to the rest of your men? Banks is being held in our barracks, awaiting our decision on what to do with him. The rest of your crew, minus one and you, are in the infirmary. We do not have much hope for them making it through the night. One already has passed, and you are here. You are all very sick. You may be experiencing some of the symptoms already, but it will only get worse.” I was mid-sip of the wine when this was said, causing me to choke a bit and spit some out on myself and the chalice. It was still one of the most delicious things
I had ever tasted, even with the news of my impending demise.
“You see, humans, what you and I are, have many, many different forms and identities and cultures.
Or, at least they used to. We of this island are but a few of the variations on our kind. You are a man. I am a woman. A long time ago we cohabitated. That is not important though, much too far in our past to matter. Now, we live in isolation on this island. Protected from men by their own actions. You seek a magical artifact that grants immortality, no?” The woman began rapping his fingers against their chalice before gulping more. “I regret to inform you that no such thing exists here. We are not magical. The founder of this community is the goddess you seek,” he pointed at a portrait hanging on the far wall from the head. It displayed someone who looked very much like the person speaking to me, enough to make me look back and forth a few times.
“The resemblance is uncanny, I know. All a result of her work. You see, before she founded our island community, she was one of if not the head of genetic and reproductive research. One of her discoveries was a method of reproduction that did not involve sex. Something, I know you know nothing about, unfortunately for you. Her ideas were eventually stolen and used for abhorrent means. Before the catastrophes that were to come could unfold, our founder, Dr. Godowski, decided to bring her best and brightest colleagues and friends, all of whom were women, to this island. We thrived here ever since, while the man’s world fell apart. You fought and murdered each other over dwindling resources. You tainted the waters and ruined the lands. You destroyed the very essence of humanity. For a long time, your world was on the verge of extinction, I suppose it still is. But this paradise exists, through science, hard work, dedication and the strength of community, we have outlasted all of the destruction your kind have caused. Make no mistake, I don’t blame you at all. This was so long ago, that most have forgotten or never had the chance to learn of it. Much like yourself,” the man paused again before pouring more wine from the decantur and consuming it in one gulp. “Banks, had made his way here. Your history had become muddled, but rumors of our island of women with the science to restore humanity and even grant eternal life, which I assure you we have not solved! Though, we do live much longer than anyone else in recorded human history now. Due to our founder’s medical and scientific expertise and equipment. Banks had made his way here in hopes of discovering these secrets. And he did, for the most part. He grasped our technology enough to attempt it on his own elsewhere. He kidnapped one of our women. We assume under the guise that he would show her things outside of our little safe haven. I admit, we are confined here for our own safety. We do not allow our kind to leave. Poor child. She did not understand how cruel the intentions of men can be or how utterly hopeless their world has become. He only got access to part of our supplies and equipment. His process was not true to ours and still required a woman to bear children. But he knew enough to learn how to breed a community of slaves. Sterile, speechless slaves. Flawed in so many ways,” he put his head in his hand for a moment before raising again to speak. “All of you and your crew’s organs are failing. Shutting down even as we speak. We have ways of eliminating all disease, ailments and flaws before insemination even occurs with our equipment. Unfortunately for you, we cannot stop what has already been done any more than we can reverse it. Occasionally we have want for breeding men, whom we send out to the world in hopes they can find a community to branch out to, maybe to revitalize humanity one day. I fear this has brought men like him here. Banks had realized his methods were flawed and unsustainable, and after many decades of his abductee, you and your whole community’s mother, giving birth to sterile, speechless men, born to die in their 20s, he decided it was at last time to come back for the rest. Stupid fool. The damage he had caused. He was too short-sighted to see how he was only pushing along extinction. I am so sorry to be telling you all of this in this way. You truly don’t have much longer to live. You are welcome to stay here in comfort for the rest of your days. You are also welcome to leave, return to whatever may be back where you came from. Perhaps visit your poor mother if she is even still alive.” The woman got up and left as soon as he had finished explaining everything to me. I finished my meal with a feeling of emptiness rotting away inside. Part Four: Yo Ho! They allowed me to visit Banks one last time before I left their beautiful community. He only handed me a vial with handwritten instructions that meant very little to me. He told me they would kill him and there was no hope for either of us, but if I were to find their treasure store, which I now know is their lab where they create life, I could fix everything with his instructions. Now I am aboard the ship. Uncertain if I can manage to sail it back home before I die, let alone manage the entire thing by myself safely the whole way. I want to see my mother, alive or dead, whom I only just now realized existed. They gave me a bunch of books to read for my journey home. They told me the least they could do was let me go with knowledge. I’m not sure how much better it feels to die knowing more. Our whole history was made up and lied to us. My whole life is a lie. I have no future. Perhaps I'm better off reading some more of those pirate stories I loved. | 77j0q5 |
Jian | Jian The world was in turmoil and leaderless without the benefit of a king. Hundreds of warriors gathered support of farming communities and other warriors and some veterans of war, all in a bid to claim the throne.
Sir Robert of the Lowlands, a burly man that could swing his axe so hard that it would fell a tree in one stroke, was often favored to win the crown, but he was held back by the last contender for the prize, Sir Kay a close friend. Their armies fought each other on the battlefield many times but every battle ended in a stalemate. The problem was that without the legendary sword, Excalibur, many of the claims were invalid and most of the people were just not sure who to support.
So after warring with each other, the strongest warlords met together under the flag of truce to deal with the problem of Excalibur and young Arthur, a squire was amongst them and he listened in on the discussions. "Excalibur! Why must we be given the impossible task? The land needs a king, now! It doesn't need an old sword from a fable told by a fool!" "And yet", came a dissenting voice across the table, here we are." "Sir Kay," the first man said. "You and I have fought side by side in the old days and we fought each other just last week! If we do not come together as one people, we will kill each other." "I have no argument with you, Sir Robert of the Lowlands. You are right that we will be a divided land if we continue to fight, so I propose that we search for Excalibur." "Ha!" , sneered Sir Robert. "A quest, Sir Kay? More like a fools errand. Search for a mythical sword that no one has seen and then once we find it, draw it from the stone! Sounds simple enough, right lads?" There were a few murmurs of laughter but most remained silent. Sir Robert looked around the room and shook his head and ran his hand on the top of his bald head. "Alright,. alright. Excalibur. So exactly where should we look? Would it do any good to offer a reward for it's location?" Sir Kay put his hand on his red bearded chin, leaning forward on the wooden table. "Merlin always said that only the worthiest would be able to see it, but he did say that it's location was here in the land and it was going to be due north, not northwest or northeast but... North." Sir Robert's brow furrowed and he looked away from the table banging his fist on it, his face showing a bit of red. "Merlin and his riddles! Always a riddle wrapped up in an unanswerable question!" He sighed again Sir Kay spoke again. "How about this, then. We go to the people, you and I and we tell them that we're at a truce and that we understand the need to find Excalibur" Sir Robert scoffed. "Then what? We find a forge who can build Excalibur? That sword was said to be able to pierce armor with the tiniest touch and it's weight was greater than 20 armed men! No blacksmith could make such a blade!" Sir Kay looked at his companion, brother in arms and competition to the throne. "Excalibur is real, Sir Robert. I know it's real. It's out there waiting to be found!". He grasped Robert's had. "Brother, we both want the same thing! To unite the kingdom! It doesn't matter to me, who wins the crown as long as he is just." Robert looked at his old friend. The two of them had fought long and hard against each other for almost a year, without a clear winner. The continued fighting wasn't doing any good to the kingdom "Alright. So we really look for Excalibur?" "Yes, brother, We tell the people that we will find Excalibur and that we will be gone for a month" "A month", Robert murmured. "Alright, agreed" The next morning, the two of them stood before the kingdom and told them that the truce was still in effect and that both of them were going on a quest to find Excalibur. The people applauded this decision and were content to wait until they had returned. Sir Kay and Arthur headed due north towards the mountains while Robert headed to the northern plains with his squire. On the 3rd day, Sir Kay and Arthur stopped by a quiet lake in a glade and rested for awhile.
Arthur sighed as he took the pack from his back and started serving the provisions. "Do you really think we will find Excalibur sir?" Sir Kay laughed. " We're alone now, little brother, you don't need to address me as sir. In answer to your question,. though l, I believe that one of us will find Excalibur. It wants to be found. The Lady of Lake embued the sword with a spirit, one that knows the needs of the people." *But, Kay, what if the sword is only a legend? What then?" Sir Kay sighed, not wanting to acknowledge the possibility. "If it's not real then we just saved the kingdom from war for a month. Perhaps after a month of peace, we can find some other way to resolve our differences" Arthur nodded his head and sat down by the tree and did his best to not fall asleep.
“Little bro, get some sleep don't worry about it. I'm going to need you fresh, come morning.” Arthur nodded his head again and he closed his eyes as he let himself sink into slumber on the soft grass. The glade seemed to slowly fade away like ripples in a pond. A glowing green object appeared far in the distance penetrating a fog. “Arthur……” “Hmmmm….?” “Arthur…” came a voice in a fog. “Over here….” The fog lifted and there in the middle of the glade was the magnificent sword in the stone, glowing green in the night, inviting Arthur to draw it from its resting place. “Rise and shine, little bro!” With a start, Arthur awoke, bolt upright, heart pounding in his chest and sweat on his brow. Sir Kay grinned down at his young sibling. “Say that must’ve been some dream! Whose the girl?” Arthur shook his head again trying to wake up. “Girl?”.
“Yes, girl!” Kay said laughing. “You were breathing heavily!” “No, no..it was Excalibur!” Kay slowly takes turned to his brother.
“Excalibur? You dreamt of Excalibur?” Arthur nodded his head. Kay walked around the glade, stroking his beard
“What is it, brother? It was only a dream” Kay turned back to Arthur. “Little bro, the legend says that the closer you get to the sword, the more it calls….to the wielder” Arthur stares at his older brother dumbfounded. A cold sweat dripped down his back. “A squire? “came another voice. “Hah! A squire will become king? Now that is rich one!”, Sir Robert chortled as he and his squire came into the glade. Sir Kay smiled to himself and shook his head.
“I realize that it sounds unlikely, but the legend does actually say that. Part of my knight training included taking on scribing as well and I used my position to read the legends.” Sir Robert scoffed again. “Scrollworm!” Sir Kay took the jab in stride and laughed. Arthur, on the other hand seemed troubled and focused on something else in the glade. His eyes peered into the glade, much like a cat getting ready to pounce on unsuspecting prey.
The two knights watched in silence Arthur ventures further ahead of them, towards the edge of the glade.
“Arthur?”, Sir Kay called out. Both Robert and Kay followed Arthur to the edge of the glade. As they caught up to him, they saw him holding a sword in his right hand and a scabbard leaning by a rock nearby. Sir Robert looked at the scene incredulously, shaking his head. “Are you going to tell me that…that …” , pointing at the sword in Arthur's hand. “Is supposed to be Excalibur?” Sir Kay stood silently looking at Arthur and the sword. The hilt of the sword had a small, winged guard, and red tassels at the bottom. The blade itself was almost paper thin. “Arthur, “ Kay began. “Where did you find this?” Arthur looked at both of them pointed towards the stone with the first two fingers of his left hand. Robert threw his hands up in the air, growled and laughed, walking around the stone. He came closer to the blade and tapped it lightly and the blade rang in a vibration that even Sir Kay could feel. “A quest for a mythical sword ends with squire holding child's toy! If the people won't believe a fake sword made by a blacksmith, they certainly won't believe this.” Suddenly, as he said this, his face fell for a moment, then cleared and a smile appeared. “Let's go back!” Sir Kay looked back at Robert, his mouth hanging open. “Ummm, what?” Robert stopped for moment and looked at Kay. “Well, we found Excalibur, didn't we? Yeah the people won't buy it, but that's okay. Maybe the people will realize that they have to make the choice themselves and give up looking at a sword to make the choice.” Kay looked down and shrugged his shoulders watching Robert leave the glade. “Oh well. Come on little bro. Sheath the sword and let's pack up and head out.
Arthur did as Kay asked and followed his brother. “Kay,” Arthur began..” I really did pull this sword from the stone. Don't you believe me?” Kay mounted his horse and looked at his brother. “In fact I do. Now, we have to present the sword to the people and they have to believe too. Do you believe that this is Excalibur, Arthur?” Arthur looked down at the ground and then to the sword in his left hand….”I don't know” Kay looked ahead. “I'm a believer, Arthur. Right from the start. That is Excalibur and you are the rightful King of our land. Now, we must prove to the people that this is Excalibur. 3 days later, Sir Robert, his squire, Sir Kay and Arthur stood before the people on an open field. Sir Robert had just finished explaining that Excalibur had been found by the squire, Arthur at which point, Arthur was to unsheathe the blade. Arthur did as he was asked and drew the blade from it's sheathe and the blade sung as it sliced through the humid air. The crowd gasped at the sound. "So, " Sir Robert started. "Is this Excalibur? Is squire Arthur your King?" The crowd murmured amongst themselves. Arthur heard some saying things like "so young, too young" and "can't be Excalibur. It's not even a real sword." Robert smiled in satisfaction. "Yes, it is beautiful piece of craftsmanship and I salute it's maker, but this toy cannot be the sword of legend and this boy, cannot be king!" There was a murmur of assent. "Therefore, since Sir Kay has renounced his claim to the throne in favor of his little brother, and the boy cannot be king, that makes me the best choice now, doesn't it?" Again, the crowd murmured and shuffled their feet, some of them started to open their mouths and shout "hail, King Robert", but the words seem to catch in their throats. Robert glared at the crowd, wondering if he had now become king of cowards who were too scared to be loyal. Sir Kay spoke up. "People of the land. I have a proposal" "I think we've had enough of your proposals, Sir Kay., Robert growled. Kay ignored the comment and continued. "Let there be a duel here and now between you and Arthur. Battle axe against sword. Whomever is the victor is the king." Arthur gaped at his older brother. "Ummm.." he began. "Sir Kay....".he tried to say. Kay turned to Arthur. "Believe, Arthur! Believe! Trust Excalibur!" Arthur swallowed hard, looking at his brother hoping to get out of this somehow. His stomach seemed to turn itself inside out as he looked at the gigantic figure of Sir Robert and his Battle Axe. "Boy," Robert said his eyes seemingly boring into Arthur's skull. "There is no honor in killing you. I know that is what, Sir Kay is planning. I have no wish to kill you at all, but this land needs a king. You can surrender now and avoid all of this." Arthur wanted to surrender. He felt the urge to lay down the sword and run back to his brother or run away from the field of battle in shame, like a dog with it's tail between his legs. Instead he sheathed the sword and held it out in front his chest and walked around the field. Sir Robert took a step and swung his axe overhead in a stroke that would have cleaved through flesh as easily as it would a log. Instead, it hit the soft ground, missing Arthur by inches. Robert snarled as he heaved the axe upwards again getting ready to strike. This time, he swang his axe horizontally from right to left,. missing Arthur again as he sucked underneath the first swing. The second swing came a little lower than the last and Arthur stepped backwards, feeling the wind from the axe touching his face. When the third swing came, Arthur pressed his sheathed sword at an angle, deflecting the axe swing upwards. Then, in a swift motion,.he unsheathes the sword and it sung in a small arc, slicing through Sir Robert's breast plate, which fell to the ground in a thud. Sir Robert, realizing what had just happened, stared at Arthur,.his jaw open as he dropped the axe to the ground. "You.....it..... really is Excalibur...", his voice barely a whisper. He dropped to his knees and looked up to Arthur. "I have always said that the people should make the choice and I have made mine. My axe, my land ,my wealth.and my life, are yours to command, my leige! You are King Arthur!" At once, all the people bowed in respect to the new King. | z6wuvc |
Lady Nimmo and the Cursed Belt | Oakaford strategically positioned stumpers to capture the shadow elves who were shooting arrows into Lady Nimmo's house. Oakaford and the stumpers took this very personally. She brought them to life, and because of this connection, they become extremely upset when someone tries to harm her. "Okay, everyone," Oakaford whisper-shouted. "Less noise." The entire line of root-footed stumpers kicked up enough noise to alert a passed-out drunk troll who is hard of hearing. Of course, Oakaford's "whisper-shouting" only added to the cacophony. Ash-rim stealthy moved close to Oakaford. "Captain, perhaps we should ask the elves for help? They're naturally quiet," he whispered. His three-foot-tall tree stump body was more agile than most stumpers because Lady Nimmo carved him from a rubber tree. "We protect Lady Nimmo!" Oakaford said too loudly. "Shh, Captain." "Oh, um, yes." Oakaford lowered his voice, "We protect Lady Nimmo—not elves." "I understand, Captain. But how are we going to sneak up on anyone? We're louder than a pack of grundle barrs chomping on dried leaves." "Don't question your Captain. I know what I'm doing." Oakaford had no idea what he was doing. But he wasn't about to let this upstart know it. Suddenly, clashing swords and battle cries rang out from their left flank. The entire stumper guard raced to join the fight. Shadow elves and stumpers mixed it up like an epic Tolkien movie, and it grew more fierce as additional shadow elves and stumpers joined the battle.
Oakaford directed his troops from a hill. "Ash-rim! Take some guards to reinforce those guys!" Oakaford pointed to an isolated group of stumpers surrounded by shadow elves. "Slim! Move your troops over there!" "Reg! Go help those guys!" "Tat! I need you to bolster our right flank!" Oakaford continued shouting commands while studying the battlefield. Fighting in Trugen Forest gave them the home-field advantage, but he couldn't deny that those despicable shadow elves possessed some mad fighting skills. "Trey! Take your team to the center!" No response. "Trey?" Oakaford turned to discover he was alone. He turned back to the battlefield to see every stumper engaged in battle. He was about to join them when he heard someone shouting his name. Turning from the battle, he spotted several shadow elves running towards him. He pulled out his sword, "Let's do this!" However, instead of the shadow elves engaging, they circled him. "Come on, you pansies!" Oakaford shouted, facing each one. "When I'm done cutting you all down to size, you'll be looking up to see down." "Captain Oakaford. My, my, you are a feisty one," Lammerous said. The leader of the shadow elves cut through the circle, clapping his hands. "I admire that." Following Lammerous were three ten-foot-tall magical tree trunks called kraff-nocks. One carried an odd-looking belt encircled with indecipherable ruins. "You!" Oakaford shouted. "I never thought I'd see your skinny butt again. Didn't you get enough last time?" "A minor miscalculation on my part. I promise you won't be so lucky this time." Oakaford's temper rose upon hearing this condescending, pointy-eared, spineless twerp. He raised his sword and charged. Immediately, several whips from the surrounding shadow elves lassoed him in mid-stride. "Tut, tut, Captain. Remember, I don't fight. I've never been into swords or exertion. Surely, you haven't forgotten that I'm an artist?" "Lady Nimmo is an artist. You're a monster." Lammerous's lips curled angrily, "You dare to compare that witch to me!" He snapped his fingers, and a kraff-nock appeared beside him, handing him the belt. "You won't think so highly of her when I place this on you." Oakaford struggled against the whips that bound him vigorously. He didn't know what Lammerous meant but knew it couldn't be good. "Yes. Struggle. You'd struggle more if you knew what this belt does." He snapped his fingers again. Two kraff-nocks joined in restraining Oakaford. "It makes you evil." Oakaford struggled even harder. His mind was racing; could he be turned into an evil stumper? Surely not. There wasn't an evil piece of wood in his body. "It won't work on me!" Oakaford shouted. "Oh, I assure you, it will. I procured this belt from the Order of the Tellmarians. Perhaps you've heard of them?" Oakaford gave no response. "No matter. Let's just say they're really talented at cursing objects. It's their magical gift. Anyway, I digress. The cursed belt will control you. You'll become my servant. And my first order will be to destroy your fellow stumpers." His maniacal laugh echoed throughout the forest. "Never!" "You know what they say about never." He put the cursed belt on Oakaford, and the ruins glowed red, and a magical blast of wind encircled the struggling stumper. Oakaford's eyes began glowing as red as the ruins. After a moment, the wind died down, and Oakaford stopped struggling. He stood zombie-like: no expression, no response, no sign of life. "My. That was unexpected. Those Tellmarians do love their theatrics," Lammerous said. He removed the whips and ordered the kraff-nocks to release Oakaford. Oakaford stood as still as a tree. If it weren't for his freaky glowing eyes, you'd think he was just another tree stump in the forest. Inside Oakaford, a battle raged. Powerful thoughts invaded his mind. They were commanding him to serve Lammerous. He remembered Lady Nimmo and fought furiously against the evil onslaught. To Oakaford, this inner war seemed to go on for hours, but it only lasted a few minutes. Inevitably, the cursed belt overcame, not that he had a chance. The poor stumper was no match against the power of the cursed belt. Lammerous waved his hand in front of Oakaford's eyes, "Hello? Anyone home?" He knocked on Oakaford's head. "Can you hear me?" "I can," Oakaford said in a mechanical, hollow voice. "Oh, my. What a sensational voice. I love it – so evil sounding." He ordered the shadow elves to loosen their whips and kraff-nocks to release Oakaford. "Who is your master?" "You are." "Delightful. I must send a gift to the Order, like a meat and cheese charcuterie board. Their belt is absolutely perfect." Lammerous snapped his fingers. "Let me show you your new enemy." He led Oakaford to the battle and pointed to the stumpers. "Annihilate them! Every one of them!" Oakaford bellowed with an evil war cry, lifted his sword, and charged at the rear of the fighting stumpers. Ash-rim turned to see Oakaford joining them, his pride and confidence surging. He knew the advantage would be theirs once he joined them. But a nagging voice told him to look once more. He couldn't say why. He focused on Oakaford. This time, he noticed the glowing red eyes. "That's not right," Ash-rim said. He left the front to intercept the charging Oakaford. Oakaford changed his course towards Ash-rim. "Hey! Captain! Is all well?" Oakaford readied his sword and swung. Ash-rim nimbly ducked and rolled. "What's wrong with you!" Ash-rim shouted. "You! You pathetic piece of firewood!" Oakaford recalculated his route and swung downward. Ash-rim blocked. "What happened to you? Why are your eyes glowing?" Ash-rim parried several more blows. "Nothing! I've always been like this. You sorry excuse for scrap wood!" "There's a difference. For one, your eyes are freaking me out. Two, your voice sounds evil. And three, you're trying to kill me." "Alright, maybe I've wisened up since last we've met." His evil voice cracked through their clashing swords. "I now see through you. You want to be captain! You think you're better than me! Telling me how I should run things!" Oakaford grew more menacing with each word. "You think I'm a doofus! Well, how about now!" Oakaford unleashed a torrent of blows. Ash-rim parried all but the last blow. He looked at his side. A terrible gash marred his wooden body. He had sparred with Oakaford many times but had never seen moves like these from his mediocre captain. He shouted retreat. Grief and confusion overwhelmed him. He needed Lady Nimmo's help. Lammerous was content and chose not to pursue the retreating stumpers. Oakaford was his. And if he was correct about Lady Nimmo, she would attempt a rescue precisely as he wanted. When the stumpers returned to Jorton, Ash-rim recalled his fight with Oakaford to Lady Nimmo and her inner circle. Jor, her father, and Flimlet, the dwarf, believed there had to be some misunderstanding. Perhaps Oakaford was only pretending to fight for Lammerous to get close enough to kill him. Tim the elf, Ash-rim, and Gladise, Lady Nimmo's mother, agreed with Lady Nimmo: evil magic was responsible. That night, Lady Nimmo called for a city-wide meeting. She warned everyone to be on the lookout for Oakaford and not to trust him until they found a way to restore him to his normal self. She appointed leaders to fill the spots of those leaving to rescue Oakaford, including herself and her husband, Captain Arrow James. The entire city loved and respected Oakaford and wholeheartedly supported the rescue party. Lady Nimmo asked her father to choose the party because of his experience with the King's Guard. Jor chose Lady Nimmo simply because he knew she'd go with or without his permission. But even Jor had to admit it wouldn't hurt to have someone who could carve a troop of stumpers to life in just a few hours. Next, he picked Captain Arrow because he knew the land beyond Trungen Forest and was Lady Nimmo's husband, which played a huge factor. Flimlet and Tim's speed made them indispensable, and Ash-rim, Tat, Splinter, Rain Storm, and Nob would provide the stumper support he knew they'd need before this was all over. The party received news that Lammerous took Oakaford to the shadow elves' port city of Lorevain on the Sea of Grindle. They knew they had to intercept Lammerous before he took Oakaford on board their ships. Once on their ships, they would sail to their homeland, where the party could do nothing. Oakaford would be lost forever! | b77us7 |
The Locket | I look over at Noah. His face is tight and focused as he backs into a difficult parking spot. Everything blurs around me, and my body trembles. When we leave the truck, Noah rests his palm between my shoulder blades, guiding me to the elevator.
What happened? I wonder to myself. He was fine a couple of hours ago. Oliver was alert and talking. My hand clutches the locket hanging around my neck. It was just a few hours ago that he gifted it to me. It contains a photo of me, Mom, Grandma, and himself. Noah rushes me through the halls and to Oliver’s room. Anxiety runs through my body as we near his door. When Noah pushes it open, all I see is my unconscious brother. He has a pinkish gauze taped to his head. A tube sticks out of his mouth and wires protrude from his hospital gown.
I feel my heart pounding against my chest. The world spins around me and my legs feel like they can no longer support my weight. I force one foot in front of the other as I approach Oliver’s bedside. His heart is beating, and he’s breathing. He has to be alive, right?
The doctor explains to me and Noah that Oliver is brain dead. “Although it may look like he’s alive, the machines attached to him are what give the false appearance. His brain is no longer active and there is no chance of recovery.” “How did he end up like this?” I ask. My voice breaks. “When I was here this morning, he seemed fine. They were talking about getting his discharge papers.” “His fall, although not from a great height, resulted in the rupture of an aneurysm within his brain. We ran a scan when he first came in, but it was too small of a bleed to show up at that time,” Doctor Hamilton explains. “I’m very sorry for your loss. I’ll leave you alone with him for a few minutes.” My legs go numb and I collapse to my knees. I grasp Oliver's hand as tight as I can. Noah kneels down next to me and rests his arm over my shoulders. I let go of Oliver and throw myself into Noah’s embrace.
I try to regain my composure, and by the time I have, Doctor Hamilton and two nurses return. The sound of silence has overtaken the world around me. Even though the Doctor is speaking, I can’t hear what he’s saying. I cross to the other side of the bed and hold onto Oliver’s hand. I watch Noah nod, then step out of the way as one nurse pulls up the bars on the sides of his bed. The other nurse places the ventilator beside him. Noah herds me out of the room and signs a few papers. I watch as they wheel my brother away.
The next couple of days all blur together; they just feel unreal. I keep expecting Oliver to walk through the door. I expect to wake up in the morning and find he's waiting for me to go on a run with him. I expect it, but it doesn’t happen. Not now and not ever again. Oliver put in his will that if something like this happened, Noah would become my guardian, even though he’s only a year older than I am. I’m so grateful to Noah. He’s always stuck by me through everything for as long as I’ve known him. I sit on the edge of my bed, staring at the necklace Oliver gifted me on the day of his passing. I decide to pull the photo out and examine it closer. When I remove the photo, a thick origami heart with writing on it falls out of the locket. I slide off my bed and pick it up off the ground. After I stand upright again, I walk through the hallway down to the brightly lit dining room.
The paper unfolds easily, and inside is a photo of my mother and an attractive young man. His outfit resembles that of a forest dweller from a fantasy story, and his ears have pointed tips like an elf's ears. Someone wrote on the paper: Sip the vile, say Rowan Priss. Come find me and make a wish. Below that is a letter written to my mother. Probably from the boy in the picture. The letter says: My dearest Kristina,
I wish more than anything that I could return to you, but our forest has fallen to war against the fire people, and I don’t have any choice but to defend this realm. I promise, my love, that one day, I will come back for you and our children. Just like we always planned. Right now, it is far too dangerous for you all to join me here. I fear that if you do, doom will fall upon you. I love you, my wonderful wife. I will see you all again soon. Tell Oliver and Harper how much I miss them. With abundant love, Rowan. I remove the cap from the vial and give the liquid a sniff. It has no smell, and it’s clear like water. This has to be a joke, right? I replace the cap and fold the letter back into a heart. I leave the vial on the table, along with the letter, photos, and locket.
A pang of hunger causes my stomach to grumble, and for the first time in two days, I realize how hungry I am. I put a pot of water on the stove and sprinkle multiple seasonings in. When it reaches the boiling point, I stir in an egg. Voilà, egg drop soup.
I shut the burner off and almost instantly, the lock on the apartment door clicks. The door creaks open, and Noah walks in.
“Soph, I’m back.” He shouts toward my bedroom.
“Hi, Noah,” I chirp. He walks into the dining room, clearly surprised that I’m not only out of my room, but I’m also making food. “I just finished making egg drop soup, if you want some.” Noah hangs his briefcase from the back of a chair. “Mmm, that sounds amazing.” I carry the pot out and place it on a cloth trivet. Noah is looking at the vile and origami heart with a worried look. “What’s all this?” He asks hesitantly.
“Oh, I almost forgot about that.” I stutter, “I found that behind the photo in my locket.” Looking at it now, I realize that it could easily look as if I planned to do something dark. “Noah, this might sound really stupid, but I want to try something.” “Okay?” He hesitates.
I unfold the letter and hand it to him to read. “This sounds so stupid and so delusional, but I want to try. I just don’t want to be alone when I drink that suspicious liquid.” Noah looks at me with uncertainty. I know how strange this sounds. I know it probably won’t even work. But I want to try. I’ve lost everybody that I share DNA with. My mom, my brother, my grandma. I’ve never even met my father. So if this even opens up a sliver of possibility for me to meet him or bring Oliver back, I want to try.
Seeing the commitment in my gaze, Noah investigates the bottle with the expertise of his father’s detective training. Then he shrugs. “Alright. Try it.” I can hear the hesitation in his voice. He doesn’t think it will work. But he’s also not going to try stopping me.
“Alright,” I say, holding the vial in one hand and the cap in the other. I take a sip. “Rowan Priss,” I say confidently and then wait. I wait a good thirty seconds and nothing. Nothing at all. I slack my shoulders out of disappointment and then shrug. “Oh well. It was stupid.” I scoop some soup into my bowl and start sipping on the broth. Noah does the same. “I’m sorry, Soph,” he murmurs. I know he didn’t think it would work. Normally he’s a very literal guy, so I’m surprised he even went along with it.
CRASH! The whole room lights up and I flinch, throwing my soup across the table. Then everything goes pitch black.
“What in the living–” Noah snaps.
When the lights come back on, a sickly thin man is standing next to me. I screech and fall out of my chair.
The man is tall with pointed ears. He has tangled brown hair and a bushy beard. A dirty green tunic and brown pants clothe him. He gazes at me with welcoming eyes.
“Kristina?” The man looks around. “No,” I say quietly. “She’s not here. I’m Harper and this is Noah.” I get up off the floor and stand next to Noah.
“Harper,” he repeats. “My daughter?” Noah looks from me to the man, wide-eyed. I pick up the photo and compare him to it. He has the same eyes and the same mouth.
“Are you Rowan Priss?” I ask.
“Yes,” he replies. “I am he. Though, in this world, I go by Rowan Keaton.”
“And you’re my father?” I ask. “If you’re Kristina’s daughter, then yes,” he replies, smiling a bright smile. "Which you must be, because you have the same stunning eyes." The room falls into an awkward silence. My mind is swirling with confusion, surprise, and wonder. I never thought I would actually meet my father. Nor did I think this would work. I recall the writing in the letter and think of a sentence that he had written: I promise, my love, that one day I will come back for you and our children. “Sorry to be so straightforward.” My feet shuffle awkwardly. “Why did you never return for us?” I question hesitantly. “In the letter, you said you would.” I gesture to the letter on the table. “I’m so sorry,” he answers. “After the fire people attacked, the Woodland fell. Most of my people have been in prison all this time, including me. I’m now free because you called me here.” “You probably want to clean up, in that case?” Noah offers. “I have extra clothes. They’ll probably fit you.” “Do you have a razor?” Rowan asks hopefully.
“Yes,” Noah nods. “I’ll show you where everything is. Just follow me.” Rowan follows Noah down the hall to his room, which had been my brother's. Oliver had things worked out so that Noah would get the apartment if he wanted. I fall into the spiral of remembering the things I did with my brother. He’s taken care of me ever since I can remember, even when we lived with Grandma. I feel a warm tear slip down my cheek and quickly wipe it away. I can’t cry now. But I am. Another tear slips down my cheek. And another, and another. The tears keep falling as memories of my brother flood my brain. I can’t believe he’s gone. When Noah returns, he stops at the edge of the hallway, watching me for just a moment. I don’t notice, though. Not until he comes closer and spins me around to hold me in a tight embrace. His arms are strong. He’s in the police training academy now, but his father was a detective. He has received training in this field since he was young.
Noah’s arm shifts upward, and he covers my head with his hand. After a moment, I pull back and dry my face with my sleeves. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. But what I mean is, I can’t grieve when there’s a sliver of hope that I can get him back. “No,” Noah consoles. “Sometimes you need to let yourself cry.” “I’m fine now.” I clear my throat. Noah gives me a sympathetic glare.
Noah and I wait on the couch. Rowan returns after nearly an hour, looking like a completely different person. He shaved his face smooth and braided his hair back, completely transforming his appearance. Is he really the man in the picture? He doesn’t look any older now than he did in that photo. He’s clothed in Noah’s blue jeans and a buttoned flannel shirt. We all visit and make small talk over dinner. Eventually, the conversation shifts to the topic of the letter and then the wish. “Is it possible?” I ask. “Yes, but it’s awfully dangerous.” Fear glints from my father’s eyes. “May I ask what you’ll wish for?”
“Oliver,” I whisper. “I want to wish for Oliver, your son. He passed on a few days ago.”
Sorrow crosses Rowan’s face. “Then we must leave at once.” He gets up from where he sits and heads to the door. Noah and I follow. I didn’t think he meant right this second. “It will be a quick journey,” he explains. “We must go west to the Glittering Willow. It should be a straight shot from where we land.” We follow him, barefoot, down the streets and to Central Park. The air is cool and causes a chill to run down my spine. “Keep in mind, the sun rises from the north and sets in the south where I’m from.” “That will be very useful to remember,” Noah says. “There is a catch, though,” Rowan states. He looks me and Noah in the eyes. “I can’t promise you’ll be able to come back to this world.”
My eyes dart to Noah. “If there’s even a chance for me to get Oliver back, I want to try, but it isn’t fair for me to drag you along. I don’t want to force you into leaving your family and your dream.” Noah hesitates. It seems like he’s trying to find the right words to say. “What dream?” He finally asks. “That was my father’s dream for me. This sounds like more adventure than I could ever come across in a lifetime. Wherever you go, I want to follow.” His voice drops before he says the next part, but I can still hear it. “Sophia, I love you.”
Central Park is spooky in the dark. The owners are against any modern technology, so there are no lights to illuminate the path.
Rowan instructs us to all grasp each other's hands, and to not let go until he says so. As soon as we all have a good grip on each other, he chants in a language I can’t understand.
The wind picks up and whips through the land. My hair blows in all directions, and I clasp Noah’s hand tight. Rowan stops chanting abruptly. Or it just got so loud I can’t hear him anymore. Everything surrounding us spins faster and faster. The trees turn to stars, and a light flashes so brightly that I can see it clearly through closed eyes. The wind stops and everything is still.
I open my eyes to see tall, dark trees surrounding us. The leaves are light green with all kinds of flowers and clusters of blue radiance. I gaze in awe at the beauty of this place. “Welcome to the Forgotten World,” Rowan says with a hushed voice, though he’s grinning widely. “The Glittering Willow is just over there.” I look in the direction he points. My mouth drops when I see the size of the willow tree. It has to be hundreds of feet tall.
I fall into step with Noah as we walk. He stares at the leaves above. I try to say something to him. The words are right on my tongue, but I can’t bring myself to do it. I can’t believe he left everything behind for me. His family, his training, his dream. Did he really mean it? Was that his father’s dream for him all along, or was he just saying that it was? My face turns red at the memory of his words. I love you. We’ve been friends for years. How did I not figure that out?
“How does the wish work?” I whisper to my father. “You cup a flower in your hands, and whisper the wish onto it,” he replies, describing it with his hands.
A high whistle noise whizzes past me, and Noah groans beside me. I turn to see him drop to his knees, clutching his abdomen. “Noah?” I grab his shoulder.
“Hornet’s,” my father barks. “Don’t move.” I crouch beside Noah and stop either of us from moving. Finally, the whistling goes silent. “It’s safe.” Rowan crouches beside Noah and examines his torso. The light is already fading from his eyes. “How do we get the bleeding to stop?” I shudder. Even as I ask this question, Noah falls limp, and he stares blankly at the blue sky. “No,” I whisper. I never said it back. I never said I loved him . Rowan sets his hand on my shoulder, but I throw it off and run to the tree. I clamp a flower between my palms and sob. “Please, bring him back. Bring Noah back. Please.” Almost instantly, beams of light surge into Noah’s body. I watch as he floats high above my height. I watch his facial features transform, looking similar to Rowan's. He now has pointed ears and glittering eyes. Suddenly I realize my features are also elf-like here. When he lowers back to the ground, he lets out a gasp and opens his eyes.
I run back to him and throw my arms around him. I might not get my brother back, but at least I’ll still have Noah. With tears glinting in my eyes, I whisper, “I love you too.” | 4dsysf |
Dreamweaver's Nightmare | Dreamweaver's Nightmare
The morning sun filtered through the windows of Dreamspire, casting long beams across the polished stone floors. The high, rounded towers of the grand castle stretched toward the sky, their walls lined with books, tomes, and cascading streams of magic sand, each one flowing in different colors, symbolizing the dream and memory magic coursing through the realm. Sandman stood in the grand hall, his thoughts still tangled from the previous night. Something had felt off, though he couldn’t place it. He stirred his cup of crystal coffee absentmindedly, the spoon moving in a slow swirl. Just as he took a sip, the opening of a portal interrupted his thoughts. A shimmering blue light filled the room as Father Time stepped through his portal, the edges rippling with the soft ticking of unseen clocks. The faint motion of time could be glimpsed within the portal—moments spiraling forward and backward like flickers of passing memories. Tall and robed, Father Time adjusted his timepiece as he greeted Sandman, whose figure stood calm and still in the glowing light of Dreamspire. “Good morning, Sandman,” Father Time said, his voice calm but curious. “I trust the night was uneventful?” Sandman shook his head slightly, setting his cup down. “Not entirely. One of the Dream Wisps flickered during the rounds, and I saw something red in the sky. It vanished too quickly to make sense of it.” Father Time raised an eyebrow, taking a seat and summoning his own cup of crystal coffee. With a wave of his hand, the spoon inside began to stir counterclockwise. “That doesn’t sound right. Although plume detected some magical imbalances recently—perhaps this is connected.” Before their conversation could continue, Lumia entered the room, her usual calm replaced with concern. In her hands, she held a small, dark bag. “My lord,” Lumia began, her voice trembling slightly, “there’s something wrong in the Memory Vault.” Sandman immediately straightened. “What do you mean?” Lumia held up the small bag. “I found this on the floor inside the vault. It doesn’t belong to any of the Dream Wisps. And… thirteen Memory Stones are missing. Including the special one.” Time’s Insight: Memory Stones Palm-sized, smooth, rounded crystals store dreamers' memories, protecting them from trauma and nightmares. Memory Stones safeguard these memories for later retrieval or secure keeping, like a special stone holding precious memories. Sandman’s brow furrowed deeply. “Thirteen?” he repeated, feeling a sense of dread. “Yes, my lord,” Lumia confirmed, her voice steady but worried.
Sandman and Father Time exchanged a brief glance, and Sandman nodded slowly. “Lumia, there was something strange about one of the Dream Wisps last night. Could you go and check on them for me?” Lumia, ever dutiful, nodded and turned to leave. Her footsteps were light as she disappeared down the hallway, leaving the two alone. Once Lumia was gone, Sandman turned back to Father Time, his voice lowering. “The special stone she referred to—it’s important. It holds the magical memories of someone I must protect —someone vital.” Father Time’s expression darkened with understanding. “You mean…” “Yes,” Sandman confirmed. “It’s her. After you left, I cast an additional spell to protect her magical memories and placed them inside the stone. It was the only way to keep her safe after everything that happened. And now they’re gone.” Father Time’s grip on his staff tightened. “You cast that spell to protect her magic, and now that protection has been breached.” Sandman’s face was grim. “I can’t allow her to be vulnerable. Her memories and everything else are at risk now.” Father Time’s expression darkened. “The residue on that bag—it’s unmistakable. Dark magic from the Moonshade realm. We’ve encountered it before.” Sandman’s jaw tightened. “Then we don’t have time to waste. We need to retrieve the stones.” Before Father Time could respond, Lumia entered, her usual serene presence now clouded with concern. “My lord,” she said softly, “one of the Dream Wisps is missing. A blue aura— one tied to serene dreams—has vanished.” Sandman exchanged a tense glance with Father Time. “This complicates things,” he murmured. Father Time’s gaze sharpened. “Then there’s no doubt. It’s time we paid Draven a visit.” The cold air of ShadowVeil greeted them as they stepped through their portals, each tied to their own destinies. Sandman’s golden sand portal swirled behind him, dissipating like the remnants of forgotten dreams. Father Time’s shimmering blue portal slowly faded, the passage of time retreating into the void. They had left behind the familiarity of the Enchanted Realm, home to legends and myths, only to find themselves in the dark heart of ShadowVeil. The landscape here was foreboding, shrouded in mist and an unsettling twilight that seemed never to end. The towering trees, with blackened bark and twisted limbs, lined their path, their branches curling like skeletal fingers. They approached Bloodstone Castle, the imposing structure shimmering with crimson-stained stones under the eerie moonlight. The castle, a testament to centuries of power and darkness, loomed above them as they crossed the stone bridge leading to its gates. Sandman clutched the imposter bag tightly, feeling the dark energy that clung to it—Father Time walked beside him, his staff ticking with every step as though the universe itself acknowledged the gravity of their quest. At the far end of the hall, Draven, the lord of ShadowVeil, awaited them. His tall, pale, and imposing figure stood silhouetted against the crimson light of the castle’s walls. His eyes gleamed with an unnatural red hue, a clear sign of his vampiric nature. Beside him, Morgana—his wife and the most powerful sorceress in the realm—stood silently, her emerald eyes scanning the room with a sharp, knowing gaze. “You’ve come with a purpose,” Draven’s voice rumbled through the vast hall. “What brings you to ShadowVeil?” Sandman stepped forward, his voice steady and urgency clear. “Thirteen Memory Stones are missing from Dreamspire, stolen with the use of dark magic. We believe the trail leads here.” Morgana stepped closer, her eyes narrowing as she examined the imposter bag Sandman held. “This isn’t just any dark magic,” she said softly. “This is old magic. Whoever crafted this has deep roots in our realm.” Draven nodded slowly, considering the weight of their words. “There are many in ShadowVeil capable of such magic, but few who would dare to steal from the Dreamspire.” Father Time’s voice broke the silence. “We need to know who is behind this. The Memory Stones hold vital information, and we cannot let them fall into the wrong hands.” Draven’s expression darkened, his gaze shifting to Morgana. “Can you trace the magic back to its source?” Morgana’s lips curled into a faint smile. “Give me time, and I’ll uncover the truth.” Draven motioned toward a table in the corner of the hall. “We’ll wait for you to begin unraveling the magic’s source.” Morgana took the imposter bag, her emerald eyes glowing with power as she turned and left the room, leaving Draven to discuss their next steps with Sandman and Father Time. “We may need more information,” Draven said, his voice low and commanding. “There’s a merchant in Darfax—Vulmar. He’s known to deal in rare magical items. He may have answers.” Father Time nodded. “Then we’ll go to Darfax.” The journey to the Labyrinth of Darfax was treacherous. The ground beneath them shifted as if alive. Dark tendrils of mist clung to the twisted trees lining the path. Shadows danced along the gnarled branches, making the air feel heavy with ancient magic. "This place…" Sandman muttered. "Always feels like it’s watching." Draven smirked. "That’s because it is. Darfax is not for the faint of heart." As they reached the entrance, a dark chasm carved deep into the earth, Father Time turned to Draven. "Are you sure Vulmar will cooperate?" Draven nodded. "He will—if he knows what’s good for him." They descended into the labyrinth, where the light dimmed, and the air grew colder. Footsteps echoed through the winding tunnels of the underground city as they made their way toward the heart of Darfax. Faint glimmers of light from jagged cracks in the stone cast eerie shadows. Finally, they reached a vast chamber. In its center sat Vulmar, the dark elf lord of Darfax. His sharp eyes gleamed as he rose from a throne made of twisted roots and black stone. His dark cloak shimmered with the same energy that pulsed through the labyrinth. "Timekeeper, Dreamweaver," Vulmar acknowledged with a slight nod. "What brings you to Darfax?" Draven stepped forward, his voice low and commanding. "We need information. Recent dealings have occurred in enchanted items—specifically, Memory Stones." Vulmar’s thin lips curled into a knowing smile. "Ah, yes, there has been some interest in such items lately… rare in these parts, but not unheard of." Father Time’s voice cut through the tension. "Was there anyone in particular asking about them? Perhaps a sorceress?" Vulmar’s eyes flickered with intrigue. "Now that you mention it, there was one—dark hair, dark purple eyes. She didn’t give her name, but I’d wager she’s no stranger to you." The group exchanged a knowing glance. Thalindra. Before they could respond, a pulse of crimson light filled the chamber. Morgana appeared, her emerald eyes sharp as she held the imposter bag aloft. "It’s her," Morgana declared. "The enchantments her magical signature are Thalindra’s. I’ve traced the magic to the Forgotten Sanctum." Draven’s gaze darkened as he turned to Morgana. "Then it’s time to confront her." The air grew heavier as they approached the Forgotten Sanctum, a long-forgotten sanctuary hidden deep within the earth. Its jagged stone walls jutted out like crooked crones bones, a stark reminder of its ancient purpose. Cloaked in secrecy, it had served as a haven for sorceresses throughout time—a place to hide, to seek refuge, or to unlock powers beyond comprehension. Though many had tried to uncover its mysteries, only those with true knowledge of the arcane arts could find the entrance. Within its shadowed halls lay the Sorceress’ Path, a dangerous and forbidden route to untold magical power, concealed from the unworthy but sought by those desperate enough to risk everything. The Sanctum's very walls seemed to whisper of the hidden dangers within, forgotten to the world but never abandoned by those who knew its secrets. With a wave of her hand, Morgana broke through the wards protecting the sanctum. The shimmering barrier collapsed in a cascade of light, revealing a narrow stone staircase descending into the darkness. “Stay close,” Morgana instructed, her voice firm. “The wards are down, but we don’t know what Thalindra has planned inside.” Draven nodded as the group followed Morgana into the sanctum. The air grew colder as they descended the staircase, the faint glow of obsidian crystals lighting their path. The magic in the air was thick, almost suffocating, the kind that made the hair on the back of their necks stand on end. At the bottom of the stairs, they entered a vast chamber lined with glowing crystals, each one pulsing with eerie purple light. Strange symbols floated in the air, shifting and twisting as if alive. In the center of the room stood Thalindra, her dark hair cascading over her shoulders, her purple eyes gleaming with malice. She smiled as they approached. "I knew you would come," Thalindra’s voice dripped with dark amusement. "The Memory Stones are mine now." Morgana stepped forward, her hands glowing with crimson energy. "You won’t get away with this, Thalindra." Thalindra laughed, her voice echoing through the chamber. "You’ve always underestimated me, Morgana." Before Morgana could react, Thalindra snapped her fingers, and a dark barrier shot up between Morgana and the rest of the group. The barrier shimmered with dark purple energy, isolating Morgana from Sandman, Father Time, and Draven. "Face me alone if you dare," Thalindra taunted. Morgana didn’t hesitate. "You’ve meddled long enough, Thalindra. It ends now." The room exploded with magic as Morgana and Thalindra fought fiercely. Spells collided, sending brilliant flashes of crimson and purple light across the chamber. Shadows twisted and writhed as the two sorceresses fought, their magic crackling in the air. Sandman’s eyes drifted to the far side of the room as the battle raged on, where a small cage sat. Inside, the missing aura blue Dream Wisp flickered weakly, trapped but still glowing faintly. Beside the cage lay the Hold bag—the second half of the shadow-linked bags—pulsing softly with magic. Time’s Insight: Shadow-Linked Bags A rare pair of enchanted bags, Snare captures and traps objects, while Hold retrieves them, regardless of distance. Bound by ancient magic, they secretly transfer items across realms, keeping their contents secure and hidden. Morgana’s eyes briefly flicked to the Hold bag before she intensified her attack, forcing Thalindra back. "You’re finished, Thalindra." Thalindra sneered, her fingers dancing with dark energy. "You’ll never be rid of me, Morgana. I’m always one step ahead." With a final burst of magic, Thalindra opened a portal behind her. "You may have won this round, but the war is far from over," she hissed, disappearing into the portal. The barrier behind Morgana dissolved as the purple glow faded from the chamber. Draven and the others rushed forward as Morgana dusted herself off. "Are you all right, my dear?" Draven asked, concern flickering in his eyes. Morgana nodded, brushing off the remnants of magic from her robes. "She escaped, but the Memory Stones and the Dream Wisp are here." Sandman approached the cage, gently cradling the freed Dream Wisp in his hands. The small creature nestled into Sandman’s cloak, seeking comfort. Morgana bent down and picked up the Snare bag that had fallen during the battle. "These are a matched pair," she said, glancing toward the Hold bag near the cage. As Sandman knelt by the hold bag, he carefully opened it and retrieved the Memory Stones from inside. Morgana tucked the snare bag into her cloak and gave Sandman a nod. “I’ll take care of these. They won’t fall into the wrong hands again.” Draven watched her with admiration. "If anyone can secure them, it’s you." With the Memory Stones safely tucked away and Morgana now in possession of the Snare and Hold, Sandman felt the tension finally begin to ease. The group turned to leave the Forgotten Sanctum, the weight of their mission lifting, but something gnawed at Sandman’s mind. A flicker of unease, like a disturbance in the very fabric of the dream realm, sent a chill through him. He blinked... and everything went black. Suddenly, Sandman jolted awake, gasping for air. The dim glow of Dreamspire surrounded him, and the soft sounds of cascading sand fall provided a rhythmic backdrop. His heart pounded in his chest, and his hand instinctively moved to his chest, half-expecting to find the Memory Stones. Of course, they weren’t there. Not a dream, he thought to himself. A nightmare. They’re getting stronger... because it felt so real. A gentle knock interrupted his thoughts. Lumia floated into the room, her ethereal form casting soft light around her. "My lord, is everything all right? You seemed... troubled," she asked, her voice filled with concern. Sandman offered a shaky smile, still unsettled by the vividness of his dream. "It’s nothing to worry about, Lumia," he replied softly. "Just... a nightmare." Lumia hesitated, studying him with a discerning gaze. "If you say so, my lord." As Lumia turned to leave, Sandman couldn’t shake the lingering doubt. Dreams have a way of weaving truths within their fabric, he thought to himself. And this one... felt far too close to reality. | 09ttwt |
The Mask of Sammy: A Tale of the Arts Department | 1937 New York City Sammy flung a precise complement of steaming chestnuts into a paper bag - an impressive feat given the enormity of his signature scoop and his signature over-the-shoulder tossing arc. Whistling his slightly manic but jaunty signature tune, Sammy proudly conferred his toasty treasure to the Dapper Dan and his Dazzling Dame as they swayed in rhythm with him and the skyscrapers looming above. The city had become heavily anthropomorphized ever since the banks had recovered and folks had quit fleeing for California’s golden boulevards or to die in the dusts of Oklahoma. As Sammy looked up, he spied a suspicious masked nemesis in a wheelchair clamping a hose to the street cart and draining his treasured chestnuts into a tank affixed to the back of the chair. An incensed Sammy pulled another impossibly large implement from the front of the cart, and as he brought the sledgehammer down, stars and songbirds sprouted from the evildoer’s noggin. Sammy ripped the mask from the now concussed lout, and a familiar countenance emerged – the unmistakable monocle and cigarette holder jutting from a squared jaw. “Nuts to you,” the rodent declared, propelling the chair and its inhabitant into the Broadway traffic. “Here’s your New Deal!” ** “Franklin Roosevelt?” Saanvi murmured incredulously as the YouTube video segued into a Dodge Ram ad. “ President Roosevelt?” “Bob Lanzei was never really great at picking the right side of history,” Assistant Professor Cooper admitted. “Lanzei somehow concluded the president was simultaneously a commie, a fascist, and a capitalist schemer who’d staged the Great Depression and the New Deal as the greatest land grab of all time. Sammy was an everyman’s squirrel for the era, and thus hated pretty much everybody. Steamboat Willie it wasn’t. Which brings us to why, no, I was not watching porn when you walked in. You ever hear of the Mickey Mouse gas mask?” Chairman Deshpande raised a single brow. “Excuse me?” “Introduced January 7, 1942, a month after Pearl Harbor. Fully functional, with the addition of ginormous mouse ears. The idea was to take the heebie-jeebies out of an enemy gas attack for the little Mouseketeers.” “That is positively horrifying.” “Comedy and tragedy – two sides, same coin. Hell, now that Steamboat Willie ’s in the public domain, they’re coming out with a horror version.” “And the Disney people are allowing this?” “Nothing they can do. Ever seen Winnie The Pooh: Blood and Honey ?“ “I shall add it to my queue,” Saanvi vowed. “Why is American childhood entertainment so steeped in violence?” “We traumatize and indoctrinate kids into our aggressive, xenophobic, toxic alpha culture. That’s the point of the new montage for the Children’s Empowerment Conference. If I can nail down the last few pieces.” “Including the Mickey Mouse mask?” “Don’t screw with the House of Mouse, or at least its legal team,” Ethan advised. “I’m waiting back on a call back from Chicago on possibly the last existing Sammy Squirrel Air Raid Mask. Released a week ahead of the Mickey mask. Disney’s mask was equipped with a filter effective against harmful gases and round ‘friendly’ sealed glass eyes, and manufactured from rubber. Lanzei used neoprene, a durable rubber substitute that’s resistant to chemicals – if you spend the bucks for high-grade neoprene. Imagine the blowback if you wound up with a playground of twitching dead tots in fake rubber squirrel masks. Within a month, amid possibly Disney-generated buzz, Lanzei pulled all masks from the stores.” “At least I know which spectre will be haunting my dreams tonight,” Saanvi said cheerfully. “Forewarned, forearmed. Hold on,” Ethan murmured excitedly as he swept his chiming iPhone from his blotter. “Whatcha got? Really? Brook Village? Less than two hours away? Who’s the seller? You haven’t talked to them? But they’re willing to sell, or at least loan it to the University? Then how do you know they even have one?” Ethan’s boyish expression vanished. “That could be a challenge. Well, uh, thanks?” Chairman Deshpande studied her friend and underling for fully a minute. “You have located your squirrel mask?” “Hah?” Ethan blinked. “Kinda. Few legal issues, though.” “Ownership? Provenance?” “Serial killer’s using it for the time being.” ** “So, you’re an artist ?” “Well, a sculptor, a metalsmith,” Ethan expanded as Police Chief Rainsford continued to twirl a gold-plated pen between index and road rage finger. “I, uh, was looking for a mask kinda, you know, like your guy’s been wearing to his. . .murders. I may have some insights that could help your investigation. You know it’s a gas mask, right?” “With squirrel ears. Some kinda hipster drug thing?” “You’re too young to remember Sammy Squirrel, right?” “Guy that wanted the Japanese put in camps, thought Truman was a Russian sleeper? The cartoon guy, not the squirrel. Look, Professor Cooper, I appreciate your generous offer, but we already hired a pothead slacker, his buddies, and their Great Dane.” “Chief, the last Sammy Squirrel mask sold at auction for $475,000. Seem goofy – pardon the pun – that a serial killer would wear a nearly half-million-dollar mask on his rounds?” Brook Village’s top cop sighed laboriously. “Okay, you tell me.” “My guess, he’s trying to send a message. You know about the mask because you caught the killer on video. At the richy-riches’ house where he shot the HVAC guy? At the condo site where the building commissioner got whacked? In the mall parking lot where that tax consultant was found, or in the lot where the old golfer got his last shot? At the comic book shop? Really kinda tough to get caught in full frame, in the right light, every single time you kill somebody. He wants to be seen, but not identified. So, yeah, message.” Rainsford quit twirling. “So what’s the message?” “I got no idea.” “ Rooby Roo ,” Rainsford smiled, waggling his fingers goodbye. ** “Grady was an idiot,” Henry Kim told Ethan. Kim as a slim, chic sore thumb among the multi-hued Lanterns and multiversal Marvels and the Mignolas and Kirbys and and the anime and its kinky cousins. “I took us online, got artists in for Thursday night signings, brought in vintage shit to hook the rich closet geeks and kitsch collectors. Now, Lanzei – that’s some esoteric, off-the-trail shit. You some kinda neo-supremacist type? Sammy Squirrel’s like the mascot for the white pride jags cause all the antisemitic shit. Or are you just an ironic hipster?” “The University’s got a kids’ rights conference next month, and I’m putting together an installation focusing on childhood trauma in American pop culture.” “Wow, awesome,” Kim stated. “So, you got a line on a mask? I’ll pay some righteous coin for it – got plenty of hipsters and the other types that would kill for one.” “Yikes.” “Grady wouldn’t care. He was an asshole.” “Enough to make any enemies? Maybe one of those antisemitic squirrel types? Maybe he was one of those antisemitic squirrel types?” “The incel, racist fanboy? Was a huge conspiracy theorist, but not that much of a stereotype.” ** “Smart home integration, zoned heating, geothermal, backup generators, gyms and theaters and pools and even home distillery equipment,” said Gary Fratelli, the Bubba Gump of Chicagoland HVAC. “These millennials find something cool and stupid to jam into their McMansion, well, just say we’re printing money. Wayne was a genius at all this high-tech sci-fi shit.” “Was he into comics?” Ethan asked. Fratelli shifted his bulk with a frown. “‘Cause Sammy Squirrel killed that comic book store guy, or because the Lanzeis live over in Stansbrook?” “The Lanzeis? The Sammy Squirrel Lanzeis?” “Ray and Sam, the sons. We do their cellar work and stuff. I don’t think Wayne was crazy about them at first – he said he caught a ‘weird vibe’ at the house. But he always volunteered to do calls there. Fact, Sam and Ray were on his call sheet right after the job where he got shot…” “Wait up. Sam? Bob Lanzei named his kid after a violent, racist cartoon squirrel?” Fratelli shrugged. “Mom named me after her first husband. Boy, Pop was pissed.” ** “Jesus,” Samuel Lanzei grunted, lifting the bottle. “You broke out the Chateau Lafite Rothschild for this guy?” Raymond Lanzei snatched the vintage from his brother. “Oops. Well, it’s only the ‘83, not the ’82.” The younger brother turned to their guest. “We got the ’82 at auction for $39,000.” “Yeah,” Sammy murmured. “This swill only ran us $3,700, so fucking drink up and we’ll bring out the Wheat thins and make a party of it. Jesus. “So your interest is in the mask itself, not the psycho further pissing on the family’s reputation?” Ray asked Ethan. “A little of both. How many Air Raid Masks are currently in existence, any idea?” “Mm. A group of white supremacists adopted Sammy as their brand, and their leaders started wearing them to anti-gay protests, similar nonsense. Their slogan was, ‘Give us our nuts back!’ -- overcompensating morons. A counteroffensive of transsexuals finally commandeered the Neanderthals’ masks and held a bonfire on the Indianapolis Statehouse steps. That took a dozen or more out. Then, we put a bounty on the things and got rid of another couple dozen. The last few, if any, are probably in wealthy collectors’ hands.” “Except for the one at the top of the six o’clock news,” Ethan noted. Sam poured himself another few hundred’s worth. “You think this is some kind of statement? Against your family, your dad?” “Dad’was a shitbag,” Sammy slurred. “Took him 10 years to give up on his big dream of that fucking demented squirrel becoming the next Mickey Mouse. Even after he started building shopping centers and car dealerships, Dad couldn’t let it go. Raymond and I tried to make our own way, but with The Squirrel’s legacy following us around, we’re still living on Dad’s trust in the family compound. I can still feel the old shitbag’s icy fingers around my neck.” “Sam!” Raymond snapped. “Another glass, Professor?” “Kinda feel like I should,” Ethan said.
** The lights were still blazing in the one open shop on Brook Village’s four-block boulevard, and within 20 minutes of Grady’s wake, Assistant Professor Cooper learned why The Marvels sucked and Anthony Mackie Captain America was a travesty on a par with the cancellation of the McRib, and discovered Grady’s geek-gorgeous widow could kick grabby fanboy ass. “You the dude with the squirrel mask?” The guy was long and lean in a Hellboy tee and unfortunate man-bun, but Ethan -- bloated and wired from Takis and Rockstar -- was happy to end the neo-Comicon. “Not yet.” The sculptor followed the giant to a Batcove just before the restrooms. “Little fuckers,” Man-Bun muttered. “Harvey. Like Harvey Comics. I got like a 30-year run of Casper . I also got some vintage Disney, Warner Bros., Walter Lantz, Terrytoons — all the great old-school animated shorts. Even Sammy Squirrel. You know, Ralph Bakshi did a great subversive, meta take on Sammy in the late ‘80s, to pair-up with his Mighty Mouse retcon. I got the pilot segments, but it never happened ‘cause Bob Lanzei’s kids didn’t want their racist douchebag cartoon squirrel to be a joke . “I got 10 of the 20 old Sammy tie-in books, and Grady told me he was ‘onto something huge’ that could boost the per-issue value by a few thousand. Then he got caught hacking into the electric company system I guess to wipe out his bill, and he told me the trail hadn ’ t gone cold. Like some kinda inside joke. Like most of his humor. Shit, like most of ours .” ** “Five victims,” Ethan whispered. “The HVAC dude, the tax specialist, the building inspector, the comic book guy, and the golfer. Seemed to be no connection between any of them, but I can think of at least one. Or more accurately, two separate patterns. With a third overriding pattern.” “There an abridged audiobook version of this?” Henry Kim asked. Access had been easy, once Ethan’d convinced The Brothers Lanzei, Gary Fratelli, a couple of other likely red herrings, and, with a convincing web of lies Chief Rainsford to convene a gathering of the suspects at the late cartoonist’s manse, and dangled low-grade fame and fortune to persuade decoy herring Henry to help raid the family cellar. Ethan and Henry had then claimed loose bladders and scurried underground. “Wayne, Grady, and the inspector were high-risk targets, requiring planning and specialized access,” Ethan continued. “Then you had Kristin, the tax preparer, shot in an open mall parking lot. And the old golfer, stumbling back to his Lincoln after a long afternoon at the 10th hole. Two apparently opportunistic kills. Let’s take them out of the equation for a moment.” Henry peered about the walls of red, white, and rose’. “What do you think about a wine bar? Bring in the suburban retro whales with some merlot?” “Boring you?” “Sorry, let’s do your thing.” Ethan trained the maglite over the cellar walls, into the corner seams. “Wayne was a specialist in environmental controls and high-tech systems. The local building inspector had to sign off on major residential modifications.” “And Grady had the uncanny ability to sort Hulks by color.” “Getting there,” Assistant Professor Cooper growled. “Both these guys were out here. Wayne added a bank of backup generators with the inspector’s approval. I convinced Chief Rainsford to dig up the Lanzei’s utility bills, like Grady tried to do. The family’s had obscene electrical charges for 40 years. I checked around, and Raymond only started collecting wines about 30 years ago. So why the insane charges and high-tech systems way over the top for a home wine cellar? Plus, when Wayne added Lanzei’s new backup system, he said there was a weird vibe down here.” “No shit.” “Wayne knew instinctively what a wine cellar should sound and feel like. When he detected an odd hum or vibration that didn’t belong here, he told the Lanzeis about it, and they paid him off huge, just like they did the building inspector when he questioned how the cellar’s layout didn’t jibe with the home’s blueprints. “And then, enter Grady. One of your customers said he’d been onto something big but told him the trail hadn’t run cold. An inside joke, Harvey said . Bob Lanzei was obsessed with Disney. If he couldn’t live like Walt, he decided he could at least die like him.” “I thought that was lung cancer.” “Conspiracy buffs insist Walt Disney was cryogenically preserved after his death in ’66, despite documented proof of Disney’s cremation. Yeah, here we go. You see that line of light along the corner, and the way the wall seems to be almost inset into the ceiling? Like on a track, maybe? Gimme a hand.” Ethan sighed. “Or don’t, I’m guessing.” ** It looked and hummed like something designed long ago to turn Jeff Goldblum into a less annoying species. “Lanzei died in ’84 of a brain aneurysm, but I guess that wasn’t a satisfactory ending. I think Grady started putting things together after hacking into the Lanzeis’ electric bills. May have been what set this whole thing in motion: If TMZ or Extra or CNN got hold of this , Bob’s family would never have gotten another moment of peace or privacy.” Ethan located an inside handle on the front of the metal cylinder, next to a temperature gauge that read “-130F.” “Drumroll, please…” “Yeah, I don’t do that,” Henry stated. “What’s the plan here? I mean, if you’re telling me what I think, and you’re about to do what it looks like you’re doing, that’s kinda murder, dude. Well, some kind of crime.” “Yes, back away from the fridge.” Ethan’s heart did a double paradiddle at the gun in Sammy the Squirrel’s hand and the cheap but marginally effective neoprene gas mask on the serial killer’s face. “Dude,” Henry responded. “You got the chief of police upstairs. This is your move?” “Exactly his move,” Ethan managed. “Nothing like a son’s love for his dad. Right, Raymond?” “It was his dying wish, and he deserves better than a viral character assassination,” Bob Lanzei’s son barked. “We’re going to Old Yeller you two, and then, I’m going to give the world something else to meme about.” “What’s an Old Yell—?” “Henry.” Ethan looked the homicidal squirrel in the eyes. “You realized you couldn’t keep buying off the locals, so you decided to clean up every loose end leading to your Popsicle. Why you did it all on video — when you got busted for the killings, the Sammy mask would become evidence, likely locked away for years. Why not just destroy it?” “Sam’s in last stage liver/kidney failure, and as his last blast at Dad, he wants to sell off not just my wine, but also the last mask we’d kept. Well, the next to the last. I thought if I could tie up the mask in court for God knows how many continuances and appeals, I could outlive Sam, and Dad, too, if my brother got any wild ideas about going for the second mask.” Ethan stated to explain the flaws in Raymond’s scheme, then considered the heir’s words and glanced to the cryogenic chamber. “C’mon,” Raymond ordered. “This fucking thing is suffocating m—“ His grievance ended as a figure emerged from the darkness, like Thor on Social Security. The sledgehammer came down on Raymond Lanzei’s skull, and Henry shrieked appropriately as Ethan scooped up the fallen pistol and straight-armed it toward the new intruder. “Put that goddamn thing down,” Sammy grumbled. “You’ll give me a fucking heart attack, and then you’ll never get what you want. Not that I know anything, because Mom and Raymond were responsible for this whole crazy Good Humor shit. Right? Dad was a paranoid old fuck – his mask is yours if you testify I saved your life and help me crack this thing. C’mon, Deputy Dawg’ll be down here any second. Shit, technology. Wish Ray hadn’t killed that kid.” | a662fy |
Magic Carpet Ride | He wasn’t yet a grandfather, but nonetheless Scott was the oldest student in all of his classes at San Diego State University. In grade school, he had had no interest in the obligatory hour of Spanish lessons on Friday afternoons, so it was a little out of character for him to have chosen to pursue a major in that same subject area. I guess he enjoyed tackling the challenge of becoming proficient in a foreign language after all. Scott does still remember the warmhearted Mexican lady Mrs. Ortega, known simply as “Tega” by the family. She helped Mom around the house and prepared that spicy, foamy hot chocolate on crispy winter mornings. Perhaps that childhood experience also subconsciously helped to guide Scott onto this current path. Scott was supporting himself, and risking his life to some extent, by driving an armored truck while attending classes part-time. Then when it became difficult to afford the rent in the immediate vicinity, Scott found a reasonable apartment to lease just across the international border in nearby Tijuana. Besides saving a substantial sum of money, he figured by immersing himself in Mexican culture on a day to day basis could only help him succeed even furthermore in his studies. In order to arrive timely to work and to class, Scott made sure he was up and about by four o’clock in the morning. Then it was a torturous forty-five minutes waiting in line in his Dodge Caravan to cross back over into the United States at the San Ysidro Port of Entry. Next stop was the donut shop for coffee and a pastry, which he consumed in the parking lot of the Chula Vista 24 Hour Fitness club. He worked out briefly, showered, and then reported to either work or school, depending on the semester schedule. Most every college level class required at least one student oral presentation. This often unnerved Scott, who was more comfortable communicating on a one-to-one basis. The two exceptions to this occurred when conversational Spanish class professors Muñoz and Sánchez called for collaborative group performances. Practicing the skits with fellow students off campus took the edge off the exercise and that was just plain fun! With partner student Jaire, Scott played the part of infamous Mexican comic Mario Moreno (1911-1993) more commonly known as “Cantinflas”. Part of the Cantinflas “getup” was his famous upper lip, which sported a tiny mustache at each end and his almost falling-off sagging pants. In the other class, Scott worked with a guy named Patrick and two gals. In this instance, the theme surrounded a too popular athlete who used a commercial “girl repellant” dust to keep his many admirers at bay. The girls played the part of “porristas” (cheerleaders). Unpretentious Scott, who had quite the wild imagination, provided the basic idea for each of the two Spanish comedy sketches. On the first week of one particular fall semester, a beautiful Puerto Rican girl showed up on the second meeting of an evening conversational Spanish class to ask permission to enroll. Much to the delight of the male students, Tamara was accommodated and assigned a space in Scott’s three person study group. Tamara dressed herself in sexy knee-high leather boots and acted surprisingly reserved, as if she had no idea of how much attention she naturally drew from the guys. This attitude tended to make her even more attractive still. Miguel, a Guatemalan friend who had previously taken the same class, had given Scott his old textbook to sell. Tamara agreed to purchase the used book from Scott. At this time Scott, always the gentleman, had already been contentedly married for fifteen years. His spouse, Mary Ellen, was residing with his father while he was away at school. Well, realizing full well that the younger, single college girls who surrounded him were off limits, he saw no harm in half-jokingly asking Tamara if he could usher her back to her car after class. He truly was surprised and somewhat alarmed when she accepted his apparent chivalrous proposal and graciously invited him to accompany her. Having parked on a dark side street adjacent to campus, Tamara became disoriented and the two of them became momentarily lost. Scott, who was already nervous walking around with the most beautiful girl in class, began to unwillingly sweat while he tried to think himself out of the situation. He was relieved to find that Tamara remembered having parked across from the student day care center. This gave Scott the bearings he needed to show her the way and the eventful evening ended as Tamara finally unlocked the door to her vehicle (which actually may have belonged to a man she was seeing). A week later after class, Tamara surprised Scott for a second time. She was so pleased on having saved so much cash on the used textbook purchase that she insisted on buying Scott dinner at the local Jack-in-the-Box restaurant across the street. Scott, again still a little nervous hanging out with such a pretty creature, could not justify rejecting her heartfelt offer. He ordered a burger, while she ate a salad. To finish the tale, after class during the third week, Scott tried to “escape” his escort duties by walking directly toward his own vehicle, but Tamara stopped him in his tracks and insisted they march together to her car first. And so it continued for the remainder of the semester. During the brief walks, Tamara at times shared personal anecdotes about her love life and she actually shed a few tears on one occasion. Last class day at their final farewell, the two exchanged a brief, friendly embrace. Not mentioned previously, in addition to her poise and charm, Tamara already had completed a four year university course of study. However, the college graduate felt somewhat mortified coming from a Boricua bloodline and not having the ability to communicate in the Spanish language. Thus, her impetus to return to the classroom can be understood by anyone. During another Spanish course, Scott found himself sitting with one other man student among 28 female co-eds barely entering into the prime stages of their lives (many still teens). But by the second week of class, Scott was left all alone with the girls when his only male cohort evidently dropped out of the class. This is about the time Scott began to regret not having completed his college degree earlier, when he could have taken full advantage of all of the college social activities for singles. After having witnessed so many women present in his language courses, Scott reasonably concluded that females inherently had superior communication skills over men and also had the ambition to develop those same talents. After completing the majority of class prerequisites, Scott still needed to explore Spanish in a foreign country in order to fulfill all mandatory SDSU graduation guidelines. He decided to join a group of like-minded students on the university sponsored study abroad program taking place at Nebrija University in Madrid during the month of July 2009. There he would share accommodations in a private home along with another male student from New York’s Hunter College. After taking a placement examination on the first day of classes, Scott’s high score was satisfactory enough to place him in the most advanced level Spanish course being offered that session. On weekends, Nebrija staff chaperoned exciting field trips to nearby historical attractions like the ancient cities of Toledo, Segovia, and Avalon. The artifact that impressed Scott the most was the Pablo Picasso masterpiece “Guernica” that was shown during a school-sponsored visit to the Museum Reina Sofia. Again this summer, Scott found himself to be a decade or two older than his other classmates. That did not prevent him from noticing a special student (also married) who stood out over and above the rest of the girls. Monica was a bright, attractive girl who surprised Scott when she blushed bright red the first time he complemented her intellect. The Saturday morning excursion to El Escorial, a World Heritage Site built in the sixteenth century, was something not to be missed. All of the seats on the tour bus were taken, except for the seat alongside Scott. I suppose the younger generation saw him more as a parent than a schoolfellow. Without someone to talk with on the journey to their destination town of San Lorenzo, Scott reluctantly resigned himself to playing the part of an “outcast”. However, something else was in the cards for him that lucky day. On previous field trips, understand that another male student had been kind of “smothering” the aforementioned student Monica with attention, but in a most respectful manner. Of course, this prevented Scott from having any opportunity to befriend the girl himself. Scott believed this detachment was probably for the best, at least it would keep him out of “trouble”. But then again, Scott still maintained the illusion of spending some quality time in Monica’s good company. Today, Scott was unaware that neither Monica nor her buddy-buddy amigo had boarded the bus. Well, just as the bus driver fired up the diesel motor to leave, Scott interpreted the drama that followed as a kind of miracle. Another student on the bus recognized Monica across the street with a lost look on her face. After someone called out for her in a shout, Monica became aware that she was waiting on the wrong corner and ran over to join the group. When she boarded the bus Monica found the only seat still open and available was right alongside Scott! Was it a dream come true? Well, Scott was more than pleased to find that his patience and respect for the girl was perhaps, at long last, being rewarded. Spending time in conversational Spanish with Monica brightened his day to no end. An hour later, everyone disembarked and followed the tour guide through the famous palace and monastery. After the tour, the crowd broke for lunch. At the beginning of this unscripted time period, so as not to be considered a pest, Scott made a slight detour away from Monica. However, Monica called him back and apparently wanted them to continue chatting while they consumed their sandwiches. Scott, now trying earnestly to hide his pent up excitement, complied with her friendly request. Monica actually ended up sharing some fairly personal anecdotes with Scott, one of which described a separation followed by a reconciliation with her current spouse. On the return trip, fatigue fell upon the two student friends and they spoke less and less. At the end of the day, Scott was so satisfied with time spent with Monica that he checked her off his “wish list”. Coincidently in high school, Scott had the same good luck on the bus taking his class to the Santa Cruz Beach and Boardwalk during the school sponsored “senior ditch day”. Scott was a recent transfer student and had sat down alone on the bus. Of course, when the most popular girl (the school newspaper editor) sat down alongside him, he was dumbfounded. You see, Margie’s boyfriend was just a junior and not eligible to join the graduating class on the excursion to the amusement park. For bashful Scott, the conversation that followed was exhilarating! Scott used the efficient Madrid Metro system to commute back and forth from classes. One afternoon he walked down the wrong tunnel, passing by a group of three suspicious-looking male juveniles sitting on some stairs. He ignored them, spun around, and returned to the correct underground station where he waited with a small crowd of other riders. As a distraction when the door to the subway car opened, one of the hoodlums dropped some loose change directly in front of Scott’s feet. When Scott began to step forward onto the Metro, as if his shoes had been glued to the floor, he was shocked to find that he could not move even an inch. The reason being, a second hoodlum from behind had wrapped his arms around Scott’s legs and held him tight! A third hoodlum reached into Scott’s right front pants pocket and pulled out Scott’s passport. The passport slipped out from the delinquent’s hand and dropped to the ground. Fortunately, Scott had placed his billfold in the opposite left front pocket. Scott broke himself free and the three pickpockets ran away. Now on his hands and knees, he scrambled around on the floor to recover his passport. That was a close call and an appalling story that Scott recounted the following day. When the Nebrija University course of study came to an end, Scott stayed behind for another couple of weeks to join a tour bus exploring the Andalusian region of southern Spain known as the “Costa del Sol”. While staying at a base hotel in Torremolinos, among others, the destinations included: Málaga, Mijas, Nerja, and Ronda. Highlighting the tour were exciting side trips to the palace of Seville's Royal Alcázar and Great Britain’s territorial colony known as Gibraltar. A pair of older Spaniard women named Inmaculada (Inma) and Maria from the city that sponsors the famous annual “running of the bulls” (Pamplona) noticed Scott was solo and took him under their wing by inviting him to join them at their table during mealtimes. On Scott’s one free day away from the scheduled trip activities, he took a ferry boat across the Mediterranean Sea to Tangiers on the continent of Africa. There he joined a guided tour group of about a dozen other visitors who enjoyed a traditional lunch of Moroccan cuisine while being entertained by local musicians. The final stop was a rug emporium. Others in the group looked around the store, but left empty-handed. However, Scott was not about to depart without having purchased a “magic carpet” of some persuasion. He was drawn to a hand-knotted wool rug about the size of a yoga mat. Much later he was to find the theme of its beautiful pattern was the “tree of life”. None of the merchandise on display in the store was priced. Members of the sales staff insisted that the customers had the responsibility to open the negotiations by making the first offer. Scott had no clue as to the market value of his selection. For all he knew, it could have been worth twenty dollars or two thousand dollars! After fretting over the value, he decided to offer two hundred dollars. The price was deemed acceptable and the transaction processed without a hitch via credit card. This would be the only item that Scott would bring back home with him from his overseas trip. On the way back to the ferry terminal for the return to the Spanish mainland, the tour made a roadside stop where camel rides were being offered for a price. That attraction did not interest Scott, especially when he recalled the time Dad’s horse bucked him off twice in one day, fracturing both his left radius and right clavicle! Before returning to the United States from Madrid, Scott’s magic carpet began to take over. His itinerary was changed to include a layover in Great Britain. This was for the purpose of walking among the megalithic monument of Stonehenge. For Scott, this scene was akin to stepping foot on the moon and entailed completing another high priority wish on his bucket list. On the way to Stonehenge, the bus made two-hour stopovers at both Windsor Castle and the town of Bath. Upon leaving London’s Heathrow Airport for home (thanks to his magic carpet again?) Scott’s British Airways seat assignment was upgraded without charge! But the Moroccan magic carpet was not content to stay with Scott in California. On a visit with his spouse to Juneau, Alaska, the rug was left behind at the home of a pair of newlyweds, namely Scott’s step-daughter Karla and her husband Tyson. Since then, two beautiful boys have arrived on the scene. It seems the tree of life, carried proudly by the magic carpet, is living up to its name by overseeing the expansion of the population of Scott’s extended family. And since retiring, Scott has resided in a sleepy Mexican beach town where his Spanish skills come in handy on a daily basis. It’s wonderful when persons, places, and things work together for the benefit of everyone. | 4qfvp7 |
Oh, Well | Denise was just leaving the band room when the siren went off. Because she was alone, she didn’t realize that no one else heard it. Looking around, she saw nothing that seemed out of place; she couldn’t identify where the sound came from. She threw her drumsticks into her backpack and headed outside. There she saw her Aunt Carol looking worried. “You heard the alarm?” she asked Denise. “Yes, but what does it mean?” Denise threw her backpack over her shoulder. “A Well has been stolen.” Denise looked up. “Well what? What well?” she asked. “Not a well small ‘w,’ a Well with a capital ‘W’,” Aunt Carol explained. “Follow me, Denise.” “What?” Denise had no idea what a Well with a capital W was. “You’re needed. I knew this would happen someday,” Aunt Carol said. “I had hoped that when it happened, you’d be older.” Denise had just turned sixteen. “What are you talking about, Aunt Carol?” Denise, totally confused, climbed into Carol’s Subaru. “The Wyvern Queen needs you to help find it. It’s your destiny.” “Wyvern Queen? Like the two-legged dragon with a barbed tail? That kind of wyvern?” Denise was totally lost. “Yes. She’s responsible for the Wells.” “Okay, I’ll bite. What are these Wells?” “Portable, potable water. Water is essential to the multiverse. The Wells provide water to everyone. This missing Well is assigned to Earth. Without it, all life dies. They are tightly controlled because they are so valuable. That’s what the siren was about.” “Okay,” Denise said. “But what has that to do with me?” “You are the chosen one. You’ve spent your whole life learning about swords, aliens, and space. You know Star Wars, Harry Potter, and Lord of the Rings . You’ve been trained. Now’s the time for it to pay off.” “What am I supposed to do?” Denise asked. “The Queen will tell you.” Aunt Carol pulled into her garage and rushed into the house, Denise on her heels. “Here’s the Wyvernian computer. Sit down.” “The what?” Denise asked as she sat in the desk chair, putting her backpack on her lap. “What do I do now?” Aunt Carol fired up the computer. A huge eye covered the entire screen. “Hello, Carol. Good to see you. And this must be Denise?” “Yes, Queenie. She will obviously need guidance, but she’s ready.” Aunt Carol smiled at the eye. “Wonderful, my dear. Let’s not waste time then.” Denise’s world disappeared in a swirling fog. She felt sick and exhilarated at the same time. After what seemed like ages, but might have been seconds, the girl found herself sitting at a large table in front of a huge wyvern and a garbage-sized tin can out of which a man sat (she thought), looking intently in her direction. “Hello, Denise. This is Bob,” the Queen gestured towards the man in the can who reached out and shook Denise’s hand. “We have no time to waste but we must finish tea before we go.” The Queen handed Denise a china cup full of dark liquid. “Tea?” she asked. “Not a big fan.” “It’s okay, Denise. Yours will taste like your favorite drink.” Sure enough, the drink tasted just like Pepsi. “Yum,” she said. “All right, team. Time to go. We’ll need to pick up the Terriers on the way.” The Queen leaned towards Denise. “They’re the best warriors in the multiverse.” The other stood up so Denise followed them. The Queen stood about fifteen feet high. The room was twice that, the walls covered with luxurious rugs and paintings of strange creatures. A few minutes later, Denise found herself on a long tarmac. The Queen was putting on what looked like an enclosed saddle. “It’s a Bubble,” Bob told her as his can hovered beside her. “Uh, thanks, Bob,” Denise said. “Is it polite to ask …” “It’s not. It’s my whole life but that’s all I can reveal.” “Ok. Bob, why me?” “You were born for it, Denise. Sometimes destiny doesn’t show itself for a while, but it’s been watching you. You are strong, brave, and pretty fearless. It’s just your time.” Bob pointed to footholds that had appeared on the Queen’s flank. “Go ahead, Denise. That’s how you get into the Bubble.” Denise climbed up as Bob hovered alongside her. At the top, he pushed a button that opened the Bubble. He floated in and settled in what looked like a big cup holder. Denise sat on a wonderfully comfortable overstuffed sofa, putting her backpack into a luggage rack overhead. “Wow,” she said. “This is very cool. Is all intergalactic travel this comfortable?” “Not all. But the Queen goes first class.” The same huge eye appeared on a screen in front of the sofa. The. “Be sure to buckle up,” the Queen instructed. Denise looked for a seat belt. She saw something buried in the cushion. “Glad someone figured out that seat belts are a good idea,” she said. “Good for you,” said the belt as it fastened itself around her. “A pain for me.” “Be quiet!” Bob growled. “These belts are a grouchy lot.” “Everyone secure?” the Queen asked. “We’re good, Your Majesty,” Bob answered her. Denise marveled at the Queen’s speed as she began to run. Effortlessly , they took to the air. “That was amazing,” Denise said breathlessly. “She’s the best transportation I’ve ever been on,” Bob told her. “You might as well take a nap or something. It’s a long way to the Terriers.” Bob disappeared into his can. Denise found herself tired and groggy. Before she knew it, she was asleep. She woke when the Queen landed abruptly. The Bubble opened just as Bob emerged from his can. “Time to meet our warrior friends,” he said, gesturing towards the steps on the Queen’s side. Denise made her way down to the ground. Once she had disembarked, the Queen suddenly shrunk to a size closer to her own. Bob leaned over. “Make Me Small pills. Very useful.” A creature about half Denise’s size came bounding out of a nearby building, making what sounded like barking noises, its small tail wagging madly. “Welcome, grrrouff, to our home,” growled the creature, standing up on its hind legs, its face almost eye level with Denise. It had smooth brown and black fur an inch long all over its body as well as a beard and mustache. Denise thought it handsome even though she personally preferred cats. “Hello, Macduff. Good to see you.” The Queen smiled as she put her hand out and shook Macduff’s paw. They followed him into the Hall. “They seem awfully carefree and silly for a group of warriors.” Denise pointed to an area full of Terriers jumping up and down for no apparent reason and another group playing tug of war. One chased its tail. The Queen laughed. “Yes. They do like to play but they can catch a Gopher faster than any other creature in the universe. That’s Gopher with a capital G, Denise. They stole the Well.” All these capitals , Denise thought. It must be a really big deal. That’s scary. The Queen walked to a small platform at the far end of the Hall. “Terriers. We need your help. You know me and you know my Pathfinder Royale Bob. This is Denise. She’s the one.” The Queen pointed to Denise and with all the Terriers’ eyes now upon her, she swallowed hard, bowed and smiled awkwardly. An approving growl swept through the room. “A Well has been stolen from the Vault. We need to find and return it.” The Queen waited until the Terriers finished leaping and howling. “We believe that it has been stolen by a giant Gopher from the planet Broke. You are the best Gopher hunters in the multiverse. We need you to keep them occupied while we recover the Well. Will you join us?” An exuberant howl went up around the room. “Gopherrrrs! Gopherrrrrrrs!” Coming from the Terriers, the word had a menacing and growly undertone. “Just one thing,” the Queen continued. “You can’t kill the Gophers until we find the Well.” The Terriers growled. “Once we’ve secured it, you may kill or capture any you can.” The Hall went wild. After meeting with MacDuff and other Terrier leaders to formulate a plan, the Queen took flight once again. Denise lost track of time as they hurtled through space, the Terriers’ Mercedes Bones ships scattered in front and behind them. The Bubble provided everything she needed: food, drink. Internet and a bathroom. This is amazing , she thought more than once. Finally, she noticed the Queen beginning to descend. Looking out of the Bubble, she could see a planet below. It was quite blue, like Earth appeared from space but even more so. “Bob is that Broke?” she asked. “And why is it so blue?” “Yes. It’s covered mostly with water. There’s land although it’s tricky to find sometimes. It’s the perfect place to hide a Well.” Bob began to close the top of his can. “Grab your backpack, Denise. We’ll be landing soon.” “What about air?” she asked. “No worries.” Bob handed Denise a small face covering. “Once we’ve landed, just put this on for a few minutes. It’ll fall off on its own. It adjusts your body to whatever breathable air is available.” Denise looked at the mask. “Wow,” was all she could think to say. “This space travel is a whole lot more amazing than in movies and books. And that’s pretty amazing.” “Don’t forget we’re on a mission,” Bob said. When they were on the ground, the Queen slid the Bubble off. Terriers had gathered around them with MacDuff at the front. All were armed and covered in chain mail. “All right, troops. Westies head west. Yorkies go north. Fox terriers – stay on the dry. And the rest of you spread out. When we find the Well, we’ll let you know.” The Terriers disappeared. “What do I do if I find it?” Denise asked. “My dear girl, you have more knowledge of space travails than many of us do. You’ll just know.” With that, the Queen took off, leaving Denise and Bob at the landing site. “Okay, Bob. What now?” “I’ll stay here and guard the Bubble. You can wait with me,” Bob added. “That wouldn’t be right. A space adventure where we just wait? No way.” Denise stood up and started off along a trail of grass with water on both sides. “Come back when you find the Well,” Bob called out as she walked away. The planet was indeed wet. By following the trail, she was able to find dry areas to move across. It’s a trail. It must lead somewhere. After a while, she noticed that the hill to her right had grown bushes along its bottom. She pulled them aside and found herself in the mouth of a cave. Moving inside, she was surprised to find incandescent moss lighting a path lined with rocks. A small rock rolled itself up when Denise approached. “Who goes there?” it asked. How can I understand that? Denise wondered. “I’m Denise. We’re looking for a Well that’s been stolen. Probably by your Gophers.” “Ah, yes. We know about that. And definitely not our Gophers,” it said. “I am Wequt. Follow me.” Denise did as she was told and found herself in a large cavern that was lit by holes in the mountain. Several large rocks sat in a line. They didn’t move as Wequt and Denise arrived. “These are our elders,” Wequt told her. “You seek the Well?” a zircon asked. “We are the Counsel. What will you do with it if we reveal its location?” “We’ll return it to the Vault and lock it up safely,” Denise told them. “And increase security so none get stolen again.” “As you can see, we have no need of a Well. But the Gophers stole it to sell. They hid it in our caves, stepping on many of us as they came and went. How do we know we can trust you?” Denise thought for a moment. “I have profound respect for the Well. My planet, which we call Earth, is having water problems and may need the Well someday. People fight wars over water. I promise to return and respect it.” The Council of Elders rolled together to confer. At least that’s what Denise thought they were doing. After what seemed like a geologic time lapse, they rolled back into a line. “We will show you the Well. Wequt and Elder Adnal will go with you.” “Thank you all.” Denise bowed. She wasn’t sure why; it just seemed appropriate. The two guides rolled down a hallway in the cave with Denise following closely behind, carefully watching where she stepped. Eventually, they came to an opening. Peeking around the wall, she saw a pulsing blue dot sitting on a boulder surrounded by stalactites and stalagmites. Wequt and Elder Findal stopped. “The Well,” the Elder said. Denise stared at it. She had never asked what it looked like. “That’s it?” she asked, just to be sure. Wequt giggled. “That’s it. New to you, is it?” “Yes.” Denise walked around the boulder. “Uh, how do I carry it?” Wequt shook his head. “In your pack, Denise. It doesn’t leak.” “Of course. Sorry. I am new at this. But I should have known.” At that moment, they heard a deep growl. As Denise looked in again, a huge beast with big teeth and sharp claws appeared at the other end of the opening. That must be one of the Gophers , Denise realized. It was huge, almost eight feet tall. It hovered over the Well protectively. Denise shrunk back. “How do you kill … or at least disable these things?” The Gopher heard her and turned in their direction. “Crap,” said Denise. She thought for a moment then took the drumsticks from her backpack, which she left with Elder Adnal and Wequt. “That is not your Well,” she shouted at the creature. It looked surprised. She wasn’t its usual adversary. Denise raised the drumsticks over her head and began banging them together. “You. Gopher. Get away from our Well.” She shouted at the top of her lungs. The Gopher hesitated and then moved back a step. “These are magic sticks from the planet Earth, and you cannot withstand their power.” All of her years watching sci fi were paying off. “Now get away!” She flourished the sticks and started drumming on a nearby boulder as she moved closer to the Well. The Gopher looked surprised but only for a moment. Then it began moving towards her, growling and gnashing its huge teeth. Denise struck the protective minerals which crashed to the ground. The Gopher stopped. “Dinna ye know not to bother t’ one, ye wee beastie.” MacDuff appeared at her side. Before she knew it, he was on the Gopher. She made a run for the Well, grabbed it and ran back, putting it into the backpack as she went. The guides led her out of the cave and pointed her back towards where the Queen had landed. When she got there, Bob was gone. She could hear battle sounds and followed them to the top of a hill. Looking down, she saw a slightly familiar gory sight. The Terriers and Gophers had been fighting, that much was clear. She saw Bob, holding a sword and hovering over a huge Gopher. Denise put her fingers to her lips and let out a loud whistle. When Bob looked up, she waved. He threw a chain over the neck of the Gopher and hovered up the hill, dragging the beast behind him. “Denise, good to see you,” he said. “This is the ringleader. But he won’t tell us where they put the Well.” “It’s okay, Bob. I found it.” Denise grinned broadly as she pointed to the backpack. “But a Gopher came. MacDuff went after it. I didn’t see him again.” “He’ll be fine, Denise. He cut his teeth on Gophers, so to speak. She was right, the Queen. You are the one.” They found the Queen was waiting for them at the landing site along with MacDuff who was unscathed. Denise gave him a hug. “You got it,” the Queen pronounced. “I guess all my role playing and movie watching paid off. But MacDuff saved the day when the Gopher came. And I admit that being on a quest is a lot different than watching it.” The Queen put a wing around her shoulder. “It is and it isn’t, child. Clearly you benefitted from all that watching.” She turned to MacDuff. “We’re taking this one back. Can you fit it on one of your Bones ships? You can let your fighters go after the rest.” “Surrrrre,” MacDuff assured her. He took the Gopher’s chain and growled. “Don’t even trrrry to get away.” When the Queen had put the Bubble back on, Denise and Bob settled in for the flight back to the Queen’s home on Wyvernia. “You have done the multiverse a great service, today, Denise. We won’t forget it.” “Thank you, Your Majesty. I won’t either. Won’t I have been missed, though?” “Time is relative, my dear Denise. But it is time for you to return home. Your Aunt Carol is waiting.” The world fogged over. Denise found herself in Aunt Carol’s car, leaving her school. “Have a good day?” her aunt asked with a wink. “Interesting, thanks. Did I just sort of save the universe?” Aunt Carol grinned. “Sort of, yes. Stay tuned.” | 096n0f |
Avifauna | Hard hot earth pressed into Nuavas palms. Flecks of obsidian speckled the dry ground. Sweat poured down her dark skin. Her arms and legs were stiff from crouching so long.
A couple of feet away from her a pile of the most shiny stuff she could find was collected in a heap. She had purposely set it a couple of feet from the Vorexs lair. The Vorex are simple creatures, according to the elders they were collectors, which was why she was here in the first place. The Vorex had somehow made it into their village and stole one of the elders' relics, and she was going to steal it back. They would finally see who she was, a warrior. If the Vorex ever came out! The Vorex's home was completely made out of obsidian. It was as if the rock had been liquid at one point before freezing into a solid mass. The effect was a large misshapen mound of rock. Sections of the rock overlapped each other. She could see swirls on the rock's surface. They had carved holes into the obsidian. They were roughly shaped into small round tunnels. Nuava assumed it was for their entrances.
Motion came from the tunnel entrance nearest her. Nuava slunk back letting the dry reeds hide her from view. A Vorex poked its head out. Its beady eyes darted around the savanna. It was taller than Nuava expected. But the description matched what the elders had told her. A humanoid flightless bird. Fluffy blue feathers covered most of its body. The only bits without feathers were the scaly forearms and the lower half of the legs. Brass beads decorated its feathers, shining in the setting sun. It straightened, its eyes fixed on the pile of stuff she had collected. Nuava grinned. Her muscles itched to be put to use. Nuava tracked the Vorex’s movements. It was so close now. The Vorexs hand reached the pile of treasure. Its clawed hand reached out toward the jewel pile. Nuava unconsciously leaned forward. A dry branch snapped under her palm. The Vorex stopped. Nuava froze. It looked around alarmed, Its feathers flared up.
Her chest tightened. This wasn’t going to work. The Vorex were known to be superhumanly fast. If it ran off before she could make it take her to the relic… She launched herself at the Vorex. Her entire weight fell onto the Vorex. They collapsed into the dirt. Dust flew around them. The Vorex Shreaked. Her hands scrambled for purchase. The Vorex bucked under the sudden weight. Its beady eyes flared in shock and confusion. Nuava whooped. “HA! You're mine now!” The Vorex kicked, catching her in the stomach. She flew backward and crashed into the hard ground. She rolled, landing on all fours. Her heart drummed against her rib cage. Her body vibrated. This is what she was meant for.
She charged on her hands and feet. The Vorex had stood up and was starting to make a run for it. She Leaped, tackling the creature around the legs. It thrilled loudly as it fell. It tried to kick at her but this time she had its legs. She pulled herself up until she was sitting on its chest. Her fingers wrapped around its throat. It froze its eyes on her hands. She could feel Its rapid heart right under her fingertips.
“WHERE IS IT?” Nuava demanded.
It blinked. The Vorex cocked its head to the side.
“ THE THING YOU STOLE FROM THE ELDERS?” The Vorex opened its beak slightly letting out a weak chirp. Nuava growled.
“I KNOW YOU HAVE IT .” The Vorex’s eyes looked at her blankly. Frustrated Nuava let go of the Vorexs throat. It started to squirm immediately. Nuava cursed. In one swift movement, she pulled out her dagger and threw it at the Vorexs head. It flinched away as the blade sunk into the ground mere inches from its head. It stopped.
“That's what you get for being a Feather Butt!” Nuava huffed. She glared at the Vorex. It shrank away from her. She pulled a piece of paper from her belt. A quick sketch was inscribed on the paper. She pointed at the picture to the Vorex. “This thing. Where is it ?”The Vorex eyes widened with recognition. “See? This is what I want.” She gestured again at the picture. The creature nodded, its eyes glued on her face. “You're my prisoner now, so if you try anything-”
She pulled a dagger from the ground. The vorexs eyes followed its movement. She let the blade shine in the fading light. It shrank away from the dagger.
“Good.” Nuava stuffed the dagger back into her belt loop. She let it get to its feet.
“Now all that's left is for you to show me the way.” The Vorex stalled. It looked at the knife in her belt, then back at her.
“Yes, this sharp object will hurt you unless you get a move on!” she snapped. Nuava motioned for it to move. It started moving towards the obsidian caves. Nuava followed closely behind.
When they reached the entrance of the caves, Nuava stopped. Her hand lingered on the wall. A dark abyss opened up in front of her. She stopped. The Vorex stopped watching her. Her hands lingered at the door. The darkness continued on forever. The elders' voices cramped in her head. Speaking all at once. “Shes just a child.” “You can’t” “Weak.” The Vorex had grown impatient and started walking. “Hey come back here.” Nuava shoved the elders' voices away And ran into the darkness. The tunnels she discovered weren’t all that dark. luminescent mushrooms framed the tunnel sides, allowing her to see just enough. The obsidian caverns were surprisingly quiet; she hadn’t seen another Vorex (except for Feather Butt).
Ahead, the tunnel expanded outwards into a cavern.
“Is this it?” She could barely keep the eagerness in her voice away. The Vorex let out a chirp. Nuava didn’t know how to interpret that.
The walls of the new cavern were chiseled away revealing the fine smooth stone underneath.
The walls were cast in a greenish glow, making the room look haunted. Cubbies were carved into the rock. Hundreds of them were all over the room. Each cubby held some foreign object. On the other side of the cave was another tunnel.
She absently wandered to the cubbies nearest her. It held a small jeweled dagger. She slid her fingers over the hilt. Feeling the cool metal. Jewels decorated the hilt. She held it up. It felt good in her hand. The weight was perfect. She practiced a couple of swings.
She Imagined herself on a battlefield. Her enemies fled before her as she tore down the battlefield. The elders smiled as she came home triumphant.
Feather Butt caught her hand mid-swing. His eyes widened. He chittered at her. Nuava tilted her head. He waved frantically at the dagger to the cubbies and back again. His voice pitched upward when she still didn’t let go. “I get it you cocky bird.” Nuava jerked her hand from its grasp. She set the jeweled dagger back in its proper cubicle.
“Ok, I stopped.” She placed her hands on her hips. “Show me where you hid the relic.”
Feather Butt stared at her blankly. Nuava sighed. She gestured for the thing she wanted. Feather Butt nodded. He made his way to one of the cubbies and Nuava followed close behind.
Feather Butt brought her to the other side of the cavern. These cubbies were small, dozens of small objects were crammed into the spaces. Most of them were useless objects. The Vorex hand hesitated around a cubby. Its eyes flicked to her, then back at the object.
“Go on.” She motioned for it. The Vorex pulled out a small medanion. It shone gold in the light. Integert patterns were carved into the metal. Ancient text danced along the eagles. She stared at it in awe. The relic from the elders… Her hands shook as she took the item in her hands. She felt the smooth casing, it was unlike any material she had ever seen. The elders would have to see her now. She flipped it over. Feeling the smooth surface. And the delicate work of it. Her fingers slipped and the object fell out of them. It crashed onto the ground with a clatter. Panic gripped her. She scooped it up dusting the metal on her clothes. It was undamaged. She let out a sigh. “It’s fine. It just has extra weathering. Right?”
The Vorex stared at her in horror. It flexed its talons like it wanted to take the thing from her. Nuava tucked the object into her belt snuggly with her dagger.
“Well, then I best get going,” Nuava said. She walked toward the tunnels. Feather Butt caught her arm. She stared at the scaly claws on her bicep then back at Feather Butt.
“Look I can’t stay, I have to take this to my elders,” She shook him off. She started walking towards the tunnels again. Feather Butt stood in her way. “What are you doing? Move!” He didn’t. He kept glancing at the object in her belt and then back at her. No, not at her, behind her. She slowly turned around. “Stop.” The harsh raspy voice came from the other tunnel’s entrance. Ice crept up in her veins.
Another Vorex. Its feathers were molting, its back stooped in a hump. Golden ringlets decorated its feathers. It leaned heavily on its cane. The Vorexes elder. More Vorexes stood behind the old one. “Are, surrounded, stop.” “You talk?” she whirled around to Feather Butt. “You could talk this entire time?” “Understand little, language hard.” The elder Vorex's voice was raspy. It spoke slowly, its voice half rasp half chirp. “Knew, you would come.” “You didn’t. There's no way you could have, I didn’t tell anyone I was coming here.”
“Your kind… would come… for medallion .” The old bird motioned with its clawed hand. More Vorex filled the room. Nuava crouched watching as they marched into the room. She stepped backward toward the other tunnel. She bumped into Feather Butt.
Nuava looked up.“You're not going to let me go either are you?” Feather Butt grabbed her dagger from her belt and threw it onto the floor.
“Hey, that's mine!” More Vorex marched into the room. Nuava crouched at the ready.
The elder Vorex spoke again “Want peace, you stay. Be a-.
What word?”
“A hostage?”
“No, trophy” “I think that's worse.” “Stay here… with others… good care for you.” Nuava looked around at the dusty objects. “Uhh no thanks.” “Then, will make, stay.” The Vorex lunged at her. She dove to the ground, rolling like her dad taught her. She was on her feet in an instant. Something glinted out of the corner of her eye. The jeweled dagger. A Vorex lunged at her. Its clawed talons dug into her skin. She gave it a sharp jab In the stomach. It reeled backward, letting out dry coughs.
She ran to the cubbies. Her hand curled around the dagger hilt. The familiar weight once again, in her palm. She twirled around brandishing the knife.
“Ha, try to get me now!” The Vorex stopped. Their eyes now on the dagger.
“Scared aren’t you?” She spun the dagger between her fingers. The Vorex’s eyes follow the movement. They didn’t advance farther but they didn’t back away either. They looked to the elder Vorex. Its eyes were on the dagger too.
“Careful, priceless” It croaked.
Nuava stopped spinning the knife. They weren’t scared of her… Puzzle pieces slide together. The way Feather Butt had reacted when she threw the relic and how he had reacted with the dagger.
She held the dagger above the floor. Holding it between two fingers. Instantly the Vorex grew more tense as they backed away from her. Their eyes fixated on the dagger between her fingertips.
“No drop, bad .” The elder voice was anxious.
“So I shouldn’t do this?” Nuava let the dagger slip between her fingers. It crashed onto the floor, the careful inlaid jewels burst from the hilt skidding around the floor. Chaos ensued. Multiple Vorexs leaped for the falling dagger. Others scrambled for the jewels.
“Break, priceless, enough, kill now.” the elder barked out something that sounded like a shrill bird call. The other Vortexes' heads snapped up. Talons reached for her. They all swarmed her all at once. Nuava grabbed another item from the cubbies. This one was a wooden box. The Vorex froze. “And what if something happened to this?”
“Let go, now, priceless,” the elder's voice dipped into a growl. “will kill, no stay," “Not if I do this.” She tossed the box. It arched high over the vortex heads. They lunged for the small object as it fell through their talons. It bounced across the floor. The Vorex made a mad scramble to save it. Nuava threw something else. The Vorex dived. She grinned and turned back to the cubbies and began pulling everything out and tossing them over her shoulder. The Vorex scrambled for the items falling over themselves to catch them. Some items shattered upon impact. Others bounced and rolled.
“Stop now.” Nuava jumped. The voice came right behind her ear. She spun. The elder Vorex stood right next to her. Nuava froze an object still in her hand. She held it up. But the elder was faster. Its claws wrapped around her wrist before she could move. They pressed on her wrist, freezing her fingers. “No, will not.” the elder's grip tightened. Pain shot down from her wrist. She felt the bones in her hand grind together.
“Drop, now” Its grip loosened. She dropped the object. The elder snapped it out of the air faster than she could see. The Vorex put it safely back on the shelf but it didn’t loosen its grip. Instead, it twisted her arm. Nuava cried out. “Pay for damage,” Nuava gritted her teeth. She swung her leg out. Catching the old bird in the knees. It fell, hitting the ground in a pile of feathers. She staggered away. Her arm throbbed where the old Vorex had held it. The Vorex stopped grabbing for the fallen items. All eyes turned to her. Their beady eyes surrounded her.
“Get her.” The elder Vorex croaked. Nuava bolted. The obsidian walls blurred past her.
The rough stone dug at her bare feet. The Vorex launched themselves after her. Talons scratch against stone. The tunnel split. Nuava hesitated, breathing heavily. Something flew past her ear. Nuava scrambled away. She bolted down the nearest tunnel. It looked the exact same as the one she had just left. The relic thumped painfully against her hip.
More Vorex appeared in the tunnel ahead of her. Nuava cursed and changed direction, she bolted through a tunnel to her right. The Vorex knew these caves far more than she did. Nuava stopped. The tunnel she had chosen led to a dead end. Light came from the ceiling. Silvery moonlight poured onto the floor.
Bird calls screamed from the tunnel behind her. She spun. The Vorex had reached her. Nuava ran for the skylight. If she jumped for it she could make it. Vorexs poured into the room. Claws grabbed her, pulling her back. She Kicked punching at the writhing masses all around her. There were too many. So many talons grabbing at her tearing at her skin.
Suddenly they stopped. Their
heads unanimously turned to something on the ground. Something gold. The elder's relic! It must have fallen as she was fighting. Nuava kneed her current captor in the groin. She dove for the relic.
Talons raked across her back as she scrambled for the object. Feet kicked at her. Her hands wrapped around the relic. She lifted it triumphantly in the air. Everything stilled.
“Not so tough now.”
The Vorex leaped after her. Apparently they decided it was not worth it.
She jumped. She grabbed onto the rim of the skylight. Her fingers gripped the hard rock.
Claws grabbed at her legs. She screamed. Her grip loosened as she was dragged back towards the ground. There claws digging into her skin. The elders' words echoed in her head. “weak.” She kicked. The claws grabbing her loosened. Nuava pulled herself up. Sprawling onto the stony ground. She had gone into the heart of the beast and came out a warrior. She had done it. | 4fasno |
The King of Stones | Finn stricken the flint against the fire-steel until a small sparkle landed in the fire pit, starting the bonfire. As soon as the tiny ember hit the bunch of straws it lit up, roaring to life. When some warmth reached his face, he leaned back against the tree behind him, stretching his sore legs from the long journey. His eyelids growing heavy with sleep. It has been a long journey from Reinfield, his hometown.
Two years ago, he would have never imagined that he will find himself in the dark lands of Dún Na Gaar, looking for a stone that could change the fate of the world.
It was a day like many others, when he met that old cuckoo of a wizard.
He was working at his uncle’s crop, helping with the harvest. The air was dump and smelled of rain, while the last warm breath of summer breeze was taken away by the autumn’s chilly wind. He and his cousins had to work faster if they didn’t want to be caught in the upcoming down pour.
The last rays of sunset smeared the world in beautiful shades of copper and gold as the last haystacks were successfully piled on his uncle’s cart. Just in time before he felt the first teardrop falling from the sky on his forehead. He spurred the old ox with a light flick, when he saw something out the corner of his eye. There was an old man staggering at the edge of the woods. His thin body was wrapped in loose grey rags, a pointy hat, swaying on top of his head like a weathervane. He was walking slowly, gripping firmly his wooden staff as it was the only thing anchoring him to the ground, so the wind wouldn’t blow him away. When Finn saw the stranger, he sent his cousins back to the farm, while he went to check. But, by the time he reached him he noticed his bad state. “Sir. Are you ok?”
The man opened his mouth as to speak, stretching out a shaking hand, but before he could breathe a word, he slumped motionless on the road.
Finn brought the poor man home laying him down in bed, while he fetched some food from his aunt.
It was already dark outside when the stranger woke up.
Finn helped him straighten up on the bed, offering him a cup of fresh water and a warm bowl of soup. The man, who had been traveling for many days without food, gulped down everything at a shocking speed. When he finished, he thanked the boy and was ready to resume his travel. “But Sir, you are too tired to walk, and outside it’s pitch dark and storming.” The man laughed. “You are a good son, but there is no time, I must reach the capital before it’s too late.” “Late for what?” But the man didn’t reply. He jumped out the bed and steadied himself to leave. Just before he reached the door Finn brought him his staff and hat. By then he already realized by the clothing that it was not just any elder man, but a real wizard, and he knew very well to not talk back to a wizard.
When Finn touched the wooden cane, it glowed of a pale blue light, and the stone embedded on its head, hummed to life, sparkling azure flames dancing from within.
The wizard stopped, giving him a long look. “Could it be…?” Finn looked at him in wander. “What is this?” The stranger plucked the stone from the staff and placed it inside the boy’s palm. It was cold at the touch, as it sent the boy’s hand prickling with its magic.
“This is a Crackling Stone. Imbued with the power of the thunder and lightning. It awakes only in the presence of a Stone Whisperer."
Finn’s head snapped up to stare at him. “What?? No! I am just the son of a farmer; I don’t even know what it means!”
“It’s a rare talent, but nonetheless very valuable, especially in time of need like this.”
Finn hesitated to look at the stone again, then he gave it back to the old man.
“I think you have the wrong guy.” The wizard grabbed him by the shoulders and looked at him straight in the eyes. “Listen to me boy. I intended to go to the capital and choose someone among the bravest knights and protectors of the realm, but it is already too late!”
“Too late for what?” “A grave disease is spreading from the north turning flesh to stone. Wizards from all realms have been creaking their heads to find a solution, but there is no cure. People are falling sick in great numbers from Turial to Venefeer. It has now reached Meadowfern.” “But Meadowfern it’s just few miles from here…” The young boy paled. “That’s why I need your help!” “But what can I do? I don’t know anything about magic or curses!” “There is only one thing that can stop the blight! You need to travel to Dún Na Gaar. There, in the underbelly of the tallest mountain there is a legendary stone. The Moonfire Opal. That’s the only thing that can stop the blight and turn back the stone to flesh! You can awake this crystal the same way you did with the Crackling Stone. You are the only one who can find it.” Finn jolted awake when he heard a twig snapping near him. The words of the wizards still echoing in his skull. He was so tired that he didn’t realize when he had dozed off, looking at the flames dancing in the pit. His traveling companion Kilmo was looking curiously at him, head cocked to the side.
“Were you sleeping? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I brought back some dinner.” Kilmo, grinned proudly, swaying the two rabbits that he had just caught in the woods.
“It’s fine, “Finn sighed. “I was just resting my eyes a bit."
It has already been two years since that mad wizard sent him on that quest, and the more time passed, the lesser was his hope to find the crystal.
When he left his village only with an old bag and a rusty sword, the wizard told him that he would have been traveling to the capital to warn the king of the impending disaster, while he’d travel north. He never knew if the old man reached his destination or if the curse had already swiped out his village. But after all that time, there was not much hope for a different outcome.
“If you are tired, I can take care of dinner while you rest. “Offered Kilmo setting his yellow eyes on the hares, a flick of forked tongue on his lips.
“No way! Last time that you did that, there was no more dinner even before starting to cook.” Kilmo’s smirk turned quickly into a pout. “It’s not my fault if we ran out of food for so many days. I was hungry, you can’t blame me!”
Finn gave him a dirty look but didn’t comment. He snatched the hares and the knife heading toward the creak to clean them. He had been traveling with that strange companion for a couple of months now, and there were still things that he couldn’t get used to. Kilmo was a kobold that he picked up along the way during his journey to Dún Na Gaar.
Kobolds are well known for their skills of shape shifting and trickery. In fact, Kilmo’s parents turned into humans to trick Finn into their shed, offering a place to rest during a night. But as soon as they’d capture him, they ripped off their human masks and showed their true colors. They were following the orders of the King of Stones, an evil Troll sovereign that ruled the lands of Dún Na Gaar. Finn tried to explain to them that he needed to find the Moonfire Opal to stop the blight and save his people. Yet the kobolds just laughed at his face and left him in the cage. But Kilmo was different from his parents, and when they went to sleep, he sneaked out helping Finn to escape. However, when his parent discovered them, they turned into vicious beasts and attack them.
It was a fierce fight, and they were so intoxicated by the King’s power that they were prepared to kill their own son to get to Finn. He had no choice but to kill them.
Kilmo was sad for the death of his parents, but he realized that their minds were twisted by the influence of the Troll King. Ultimately, he asked Finn if they could travel together as to find the evil King and kill him, freeing the creatures of the woods from his power.
The following day the two companions found a passage leading inside the fated mountain.
“If the King of Stones takes control over my mind, you must kill me!” Cackled the kobold, but Finn shook his head discarding the thought.
Deep growls echoed into the cave and the two steed themselves to fight. A group of kobolds and hobgoblins approached them. Their fangs shone wickedly under the light of the torches.
Finn and Kilmo swung and slashed, but just as they felled their last enemy a new horde followed right after.
“The King of Stones is not so powerful after all, if he hides behind his puppets of flesh! “Yowled Kilmo, fangs smeared with blood. “Oh, Great and Mighty King! Come out and face us, if you dare!”
Finn was about to shut him off before he could doom them further with his bravado. But just as he finished the last sentence the monsters stopped, and they obediently paved aside, as someone approached from the rear.
There he was. The King of Stones. A large and mighty Troll, with dark green skin and yellow eyes bulging out of the sides of his massive head. He looked like a giant toad, walking on human legs. His shoulders were draped by a dark blue cloak, and on his head, it was seated the most opulent crown that Finn’s had ever seen. It looked so heavy with gold and gemstones, that only a head that large could hold its weight.
But it wasn’t the crown or the clothing that had caught Finn’s eye, but the thing clutched firmly in his right hand. A scepter of the finest silver and was topped with the most beautiful stone that he’d ever seen. Finn recognized it right away.
The Moonfire Opal was real, and it was in the hands of the King of Stones.
“You think you’re so bold little kobold, just because you could escape my influence ‘till now?” croaked the King. His voice deep and rumbling like a thunderstorm.
Kilmo hissed, clutching his spear. But the King paid him no mind as he looked at Finn. “And you, human. What are you doing so far from home? Are you lost?” Kilmo flung himself at the King, teeth bared, his spear lunging at his throat. But with a sway of his webbed hand, the King murmured a spell, and Kilmo suddenly stopped in his tracks, dropping his weapon. “Kilmo?” Finn called. But the kobold was still. “Not so bold anymore.” Mocked the King Kilmo’s turned slowly to Finn, then he jumped, claws sweeping on Finn’s face.
When he touched his left cheek, he winced. The left side of his face was raw and bloody. He stood up and ran toward his friend unsheathing his sword that clashed against his bared claws, bones scraping against metal. “Kilmo! Snap it out! I am not your enemy!” But the kobold growled pushing him back and lunging forward with fury. They fought for a long time. Hurting each other. The smell of blood soaked the air. Their pants and snarls mixed together. The monsters were still there watching them patiently.
“Kilmo!” Finn yelled again “Please. I don’t want to hurt you!”
The King of Stones grew impatient, and he stepped forward branding his scepter. “Enough of this already. Kill him!” His voice thundered across the cave; an absolute order imposed with magic.
With a swift movement Kilmo kicked Finn that slammed against the wall. His sword slipped from his grasp rolling to the kobold’s feet. When Finn blinked, he saw the silver glimmer of his own sword pointed at his chest, his companion holding the weapon down at him. “Kilmo…” he called, as the kobold readied himself to strike “Even if you kill me, I will not hold it against you. You are my friend.”
His hand stopped, the tip of the blade just a breath from his chest. “Friend…” Kilmo repeated.
“Yes. You are my friend. Nothing can change that, not even an evil spell.” “Spell… evil…” “What are you doing?! Finish him!” interjected the King Kilmo shook his head in pain, rationality crossing his gaze. He shuddered, every fiber in his body pulling against the spell. “No. I will not… be… your puppet!” And in a flash, he turned the sword to himself and stabbed deep into his chest. “No!!” Finn screamed flying to grab him before he fell. He pulled the weapon out, but blood came rushing in its stead.
He pressed his hands on the wounds, but the blood rippled out soaking his hands. “No” he gasped “It’s… fine.” “It’s not fine! You still need to avenge your parents! You can’t let it go when we are so close.” “I’m sorry Finn.” The monsters that were watching the battle up close looked at each other confused. One of them was bleeding but the human wasn’t cheering the felled monster, instead he was… crying?
Then as that scene awoke something in them, they all turned to glare their King. It was his fault! Understanding the situation the King tried to save his face. He stomped his scepter to the ground, it’s metal reverberating across the rocky cave. The Opal shone on top of the scepter. It’s pale green and gold glimmer radiated in all the cave warming the skin of the monsters and Finn holding Kilmo, in the middle of the circle.
When the Moonfire Opal brushed gently on Kilmo forehead, his skin turned grey and hard as stone. Before Finn could even realize, the kobold was a turned into a statue. After a moment the King turned toward his followers bowing slightly.
“Fear not, because the life of this kobold was spared by my magic. Now he can rest, forever peacefully in the blessing of the King of Stones.” “It was you!” Finn hissed. “All this time, it was all your doing!” The King turned looking down at him. “Humans have always been a menace to these lands. It was only a matter of time before they reach here and take my Mountain.” “So, you set this curse, to wipe out humans.” “Don’t look at me like that. Your kind had always hunted and tortured mine. I only did that to preserve the peace of Dún Na Gaar.” “Turning your follower into empty husks and stones?!”
All the creatures were looking at Kilmo, snarling toward their King.
“Foolish human! Do you think you can overthrow me with your sagacity? I am the power of the Mountain itself! I am Rowak, the King of Stones!” He rose high in all his presence and lowered his scepter on Finn’s head in a fatal blow. But Finn didn’t run, instead he stretched his hand to meet the Moonfire Opal. When his fingertips grazed it, they didn’t turn to stone, instead the Opal hummed, its high pitch vibrations ringing into the cave. Then, it shone as brightly as ever, until it burst, shattering in hundreds of pieces. The King crumbled on his knees, his face a mask of horror.
As the crystal exploded, it released a fine shimmering dust that covered Kilmo’s body, and then it flew out of the cave into the world.
Kilmo’s stone shell suddenly cracked open releasing him free. As he rose dusting the last crumbles from his shoulders, he found out that his wound was completely healed. He met Finn surprised gaze just to follow it to the King staring at them.
“What have you done…” but his words died on his lips as Kilmo took his spear and plunged it deep into his heart.
The King of Stones fell on the ground without a sound. Its crown soaked in his own blood.
Rowak was defeated. The creatures of the forest were blinking confused, as the influence of the tyrant waned. They were finally free. Some of them were smiling, some of them crying. Few kobolds surrounded Kilmo, and they pull him up their shoulder screaming and cheering.
“Kilmo the hero! Kilmo the savior! The King of Stones is dead! Kilmo our new King of the Mountain!”
Kilmo tried to tell them that Finn was the real hero, but the monsters couldn’t yet comprehend what had just happened.
Finn didn’t mind. His gaze followed the dust of the Opal flying outside the cave dispelling the curse in the rest of the land. Finally, when Finn came back to his village he found his uncle, aunt and cousins all safe welcoming him back. And an unexpected guest. The wizard was waiting to escort him to the royal capital to be rewarded by the King himself as a hero of the land. The plague dissolved as a mysterious dust blown from town to town, awaking the victims from their stone’s coffins. And then the curse was lifted as if it was never there. From time-to-time Finn traveled to visit his friend Kilmo and told his sons and grandsons many stories about his kobold friend.
And even after their death, the world remembered the story of their peculiar friendship, and how it brought the end of the King of Stones and healed the land from his curse. | bf2std |
The Magic Feathers of the Caburé | Tajñí Lelé is a forest elf from the world of the Wichi-Mataco indigenous people, the most well-known and powerful, famous for his magical powers. He was called “Cabeza de Sajasta” (Sajasta Head) because of his curly, tangled hair, similar to the lichen that grows on the leaves of trees. He wore a green hat with two holes through which his pointed ears protruded, which moved in the direction of the sounds he heard. He had dark skin and long, hoof-like nails. He always carried an axe on his shoulder and a quiver full of poisoned arrows. When he walked, a cloud of horseflies, bees and wasps buzzed around his head. As part of his outfit, he wore a cháguar bag across his body, where he kept the katchá, the magic he used to fulfill his wishes and do his pranks that made him die of laughter. His behavior caused discomfort to the other inhabitants of the forest, who were already fed up with his jokes and pranks. Tajñí Lelé had three talismans, each with its own magic: The horn, an instrument with a reed that was placed inside the mouth and that, when moved skillfully with the fingers, resonated like a music box. It produced an enchanting melody, so beautiful that it hypnotized everyone who heard it. While playing the horn, Tajñí Lelé walked along the riverbank and the fish, along with all the aquatic creatures, including the frog family—the field frog, the burrowing toad, the dwarf frog, the tree frog, the stone-colored toad, the cururú toad, and many others—fell into a trance that made them jump over the water. The mischievous goblin then took advantage and caught them. Chilaj, the Owner of the River, was upset and very angry at the harm that the evil one was doing to his children. Another talisman was a round crystal stone that shone with shades of different colors. Tajñí Lelé liked to go out with it at night because in the thick darkness it shone like a star, attracting the curiosity of nocturnal animals and causing a commotion that woke everyone up. The mischievous goblin took the opportunity to catch the prey he wanted and laughed and made fun of the frightened and half-asleep animals. The Mothermount, who protected her children, went mad with fury against the goblin, throwing arrows of curses and stone fragments at him. A perfume made from the flowers of a plant called *roe's tongue* was Tajñí Lelé's other talisman. She made it using flowers and fruits from a vine whose leaves had a rough shape and texture similar to that animal's tongue. She kept her magic perfume in a tightly closed leather bag, and when she opened it, an intense fragrance escaped that filled the entire forest with its aroma. Women were the victims of this spell, as it impacted them. When they smelled it, they felt as if an arrow had hit them directly in the heart. It caused them a strange restlessness, a deep desire to cry and to love. As if in a dream, they began to follow the trail of the perfume that led to Tajñí Lelé. When they saw him, they gave in to his whims. This was the talisman of Love, of falling in love. The Owner of Love, Kosacaíl, did not know how to stop the blatant abuse of power that Tajñí Lelé exercised without measure. The atrocities committed by the cunning goblin put the inhabitants of the forest in a situation of conflict, so it was decided to call an assembly. No one missed the meeting, and after a long debate, they concluded that the only solution was to take away the three talismans that gave him his magical power. “Yes!” –they all said–, but how are we going to do it?”. They knew that Tajñí Lelé was evil and that he always carried his axe on his shoulder and his quiver full of poisoned arrows. Chustaj, the owl asked to speak: “I know Tajñí Lelé's customs, and I know the best time to steal the bag with the three talismans.” “And when is that time?” –asked an iguana, who was very upset because the evil goblin always woke her up during the best part of her sleep. “After eating, just before the Sun goes to sleep, he falls fast asleep in the hammock he has under a quebracho tree.” “But who can approach him so silently and softly like the flight of a feather so that he doesn't hear it?” asked a green frog who lived tormented by the music of Tajñí Lelé. “Me!” said raising one wing the caburé. -Ferruginous Pygmy Owl- “You?” asked everyone, because the little owl of prey was very unsociable and generally didn't participate in anything. “Yes! I'll steal the bag with the amulets!” he said. Everyone agreed, because there weren't many candidates for the task. The caburé watched Tajñí Lelé for several days, and one day, when he was sure that the goblin was sleeping soundly in his hammock, he flew towards him, grabbed with his beak the bag where he kept the three talismans and flew away until he disappeared into the endless sky.
Fearing that Tajñí Lelé would find him, he hid the three talismans among his feathers. On his right wing he placed the crystal ball that the goblin used to attract and hunt the forest animals. Around his neck he placed the musical horn that he used for fishing and in his left wing he hid the bag with the perfume of love. The cabureí or caburé is a small owl that lives in forested areas, particularly in the Chaco plains of Paraguay and Argentina, and is credited with supernatural powers. Some call it the “King of Birds.” It is a small bird, almost the size of a fist. Its legend says that with its song it summons all the birds of the forest, which come to its call, and from among them it chooses its victim. The Wichi-Mataco Indians believe that their feathers have “katcha,” magical powers, so they use them as talismans. To have luck in love, they take a feather from their left wing; for success in hunting, they take a feather from their right wing; and to fish, one from their neck. The Creoles also use their feathers as amulets to attract luck in gambling, work, war, and love. | 3v4hr5 |
The Legend Me | The things of legends don’t feel mystical. Legends and myths are the jobs of bards and poets. To take the horrors of battle and romanticize them into stories for the masses. They make the putrid copper scent of death and the rotten taste of festering meat palatable as one drinks ale at an inn. Legends are stories crafted by the bard about actions from hands like mine.
Calloused covered hands chose years of toil and work instead of chasing an impossible dream. My friends tested their metal, became pages or joined armies. They chased dreams of glory while I tilled soil, cobbled, and forged iron. If it could be pulled, hammered, lifted, or worked I did it. Worker Fae, they called me, not for magical means, but because of an energy and work ethic of our long-lived neighbors. I didn’t tire nor complain. With a Fae like focus, I worked and forged, molding my body and skill into something that could survive the quest I actually had planned.
At sixteen, my body wasn’t ready. Nor was my mind or spirit. Maybe it was wisdom that guided me, but as I trained and toiled my friends became fodder. Trialed by fire in a crucible of conflict and war that mostly brought death. Instead I tilled fields, and in turn learned horticulture. I discovered the secrets to harvest and absorbed the skills needed to survive the wild. I hunted with my elder farm hands and picked their brain for every piece of knowledge on plants and tracks.
I forged steel not only to learn how to repair and sharpen, but to practice. Every foil and axe needed to be tested. Each one needed practice before being handed off. I absorbed everything my master smith had to teach. Every skill and technique a knight or soldier would share. I took every critique on my form and art; I honed my crafts and trained my skills. I learned to use a perfectly balanced weapon and how to get the most out of those that weren’t. I spent a decade working for others, so at twenty-six I could turn to my family and a quest to retrieve my ancestor’s pilfered blade. Tough jerky, wet nights, little sleep and less water are the realties of a quest. Companions come and go. Mercenary numbers come and go as your wealth swells and fades. Even with my decade of careful planning and with perfectly balanced blades, the best armor I could forge, and a pack full of supplies, I was woefully naïve of the realties that I would face.
I always thought the journey would take years, but six never crossed my mind. I knew the weather would be hard, but until you have watched a flash flood wash away your camp and supplies, you can’t understand. I knew battles would be hard, but until your mount is cut out from under you, you don’t understand just how outmatched you are. How the roads less traveled are less traveled for a reason. That what goes bump in the night is kept out by the accumulation of hinderances. Guards are not knights and certainly not heroes. They are fodder. My friends who joined the force are a number to throw at enemies. The walls aren’t meant to be impenetrable, but are obstacles. The truth is the greatest warrior, unless protected by divinity or dark magic, can be felled by a single blade or wound. A wall disrupts the well-honed instincts of those trained in death. Waves of soldiers are a distraction that increases the chance that a lucky stab or even a deep cut can become a festering wound.
That is the truth. The unnaturally large number of hindrances keeps towns safe, especially when riches can be reaped from an untamed wild.
The wild is a harsh, unforgiving teacher, but I was a well-trained student versed in the skills to live and adapt. I found allies and food. Won battles and quested for treasures to fuel my travels to my ancestor’s legacy. I found friends, mercenaries, and even lovers. In the company of others, I honed my skills, saved and was saved. I worked for others, even when on a solo mission of my own.
That was the past. The last, because now I sleep alone around a pile of coals looking at the mountain of a doomed salvation. About a half day’s walk from here is a cave waiting for me to test my skills. Tempting me with a legacy to reclaim.
Leaves crunch, because despite a flash of summer heat, fall is here. Years in the making, this moment has been delayed time and again. The leaves announce my approach, but I will not wait another winter for the element of surprise. Alas, that wasn’t to be.
Each step, and twig snap, causes me to tense and squint. At the pinnacle of my journey, the crescendo of my third act, I stay ever vigilant, ready to act, because the truth is: “This is for me.”
I speak the words into existence. A mantra I didn’t realize I needed.
“This is for me.” I say it again, letting the energy rush through my veins like snow down a mountain. It consumes me, powers me, washes me in its light.
This is for me. My life hasn’t been, but this moment is. Retrieving this lost relic isn’t my family’s dream, because I was orphaned at thirteen. My stories of glory have already been written and shared by companions and bards whistling like birds in the air. Despite my skills with a blade and how well I prepared, this final part of the quest will never be shared.
I’m not a poet or a bard, and this final stanza isn’t meant for legend or song. The sword forgotten to time may or may not be mine. Here, taking the first steps to the end of my quest, I smile with glee. Maybe death awaits, but I will greet it as me.
I will greet it as me. | pudpbu |
The Choice | Star listened to the hum of the force field that held her prisoner, the soft blue light the only illumination in the cold, dark room. She let the tears she held back so tightly when the guard came around flow freely down her face. The tears the Special Forces commander shed were not of regret – she would have done it again if needed, but of betrayal by those who were supposed to be her friends broke her heart. People who said they loved her and that they would have her back always were nowhere to be found. Liars. She sat in prison for the past month for disobeying orders and helping her teammate – her brother – escape supposed justice. Nine was accused of myriad atrocities least of which was the attempted murder of his best friend. It turned out that the accusations leveled at him were false. A shapeshifter took his form and committed the crimes and the truth came to light when Star shot and killed it. She knew her brother would never do what they accused him of and she went to his aid. She thought their friends would feel the same. She thought that her boyfriend Lucien and most especially Nine’s girlfriend Lia would have come to help her find Nine and get to the truth. They came, but not the way she thought they would. The Special Forces team they belonged to, the Hunters, were part of the manhunt. She and her team were imprisoned, but their friends the Crimson Five helped them escape. Not only was she on the run, Star had to deal with finding her brother, but she had to do it before the Hunters did.
The teams found him at the same time. The Hunters would not back down, so Star had to do something she never thought she would have to do. She had to choose between her brother and the man she loved. Lucien would not relent, he had to obey orders.
So she shot him. She aimed so that the wound would not be fatal, but she knew when she pulled that trigger it would be all over between them. She and her team, the Pente Force, found the shapeshifter that took her brother prisoner and stole his form and Star killed it. They escaped to planet Zatoks so Nine could receive treatment for his injuries sustained while captive. The queen agreed to help Nine and shelter the rest of the team, but Star had to turn herself in and face her crimes. If she didn’t, Zatoks risked war with Earth. In the end, Star proved her brother innocent, but it cost her everything.
Mr. Sanderson, the head of Federation Defense, was so furious with her, he struck her in the face multiple times before throwing her in prison somewhere on a planet with a small outpost. No trial, no sentencing, just punishment and isolation as she was the only inmate in the prison. One piece of bologna between two pieces of stale bread was the only meal she got at first. Then cold soup, probably dumped right out of a can, was added as her supper. She hated the food of course, but she mostly hated the dark and the fact that no one came to see her. She guessed that Mr. Sanderson wanted her to think about her crime, but she could only play in her mind the betrayal of her boyfriend and his team. The sole person she saw was a prison guard that came to deliver her food. The guard wore a mask, but she knew it was the same man every time because after a while she knew his shape and the scent of his aftershave. He made no attempt to communicate, and she didn’t try to interact with him. She doubted he would talk to her if she tried. As she sat in her cell she heard footsteps coming up the hallway. Star wiped away the tears and listened hard. Those were not the footsteps of her regular guard. A knot formed in her stomach as she backed away from the force field that held her. The footsteps were heavy, so she knew it was a man, but the gait was all wrong. Her anxiety eased a little when she heard the spoon scraping against the metal food tray. If he was going to execute her, he certainly wouldn’t feed her first. She wondered where her guard was. The silhouette of a figure she didn’t recognize appeared at the door, shut off the force field, and placed the food tray on the floor. Star also heard an odd, delicate clink in addition to the metal tray placed on the floor. As the figure activated the force field, a small object glinted in the blue light. Without a word to her, the mysterious figure disappeared. Star found herself staring at a jeweled disc on the floor next to her soup.
Star waited until the footsteps echoed in the distance before she moved toward the disc. She picked it up and squinted in the dim light. Upon closer inspection, the disc looked more like a golden compact encrusted with dozens of small clear, purple and light blue jewels. Right away she knew it was a communication device. She ran her fingers over the top and when she did so, she noticed that her thumb caught on an engraving on the bottom. She turned it over and traced the mark with her finger. She could barely see the crest, but knew by the feel of the shape who sent it to her and her heart sank. Devlon, heir to the Wardon Empire, sent her the communicator. Enemy to the Federation Chain of Life, the favorite son of Emperor Tozar was obsessed with her. Only a few months prior she barely escaped from him after he held her against her will for six months trying to make her his queen. Tears reappeared in her brown eyes. She hoped that it would have been one of her friends that wanted to communicate with her. The only one who wanted her was the last person in the Universe she wanted. She placed the device on her bed and went to eat her cold, lumpy soup. It was barely edible. As she ate, she gave a side glance in the direction of the small case and remembered all the delicious food Devlon had provided for her every day, even though she barely ate it. The fact that he knew she was in prison and was able to smuggle the device to her was unsettling. When she saw him last, he was screaming with rage as she made her getaway. What could he possibly want? Loneliness enveloped her. She physically shook her head trying to get rid of the feeling, but she kept thinking about the jewel case and decided to give in to her curiosity and relieve her unwanted solitude.
She left the small table and her disgusting soup and walked over to her bed and picked up the case. She turned it over with her fingers a couple of times, admiring the beautiful gems on the top with gold peeking in between. Devlon certainly had good taste. Finally, reluctantly, she opened the communicator. A small screen inside it came alive and Devlon’s face filled it. His demeanor seemed serene -- a far cry from the rage he exhibited at their last meeting. “Hello, Star,” he said in a smooth tone. He looked more Terran than Wardonese. He had a full head of dark brown hair, mustache and beard with fair skin, where Wardon men were typically bald with grey skin. If he wasn’t a psychopathic mass murderer, he would probably be considered handsome. Star only saw the evil and remembered the time she spent as his prisoner. “What do you want, Devlon,” she asked. Devlon shook his head slightly.
“Traded one prison for another,” he said. “You should have stayed with me.” “I would never have stayed with you,” she said, bitterness creeping into her voice. “I certainly treated you better than Federation Defense has,” he remarked. “These are the people you have pledged allegiance to? I wouldn’t feed the swill they’ve been giving you to a farm animal.” “How do you know what they’re feeding me?” “I’ve had my spies keeping an eye on you since you were sent there,” said Devlon. “It’s criminal the way you are being treated.” Star stared at the screen, her face emotionless.
“Why are you spying on me? Are you reveling in my misery?” The emperor’s son’s face grew serious. “I sent you the communicator because I want you back,” he said. “I can get you out of there. Tell me you will be my queen and I will bring you back to me.” Star gave out a nervous laugh. “Living in a cage with you gawking at me is not a life.” Devlon leaned in more, completely filling the small screen.
“It wouldn’t be like that. You would be here of your own free will. There would be no cage. There would be fine clothes, jewels, the finest foods and drink. You would never have to pick up a laser again. You would be pampered beyond your wildest imagination. And you would be loved. They don’t love you, Star. You are only a tool to them.” Devlon’s words hit her hard, and she admonished herself because of it. Was she really talking to the son of her most hated enemy? Was she actually picturing the life he promised? What was wrong with her? “No,” she said. “I can’t go with you.” Devlon didn’t try to mask his disappointment. He leaned back a little in his chair.
“Very well,” he said. “Keep the communicator. My offer still stands. You only need to press the green button on it and I come for you myself.”
Their conversation was over. The screen went blank. She was alone again. ### Ten days passed since Star communicated with Devlon. Her situation didn’t change. No visitors and poor food. She wondered how much longer Mr. Sanderson was going to punish her and what would happen once she got out? She didn’t know where her team was or whether or not Nine completely recovered.
She pulled Devlon’s communicator out from under her pillow like she had so many times since they last spoke, rubbing her thumb across the jewel-encrusted top. One press of a button and her life would change. She was so lonely, and she was tired of crying. She was tired of reliving all the scenarios of that day. She just wanted it all to go away. Star found her fingers in a position to open the box, but she stopped herself. If she opened that compact and called Devlon, she would never see her team again. But she had no idea if this punishment was a life sentence, so she may never see them again anyway. Star tried to shake off the growing temptation, but it didn’t look like anyone was coming for her. Maybe if she went with Devlon she could turn him to the side of Federation Defense. Maybe if she sacrificed herself Federation Defense could win the war. Star opened the communicator. Suddenly, she heard footsteps. Once again, it was not her usual guard. She heard two sets of footsteps, and they were running toward her cell. Star closed the communicator and put it in her pocket. She backed away from the cell as the footsteps got closer. She heard the heavy breathing of a young woman as the two figures stopped in front of the cell. “Here!” cried the woman. “She’s here.” Star recognized her friend Serena’s voice instantly. Marcus the Commander, of the Crimson Five, fiddled with the controls of the force field. After a moment, it vanished and they both rushed in, grabbed each arm and pulled her out of the cell. “Come on, we have to go!” instructed Marcus. Star let her be led from the cell. They passed her guard, who stood against the wall, mask still on, allowing them to pass. Star mouthed a thank you to him and the masked man nodded in her direction. “What’s going on?” asked Star as they ran out of the prison. “We’re getting you out of here,” said Marcus. “The Queen‘s been looking for you.” “She doesn’t think what Mr. Sanderson is doing is right and she’s willing to risk war to save you. She asked us to help her get you back.” “We’ve been looking for you for months, but then Queen said she couldn’t locate you. Some sort of jammer,” said Serena. Star stopped short, but Marcus grabbed her by the waist and carried her.
“You can’t stop, Star, we only have a short window to get out of here.” “What kind of jammer?” asked Star. “Don’t know,” said Marcus. “It’s not ours. The Queen said she’s never encountered it before.” Star had. That was the jammer Devlon used to keep her team from finding her when he held her captive. It was all a lie. He tricked her. She almost fell for it. Had her friends not come in time, she would have been his prisoner forever. Marcus put Star down and they ran to the Crimson Five’s ship and escaped before Mr. Sanderson’s other forces could catch them. On the ship. Star laid in the bed in the infirmary and pulled out the communicator. Anger and a new sense of betrayal welled up inside her. “You almost had me,” she said to the communicator.
She decided to keep it. One day she would use it to turn the tables and trap him. | wp0mlz |
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87k human story submissions, ranging across these categories:
- adventure
- western
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- thriller
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- speculative
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- fantasy
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- christmas
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