Boulder, Colorado
October 14th, 2011
11: 46 P. M.
November 10, 1866
I believe my time is nearly up. All the signs I have found and clues discovered point to this. 11/11/11 shall be the end of the last free man and the beginning of the first. To anyone who finds this, my descendants or not, the hanging was false and the claims a lie. Do not believe the Fox and be wary the full moon that rises red. Godspeed.
--- William Helsing
“That’s all it says.”
“What do you mean that’s all it says?”
“I mean,” He said motioning to the yellowed parchment clutched in his hand, “that’s all there is.”
“Fantastic.” He scratched his head absentmindedly and sighed. “Well. Let’s get out of here. I don’t fancy being here when they get back.”
The other man chuckled softly as he tucked the letter into his pocket. “You don’t ‘fancy’ being here.” He mocked. “You’re such a yank.”
“Forgive me for my lack of southern drawl, ‘partner’.” He retaliated as he opened the door. “Now let’s get the hell out of here.”
They stepped out of the abandoned homestead and braced for the cold, lowering their heads to the howling wind and tucking their hands into their pockets. Rain blew in sheets toward them and plastered their jackets flat against their skin, chilling them within their own clothes. Shivering they looked back and forth as they made their way across the yard, boots slopping in the mud and splashing through the sodden grass.
“Wait a minute. Hold up.” They both froze mid-stride and crouched low. “Headlights.”
Two beams of light flashed across the house, illuminating every insignificant detail of the ramshackle cabin. Broken windows letting the storm in, spaces between the wooden boards creating that eerie whistle as the wind passes through, and the sunken porch that looked like a U instead of an A hanging so low it blocked the top of the doorway.
A few seconds later the rattling roar of an old motor followed and a beat up, old Chevy pulled around the line of trees and into the driveway. The lights illuminated the two patches of muddy grass where they had been standing just seconds before.
“Stay low. Don’t move, and wait for my signal.”
“Wait, what’re you—“He turned to where his partner had been to find no sign of him. “Collin? Damn it.”
One by one the inhabitants of the truck clambered out and shivered.
“Gah, I hate the cold!” He muttered as he scratched the scruff on his neck. “Why the devil did we choose this bloody state to set up shop?”
“Stop complaining, Garth. Doesn’t matter.”
“Well I mean, “Garth continued as they made their way inside. “It’s not like we would’ve found any less folks in Texas. Or Arizona.” They stooped under the low porch and shook the rain from their jackets and hats. “You know what I mean, Rob?”
“Honestly, I don’t give a crap where they come from. They all taste the same to me. In fact, what say we check in on our supper?” Rob replied with a vicious grin, revealing two rows of thin incisors.
“You know.” A third voice called from the shadows. “Those chompers are alright.. But what do you think of mine?”
The two men looked up to the dark section of ceiling across the room and inhaled a gasp. A blur streaked across the room and struck out at both of them, slashing viciously in precise cuts, slitting their throats before any oxygen reached their lungs to scream.
Both men staggered and collapsed as they struggled with fumbling fingers to stop the bleeding.
“Sorry about that chaps, but I couldn’t have you feasting on innocent people now could I?” Their only reply was to thrash about on the floor gurgling. “Well this conversation has been very enlightening, and I feel like I learned a lot today and will be a better man because of it. Thanks guys.” He walked to the door then turned on his heel. “Of course I am curious as to how you gits managed to find a page of Helsing’s journal..ah well. Too late now.”
He stepped outside back into the rain and inhaled deeply the brisk air. A young woman appeared around the side of the house with the other man beside her.
“Glad you got my signal.” Collin said as he strode over to them. “The girl’s alright I assume?”
“Hardly, there was barely a sound in there. It was the silence that set me off. And yeah, I think so. Aside from nearly being eaten by ghouls.”
“Good work, Jace. Let’s get her out of here.” Collin turned to the young woman and inspected her quickly. She was thin, frighteningly so and pale. Almost as pale as him. But it was her eyes that caught his: so light and sullen, with her face seemingly stretched beneath them; bloodshot and puffy as if crying.
“She says she has a sister in the next town over. I thought we could take—“
“Jace, get away from her. Now.”
Friday, February 3, 2012
Their Hunt - Chapter Two
Chapter Two: Sunrise
It was dusk when the boy drew into camp, his clothing frozen stiff and his limbs deadened. The sky was a mural of purple and yellow as the moon reflected the sun’s dimming light across the snowy plains of the Outland. The full moon’s evanescent glow serenaded the encampment with light leaving few lanterns lit as he approached.
His shadow stretched out before him, a beacon for all who had not noticed him before. He hung his head low and quickly walked behind the rows of tents, off the main path. The Helm Camp of hunters was one of four installments of the Outland Village. They alone skirted the snowy forests, hills, and lakes of ice and wind; hunting and thriving unopposed.
The camp was smaller than that of the Vardi warriors and the Leundeja healers, but larger than the Runeej scholars. It had four dozen hide tents and a single cabin in the center for storing kills. Six rows of seven in a square made the body of the site with the remaining six spread one to each corner for the lookouts like a hexagon.
Small markings from Thuat Root and Yew Nectar identified which tent housed who by a system of colored stripes. From the top support strut of each tent hung a unique set of wind chimes and a lantern used for dark nights and insulating during a blizzard. The ice was tramped solid and packed into slick runs of momentum inducers. Several cracks were evidence of those who had slipped.
The camp smelled of smoke as fireplaces remained roaring. Roasted venison, fresh picked wine berries, chilled rose pedal pastries, and blueberry juice awaited him, yet the boy’s shame tamed his hunger and put a sour taste in his mouth.
He hung his head in shame as he entered his small tent, laid his weapon on the table then kicked off his dripping boots with a loud thump. He hesitantly removed his drenched clothing, wincing as the chill air enveloped his bare body and wounds. Hurriedly pulling on his timber wolf fur parka and trousers, he sat on his cot and pulled his deer hide about himself, staring down into his bowl of unfrozen salt water.
The unbroken surface reflected his remorse. His deep grey eyes were sunken in and sullen beneath his chin-length ebony hair, as was custom for young hunters. His thin face seemed to stretch remorsefully across his high cheekbones and square jaw line. Bruises covered the right side of his face from the fall and his lips were cracked, white strips of paper. His brow seemed frozen in anguish and his mouth tightly closed.
He breathed in the familiar smell of leather and hickory and absorbed his home. A single table where his weapon’s corpse lay, sat beside the entrance and his cot opposite the flap. A small unlit fireplace sat in the center surrounded by stones, his boots against the stack of wood and kindling he kept inside a few feet away. The room was no more than nine paces wide and two of himself tall. The darkness felt good and mesmerized his senses as flashes of light bled through from the outside and stained his foul mood. Fires from his neighbors flickered and danced nearby, spreading and retracting a warm light show and renewed his senses.
Invigorated, he drew himself from his thoughts and soaked in the world of reality. The shuffling of feet outside grew louder as supper time arrived.
A loud crunch of someone just outside alerted him. He pushed his bowl away and released his grip on his blanket when he became aware of the strain he held it in. He stood and strode to the opening flap and waited for the rattle of his wind chimes to announce their arrival. Moments later, the soothing echo of that of a howling wolf in the distance reverberated inside his tent.
He pulled back the flap and looked into the eyes of his visitor.
The boy’s heart skipped a beat and his eyes nearly fell from their sockets.
“Greetings, Hawkner.” A young healer said in a gentle voice. Her mahogany hair was worn down and long to the middle of her back with waves that would draw the ocean envious, with the smooth face of an angel. Her piercing amethyst eyes bore down to his core and almost naturally lifted him from his guilt-ridden burden. Her body’s gentle curves would have made him blush if his face wasn’t still numb
“Hello, Kairi.” He said curtly, struggling for words.
“Did your hunt go well?” She said in her symphony of a voice. Her words seemed to dance lightly from her lips in a melody he had never heard before. “I didn’t see you come into town and I grew worried.”
Hawkner sat for a moment as he thought of a euphemism.
“It. It was good.” He paused. “For a while.”
His foul mood was quickly returning despite her presence.
“Hawkner,” She said gently, moving closer. “It’s okay. Please, tell me what happened.”
He recounted to her the story, leaving out the mystery of how he got to land, and ended with himself using the branch to support his weight against the shore.
Kairi sat silent for a moment and pondered on what she had learned. She looked up at him then back to the ground.
Hawkner wondered if she had caught him leaving out a part.
“Perhaps it was meant to be,” She said finally. “But I must question, what will happen to you now? Was this not your rite of passage?” Her eyes grew soft and looked into his. He could feel her sympathy for him and decided to confide in her.
“I’ll be tested.” His eyes locked to hers. “Severely. This will be my last chance to become a man and they will take heed of it. Elder Briar is sure to push me to my limits, then leave them far behind. I know it won’t be for a while with the winter storms brewing, but once they’ve passed it will come.”
A deep silence followed between the two, only broken by the howling wind and laughter resounding from the sup tent.
“We should get to supper. They’ll be looking for us.” He said suddenly, brushing past her and walking slowly to the ever growing conglomerate of sound and smell. He slowed to accommodate Kairi’s slower pace. They talked quietly about her experiences with a wounded fawn earlier today and how it finally gave in to her healing.
They approached the opening to the sup tent and stopped. He looked at her then remembered his manners. He opened the flap for her then followed closely behind, cursing himself for his stupidity.
Long wooden tables laden with plates and drink stretched from one end of the tent to the exit, down to the opposite with the line. Four lanterns hung from the ceiling lit the room a bright yellow against the walls and kept the grass inside green. The strong smell of mead wafted by and mixed with the aroma of crispy pheasant.
Hawkner’s mouth watered as he stepped to the rear of the line.
“Hawkner, ‘bout time you showed up!” A booming voice hollered across a nearby table as he walked past with his food. Hawkner looked up from his plate and sighed. He looked pleadingly at Kairi who shrugged and mouthed sorry.
Hawkner went back to the table he was called to and looked for the man responsible. It was Jhen, the village blacksmith. He, for some reason unknown to Hawkner, had found him very interesting and took any chance he got to speak to him.
“Come on over here boy! And sit with me. We were just discussing what’s more dangerous, a Kera or a Howler. Whaddya’ think?”
Hawkner sat in thought, watching Jhen’s gnarled beard rustle around his thick lips and fat face. His large arms were nearly as hairy as his head and his wide hands were red from constant exertion.
“A Howler is faster and stealthier, but not near the power of a full grown Kera.” Hawkner said with a bitter remembrance.
The rest of the meal went by slowly as he sat through conversations ranging from who was stronger to who had the most attractive wife. Hawkner had long finished his meal before the supper was slowly disbanded as people shuffled out, bellies full and much warmer.
Hawkner bid the men goodnight once a fist fight nearly broke out and left quickly. The warm tent left him little protection from the bitter cold of midnight. Wrapping his arms about him tightly, he walked hurriedly to his tent.
Closing the flap securely, he laid in bed and tucked the excess of his blankets beneath him. Sleep overtook him quickly from his exhaustion and dreams of what would come to pass plagued his mind.
Visions of great plains overlooking a vast ocean as black as night plagued his mind. Trees screamed and howled in torture, pleading someone to help them. His thoughts suddenly went ablaze as flames consumed the trees and terrorized his alternate reality.
He woke with a start, slapping at the imaginary flames that filled his room. He wiped cold sweat from his brow and sighed deeply.
It seemed so real.
The following morning was no warmer than the night before and windswept frost rose in swirling tendrils from the ground. Fog clawed its way across the camp on the breeze and iced over the north side of each tent. Hawkner stepped out and shuddered against the cold, watching the sun rise through the mist.
It was dusk when the boy drew into camp, his clothing frozen stiff and his limbs deadened. The sky was a mural of purple and yellow as the moon reflected the sun’s dimming light across the snowy plains of the Outland. The full moon’s evanescent glow serenaded the encampment with light leaving few lanterns lit as he approached.
His shadow stretched out before him, a beacon for all who had not noticed him before. He hung his head low and quickly walked behind the rows of tents, off the main path. The Helm Camp of hunters was one of four installments of the Outland Village. They alone skirted the snowy forests, hills, and lakes of ice and wind; hunting and thriving unopposed.
The camp was smaller than that of the Vardi warriors and the Leundeja healers, but larger than the Runeej scholars. It had four dozen hide tents and a single cabin in the center for storing kills. Six rows of seven in a square made the body of the site with the remaining six spread one to each corner for the lookouts like a hexagon.
Small markings from Thuat Root and Yew Nectar identified which tent housed who by a system of colored stripes. From the top support strut of each tent hung a unique set of wind chimes and a lantern used for dark nights and insulating during a blizzard. The ice was tramped solid and packed into slick runs of momentum inducers. Several cracks were evidence of those who had slipped.
The camp smelled of smoke as fireplaces remained roaring. Roasted venison, fresh picked wine berries, chilled rose pedal pastries, and blueberry juice awaited him, yet the boy’s shame tamed his hunger and put a sour taste in his mouth.
He hung his head in shame as he entered his small tent, laid his weapon on the table then kicked off his dripping boots with a loud thump. He hesitantly removed his drenched clothing, wincing as the chill air enveloped his bare body and wounds. Hurriedly pulling on his timber wolf fur parka and trousers, he sat on his cot and pulled his deer hide about himself, staring down into his bowl of unfrozen salt water.
The unbroken surface reflected his remorse. His deep grey eyes were sunken in and sullen beneath his chin-length ebony hair, as was custom for young hunters. His thin face seemed to stretch remorsefully across his high cheekbones and square jaw line. Bruises covered the right side of his face from the fall and his lips were cracked, white strips of paper. His brow seemed frozen in anguish and his mouth tightly closed.
He breathed in the familiar smell of leather and hickory and absorbed his home. A single table where his weapon’s corpse lay, sat beside the entrance and his cot opposite the flap. A small unlit fireplace sat in the center surrounded by stones, his boots against the stack of wood and kindling he kept inside a few feet away. The room was no more than nine paces wide and two of himself tall. The darkness felt good and mesmerized his senses as flashes of light bled through from the outside and stained his foul mood. Fires from his neighbors flickered and danced nearby, spreading and retracting a warm light show and renewed his senses.
Invigorated, he drew himself from his thoughts and soaked in the world of reality. The shuffling of feet outside grew louder as supper time arrived.
A loud crunch of someone just outside alerted him. He pushed his bowl away and released his grip on his blanket when he became aware of the strain he held it in. He stood and strode to the opening flap and waited for the rattle of his wind chimes to announce their arrival. Moments later, the soothing echo of that of a howling wolf in the distance reverberated inside his tent.
He pulled back the flap and looked into the eyes of his visitor.
The boy’s heart skipped a beat and his eyes nearly fell from their sockets.
“Greetings, Hawkner.” A young healer said in a gentle voice. Her mahogany hair was worn down and long to the middle of her back with waves that would draw the ocean envious, with the smooth face of an angel. Her piercing amethyst eyes bore down to his core and almost naturally lifted him from his guilt-ridden burden. Her body’s gentle curves would have made him blush if his face wasn’t still numb
“Hello, Kairi.” He said curtly, struggling for words.
“Did your hunt go well?” She said in her symphony of a voice. Her words seemed to dance lightly from her lips in a melody he had never heard before. “I didn’t see you come into town and I grew worried.”
Hawkner sat for a moment as he thought of a euphemism.
“It. It was good.” He paused. “For a while.”
His foul mood was quickly returning despite her presence.
“Hawkner,” She said gently, moving closer. “It’s okay. Please, tell me what happened.”
He recounted to her the story, leaving out the mystery of how he got to land, and ended with himself using the branch to support his weight against the shore.
Kairi sat silent for a moment and pondered on what she had learned. She looked up at him then back to the ground.
Hawkner wondered if she had caught him leaving out a part.
“Perhaps it was meant to be,” She said finally. “But I must question, what will happen to you now? Was this not your rite of passage?” Her eyes grew soft and looked into his. He could feel her sympathy for him and decided to confide in her.
“I’ll be tested.” His eyes locked to hers. “Severely. This will be my last chance to become a man and they will take heed of it. Elder Briar is sure to push me to my limits, then leave them far behind. I know it won’t be for a while with the winter storms brewing, but once they’ve passed it will come.”
A deep silence followed between the two, only broken by the howling wind and laughter resounding from the sup tent.
“We should get to supper. They’ll be looking for us.” He said suddenly, brushing past her and walking slowly to the ever growing conglomerate of sound and smell. He slowed to accommodate Kairi’s slower pace. They talked quietly about her experiences with a wounded fawn earlier today and how it finally gave in to her healing.
They approached the opening to the sup tent and stopped. He looked at her then remembered his manners. He opened the flap for her then followed closely behind, cursing himself for his stupidity.
Long wooden tables laden with plates and drink stretched from one end of the tent to the exit, down to the opposite with the line. Four lanterns hung from the ceiling lit the room a bright yellow against the walls and kept the grass inside green. The strong smell of mead wafted by and mixed with the aroma of crispy pheasant.
Hawkner’s mouth watered as he stepped to the rear of the line.
“Hawkner, ‘bout time you showed up!” A booming voice hollered across a nearby table as he walked past with his food. Hawkner looked up from his plate and sighed. He looked pleadingly at Kairi who shrugged and mouthed sorry.
Hawkner went back to the table he was called to and looked for the man responsible. It was Jhen, the village blacksmith. He, for some reason unknown to Hawkner, had found him very interesting and took any chance he got to speak to him.
“Come on over here boy! And sit with me. We were just discussing what’s more dangerous, a Kera or a Howler. Whaddya’ think?”
Hawkner sat in thought, watching Jhen’s gnarled beard rustle around his thick lips and fat face. His large arms were nearly as hairy as his head and his wide hands were red from constant exertion.
“A Howler is faster and stealthier, but not near the power of a full grown Kera.” Hawkner said with a bitter remembrance.
The rest of the meal went by slowly as he sat through conversations ranging from who was stronger to who had the most attractive wife. Hawkner had long finished his meal before the supper was slowly disbanded as people shuffled out, bellies full and much warmer.
Hawkner bid the men goodnight once a fist fight nearly broke out and left quickly. The warm tent left him little protection from the bitter cold of midnight. Wrapping his arms about him tightly, he walked hurriedly to his tent.
Closing the flap securely, he laid in bed and tucked the excess of his blankets beneath him. Sleep overtook him quickly from his exhaustion and dreams of what would come to pass plagued his mind.
Visions of great plains overlooking a vast ocean as black as night plagued his mind. Trees screamed and howled in torture, pleading someone to help them. His thoughts suddenly went ablaze as flames consumed the trees and terrorized his alternate reality.
He woke with a start, slapping at the imaginary flames that filled his room. He wiped cold sweat from his brow and sighed deeply.
It seemed so real.
The following morning was no warmer than the night before and windswept frost rose in swirling tendrils from the ground. Fog clawed its way across the camp on the breeze and iced over the north side of each tent. Hawkner stepped out and shuddered against the cold, watching the sun rise through the mist.
Their Hunt - Chapter One
Chapter One: Storm
Rain pounded the rocks and streamed down the cliff face like ancient tears, rivulets pooling at the bottom and pouring into the sea below. Veins of blue lightning cracked the wall of black sky, revealing deep grey clouds enveloped in its dark projection. The stars were long gone and the sun buried. The phantom sky resonated emotion. Emotions of hate, seething with rage and agony, laced by pain and writhing regret.
The projected darkness the featureless horizon emitted, plagued the land beneath its stony glare. Crops withered and died among the plains of yellow grass, watching in horror as the trees warped and blackened from the roots.
The infected soil blew in the ill wind like ash and clung to everything around it. Houses sat beneath swells of dust until the windows were stained a foreboding cement color. The unfortunate residents batted at the tainted air and stuffed cloth into every nook and cranny of their homes, but to no avail. Abating the sky’s wrath would be nigh impossible.
Refraining from watching his creation, Veon spun on his heel and closed the window a few feet behind him. He knew he had succeeded by the shudders of the tower.
He descended the spiraling stone steps in even strides, moving with an inhuman elegance and speed. His grace eluded his true intentions and bore him well. His actions always came a surprise to those who had never seen him before nor knew who he was.
It was this he enjoyed most.
He threw open the great hall doors with a reckoning force. He stepped past them slowly as the six inch thick doors as tall as the third tower window flew off their hinges collapsed with a deafening boom, kicking up great plumes of black dust in their wake.
The others in the room flinched at the commotion and stared in terror at the man in front of them. His red eyes held no compassion or chivalry, resembling lifeless glowing coals.
A thin face like that of a dead man’s, skinned and draped over the skull of a larger man. Veins bulged across his forehead and glowing orange lines spider webbed his face from exposure to dark magic. His hair was snow white and his plagued skin pale and translucent, like paper over a flame. His teeth were misshapen and fangs protruded over his canine teeth, the only enamel not blackened.
He stalked closer to the group, his midnight cloak billowing behind him like a storm driven force. His wrapped boots stepped lightly across the marble floor. He heeded no attention to the heavily armored guards on either side of the room.
A golden throne sat in the center of the room, laden with furs and velvet. Its bearer sitting high. Long tapestries hung from the high ceiling, embroidered with a griffin snapping a dogwood tree in its jaws above a star. A single wooden table stretched from the entire length of the great hall with plate after plate of a variety of meats and fruits on a dozen platters.
Veon swiftly seized a pewter goblet from the table and drained it in a single gulp. He studied the cup slowly, turning it in his hand, weighing the heavy utensil. He smiled and stepped slowly over to the small congregation, his wide toothy grin striking the group with unparalleled fear.
The guards split into two groups of six, the first on either side of the seated king, the other blocking the exit to which Veon had entered. Veon smiled wider as the clinking and shuffling of the guards ceased, his fangs glinting beneath the chandelier above.
“King Gerald,” Veon’s silky smooth voice poured forward, caressing the people’s minds with a gentle touch. “ I thank you for your hospitality, and inviting me to your most humble abodes.”
He bowed low then stood straight and tall.
The lights seemed to dim and the fire wane. A cold chill swept through the room, engulfing the room in near darkness.
King Gerald watched in awe at his swirling breath before him. He looked up suddenly into the unforgiving eyes before him.
Thoughts swirled through his mind but none he could seize. His mind’s eye was blind and its vision blank. In the near dark he swore he saw those crimson eyes glow but he wasn’t sure of anything anymore.
“You..red-eyed-one.” King Gerald stuttered. “Leave at once. You. You are not welcome in my home.” He swayed and rubbed his temples sorely. His head throbbed and his eyes bloodshot, bulged slightly.
“But sire, it is you who summoned me.”
The king’s guests looked back and forth, following the conversation intently.
“I have done no such thing!” King Gerald retorted.
“Oh but you have. Let me educate you.” Veon said in the most condescending voice he could muster without being directly rude. “I sent you an invitation a month ago did I not? And you, being the majestic ruler you are, deigned it unworthy of your presence and returned it, crumpled, torn, and spat on. So here I am, to ask you once more. Will you join my alliance of the Magi?”
King Gerald stood slowly and cracked his ringed knuckles and drank deeply or his wine. He stepped forward, passing his wall of guards, and stood inches away from his unwanted visitor. He stood nearly a head taller than Veon and his girth was as wide as two of the intruder. He smiled a wicked smile and leaned close to Veon.
“To hell with you and your Magi.” He sneered and spat in Veon’s face.
He roared with laughter, holding his belly and shaking with effort to control himself from doubling over in hilarity. His subjects followed suit and soon the room was full of guffaws and snickering.
“That is unfortunate.” Veon said at last, and wiped the spit from his eye. He stood silent several moments and looked upon the laughing crowd, blind from their hysterics.
King Gerald wiped tears from his eyes and straightened, still just a few inches from Veon. He smiled disdainfully and crossed his thick arms.
Veon smiled then, and lifted his goblet in the air.
“A toast then.” He paused. “To King Gerald, may he meet a quick end.” He finished, still holding his goblet high. The room was silent and the moment tense.
“Or not.” Veon said suddenly, shattering the silence and King Gerald’s skull as the pewter goblet struck his face, lifting him off his feet then landing in a heap.
Pandemonium erupted in the room as they soaked in what had just come to pass. Veon waited for them to react. The guards were first to understand.
They charged him without regard to order or formation and stumbled to get at him first. A pike man stabbed out at him from behind, catching his comrade in the throat as Veon ducked and swept to the side, dropping the goblet and brandishing his knuckles.
The guards chuckled and charged again.
Emerald flames engulfed the frontline of soldiers in a mesmerizing illumination, cooking them inside their armor and charring anything exposed. They collapsed roasting, and writhed in agony as their replacements stepped on them to get at the murderer.
Several axes and swords swung out at Veon’s torso and head, missing by an inch as he bobbed and weaved, casting out sparks of lightning at the attackers, blasting a man off his feet across the room. He reached out and caught a mace, wrenched it from the man’s grasp and smashed in his face.
The remaining guests did nothing more than scream and watch in horror, aside from dodging an air borne body, frozen by fear.
The last guard stood alone as his brother in arms thrashed about, attempting to remove his own armored hand from the inside of his belly. He backed away from his screaming comrade and assailant, quivering in his plated mail. He dropped his axe and ran away from them. He looked back at them and saw Veon still standing there, then turned quickly, into the sword held out by Veon.
His eyes bulged as he looked back at his silent friend now alone, then to the sword which impaled him. He looked pleading at Veon then to the horrified group of onlookers staring at his feet. He followed their gaze and blanched yet more.
Veon effortlessly heaved the impaled soldier into the air and jolted the sword violently, ripping the blade through the man’s side and out. The broken body dropped and slumped with a splash.
The room went silent as a church and more depressing than a graveyard. Men lay scattered about the room, some bloodied, others smoldering. Blood pools smeared and streaked the entire great hall and the stench of burnt flesh hung heavy in the air.
Veon breathed deeply.
The castle shuddered then with an immense power, the stones rippling beneath Veon’s hand. He smiled, bowed and left quietly, leaving all those alive in shock.
The people mourned freely now and wept over those they had lost. Screams and deep inhalations uttered through sobbing grew unanimous among the guests as they stared at the king’s body, a dark stain about his head.
Just as the cries reached a climax, a loud explosion swept through the castle, flames roaring through the halls and swelling into every room eating up all furniture and people alike, incinerating everything in its path. Growing in apprehension, the mourners stood unsteadily, watching the great hall exit flicker, just as a blinding light filled the room.
The castle imploded in a blinding flash, flames and debris filling the ominous sky with dazzling cinders raining down among stone. A pillar of smoke plumed high, camouflaging perfectly. The repercussions shook the land and blew down all the trees nearby. Burning rubble fell and cast their emerald tongues of torch across the deadened land.
The rubble and remains of the castle sat utterly destroyed, burning beneath immense flames of dazzling emerald fire. The blackened world grew even darker and all light vanished, consumed by the night.
Desolate and deprived of life, the land watched as Veon departed into the misty smoke ahead, eyes blazing.
“Invitation rejected.”
Rain pounded the rocks and streamed down the cliff face like ancient tears, rivulets pooling at the bottom and pouring into the sea below. Veins of blue lightning cracked the wall of black sky, revealing deep grey clouds enveloped in its dark projection. The stars were long gone and the sun buried. The phantom sky resonated emotion. Emotions of hate, seething with rage and agony, laced by pain and writhing regret.
The projected darkness the featureless horizon emitted, plagued the land beneath its stony glare. Crops withered and died among the plains of yellow grass, watching in horror as the trees warped and blackened from the roots.
The infected soil blew in the ill wind like ash and clung to everything around it. Houses sat beneath swells of dust until the windows were stained a foreboding cement color. The unfortunate residents batted at the tainted air and stuffed cloth into every nook and cranny of their homes, but to no avail. Abating the sky’s wrath would be nigh impossible.
Refraining from watching his creation, Veon spun on his heel and closed the window a few feet behind him. He knew he had succeeded by the shudders of the tower.
He descended the spiraling stone steps in even strides, moving with an inhuman elegance and speed. His grace eluded his true intentions and bore him well. His actions always came a surprise to those who had never seen him before nor knew who he was.
It was this he enjoyed most.
He threw open the great hall doors with a reckoning force. He stepped past them slowly as the six inch thick doors as tall as the third tower window flew off their hinges collapsed with a deafening boom, kicking up great plumes of black dust in their wake.
The others in the room flinched at the commotion and stared in terror at the man in front of them. His red eyes held no compassion or chivalry, resembling lifeless glowing coals.
A thin face like that of a dead man’s, skinned and draped over the skull of a larger man. Veins bulged across his forehead and glowing orange lines spider webbed his face from exposure to dark magic. His hair was snow white and his plagued skin pale and translucent, like paper over a flame. His teeth were misshapen and fangs protruded over his canine teeth, the only enamel not blackened.
He stalked closer to the group, his midnight cloak billowing behind him like a storm driven force. His wrapped boots stepped lightly across the marble floor. He heeded no attention to the heavily armored guards on either side of the room.
A golden throne sat in the center of the room, laden with furs and velvet. Its bearer sitting high. Long tapestries hung from the high ceiling, embroidered with a griffin snapping a dogwood tree in its jaws above a star. A single wooden table stretched from the entire length of the great hall with plate after plate of a variety of meats and fruits on a dozen platters.
Veon swiftly seized a pewter goblet from the table and drained it in a single gulp. He studied the cup slowly, turning it in his hand, weighing the heavy utensil. He smiled and stepped slowly over to the small congregation, his wide toothy grin striking the group with unparalleled fear.
The guards split into two groups of six, the first on either side of the seated king, the other blocking the exit to which Veon had entered. Veon smiled wider as the clinking and shuffling of the guards ceased, his fangs glinting beneath the chandelier above.
“King Gerald,” Veon’s silky smooth voice poured forward, caressing the people’s minds with a gentle touch. “ I thank you for your hospitality, and inviting me to your most humble abodes.”
He bowed low then stood straight and tall.
The lights seemed to dim and the fire wane. A cold chill swept through the room, engulfing the room in near darkness.
King Gerald watched in awe at his swirling breath before him. He looked up suddenly into the unforgiving eyes before him.
Thoughts swirled through his mind but none he could seize. His mind’s eye was blind and its vision blank. In the near dark he swore he saw those crimson eyes glow but he wasn’t sure of anything anymore.
“You..red-eyed-one.” King Gerald stuttered. “Leave at once. You. You are not welcome in my home.” He swayed and rubbed his temples sorely. His head throbbed and his eyes bloodshot, bulged slightly.
“But sire, it is you who summoned me.”
The king’s guests looked back and forth, following the conversation intently.
“I have done no such thing!” King Gerald retorted.
“Oh but you have. Let me educate you.” Veon said in the most condescending voice he could muster without being directly rude. “I sent you an invitation a month ago did I not? And you, being the majestic ruler you are, deigned it unworthy of your presence and returned it, crumpled, torn, and spat on. So here I am, to ask you once more. Will you join my alliance of the Magi?”
King Gerald stood slowly and cracked his ringed knuckles and drank deeply or his wine. He stepped forward, passing his wall of guards, and stood inches away from his unwanted visitor. He stood nearly a head taller than Veon and his girth was as wide as two of the intruder. He smiled a wicked smile and leaned close to Veon.
“To hell with you and your Magi.” He sneered and spat in Veon’s face.
He roared with laughter, holding his belly and shaking with effort to control himself from doubling over in hilarity. His subjects followed suit and soon the room was full of guffaws and snickering.
“That is unfortunate.” Veon said at last, and wiped the spit from his eye. He stood silent several moments and looked upon the laughing crowd, blind from their hysterics.
King Gerald wiped tears from his eyes and straightened, still just a few inches from Veon. He smiled disdainfully and crossed his thick arms.
Veon smiled then, and lifted his goblet in the air.
“A toast then.” He paused. “To King Gerald, may he meet a quick end.” He finished, still holding his goblet high. The room was silent and the moment tense.
“Or not.” Veon said suddenly, shattering the silence and King Gerald’s skull as the pewter goblet struck his face, lifting him off his feet then landing in a heap.
Pandemonium erupted in the room as they soaked in what had just come to pass. Veon waited for them to react. The guards were first to understand.
They charged him without regard to order or formation and stumbled to get at him first. A pike man stabbed out at him from behind, catching his comrade in the throat as Veon ducked and swept to the side, dropping the goblet and brandishing his knuckles.
The guards chuckled and charged again.
Emerald flames engulfed the frontline of soldiers in a mesmerizing illumination, cooking them inside their armor and charring anything exposed. They collapsed roasting, and writhed in agony as their replacements stepped on them to get at the murderer.
Several axes and swords swung out at Veon’s torso and head, missing by an inch as he bobbed and weaved, casting out sparks of lightning at the attackers, blasting a man off his feet across the room. He reached out and caught a mace, wrenched it from the man’s grasp and smashed in his face.
The remaining guests did nothing more than scream and watch in horror, aside from dodging an air borne body, frozen by fear.
The last guard stood alone as his brother in arms thrashed about, attempting to remove his own armored hand from the inside of his belly. He backed away from his screaming comrade and assailant, quivering in his plated mail. He dropped his axe and ran away from them. He looked back at them and saw Veon still standing there, then turned quickly, into the sword held out by Veon.
His eyes bulged as he looked back at his silent friend now alone, then to the sword which impaled him. He looked pleading at Veon then to the horrified group of onlookers staring at his feet. He followed their gaze and blanched yet more.
Veon effortlessly heaved the impaled soldier into the air and jolted the sword violently, ripping the blade through the man’s side and out. The broken body dropped and slumped with a splash.
The room went silent as a church and more depressing than a graveyard. Men lay scattered about the room, some bloodied, others smoldering. Blood pools smeared and streaked the entire great hall and the stench of burnt flesh hung heavy in the air.
Veon breathed deeply.
The castle shuddered then with an immense power, the stones rippling beneath Veon’s hand. He smiled, bowed and left quietly, leaving all those alive in shock.
The people mourned freely now and wept over those they had lost. Screams and deep inhalations uttered through sobbing grew unanimous among the guests as they stared at the king’s body, a dark stain about his head.
Just as the cries reached a climax, a loud explosion swept through the castle, flames roaring through the halls and swelling into every room eating up all furniture and people alike, incinerating everything in its path. Growing in apprehension, the mourners stood unsteadily, watching the great hall exit flicker, just as a blinding light filled the room.
The castle imploded in a blinding flash, flames and debris filling the ominous sky with dazzling cinders raining down among stone. A pillar of smoke plumed high, camouflaging perfectly. The repercussions shook the land and blew down all the trees nearby. Burning rubble fell and cast their emerald tongues of torch across the deadened land.
The rubble and remains of the castle sat utterly destroyed, burning beneath immense flames of dazzling emerald fire. The blackened world grew even darker and all light vanished, consumed by the night.
Desolate and deprived of life, the land watched as Veon departed into the misty smoke ahead, eyes blazing.
“Invitation rejected.”
Their Hunt - Prologue
Their Hunt
Prologue:
The pale moon shone high behind grey clouds, casting a foreboding glow across the land. The trees whispered of dark tales in hushed voices hidden by the rustling of the leaves as they followed the howling wind. Animals dug deeper into their burrows and clung to their dreams to escape reality’s harsh storm. A lone wolf prowls into the darkness.
Tonight, was a dangerous night to be out.
Eyes dug into his back wherever he went, as the stars counted down his seconds. The very forest itself seemed to hold its breath as he drew deeper into its bowels. Danger watched around every corner as he slunk from tree to tree. A beast lurked nearby, paying little attention to anything save his kill.
His eyes bored into the creature below.
Eight feet tall, three hundred pounds of hulking fury armed with a thick wooly hide and claws that would make daggers dull. Not to mention the four rows of serrated teeth capable of crushing steel. Capable or lunging to the treetops in a single bound and running down a deer before tiring in the slightest.
He moved.
Leaping from his perch atop a nearby cliff, he fell upon the demon, blade drawn, and drove it deep into its’ neck. Instantly the monster roared and lashed out about him, unable to reach the boy atop his back. Infuriated, he accepted the challenge and bounded into the air, thrashing and swirling its long body.
The boy gripped its’ blood soaked fur around the entry wound where his spear remained jutting from it at a crude angle.
The onslaught continued for several minutes in the prey’s blind fury. Though it was much faster, stronger, and an unparalleled hunter itself, it would fall to the boy as his catch, the Hunter becoming the hunted.
The struggling pair dove through the forest at an alarming rate, speeding past trees and hills in a dark, snow covered blur. The boy’s eyes burned from the chill air whipping across his face, and cracked his lips as he frowned in concentration. He squeezed his watering eyes tighter and laid his head as low as he dared to his unwilling mount’s back. The furious repetitions of thick rippling muscle beneath its hide jarred him with every step and reminded him of how dire his situation had become.
He had expected a fight, but never thought it would last a half hour. He couldn’t help but admire his fellow hunter’s endurance. He watched in suppressed awe at its’ perfectly suited body.
A flat angular head like that of a cougar, but with a large broad body of a bear cloaked in white fur to camouflage into the snow. Its’ snout was short and its mouth wide with powerful jaws and a short neck. Its arms reached its knees and its legs the same length as its torso. Thick fur protected its’ already armored hide and claws matched with superb strength and speed kept it a deadly opponent to even the most trained.
This is an adult Kera, he realized in dismay.
The boy had been tracking an adolescent recently and must have followed the wrong trail in the blizzard. His mistake would be costly if he fell or got hurt. The Elders would never allow him to trek alone again until he reached manhood in two years.
Or, he soon pictured, they might make me an advanced student and award me for my courage and skill.
In all his thoughts, he hadn’t noticed the Kera was slowing down considerably, a crimson stain stretching from its neck to its flanks. It toppled suddenly, slinging the boy off his back, and both landing hard upon the ice.
The boy’s spear snapped with a loud crack, leaving only the top foot of the shaft protruding.
With a deafening echo, the ice shattered upstream and began pulling apart. The wounded Kera crawled off to land and collapsed, but the boy was left unconscious atop a small island of frost.
He awoke slowly and opened his eyes,
He saw great plains of white and a river flowing past him lazily. His kill lie peacefully in the snow and he found nothing broken miraculously. His spear shaft passed by in a gentle bob as he smiled and stood, bones aching from the cold with muscles sore and cramped from the ride. He steadied himself and grinned widely.
I’ve done it! I can’t believe it!
His high spirits quickly faded as he took in his surroundings.
Sitting alone on a chunk of ice as he floated downstream, slowly but surely approaching a waterfall, and too far from either shore to make it to land. The snow began falling in sheets, plastering to his clothes and weighing him down severely. He crouched low to his feet as the snow piled onto him.
He looked about for a way closer and found a small tree protruding from the water nearby. He readied himself carefully until he reached it and leaped for the branch. Underestimating the added weight from the snow and slipping, the branch cracked with a wet smack, and he plunged into the river.
An entourage of bubbles massed around him and squirmed as they floated to the surface. A deep darkness was about him yet the ceiling was a fluorescent golden white cast overhead.
It’s so beautiful, he thought as he floated into non-existence.
Instantly his muscles constricted and he sunk like a stone. Bright lights wavered above his head and shone like rays from the heavens. He struck out wildly for something to support him and found only the branch. His head swam and felt fuzzy. He tasted metal and his mouth felt like someone had shoved cotton down his throat. His arms and legs like lead and his eyes anchors. He could feel his lungs about to burst and wished he had taken a larger breath.
Just as he felt himself slipping away, his feet touched ground and cold air whipped across his drenched body. Vigorous shivers racked his body and his hands trembled terribly. His head ached and throbbed like a war drum. He rolled onto his side and vomited up water, shaking uncontrollably.
He hesitantly looked up expecting the stern gaze of his kin, but found no one.
He had been alone the entire time.
* * * * *
He began the long trek home slowly.
His catch was gone and his body frozen stiff. Only the remnants of his spear sat in the stained snow. He would camp soon and hope he was dry before he reached home tomorrow evening. His site was over twenty leagues from his home in the Outlands camp where his tribe remained.
The Outlands were an unforgiving place and it took four tribes of a clan to function properly. Each with its own set of skills and trades. He knew he would receive a lecture for returning empty handed and with several cuts and bruises apparent across his body.
He made a fire that night and sat nearly against the embers. His small shelter spared him the snow, but shared no sentiment against the merciless winter wind. The breeze sliced through his soaked fur clothing like a spear and kept him from all but hugging the fire.
He slept hard, wary of the cold, and woke later than he had hoped. His body protested as he stood and began to roll up his blankets and spearhead. The slightest movement sent a shock through his body, making his every movement wary and careful.
Beginning the walk home after packing, he carried the branch with the end smoldering, just in case, and cursed his stupidity in as many words he could think of; even those he didn’t understand.
The walk was a long and arduous journey as he traveled against the wind. He passed plain after plain of snow covered hills and forest. Tall, wide trees the size of mountains littered the majority of the land and life sprung from them.
Great clouds drifted by overhead foreshadowing rain and snow to come.
Almost storm season, the boy realized.
The sun was just beginning to set behind the Hinrur Mountains to the west when he spotted his home in the distance.
About ten leagues ahead, down into a valley surrounded by great woods on all sides, sat his home. The Outlands Camp it was called, though it was really a town. Different trades of all sort and merchants who dared traverse the Outland set up shop regularly and business thrived. It was just as large as a small peasant village and children roamed with parents busy working. Tents replaced houses however from whence the name Camp, derived.
He looked longingly as his home and wondered if he would be allowed back. His heart fluttered and his eyes sunk. He tried to mentally prepare himself for what was to come, but no protection did he find. His mistake was his and his only. It was only right for him to pay retribution.
He sat his pack down wearily and stared down at the bloodied blade of his ruined weapon.
Here goes nothing.
Prologue:
The pale moon shone high behind grey clouds, casting a foreboding glow across the land. The trees whispered of dark tales in hushed voices hidden by the rustling of the leaves as they followed the howling wind. Animals dug deeper into their burrows and clung to their dreams to escape reality’s harsh storm. A lone wolf prowls into the darkness.
Tonight, was a dangerous night to be out.
Eyes dug into his back wherever he went, as the stars counted down his seconds. The very forest itself seemed to hold its breath as he drew deeper into its bowels. Danger watched around every corner as he slunk from tree to tree. A beast lurked nearby, paying little attention to anything save his kill.
His eyes bored into the creature below.
Eight feet tall, three hundred pounds of hulking fury armed with a thick wooly hide and claws that would make daggers dull. Not to mention the four rows of serrated teeth capable of crushing steel. Capable or lunging to the treetops in a single bound and running down a deer before tiring in the slightest.
He moved.
Leaping from his perch atop a nearby cliff, he fell upon the demon, blade drawn, and drove it deep into its’ neck. Instantly the monster roared and lashed out about him, unable to reach the boy atop his back. Infuriated, he accepted the challenge and bounded into the air, thrashing and swirling its long body.
The boy gripped its’ blood soaked fur around the entry wound where his spear remained jutting from it at a crude angle.
The onslaught continued for several minutes in the prey’s blind fury. Though it was much faster, stronger, and an unparalleled hunter itself, it would fall to the boy as his catch, the Hunter becoming the hunted.
The struggling pair dove through the forest at an alarming rate, speeding past trees and hills in a dark, snow covered blur. The boy’s eyes burned from the chill air whipping across his face, and cracked his lips as he frowned in concentration. He squeezed his watering eyes tighter and laid his head as low as he dared to his unwilling mount’s back. The furious repetitions of thick rippling muscle beneath its hide jarred him with every step and reminded him of how dire his situation had become.
He had expected a fight, but never thought it would last a half hour. He couldn’t help but admire his fellow hunter’s endurance. He watched in suppressed awe at its’ perfectly suited body.
A flat angular head like that of a cougar, but with a large broad body of a bear cloaked in white fur to camouflage into the snow. Its’ snout was short and its mouth wide with powerful jaws and a short neck. Its arms reached its knees and its legs the same length as its torso. Thick fur protected its’ already armored hide and claws matched with superb strength and speed kept it a deadly opponent to even the most trained.
This is an adult Kera, he realized in dismay.
The boy had been tracking an adolescent recently and must have followed the wrong trail in the blizzard. His mistake would be costly if he fell or got hurt. The Elders would never allow him to trek alone again until he reached manhood in two years.
Or, he soon pictured, they might make me an advanced student and award me for my courage and skill.
In all his thoughts, he hadn’t noticed the Kera was slowing down considerably, a crimson stain stretching from its neck to its flanks. It toppled suddenly, slinging the boy off his back, and both landing hard upon the ice.
The boy’s spear snapped with a loud crack, leaving only the top foot of the shaft protruding.
With a deafening echo, the ice shattered upstream and began pulling apart. The wounded Kera crawled off to land and collapsed, but the boy was left unconscious atop a small island of frost.
He awoke slowly and opened his eyes,
He saw great plains of white and a river flowing past him lazily. His kill lie peacefully in the snow and he found nothing broken miraculously. His spear shaft passed by in a gentle bob as he smiled and stood, bones aching from the cold with muscles sore and cramped from the ride. He steadied himself and grinned widely.
I’ve done it! I can’t believe it!
His high spirits quickly faded as he took in his surroundings.
Sitting alone on a chunk of ice as he floated downstream, slowly but surely approaching a waterfall, and too far from either shore to make it to land. The snow began falling in sheets, plastering to his clothes and weighing him down severely. He crouched low to his feet as the snow piled onto him.
He looked about for a way closer and found a small tree protruding from the water nearby. He readied himself carefully until he reached it and leaped for the branch. Underestimating the added weight from the snow and slipping, the branch cracked with a wet smack, and he plunged into the river.
An entourage of bubbles massed around him and squirmed as they floated to the surface. A deep darkness was about him yet the ceiling was a fluorescent golden white cast overhead.
It’s so beautiful, he thought as he floated into non-existence.
Instantly his muscles constricted and he sunk like a stone. Bright lights wavered above his head and shone like rays from the heavens. He struck out wildly for something to support him and found only the branch. His head swam and felt fuzzy. He tasted metal and his mouth felt like someone had shoved cotton down his throat. His arms and legs like lead and his eyes anchors. He could feel his lungs about to burst and wished he had taken a larger breath.
Just as he felt himself slipping away, his feet touched ground and cold air whipped across his drenched body. Vigorous shivers racked his body and his hands trembled terribly. His head ached and throbbed like a war drum. He rolled onto his side and vomited up water, shaking uncontrollably.
He hesitantly looked up expecting the stern gaze of his kin, but found no one.
He had been alone the entire time.
* * * * *
He began the long trek home slowly.
His catch was gone and his body frozen stiff. Only the remnants of his spear sat in the stained snow. He would camp soon and hope he was dry before he reached home tomorrow evening. His site was over twenty leagues from his home in the Outlands camp where his tribe remained.
The Outlands were an unforgiving place and it took four tribes of a clan to function properly. Each with its own set of skills and trades. He knew he would receive a lecture for returning empty handed and with several cuts and bruises apparent across his body.
He made a fire that night and sat nearly against the embers. His small shelter spared him the snow, but shared no sentiment against the merciless winter wind. The breeze sliced through his soaked fur clothing like a spear and kept him from all but hugging the fire.
He slept hard, wary of the cold, and woke later than he had hoped. His body protested as he stood and began to roll up his blankets and spearhead. The slightest movement sent a shock through his body, making his every movement wary and careful.
Beginning the walk home after packing, he carried the branch with the end smoldering, just in case, and cursed his stupidity in as many words he could think of; even those he didn’t understand.
The walk was a long and arduous journey as he traveled against the wind. He passed plain after plain of snow covered hills and forest. Tall, wide trees the size of mountains littered the majority of the land and life sprung from them.
Great clouds drifted by overhead foreshadowing rain and snow to come.
Almost storm season, the boy realized.
The sun was just beginning to set behind the Hinrur Mountains to the west when he spotted his home in the distance.
About ten leagues ahead, down into a valley surrounded by great woods on all sides, sat his home. The Outlands Camp it was called, though it was really a town. Different trades of all sort and merchants who dared traverse the Outland set up shop regularly and business thrived. It was just as large as a small peasant village and children roamed with parents busy working. Tents replaced houses however from whence the name Camp, derived.
He looked longingly as his home and wondered if he would be allowed back. His heart fluttered and his eyes sunk. He tried to mentally prepare himself for what was to come, but no protection did he find. His mistake was his and his only. It was only right for him to pay retribution.
He sat his pack down wearily and stared down at the bloodied blade of his ruined weapon.
Here goes nothing.
The Shepard - Chapter One
Day One
I’ve joined the Alliance and become a Walker. Basic was pretty easy for the most part but I still don’t like guns too much. Maybe if I’d grown up with ‘em I’d be better but I passed. I’ve been put on recycling detail as well, to search for anything worth repairing. I’ve been told to find aluminum to repair the generator for the hospital and glue. If clothes are found they should be brought to the HQ and reported.
--2018
Walker S-13 (Codename Sheppard)
The first rains since the Wall went up over City. Mobsters and perverts always running amuck. City has really gone down hill. Not to mention all these god damn power outages every couple of hours. It’s a constant war over at the Power Plant, three, four guys always turn up dead each week. It’s a damn shame.
Half the kids ‘round here don’t even know what a hamburger looks like. I told this kid around the block I’ll get him one ‘fore I die. Hope I can keep my promise.
My radio buzzed, crackling in a way I imagined my TV would right now if it worked. I double checked the buckle fastening it to my belt and turned the volume down. I could hear them but they couldn’t hear me.
“S-13, you’re needed back out at the Waterfront. Return a.s.a.p. and report back through Q-09.”
A short groan later, I was running down the street in the pouring rain, my scavenged combat armor consisting of a holey bullet proof vest and BDU’s found in the police dumpster, were soaked through and weighed me down, my boots dragging over the sidewalk’s cement.
Newspapers lay plastered and torn to the ground among bullet holes and random items of detritus. Clothing and small items of no value lay scattered about, the streets a hollow reminder of what once was and never will be. Windows of the tall buildings on either side stood like scripture on a tombstone. A chill breeze blew through me and carried on, uncaring to the bowels of City.
A door in an alleyway flew open then, bouncing off the brick wall its hinges called home and struck the man giving chase. A dark figure pushed past me and bounded over a park bench and rolled to a street level window, slipping into its dark recesses and disappeared.
The man stumbled to me and looked this way then that, turning on me in his rage.
“Where’d it go!? I know you saw!” He bellowed into my face, spittle washing down my face in the rain and veins bulging in his neck. His purple face beheld hate filled eyes and a beak-like nose, long, gnarled fingers like tree roots and a bald head with the palest of skin. He smelled of leather and smoke, his teeth yellowed and spotted.
“Sir?” I said then continued walking, his dumbfounded expression smoldering in frustration. A click behind me took hold of my legs and forced me to stop. I turned to find the eye of a gun studying me. A calm, steady hand raised.
“Let’s try this again, ya’ damn freak.” He sneered and smiled crudely. “Where did it go?” He said slowly, waving the gun from my stomach to face.
“Behind you.”
A sickening crack split the tense moment as the man’s head split from ear to scalp. He gasped and collapsed, the .45 clattering to the ground which I then “misplaced” into my pocket.
The dark figure stood behind the crumpled heap between us and tossed the lead pipe to the gutter, turning on its’ heel and nimbly sped off, long thin legs splashing down the cold streets of City.
I looked down to the unconscious man and found two wallets in his pocket. One with nothing but cash and a crumpled old subway pass, the other the ID of a young woman with dark hair and piercing green eyes. I took both and dropped the wallets beside the man who stirred and clenched a fist.
After deciding to leave the man there, I continued to the Waterfront and quickened my pace as the sun began to dip behind the Wall. Great shadows
I’ve joined the Alliance and become a Walker. Basic was pretty easy for the most part but I still don’t like guns too much. Maybe if I’d grown up with ‘em I’d be better but I passed. I’ve been put on recycling detail as well, to search for anything worth repairing. I’ve been told to find aluminum to repair the generator for the hospital and glue. If clothes are found they should be brought to the HQ and reported.
--2018
Walker S-13 (Codename Sheppard)
The first rains since the Wall went up over City. Mobsters and perverts always running amuck. City has really gone down hill. Not to mention all these god damn power outages every couple of hours. It’s a constant war over at the Power Plant, three, four guys always turn up dead each week. It’s a damn shame.
Half the kids ‘round here don’t even know what a hamburger looks like. I told this kid around the block I’ll get him one ‘fore I die. Hope I can keep my promise.
My radio buzzed, crackling in a way I imagined my TV would right now if it worked. I double checked the buckle fastening it to my belt and turned the volume down. I could hear them but they couldn’t hear me.
“S-13, you’re needed back out at the Waterfront. Return a.s.a.p. and report back through Q-09.”
A short groan later, I was running down the street in the pouring rain, my scavenged combat armor consisting of a holey bullet proof vest and BDU’s found in the police dumpster, were soaked through and weighed me down, my boots dragging over the sidewalk’s cement.
Newspapers lay plastered and torn to the ground among bullet holes and random items of detritus. Clothing and small items of no value lay scattered about, the streets a hollow reminder of what once was and never will be. Windows of the tall buildings on either side stood like scripture on a tombstone. A chill breeze blew through me and carried on, uncaring to the bowels of City.
A door in an alleyway flew open then, bouncing off the brick wall its hinges called home and struck the man giving chase. A dark figure pushed past me and bounded over a park bench and rolled to a street level window, slipping into its dark recesses and disappeared.
The man stumbled to me and looked this way then that, turning on me in his rage.
“Where’d it go!? I know you saw!” He bellowed into my face, spittle washing down my face in the rain and veins bulging in his neck. His purple face beheld hate filled eyes and a beak-like nose, long, gnarled fingers like tree roots and a bald head with the palest of skin. He smelled of leather and smoke, his teeth yellowed and spotted.
“Sir?” I said then continued walking, his dumbfounded expression smoldering in frustration. A click behind me took hold of my legs and forced me to stop. I turned to find the eye of a gun studying me. A calm, steady hand raised.
“Let’s try this again, ya’ damn freak.” He sneered and smiled crudely. “Where did it go?” He said slowly, waving the gun from my stomach to face.
“Behind you.”
A sickening crack split the tense moment as the man’s head split from ear to scalp. He gasped and collapsed, the .45 clattering to the ground which I then “misplaced” into my pocket.
The dark figure stood behind the crumpled heap between us and tossed the lead pipe to the gutter, turning on its’ heel and nimbly sped off, long thin legs splashing down the cold streets of City.
I looked down to the unconscious man and found two wallets in his pocket. One with nothing but cash and a crumpled old subway pass, the other the ID of a young woman with dark hair and piercing green eyes. I took both and dropped the wallets beside the man who stirred and clenched a fist.
After deciding to leave the man there, I continued to the Waterfront and quickened my pace as the sun began to dip behind the Wall. Great shadows
The Shepard - Prologue
In the event of discovery, this note should be burned or digested.
January 2nd, 2010
No contact from deployed teams. New York City has begun evacuation despite the fortifications being made.
March 19th, 2010
Military begins quarantine of New York and orders all operations through the city be shut down, and all work diverted to constructing the Wall.
August 14th, 2010
The Wall successfully separates the city from all surrounding states, leaving it open to only Lake Ontario. New York descends into a depression. Only three thousand people remain in the city with little work other than the most basic of things.
September 11th, 2010
Police forces disband as crime and rioting grow to unparalleled proportions. More and more sightings of the Mob appear as the body count rises.
November 1st, 2010
The Mob and its descendents of organized crime take over the city and run its entirety through the Black Market.
December 24th, 2010
The two largest Christian chapels are destroyed through arson, over six hundred people inside.
December 29th, 2010
Ex-Sherriff Joseph Walker finds the remnants of his police force and gathers volunteers for a new team.
February 1, 2011
The new team, called “Walkers” begin the first opposition directly enacted against the Mob’s operations with a raid on their still developing slave the Walkers to seek the New York Resistance’s assistance.
--NOTE: Battles rage almost daily between the Alliance and the Mob’s new formation as Liberty’s Tears, and leave the city war torn as more and more firepower and weaponry is found.
January 2nd, 2010
No contact from deployed teams. New York City has begun evacuation despite the fortifications being made.
March 19th, 2010
Military begins quarantine of New York and orders all operations through the city be shut down, and all work diverted to constructing the Wall.
August 14th, 2010
The Wall successfully separates the city from all surrounding states, leaving it open to only Lake Ontario. New York descends into a depression. Only three thousand people remain in the city with little work other than the most basic of things.
September 11th, 2010
Police forces disband as crime and rioting grow to unparalleled proportions. More and more sightings of the Mob appear as the body count rises.
November 1st, 2010
The Mob and its descendents of organized crime take over the city and run its entirety through the Black Market.
December 24th, 2010
The two largest Christian chapels are destroyed through arson, over six hundred people inside.
December 29th, 2010
Ex-Sherriff Joseph Walker finds the remnants of his police force and gathers volunteers for a new team.
February 1, 2011
The new team, called “Walkers” begin the first opposition directly enacted against the Mob’s operations with a raid on their still developing slave the Walkers to seek the New York Resistance’s assistance.
--NOTE: Battles rage almost daily between the Alliance and the Mob’s new formation as Liberty’s Tears, and leave the city war torn as more and more firepower and weaponry is found.
The Debt All Men Paid - Prologue
This one is a spin-off I started from Hooley's story The Debt All Men Pay. Mine is within the same story in the beginning and parallels his, then was planned to move off into the future; hence the past tense version of the title.
The booming grew louder and louder as we climbed the staircase, panting and sweating inside our Nanite Armor. I could feel the stone steps rumble and quiver beneath my feet, whether in fear or of repercussion. The red fire escape door stood at the end, the very top of the two hundred and thirty-eight story skyscraper in downtown. I was the first in the group, throwing open the red door and taking point on the roof, glassing the surrounding buildings through my sniper rifle. All was in Hell just as it should be so I waved the others on.
They filed through, covering the perimeter of the roof and returning fire only. It was all a blur. Shooting in every direction at enemy drones too far to see clearly open sighted and awaiting the big bug we knew was coming. But it seemed to appear out of thin air despite its immense size and girth. A large creature covered in head to tail in scales and spikes stood, crawling by belching acid from its serrated gullet and squealed at an alarming frequency, hundreds of windows shattering in unison. We looked to our Gunnery Sergeant, Gunny Steeles, for orders.
Steeles bellowed at us from behind his visor, even behind the black glass I knew his face was purple and that vein bulging on his forehead. I followed after him down the stairs as the Shrieker screamed in pain. The sound made my eyes bulge, slowing me on the stairs in which I tripped and fell an entire flight. Now the last man coming down, I sprinted outside to witness the Shrieker’s attack. I stepped out from the skyscraper’s dark lobby to the bright sunlit street.
Something small in comparison and gray hung from the Shrieker’s spiked back, moving and writhing with something. I peered through the scope of my rifle and dropped my gum onto my chin.
York?
There hung York, his right arm impaled on the spike, blood oozing from his armor, his left arm pulling at his chest. He ripped his grenade belt from its fasteners and slung it into the beast’s open mouth. Just then York fell, thudding into the ground with a smack and laid motionless.
All went silent. Then, in a great flash and deafening boom, the Shrieker exploded casting gore across the block, acid raining on us with the sound of a thousand footsteps. Steeles roared through our intercom, barely audible, and began dragging an unconscious York, a small piece of metal in his back. I saw the building behind the smoldering remains shattered and crumbling, great heaps of glass and metal plummeting to the road. All around us was chaos, the sounds of our running and breathing masked by the constant drone and rumbles from the destruction behind. We threw ourselves through the door, back into the dark lobby, and sat in wait.
Steeles was furious, dumbfounded, by York’s course of action. He rambled on and on about the stupidity countering his courage and mumbled to himself every few minutes. The rest of the recruits lounged about, exhausted and terrified, myself being no different. I was just another F.N.G. as Steeles called me, a number. SD-thirteen-oh-eight,’ Private First Class’ Crew, eight-hundred first Squadron.
I had it memorized by the second day of Boot and knew it by heart on the third. They prepared us to fight to the death and to die in a fight, in either order, but it was nothing like this. Nothing could have ever prepared us to fight something like the Grell. Let alone a Shrieker. No, Boot was nothing more than being stripped of your name, life, and freedom, and being given a number, rank, and squad. I had been assigned Sniper Drone-thirteen-oh-eight and told to forget everything but my training and my new brand, which was tattooed on my inner left wrist and on the back of my neck.
Real hard to remember that.
We sat impatiently, awaiting orders and the culmination of the rotting building outside. Steeles and our medic, Daringer, continued to buzz around York checking his arm and back and shaking their heads, all while muttering to each other with visors raised to cut off radio chatter. York was still out like a broken light bulb and appeared to be crippled in impact foam. But it was his arm and back that held the most attention. Both were already scabbed over and healing from the nanites in our armor, but remained open to the elements, torn straight through the armor itself.
A small, mousy recruit beside me said to leave him here, sparking Steele’s legendary rage yet once again. I lifted my visor to put my gum back in my mouth and set it back over my face to muffle their talking. At least those with their visors open. The others held a private conversation discussing whether to follow Gunny or to leave York and him here to be bait. I remained silent, knowing the pros and cons without debate.
Pros; we leave without attracting the infrared Seeking Grell.
Cons; we commit treason and make an enemy of Gunny.
I choose the Grell.
I lifted my visor once the conversation grew tedious and the uproar of the volcano that is Gunny was over and now simmering. I waited patiently as I had learned in sniper training and tried to control my breathing, counting my heart beats and taking account of my limbs for any damage.
Nothing but a few new dings and bullet holes in my armor so far. Thank God for the new models and their magnetic bullet repelling plates. I surmised as I scratched at a long thin scratch down my arm. Slowly, the men began to pull into rank and separate as Steeles commanded. I pulled back out of my thoughts and into the room.
“Crew, you and these three,” He motioned at Darian and the two men beside him, “Go downstairs to the generator and turn the power back on. Now, before the bugs come in after York’s exposed body heat!”
I stood immediately and pulled an about face to the back of the lobby. An old rusted door stood in the far corner, chain holding it shut. I gave it a swift kick and it flew open, banging against the cement wall on the other side, revealing a dark room smelling of mold and mildew.
“Here we go, boys.”
I stepped down the grimy stone, descending into darkness as the temperature grew colder and colder. I flicked on my visor’s night vision and loaded my Magnum Raider, all nine bullets in the revolving chamber glowing slightly. I relished the weight of the revolver, assuring me, as I walked deeper into the abandoned hospital basement.
Everywhere I looked revealed dripping brick walls and old cleaning items covered in thick fuzzy mold. Numerous empty cans littered the floor and floated in the half foot of black, stagnant water. We splashed through it slowly, eyeing this way and that in a V formation. Someone had to put the chain on the door to keep something out, or in.
The ripples of something ahead shook and quivered around my shins.
Just then a brief flash of light sparked the midnight basement, an intense boom echoing off every wall and surrounding us in a disheartening chatter. A bullet whizzed past my head, the vapor trail in the drenched air visible. I thanked God once again for the water-proof armor and threw myself into it, leaning low against the wall. The other followed suit and hid behind random mid-sized objects.
I opened fire, each shot a concussive boom across the basement. The dark water was cast in a festival of light with each shot like that of the lake during the fourth of July long ago. The flashes of gunfire behind me moved closer and closer and I knew we were pressing forward. I stood and walked swiftly, firing and reloading into the darkness ahead with a practiced liquidity.
The firing ahead ceased and all fell silent, the surprisingly large basement stirring only with the ripples of the dank wastes. A red tint was found in the blackness and the corpses of several grubs were half submerged, staining it yet more. We passed them, cautiously and grimaced as the water grew deeper and deeper until we were wading waist deep in it. Over a dozen corpses floated around us in the pitch black, only for our night vision could we press on.
We continued through until we were midway into the room, the two dozen corpses gliding by on all sides. Up ahead to the far right were several steps ascending from the water, another door atop them with the words Generator Room written in red words. The first sign of hope seemed to illuminate the drowned cemetery.
Time stopped.
I turned my head, the numerous grubs exploding from the water in seemingly frozen torrents and splashes. I looked at them, eyes wide and coal colored above their flat scaled face and open mouth revealing fangs and two tongues. Their armor was soaked and made of what appeared to be a natural metal like tungsten. They had great arms and stood at seven feet tall with powerful strength and stamina. Their pale skin looked like paper yet stood as tough as leather, three fingers as large as bratwursts gripped a more sentient version of our common weaponry, small changes and tweaks and a crude paintjob like that of mud.
Then my instincts took over and brought back time, causing my head to swerve to the side, a hailstorm of bullets in its place, and leaped into the water, submerging completely and kicking wildly to make as much distance between me and them.
My head swelled and my mind raced, frantic thoughts slowing me and panic numbing my limbs like dead weights. I sank and gasped for air, swallowing what last lungful my visor held in an emergency, and watched the pretty lights dance in front of me.
But even as I was ready to disappear into darkness and drift away, a hand ripped from my solitude, bursting through the surface. I coughed and sucked in the damp air, hearing once again the sounds of warfare. Gunfire and roars met my ears, drowning out any thoughts I once had. I instead once again followed my instincts, pulling my magnum out and mindlessly allowing my body to perform its functions.
I snapped to and fro, firing single rounds into each dark figure, reloading in one movement and walking forward slowly, ignoring any rounds that glanced off my armor or impacted with a thud. I shrugged off the bruises and pushed forward as what my mind told me were enemies dropped into the crimson water.
What seemed like a second later, the delusion was over, my mind suddenly cleared. I stumbled and looked about, the ruby water raised to my chest from the number of bodies. I swallowed hard and turned to my comrades.
They had a few bullet holes each but none penetrated. I was sure beneath their visors all were giving me the same incredulous expression. But I had no time to explain nor did I have an answer in which to do so. So I waved them on and ran through the water as fast I could, suddenly exhausted. I burst through the door dripping blood not my own and sighed as the generator sat covered in cobwebs as if it had never been activated once. I pulled the lever down with more force than necessary and scowled as it rumbled to life with a shaky start.
“Well,” I said curtly, “ power’s on.”
The booming grew louder and louder as we climbed the staircase, panting and sweating inside our Nanite Armor. I could feel the stone steps rumble and quiver beneath my feet, whether in fear or of repercussion. The red fire escape door stood at the end, the very top of the two hundred and thirty-eight story skyscraper in downtown. I was the first in the group, throwing open the red door and taking point on the roof, glassing the surrounding buildings through my sniper rifle. All was in Hell just as it should be so I waved the others on.
They filed through, covering the perimeter of the roof and returning fire only. It was all a blur. Shooting in every direction at enemy drones too far to see clearly open sighted and awaiting the big bug we knew was coming. But it seemed to appear out of thin air despite its immense size and girth. A large creature covered in head to tail in scales and spikes stood, crawling by belching acid from its serrated gullet and squealed at an alarming frequency, hundreds of windows shattering in unison. We looked to our Gunnery Sergeant, Gunny Steeles, for orders.
Steeles bellowed at us from behind his visor, even behind the black glass I knew his face was purple and that vein bulging on his forehead. I followed after him down the stairs as the Shrieker screamed in pain. The sound made my eyes bulge, slowing me on the stairs in which I tripped and fell an entire flight. Now the last man coming down, I sprinted outside to witness the Shrieker’s attack. I stepped out from the skyscraper’s dark lobby to the bright sunlit street.
Something small in comparison and gray hung from the Shrieker’s spiked back, moving and writhing with something. I peered through the scope of my rifle and dropped my gum onto my chin.
York?
There hung York, his right arm impaled on the spike, blood oozing from his armor, his left arm pulling at his chest. He ripped his grenade belt from its fasteners and slung it into the beast’s open mouth. Just then York fell, thudding into the ground with a smack and laid motionless.
All went silent. Then, in a great flash and deafening boom, the Shrieker exploded casting gore across the block, acid raining on us with the sound of a thousand footsteps. Steeles roared through our intercom, barely audible, and began dragging an unconscious York, a small piece of metal in his back. I saw the building behind the smoldering remains shattered and crumbling, great heaps of glass and metal plummeting to the road. All around us was chaos, the sounds of our running and breathing masked by the constant drone and rumbles from the destruction behind. We threw ourselves through the door, back into the dark lobby, and sat in wait.
Steeles was furious, dumbfounded, by York’s course of action. He rambled on and on about the stupidity countering his courage and mumbled to himself every few minutes. The rest of the recruits lounged about, exhausted and terrified, myself being no different. I was just another F.N.G. as Steeles called me, a number. SD-thirteen-oh-eight,’ Private First Class’ Crew, eight-hundred first Squadron.
I had it memorized by the second day of Boot and knew it by heart on the third. They prepared us to fight to the death and to die in a fight, in either order, but it was nothing like this. Nothing could have ever prepared us to fight something like the Grell. Let alone a Shrieker. No, Boot was nothing more than being stripped of your name, life, and freedom, and being given a number, rank, and squad. I had been assigned Sniper Drone-thirteen-oh-eight and told to forget everything but my training and my new brand, which was tattooed on my inner left wrist and on the back of my neck.
Real hard to remember that.
We sat impatiently, awaiting orders and the culmination of the rotting building outside. Steeles and our medic, Daringer, continued to buzz around York checking his arm and back and shaking their heads, all while muttering to each other with visors raised to cut off radio chatter. York was still out like a broken light bulb and appeared to be crippled in impact foam. But it was his arm and back that held the most attention. Both were already scabbed over and healing from the nanites in our armor, but remained open to the elements, torn straight through the armor itself.
A small, mousy recruit beside me said to leave him here, sparking Steele’s legendary rage yet once again. I lifted my visor to put my gum back in my mouth and set it back over my face to muffle their talking. At least those with their visors open. The others held a private conversation discussing whether to follow Gunny or to leave York and him here to be bait. I remained silent, knowing the pros and cons without debate.
Pros; we leave without attracting the infrared Seeking Grell.
Cons; we commit treason and make an enemy of Gunny.
I choose the Grell.
I lifted my visor once the conversation grew tedious and the uproar of the volcano that is Gunny was over and now simmering. I waited patiently as I had learned in sniper training and tried to control my breathing, counting my heart beats and taking account of my limbs for any damage.
Nothing but a few new dings and bullet holes in my armor so far. Thank God for the new models and their magnetic bullet repelling plates. I surmised as I scratched at a long thin scratch down my arm. Slowly, the men began to pull into rank and separate as Steeles commanded. I pulled back out of my thoughts and into the room.
“Crew, you and these three,” He motioned at Darian and the two men beside him, “Go downstairs to the generator and turn the power back on. Now, before the bugs come in after York’s exposed body heat!”
I stood immediately and pulled an about face to the back of the lobby. An old rusted door stood in the far corner, chain holding it shut. I gave it a swift kick and it flew open, banging against the cement wall on the other side, revealing a dark room smelling of mold and mildew.
“Here we go, boys.”
I stepped down the grimy stone, descending into darkness as the temperature grew colder and colder. I flicked on my visor’s night vision and loaded my Magnum Raider, all nine bullets in the revolving chamber glowing slightly. I relished the weight of the revolver, assuring me, as I walked deeper into the abandoned hospital basement.
Everywhere I looked revealed dripping brick walls and old cleaning items covered in thick fuzzy mold. Numerous empty cans littered the floor and floated in the half foot of black, stagnant water. We splashed through it slowly, eyeing this way and that in a V formation. Someone had to put the chain on the door to keep something out, or in.
The ripples of something ahead shook and quivered around my shins.
Just then a brief flash of light sparked the midnight basement, an intense boom echoing off every wall and surrounding us in a disheartening chatter. A bullet whizzed past my head, the vapor trail in the drenched air visible. I thanked God once again for the water-proof armor and threw myself into it, leaning low against the wall. The other followed suit and hid behind random mid-sized objects.
I opened fire, each shot a concussive boom across the basement. The dark water was cast in a festival of light with each shot like that of the lake during the fourth of July long ago. The flashes of gunfire behind me moved closer and closer and I knew we were pressing forward. I stood and walked swiftly, firing and reloading into the darkness ahead with a practiced liquidity.
The firing ahead ceased and all fell silent, the surprisingly large basement stirring only with the ripples of the dank wastes. A red tint was found in the blackness and the corpses of several grubs were half submerged, staining it yet more. We passed them, cautiously and grimaced as the water grew deeper and deeper until we were wading waist deep in it. Over a dozen corpses floated around us in the pitch black, only for our night vision could we press on.
We continued through until we were midway into the room, the two dozen corpses gliding by on all sides. Up ahead to the far right were several steps ascending from the water, another door atop them with the words Generator Room written in red words. The first sign of hope seemed to illuminate the drowned cemetery.
Time stopped.
I turned my head, the numerous grubs exploding from the water in seemingly frozen torrents and splashes. I looked at them, eyes wide and coal colored above their flat scaled face and open mouth revealing fangs and two tongues. Their armor was soaked and made of what appeared to be a natural metal like tungsten. They had great arms and stood at seven feet tall with powerful strength and stamina. Their pale skin looked like paper yet stood as tough as leather, three fingers as large as bratwursts gripped a more sentient version of our common weaponry, small changes and tweaks and a crude paintjob like that of mud.
Then my instincts took over and brought back time, causing my head to swerve to the side, a hailstorm of bullets in its place, and leaped into the water, submerging completely and kicking wildly to make as much distance between me and them.
My head swelled and my mind raced, frantic thoughts slowing me and panic numbing my limbs like dead weights. I sank and gasped for air, swallowing what last lungful my visor held in an emergency, and watched the pretty lights dance in front of me.
But even as I was ready to disappear into darkness and drift away, a hand ripped from my solitude, bursting through the surface. I coughed and sucked in the damp air, hearing once again the sounds of warfare. Gunfire and roars met my ears, drowning out any thoughts I once had. I instead once again followed my instincts, pulling my magnum out and mindlessly allowing my body to perform its functions.
I snapped to and fro, firing single rounds into each dark figure, reloading in one movement and walking forward slowly, ignoring any rounds that glanced off my armor or impacted with a thud. I shrugged off the bruises and pushed forward as what my mind told me were enemies dropped into the crimson water.
What seemed like a second later, the delusion was over, my mind suddenly cleared. I stumbled and looked about, the ruby water raised to my chest from the number of bodies. I swallowed hard and turned to my comrades.
They had a few bullet holes each but none penetrated. I was sure beneath their visors all were giving me the same incredulous expression. But I had no time to explain nor did I have an answer in which to do so. So I waved them on and ran through the water as fast I could, suddenly exhausted. I burst through the door dripping blood not my own and sighed as the generator sat covered in cobwebs as if it had never been activated once. I pulled the lever down with more force than necessary and scowled as it rumbled to life with a shaky start.
“Well,” I said curtly, “ power’s on.”
Star Wars: The Time to Nerd Out
A flash of light in the darkness illuminated the room in a sudden freezeframe camera shot. The Mandalorian was there, pistol held just overhead, the door between us closing as the switch was smashed, sparks from it scattering across the floor and fading into the darkness. Back within it, I reached for my lightsaber at my belt.
The cool metal of the handle chilled my hand as I gripped it. The weight was perfect, exactly to my specifications: heavier near the pommel to fight off the bouncing of the blade upon impact, wider near the top to protect my fingers, and just weighty enough to feel secure that it could take a fall. I wiped the sweat from my brow with my off hand as the blade erupted from the handle in an instant.
The soft blue glow cast eerie shadows along the walls as I passed them, checking each corner slowly to be sure we were alone. The Mandalorian and I. The soft vibrations of my weapon brought a sense of security with it that surprised me.
I approached the door and knew it wouldn’t open again after that laser shot. Instead, I held the saber aloft, perpendicular to my body with my main hand holding the pommel, and slowly pressed it into the door. The metal began to glow and bubble, eventually smoldering a molten orange that bubbled and boiled around the shimmering blue beam of light. I pressed forward until the blade sunk through to the other side and began to pull to the right and then back down about two feet across.
A moment’s hesitation later, and I was staring at a new, though much smaller, door within a door. I pressed my hand to it and closed my eyes, listening intently not with my ears for any sign of life.
Darkness, no, a hallway with a light flickering in and out of life. Several metal crates piled on the side and an overturned table. Numerous small bolts and tools beside a decrepit droid that was rusted and covered in holes.
I began to recede back into the confines of my mind when something caught my “eye”. A flicker of movement in the dark. The light flashed back on and sputtered, revealing nothing new. It went out again. That same motion in the back of the hallway returned and vanished as soon as the light appeared.
I pulled away from the door and focused on my empty left hand until it felt hot. I could feel it stinging and tingling as if it had fallen asleep or had a thousand tiny insects crawling about it. Sweat grew in my palm as I clenched it into a fist.
Then I had it.
I thrusted it forward so fast it was a blur to my own eyes. Instantly the heat dissipated and collided against the roughly hewn door with the sound of a muffled explosion. A sort of whoompf as the kinetic energy displaced the air between it and the door, then a loud metallic scraping as the heavy chunk of metal hurtled down the hall and crumpled everything within the room against it.
I stepped through slowly, lightsaber ready, and quickly leapt over the debris. No sign of a body. No sign of anyone being here at all. I cursed and entered the next room. Within it were a dozen generators, all the size of a small room. The whirring and monotonous drone of the machines were long gone here. These had not seen life in decades. Dust covered the floor here and hung in a sort of fog, swirling behind me as my cloak dragged over the floor silently.
The ceiling was low with numerous support struts stabbing into it seemingly at random. Whoever built this place must have been in quite the hurry. I returned my focus to the room and passed the generators one by one until I had found the center of the room. Sure enough, there was a small cot surround by crates of supplies and random food detritus.
Someone is here.
The emergency lights that covered the ceiling in even intervals shut off with the echoing sound of laughter.
Damn.
I looked about the room, staring into the darkness and saw just that. Only the few feet around me were illuminated from my weapon. I waved it about to shed some light but found nothing. The laughter grew slightly louder now.
I gripped the handle tighter.
“Velcome, Mastuh Jedi. I vas oping to ave a visituh.” The voice cooed. It had a distinct accent that was difficult to identify and a clicking noise behind it. “It isn’t often we ave guests.”
“We?” I inquired in an attempt of bargaining.
“Oh yes, Mastuh Jedi, my family is ere. You will meet dem soon enough.”
“And what would you have me do?”
It laughed a wheezy laugh and coughed before replying. “Feed.”
As soon as the words were said, multiple voices rose from the surrounding blackness. High pitched squeals of delight among a cacophony of guffaws. I turned toward the sounds with my saber raised. A sharp pain twisted in my back from behind and threw me off my feet.
I rolled across the ground and into one of the generators. I stumbled and turned back around, waving the lightsaber like a torch.
Only the dark smiled back.
I reached to my back and felt a small hole in my robes, sticky and warm. I grimaced and wiped my hand across my pantleg. I scanned the darkness again and waited. A few sniggers called quietly out to me.
I turned abruptly the other way and swung. A loud scream filled the air as the creature crumpled to the ground in a heap. I looked down on it quickly before backing away.
It was short, maybe a meter, with a thin bird-like head and reptilian body that walked on its hindlegs. It wore clothes but without further inspection I couldn’t tell whether or not it had weapons. However I did get a good look at its long, jagged beak; the end of which glistened with moisture.
Several yells echoed throughout the room.
“E got is, now you’ll get yers!”
I turned toward the voice again and leapt forward, somersaulting over the speaker and lashed out low. A meaty thump hit the ground just after I did. I approached it to see the headless creature convulse then still. I backed away until another sharp pain shot through me. I whirled about and swung too late. Then another as I was turned away struck me. I swung side to side as if waving off a bug in a feeble attempt of fending them off.
I can’t see a damn thing, I’m the only light around here.
Just then I flicked the lightsaber off and sat quietly. I felt my way to a corner and leaned against it, crouched. The skittering of talons and laughing called out to me. I remained still and reached out with the force, feeling my way about the room. The generators sat still and cold, taking up the majority of the space, meanwhile a few flickers of life bobbed about between.
A sudden movement caught my eye a few feet away and I lashed out, slicing the creature in half. Instantly I returned to the dark, weapon holstered, and waited. Sure enough, a second jumped out from the shadows. I pushed off from the wall and swung my hips about in a swivel until the back of my boot landed squarely against it’s thin neck. It cracked audibly, so fragile, until the back of its head hit the shoulders.
I reached out again and saw several more of them funneling their way toward me, somehow knowing where their siblings went. I pulled back from them when a faint glow simmered within one of the generators. I reached out again and inspected the invisible aura.
Heat.
Calculatingly, my brain worked to resolve this issue. The building was abandoned, practically quarantined, and decrepit. Completely devoid of anyone else.
Except for one.
I shrugged and waited, sensing their movements until I was sure of their positions. Suddenly I leapt from cover and jumped into the air spiraling, and using my momentum, threw my saber in a tight arc that swirled into the generator without slowing and passed through in a shimmering shower of sparks.
The wind hit me first.
It blew my hair back and pressed me against the wall, soundless and invisible. Then the fire came to view. The light was immense in the black room. The flames leapt out and licked against the other generators until they too caught and erupted, each reaching out with great tendrils of writhing inferno. There was a split second of sound, one like crushing metal, then all was silent.
I just sat and watched as the explosions shook the entire foundation and blinded me with a white glare. They were beautiful in a way, dancing across the ceiling and passing from one fire to the next. Mesmerizing. I don’t know how long I sat there or what it was that left me know it was time to leave. Maybe it was the large slab of ceiling that plummeted beside me. Or perhaps it was the growing flames that began to consume the floor and walls.
Regardless, I was running. Lightsaber flashed back to my hand and tucked safely into my belt, I was sprinting through halls and rooms alike, barreling over tables and crates and anything else in my path. My focus was on my breathing only. The world around me, still silent, was a blur as I willed myself faster and faster, knowing the complex was coming down behind me. I could feel the reverberations in my feet the few times they hit the floor.
A small glint of light in front of me, like a piece of silver, shone for a brief second. A rush of sound like a waterfall brought me back as the grenade exploded a few feet ahead of me. The impact was jarring but I don’t remember what the explosion itself looked like. But I will never forget looking up and seeing my reflection in the mask of that Mandalorian.
I looked scared. Frightened even. My eyes were wide like a child’s and my mouth turned down into a grimace. I had never felt so vulnerable before. The training had come so easily, so swift like I was meant for this. But the reality, if this was real at all, had hit me as hard as the grenade.
Shaken, I remained frozen as it reached down and gripped my collar. It pulled me closer to its helmet and said in a muffled and nearly robotic tone:
“Gotcha’.”
Then it was too much. I closed my eyes and screamed, terrified and angry at the same time. Not caring if it was truly his fault or if it was my master’s, no one had prepared me for this. None of us were. How could they be if I was top of our class? Were all of my friends and fellow students doomed to die like this? It was too much. I could feel the anger rising in my stomach and churning. A warm sensation that brought every feeling to a vibrancy I had only experienced in dreams. The definition in which I could see the burning room and my assailant who towered over me was astounding. So focused, crystal clear, even through the smoke. I stared back into the eyes I couldn’t see and roared defiantly.
The Mandalorian hit the wall with a resounding crunch as the cement broke against it. Debris and random items like screwdrivers and holotapes among rocks and cement pieces blasted away from me. Me, lying in a small clearing where even the smoke had been repelled. I rolled onto my shoulders and kicked onto my feet, reaching for my lightsaber.
What the?
An all too familiar zapping noise like static buzzed across the room. I looked up slowly to see the Mandalorian, armor and helmet now scratched and dented, wielding my lightsaber. Instinctively I reached out for it. It flew toward me willingly but pulled my enemy forward with it. The Mandalorian pulled against me, its magnetic gauntlet holding the weapon firm.
I held to it fast, struggling to free my weapon from its grasp. I could see the scrapes the armored boots were leaving behind on the floor as the soldier heaved itself away from me. The way the Mandalorian used its other arm to pull back the one I was tugging against seemed almost comical, as if it were fighting to keep from impaling itself on some suicidal notion.
Just then I felt the flames’ heat growing behind me to the point of being unbearable. I pushed away instead from the extended lightsaber and watched in grim satisfaction as the sudden shift in direction caused the lightsaber to flip back so suddenly it spun as if on an axis in the palm of the metallic gauntlet and bifurcated the Mandalorian longways.
As if automatically, I approached the body and switched off the gauntlet, took my blade back, and strode away. I knew it was just the adrenaline keeping me up right now and I needed to escape before allowing myself to risk going into shock as I looked myself over for wounds.
I resumed my run into the dark corridors and hallways, running up and down stairs and even through a few windows, until I was certain I was close. There was no possible way for me not to be. I memorized the way I came in to specifically avoid getting lost. But here I was, trapped in a burning complex, possibly injured, with no guide or direction as where to go.
Slowly, now walking, I could feel the energy ebbing from my limbs as the adrenaline faded and was soon replaced with anxiety. My heart hammered in my chest and sweat coated my filthy limbs. I shrugged off my singed and bloodied cloak and more or less collapsed. Pins and needles coursed through my arms and legs and sharp pains shot through my chest and out my back like lightning.
I cringed and grasped at whatever it was that was causing the intense pain, but dared not look. Not yet. I had to take my mind off of the pain so I began looking around the room. A small hallway filled with rubble and damaged goods, a large slab of metal indented in the backwall. I froze. The metal slab was rough around the edges and covered in areas that looked like frozen water that had bubbled up. I examined it closer and instantly realized my mistake.
The door I had hewn through wasn’t the way out but the way I had chased the Mandalorian back from the entrance to where I was now.
Even after you’re dead you’re trying to kill me.
I heaved myself to my feet, staggering and limped away down the adjacent hallway, to a sort of hatch which I had left open earlier. The ladder was bent and hard to reach but eventually I hauled myself out and slid down the rust covered incline of the complex until I was face first in the grass.
It took me by surprise how good the grass felt against my skin. Cool, slightly damp, an exquisite cushion compared to the rigid confines beside me. I breathed in deeply and felt the soft grass stiffen and whither until it was rough and crunched beneath me. I opened my eyes to find it all black and decimated as if charred.
That was when I realized the pains were gone. No discomfort, no pins and needles. I was healed. I rubbed my hands across my chest and back and found not a single sign of the battle.
But the grass, the one comfort I had had out here, the first thing to greet me and be a sign of life, was dead for it. Plain, common, old non-sentient grass. Something I had taken for granted my entire life had become the closest thing that cared about me and I had killed it to better myself when it was already doing that without such a costly price.
A gripped the dead grass in my fingers and watched as it blew away in the wind.
The cool metal of the handle chilled my hand as I gripped it. The weight was perfect, exactly to my specifications: heavier near the pommel to fight off the bouncing of the blade upon impact, wider near the top to protect my fingers, and just weighty enough to feel secure that it could take a fall. I wiped the sweat from my brow with my off hand as the blade erupted from the handle in an instant.
The soft blue glow cast eerie shadows along the walls as I passed them, checking each corner slowly to be sure we were alone. The Mandalorian and I. The soft vibrations of my weapon brought a sense of security with it that surprised me.
I approached the door and knew it wouldn’t open again after that laser shot. Instead, I held the saber aloft, perpendicular to my body with my main hand holding the pommel, and slowly pressed it into the door. The metal began to glow and bubble, eventually smoldering a molten orange that bubbled and boiled around the shimmering blue beam of light. I pressed forward until the blade sunk through to the other side and began to pull to the right and then back down about two feet across.
A moment’s hesitation later, and I was staring at a new, though much smaller, door within a door. I pressed my hand to it and closed my eyes, listening intently not with my ears for any sign of life.
Darkness, no, a hallway with a light flickering in and out of life. Several metal crates piled on the side and an overturned table. Numerous small bolts and tools beside a decrepit droid that was rusted and covered in holes.
I began to recede back into the confines of my mind when something caught my “eye”. A flicker of movement in the dark. The light flashed back on and sputtered, revealing nothing new. It went out again. That same motion in the back of the hallway returned and vanished as soon as the light appeared.
I pulled away from the door and focused on my empty left hand until it felt hot. I could feel it stinging and tingling as if it had fallen asleep or had a thousand tiny insects crawling about it. Sweat grew in my palm as I clenched it into a fist.
Then I had it.
I thrusted it forward so fast it was a blur to my own eyes. Instantly the heat dissipated and collided against the roughly hewn door with the sound of a muffled explosion. A sort of whoompf as the kinetic energy displaced the air between it and the door, then a loud metallic scraping as the heavy chunk of metal hurtled down the hall and crumpled everything within the room against it.
I stepped through slowly, lightsaber ready, and quickly leapt over the debris. No sign of a body. No sign of anyone being here at all. I cursed and entered the next room. Within it were a dozen generators, all the size of a small room. The whirring and monotonous drone of the machines were long gone here. These had not seen life in decades. Dust covered the floor here and hung in a sort of fog, swirling behind me as my cloak dragged over the floor silently.
The ceiling was low with numerous support struts stabbing into it seemingly at random. Whoever built this place must have been in quite the hurry. I returned my focus to the room and passed the generators one by one until I had found the center of the room. Sure enough, there was a small cot surround by crates of supplies and random food detritus.
Someone is here.
The emergency lights that covered the ceiling in even intervals shut off with the echoing sound of laughter.
Damn.
I looked about the room, staring into the darkness and saw just that. Only the few feet around me were illuminated from my weapon. I waved it about to shed some light but found nothing. The laughter grew slightly louder now.
I gripped the handle tighter.
“Velcome, Mastuh Jedi. I vas oping to ave a visituh.” The voice cooed. It had a distinct accent that was difficult to identify and a clicking noise behind it. “It isn’t often we ave guests.”
“We?” I inquired in an attempt of bargaining.
“Oh yes, Mastuh Jedi, my family is ere. You will meet dem soon enough.”
“And what would you have me do?”
It laughed a wheezy laugh and coughed before replying. “Feed.”
As soon as the words were said, multiple voices rose from the surrounding blackness. High pitched squeals of delight among a cacophony of guffaws. I turned toward the sounds with my saber raised. A sharp pain twisted in my back from behind and threw me off my feet.
I rolled across the ground and into one of the generators. I stumbled and turned back around, waving the lightsaber like a torch.
Only the dark smiled back.
I reached to my back and felt a small hole in my robes, sticky and warm. I grimaced and wiped my hand across my pantleg. I scanned the darkness again and waited. A few sniggers called quietly out to me.
I turned abruptly the other way and swung. A loud scream filled the air as the creature crumpled to the ground in a heap. I looked down on it quickly before backing away.
It was short, maybe a meter, with a thin bird-like head and reptilian body that walked on its hindlegs. It wore clothes but without further inspection I couldn’t tell whether or not it had weapons. However I did get a good look at its long, jagged beak; the end of which glistened with moisture.
Several yells echoed throughout the room.
“E got is, now you’ll get yers!”
I turned toward the voice again and leapt forward, somersaulting over the speaker and lashed out low. A meaty thump hit the ground just after I did. I approached it to see the headless creature convulse then still. I backed away until another sharp pain shot through me. I whirled about and swung too late. Then another as I was turned away struck me. I swung side to side as if waving off a bug in a feeble attempt of fending them off.
I can’t see a damn thing, I’m the only light around here.
Just then I flicked the lightsaber off and sat quietly. I felt my way to a corner and leaned against it, crouched. The skittering of talons and laughing called out to me. I remained still and reached out with the force, feeling my way about the room. The generators sat still and cold, taking up the majority of the space, meanwhile a few flickers of life bobbed about between.
A sudden movement caught my eye a few feet away and I lashed out, slicing the creature in half. Instantly I returned to the dark, weapon holstered, and waited. Sure enough, a second jumped out from the shadows. I pushed off from the wall and swung my hips about in a swivel until the back of my boot landed squarely against it’s thin neck. It cracked audibly, so fragile, until the back of its head hit the shoulders.
I reached out again and saw several more of them funneling their way toward me, somehow knowing where their siblings went. I pulled back from them when a faint glow simmered within one of the generators. I reached out again and inspected the invisible aura.
Heat.
Calculatingly, my brain worked to resolve this issue. The building was abandoned, practically quarantined, and decrepit. Completely devoid of anyone else.
Except for one.
I shrugged and waited, sensing their movements until I was sure of their positions. Suddenly I leapt from cover and jumped into the air spiraling, and using my momentum, threw my saber in a tight arc that swirled into the generator without slowing and passed through in a shimmering shower of sparks.
The wind hit me first.
It blew my hair back and pressed me against the wall, soundless and invisible. Then the fire came to view. The light was immense in the black room. The flames leapt out and licked against the other generators until they too caught and erupted, each reaching out with great tendrils of writhing inferno. There was a split second of sound, one like crushing metal, then all was silent.
I just sat and watched as the explosions shook the entire foundation and blinded me with a white glare. They were beautiful in a way, dancing across the ceiling and passing from one fire to the next. Mesmerizing. I don’t know how long I sat there or what it was that left me know it was time to leave. Maybe it was the large slab of ceiling that plummeted beside me. Or perhaps it was the growing flames that began to consume the floor and walls.
Regardless, I was running. Lightsaber flashed back to my hand and tucked safely into my belt, I was sprinting through halls and rooms alike, barreling over tables and crates and anything else in my path. My focus was on my breathing only. The world around me, still silent, was a blur as I willed myself faster and faster, knowing the complex was coming down behind me. I could feel the reverberations in my feet the few times they hit the floor.
A small glint of light in front of me, like a piece of silver, shone for a brief second. A rush of sound like a waterfall brought me back as the grenade exploded a few feet ahead of me. The impact was jarring but I don’t remember what the explosion itself looked like. But I will never forget looking up and seeing my reflection in the mask of that Mandalorian.
I looked scared. Frightened even. My eyes were wide like a child’s and my mouth turned down into a grimace. I had never felt so vulnerable before. The training had come so easily, so swift like I was meant for this. But the reality, if this was real at all, had hit me as hard as the grenade.
Shaken, I remained frozen as it reached down and gripped my collar. It pulled me closer to its helmet and said in a muffled and nearly robotic tone:
“Gotcha’.”
Then it was too much. I closed my eyes and screamed, terrified and angry at the same time. Not caring if it was truly his fault or if it was my master’s, no one had prepared me for this. None of us were. How could they be if I was top of our class? Were all of my friends and fellow students doomed to die like this? It was too much. I could feel the anger rising in my stomach and churning. A warm sensation that brought every feeling to a vibrancy I had only experienced in dreams. The definition in which I could see the burning room and my assailant who towered over me was astounding. So focused, crystal clear, even through the smoke. I stared back into the eyes I couldn’t see and roared defiantly.
The Mandalorian hit the wall with a resounding crunch as the cement broke against it. Debris and random items like screwdrivers and holotapes among rocks and cement pieces blasted away from me. Me, lying in a small clearing where even the smoke had been repelled. I rolled onto my shoulders and kicked onto my feet, reaching for my lightsaber.
What the?
An all too familiar zapping noise like static buzzed across the room. I looked up slowly to see the Mandalorian, armor and helmet now scratched and dented, wielding my lightsaber. Instinctively I reached out for it. It flew toward me willingly but pulled my enemy forward with it. The Mandalorian pulled against me, its magnetic gauntlet holding the weapon firm.
I held to it fast, struggling to free my weapon from its grasp. I could see the scrapes the armored boots were leaving behind on the floor as the soldier heaved itself away from me. The way the Mandalorian used its other arm to pull back the one I was tugging against seemed almost comical, as if it were fighting to keep from impaling itself on some suicidal notion.
Just then I felt the flames’ heat growing behind me to the point of being unbearable. I pushed away instead from the extended lightsaber and watched in grim satisfaction as the sudden shift in direction caused the lightsaber to flip back so suddenly it spun as if on an axis in the palm of the metallic gauntlet and bifurcated the Mandalorian longways.
As if automatically, I approached the body and switched off the gauntlet, took my blade back, and strode away. I knew it was just the adrenaline keeping me up right now and I needed to escape before allowing myself to risk going into shock as I looked myself over for wounds.
I resumed my run into the dark corridors and hallways, running up and down stairs and even through a few windows, until I was certain I was close. There was no possible way for me not to be. I memorized the way I came in to specifically avoid getting lost. But here I was, trapped in a burning complex, possibly injured, with no guide or direction as where to go.
Slowly, now walking, I could feel the energy ebbing from my limbs as the adrenaline faded and was soon replaced with anxiety. My heart hammered in my chest and sweat coated my filthy limbs. I shrugged off my singed and bloodied cloak and more or less collapsed. Pins and needles coursed through my arms and legs and sharp pains shot through my chest and out my back like lightning.
I cringed and grasped at whatever it was that was causing the intense pain, but dared not look. Not yet. I had to take my mind off of the pain so I began looking around the room. A small hallway filled with rubble and damaged goods, a large slab of metal indented in the backwall. I froze. The metal slab was rough around the edges and covered in areas that looked like frozen water that had bubbled up. I examined it closer and instantly realized my mistake.
The door I had hewn through wasn’t the way out but the way I had chased the Mandalorian back from the entrance to where I was now.
Even after you’re dead you’re trying to kill me.
I heaved myself to my feet, staggering and limped away down the adjacent hallway, to a sort of hatch which I had left open earlier. The ladder was bent and hard to reach but eventually I hauled myself out and slid down the rust covered incline of the complex until I was face first in the grass.
It took me by surprise how good the grass felt against my skin. Cool, slightly damp, an exquisite cushion compared to the rigid confines beside me. I breathed in deeply and felt the soft grass stiffen and whither until it was rough and crunched beneath me. I opened my eyes to find it all black and decimated as if charred.
That was when I realized the pains were gone. No discomfort, no pins and needles. I was healed. I rubbed my hands across my chest and back and found not a single sign of the battle.
But the grass, the one comfort I had had out here, the first thing to greet me and be a sign of life, was dead for it. Plain, common, old non-sentient grass. Something I had taken for granted my entire life had become the closest thing that cared about me and I had killed it to better myself when it was already doing that without such a costly price.
A gripped the dead grass in my fingers and watched as it blew away in the wind.
Star Wars : Imprisoned
Wrote this one as an exercise on Hooley's behalf.
STAR WARS: IMPRISONED
“Hey, kid. Hey.” A coarse voice called across the small cell. “What’re you in for? I bet you got caught trying to steal something eh? Bloody humans, always trying to take things they think they deserve. I swear you’d think..”
The voice rambled on in the near pitch black darkness, droning in the silence among the occasional rattle of chains. The human turned from the inobservant speaker and laid his head in his hands, trying to ignore the dark stone walls and vibro-bars that surrounded him. He took a deep breath and nearly gagged on the stench of filth that hung in the stale air.
How the hell did I end up here? He said he had it, that he’d done it a hundred times before. I should never have listened to him.
“Never can trust a jedi.” He said quietly to himself.
“What was that?” A deep bass murmured just a few feet away. The human hadn’t seen him when he entered and jumped in surprise. “So it’s a jedi’s fault you’re in here eh? Me too.”
The human remained quiet, eyes lowered to the stone floor. He shivered at the cold. The planet Me’ernen was predominantly swamp with humongous ocean-sized bogs covering eighty percent of its surface. The little land remaining there was chilled from the wind that rode the waves and had forced the occupants to accommodate it in their infrastructure. Having no mountains or great rock deposits, the cities were made of wood from the various trees that surrounded the area and were built up atop one another; the wealthy being higher in the warmer air.
The prison however, was underground and freezing in the darkness. Only a single lantern illuminated each block. It was just enough light for him to see his breath swirl and dance in front of his face.
“What’s your name, human?” The deep voice asked politely, a soft edge in his tone. “I’m Throck, a Zabrak from Dathomirian.”
A few moments passed in silence as he attempted to find his voice.
“Jordan.” He said slowly. “Human obviously. From Alderon.” He added nervously.
“Pleasure to meet you.” Throck said with heavy sarcasm. “How’re you liking the Me’ernen hospitality?”
“Oh, it’s just bloody fantastic. Free room and board, two square meals a day, and a roof over my head? Too good to be true.”
The Zabrak boomed a throaty laugh, chuckling deeply. Across the cell the coarse voice was still going on about obtrusive humans.
“Your friend doesn’t seem to know no one’s listening.” Throck commented.
“He’s no friend of mine.”
“Surely you didn’t come here alone? Me’ernen is a tough place.”
“No, I came with a friend of mine, Otis. He—“ Jordan cut himself off suddenly as he realized what he was about to say. “He has a lot of family here. Gave me a place to stay.”
Throck noted the hesitation but dismissed it. “That’s good. All too often we have offworlders show up here expecting to usurp these backwater bumpkins only to end up here or floating belly up.”
Jordan looked over in the darkness at the shape that was Throck. From what little he could tell, Throck was tall and broad, possibly overweight, or maybe just built to fight. He weighed the pros and cons in his mind before speaking.
“How’d you end up here?”
Throck shifted off in the corner and tugged at his chains to loosen them on his wrists. “I got a call a few months back to come here for a job. Easy pickings. Just had to show up, receive a single item and pay, then head back to Dathomirian. So I found a crew to give me a ride and I made it here within the week. I met a man named, Feren, and told him my business. He looked me up and down and smiled. Right then and there I knew it was a mistake to come.
However the credits were too appealing and I stayed. They gave me this little metal case and a satchel of credit chips. Then told me to get on my way soon as the suns were up.
I never got the chance.”
Jordan inhaled suddenly as he realized he’d been holding his breath and leaned forward, intrigued.
“What happened?”
There was a rumble in Throck’s chest, like a growl, primal yet sentient. The thought made Jordan’s spine tingle.
“Jedi.” He spat. “That’s what happened. They stormed my ship in the night and stole the case, claiming it was evidence in a series of murders and I was under arrest for smuggling! Can you believe it? Next thing I know, I’m in chains sitting in an interrogation room aboard one of their cruisers.”
Jordan swallowed hard at the way the conversation had turned. “Didn’t they give you a chance to clear your name? To testify?”
“Jedi don’t care about Zabrak. They think we’re all lining up to be Sith. Every time I tried to open my mouth, it felt like a rope was tightening on my throat. A few more hours of me being ‘resistant’ and they tossed me in here without any official charges. No one knows I’m here either, they told my contact I had left with the shipment and payment to the Korriban system. Now I’m labeled a traitor and thief back home. And here I am rotting.”
Jordan sat for a while, stunned, silenced by the unfair treatment of the person just a few feet from him. He couldn’t believe such a thing was possible by the order everyone he had grown up with looked to for protection and order. His head was swimming with doubt and he was fearful his faith would be shattered before long.
“So how’d you end up in this cozy little ghetto of ours?” Throck said after a few minutes in silence. His resonant voice echoing softly off the thick grimy walls.
Jordan remained silent for a while longer as he worked out a censored version of his tale.
“I guess it all begins back on Alderon. My friend Otis and I had always wanted to be..helpful. To give back to those who had raised us orphans. So we trained here and there to become..helpful.” He swallowed as his dry throat constricted. “We left Alderon after a few years and travelled to a few small planets, mostly desolate with small populations.”
“Which is why you came here.” Throck stated.
“Exactly. So, we came here and started looking around for things to do, people to assist with whatever matters they needed attending to. And before long we met a man named Alfren who claimed his house had been robbed. We checked out the area and found it crawling with ‘thieves’.” Jordan said and motioned the quotation marks in the air with his fingers. “When all was said and done, Alfren pulled a pistol on us from behind and things..escalated. Alfren’s group arrived and reported us to the authorities as murderers. There were no thieves, just a rival gang who needed to be put down.”
“Where’s your friend, Otis then?”
Jordan opened his mouth to reply when a sudden glow of green illuminated the dark cell as a lightsaber flashed into life with a zap like electricity.
“I’m right here.”
STAR WARS: IMPRISONED
“Hey, kid. Hey.” A coarse voice called across the small cell. “What’re you in for? I bet you got caught trying to steal something eh? Bloody humans, always trying to take things they think they deserve. I swear you’d think..”
The voice rambled on in the near pitch black darkness, droning in the silence among the occasional rattle of chains. The human turned from the inobservant speaker and laid his head in his hands, trying to ignore the dark stone walls and vibro-bars that surrounded him. He took a deep breath and nearly gagged on the stench of filth that hung in the stale air.
How the hell did I end up here? He said he had it, that he’d done it a hundred times before. I should never have listened to him.
“Never can trust a jedi.” He said quietly to himself.
“What was that?” A deep bass murmured just a few feet away. The human hadn’t seen him when he entered and jumped in surprise. “So it’s a jedi’s fault you’re in here eh? Me too.”
The human remained quiet, eyes lowered to the stone floor. He shivered at the cold. The planet Me’ernen was predominantly swamp with humongous ocean-sized bogs covering eighty percent of its surface. The little land remaining there was chilled from the wind that rode the waves and had forced the occupants to accommodate it in their infrastructure. Having no mountains or great rock deposits, the cities were made of wood from the various trees that surrounded the area and were built up atop one another; the wealthy being higher in the warmer air.
The prison however, was underground and freezing in the darkness. Only a single lantern illuminated each block. It was just enough light for him to see his breath swirl and dance in front of his face.
“What’s your name, human?” The deep voice asked politely, a soft edge in his tone. “I’m Throck, a Zabrak from Dathomirian.”
A few moments passed in silence as he attempted to find his voice.
“Jordan.” He said slowly. “Human obviously. From Alderon.” He added nervously.
“Pleasure to meet you.” Throck said with heavy sarcasm. “How’re you liking the Me’ernen hospitality?”
“Oh, it’s just bloody fantastic. Free room and board, two square meals a day, and a roof over my head? Too good to be true.”
The Zabrak boomed a throaty laugh, chuckling deeply. Across the cell the coarse voice was still going on about obtrusive humans.
“Your friend doesn’t seem to know no one’s listening.” Throck commented.
“He’s no friend of mine.”
“Surely you didn’t come here alone? Me’ernen is a tough place.”
“No, I came with a friend of mine, Otis. He—“ Jordan cut himself off suddenly as he realized what he was about to say. “He has a lot of family here. Gave me a place to stay.”
Throck noted the hesitation but dismissed it. “That’s good. All too often we have offworlders show up here expecting to usurp these backwater bumpkins only to end up here or floating belly up.”
Jordan looked over in the darkness at the shape that was Throck. From what little he could tell, Throck was tall and broad, possibly overweight, or maybe just built to fight. He weighed the pros and cons in his mind before speaking.
“How’d you end up here?”
Throck shifted off in the corner and tugged at his chains to loosen them on his wrists. “I got a call a few months back to come here for a job. Easy pickings. Just had to show up, receive a single item and pay, then head back to Dathomirian. So I found a crew to give me a ride and I made it here within the week. I met a man named, Feren, and told him my business. He looked me up and down and smiled. Right then and there I knew it was a mistake to come.
However the credits were too appealing and I stayed. They gave me this little metal case and a satchel of credit chips. Then told me to get on my way soon as the suns were up.
I never got the chance.”
Jordan inhaled suddenly as he realized he’d been holding his breath and leaned forward, intrigued.
“What happened?”
There was a rumble in Throck’s chest, like a growl, primal yet sentient. The thought made Jordan’s spine tingle.
“Jedi.” He spat. “That’s what happened. They stormed my ship in the night and stole the case, claiming it was evidence in a series of murders and I was under arrest for smuggling! Can you believe it? Next thing I know, I’m in chains sitting in an interrogation room aboard one of their cruisers.”
Jordan swallowed hard at the way the conversation had turned. “Didn’t they give you a chance to clear your name? To testify?”
“Jedi don’t care about Zabrak. They think we’re all lining up to be Sith. Every time I tried to open my mouth, it felt like a rope was tightening on my throat. A few more hours of me being ‘resistant’ and they tossed me in here without any official charges. No one knows I’m here either, they told my contact I had left with the shipment and payment to the Korriban system. Now I’m labeled a traitor and thief back home. And here I am rotting.”
Jordan sat for a while, stunned, silenced by the unfair treatment of the person just a few feet from him. He couldn’t believe such a thing was possible by the order everyone he had grown up with looked to for protection and order. His head was swimming with doubt and he was fearful his faith would be shattered before long.
“So how’d you end up in this cozy little ghetto of ours?” Throck said after a few minutes in silence. His resonant voice echoing softly off the thick grimy walls.
Jordan remained silent for a while longer as he worked out a censored version of his tale.
“I guess it all begins back on Alderon. My friend Otis and I had always wanted to be..helpful. To give back to those who had raised us orphans. So we trained here and there to become..helpful.” He swallowed as his dry throat constricted. “We left Alderon after a few years and travelled to a few small planets, mostly desolate with small populations.”
“Which is why you came here.” Throck stated.
“Exactly. So, we came here and started looking around for things to do, people to assist with whatever matters they needed attending to. And before long we met a man named Alfren who claimed his house had been robbed. We checked out the area and found it crawling with ‘thieves’.” Jordan said and motioned the quotation marks in the air with his fingers. “When all was said and done, Alfren pulled a pistol on us from behind and things..escalated. Alfren’s group arrived and reported us to the authorities as murderers. There were no thieves, just a rival gang who needed to be put down.”
“Where’s your friend, Otis then?”
Jordan opened his mouth to reply when a sudden glow of green illuminated the dark cell as a lightsaber flashed into life with a zap like electricity.
“I’m right here.”
Roots - Chapter Twenty Five
Chapter Twenty Five: Return
“So tell me one more time why we’re still here?” Aldon inquired as he sat in the corner, sharpening his dagger with a small cube of whetstone. “I mean, it’s not like there’s nowhere else we could hide. Just seems like a bad decision.”
Briar’s pace slowed until his whetstone sat still against his blade’s edge. He stared down at it without blinking for a moment before whispering, “Aldon, when someone you need hides what do you do?”
Aldon shrugged and continued sharpening. “I dunno, look for them?”
“Exactly, we would be pulling other people, innocent people, into danger. And there’s already plenty enough of that to go around.”
“Then what about the forest or the mountains? Why stay where they already know we’re at?”
“Because Garen did some last minute preparations for us.” Briar began sharpening his dagger again and fell silent. Quickly the room filled only with the scraping sound of stone grating against metal.
Aldon blew the dust off his blade and inspected his handiwork, checking the bevels were even and drew the stone down it once more on each side. He flicked his wrist and ejected the knife from his palm and into his fingertips, holding it by the point, and threw it with a thunk into the wall. It sunk and slid into the wood several centimeters.
“That’s better.” Aldon remarked as he tugged it out of the wood and sheathed it at his belt. “Won’t have any problem cutting through them now.”
Briar sighed and set his knife down. “Aldon, do you really expect to fight them?”
Aldon felt stung and almost recoiled from it. “Of course I do! Why would I have been trained so much by you not to?”
“Why would we go through all of this trouble only to lose you in your first battle to a few jackals with no skill? We wouldn’t. Therefore, you are not to fight.”
Aldon felt he was going to explode. His face shook and his fists balled tightly. He could feel his temper beginning to flare and tried to suppress it. “Please, Briar. I can’t let you fight them alone. I won’t. If not me, someone else.” He tried to appease Briar with a calm tone.
“No, I won’t bring anyone else into our problems. Never ask another to fight your battles for you.” And with that, he stood and threw his knife several inches into the wall, said to sharpen his knife some more and walked away.
Aldon sat cross legged and continued scraping away at his knife in silence, meditating on what was going to transpire and thinking of ways to avoid it.
How could he possibly expect me to let him fight all alone? I saw his clothes. He nearly died last time. And no doubt they will return with even more soldiers and firepower. I have to find a way to convince him to let me fight.
A few hours later Aldon’s knife was razor sharp and even on either side, the hilt was polished and smooth again and the pommel cleared of rust. All in all his knife had never looked better.
“Okay, my knife’s done. Back to the conversation.” Aldon demanded.
“And what conversation would that be?” Briar asked innocently, eyes closed as he sat beneath the open window. The storm outside pounded with full fury and reverberated throughout the fort.
“You’re not fighting alone and I will be out there.” Aldon said, teeth clenched. He was ready to fight and knew what he had to do. Everything seemed so clear and simple to him now. Briar was the most important thing and they had to stick together and escape.
“Ah, I thought that conversation was over.” Briar mused. He sat stock still and breathed deeply, releasing the air in slow and steady streams.
“Well you thought wrong. If you think I’m going to stand idly by you’re insane. I’m going out there with you and you can’t stop me.”
“Oh can’t I?” Briar challenged.
Aldon stepped back subconsciously then stepped forward two. “No.”
“We shall see.” Briar stood using only his legs, arms out at his sides, and rose with his knife already at the ready. Aldon drew his blade and leaned forward on one leg, leaving the other cocked to the side and ready to lunge.
Briar approached him slowly and swung a hard strike. Aldon batted it away without moving. Twice more this happened when the swings became faster, moving higher in tempo until they were lunging back and forth swiftly and with focused determination. All the while they stared the other down, eyes locked. Every time Briar would take a step forward and press on Aldon would press back and match his ferocity.
They pounded away, sparks flying and the piercing ring of metal on metal singing through the air. They danced across the room and into the kitchen where Briar kicked Aldon’s knee so that it buckled and slammed into the counter. Aldon retaliated by rolling past Briar pushing the table against Briar’s waist, leaving him cornered against the wall. Briar pressed it against Aldon and was taking the ground when the elf leapt to the side.
The table flew forward as Briar pressed against it suddenly uncontended and fell forward. Aldon tapped him on the side of the neck with his dagger.
“You were saying?” Aldon teased cockily.
“What I should have said was watch your footing.” Briar pulled something beneath him, and yanked the dusty old rug out from under Aldon. He landed sprawled out on his back with Briar’s knife held against his chest.
“Crap.” Aldon breathed out and let his lungs scream in protest. The burning was less than before but still enough to smart for a while. Aldon hoped he would soon pass this stage of fight-recover-fight.
“You did well. Exceptional really.” Briar mumbled. “I know I’m not good at giving compliments, but I mean the ones I do. Well done.” Briar helped Aldon to his feet and dusted himself off.
“Does this mean I can fight with you?”
Briar looked at him sideways and grinned his devious half-smile. “As long as you stick with me and fight like that..yes.”
“Good. Glad we don’t have to go through that again.” Aldon laughed and wiped the sweat from his brow. “My hair makes it way too hot for this.”
Briar stroked his scruffy chin and tapped his finger against his temple. “You know, you’re right?” His knife slipped from its sheath and twirled beneath his fingers as he spoke. “C’mere a minute.”
* * *
“Oh God oh God oh God!”
“Relax! It looks fine, much more mature and manly.”
“Manly? So now what, I used to look like a girl?”
“Well..a little.”
Aldon surveyed himself in the mirror as Briar swept the locks of golden hair out the door. His face was decidedly angular and the new short cut was cropped just below the chin with the front split to free up his face and vision. The gold itself seemed to dull into a more bronze color.
“Is it a bit cooler on your face now?” Briar asked unable to keep himself from smiling sheepishly.
”Of course, but now my neck feels cold.” He said stroking the back of his neck. “Though honestly I’m surprised to still have a neck with how hard you were cutting. I swear I saw my entire life so far reflected in that blade once.”
“Well if you did it would have been very boring eh?”
Aldon shoved him playfully and kicked off his boots. “Now that that’s over, I’m going to go take a bath.”
“Bath? What’re you kidding? There’s no bath here.” Briar’s eyebrow raised in question as Aldon stripped down to his skivvies. “Where are you going?”
“Outside, it’s been raining for weeks straight; plenty of water to have made a few creeks.” Aldon opened the door and gingerly stepped outside, shivering slightly at the cold and whirling winds. “I’ll be back shortly.”
“Here,” Briar tossed him his knife. “Take this with you. Don’t walk around here unprotected. They’ll be back.”
Aldon nodded and ducked out the door.
“So tell me one more time why we’re still here?” Aldon inquired as he sat in the corner, sharpening his dagger with a small cube of whetstone. “I mean, it’s not like there’s nowhere else we could hide. Just seems like a bad decision.”
Briar’s pace slowed until his whetstone sat still against his blade’s edge. He stared down at it without blinking for a moment before whispering, “Aldon, when someone you need hides what do you do?”
Aldon shrugged and continued sharpening. “I dunno, look for them?”
“Exactly, we would be pulling other people, innocent people, into danger. And there’s already plenty enough of that to go around.”
“Then what about the forest or the mountains? Why stay where they already know we’re at?”
“Because Garen did some last minute preparations for us.” Briar began sharpening his dagger again and fell silent. Quickly the room filled only with the scraping sound of stone grating against metal.
Aldon blew the dust off his blade and inspected his handiwork, checking the bevels were even and drew the stone down it once more on each side. He flicked his wrist and ejected the knife from his palm and into his fingertips, holding it by the point, and threw it with a thunk into the wall. It sunk and slid into the wood several centimeters.
“That’s better.” Aldon remarked as he tugged it out of the wood and sheathed it at his belt. “Won’t have any problem cutting through them now.”
Briar sighed and set his knife down. “Aldon, do you really expect to fight them?”
Aldon felt stung and almost recoiled from it. “Of course I do! Why would I have been trained so much by you not to?”
“Why would we go through all of this trouble only to lose you in your first battle to a few jackals with no skill? We wouldn’t. Therefore, you are not to fight.”
Aldon felt he was going to explode. His face shook and his fists balled tightly. He could feel his temper beginning to flare and tried to suppress it. “Please, Briar. I can’t let you fight them alone. I won’t. If not me, someone else.” He tried to appease Briar with a calm tone.
“No, I won’t bring anyone else into our problems. Never ask another to fight your battles for you.” And with that, he stood and threw his knife several inches into the wall, said to sharpen his knife some more and walked away.
Aldon sat cross legged and continued scraping away at his knife in silence, meditating on what was going to transpire and thinking of ways to avoid it.
How could he possibly expect me to let him fight all alone? I saw his clothes. He nearly died last time. And no doubt they will return with even more soldiers and firepower. I have to find a way to convince him to let me fight.
A few hours later Aldon’s knife was razor sharp and even on either side, the hilt was polished and smooth again and the pommel cleared of rust. All in all his knife had never looked better.
“Okay, my knife’s done. Back to the conversation.” Aldon demanded.
“And what conversation would that be?” Briar asked innocently, eyes closed as he sat beneath the open window. The storm outside pounded with full fury and reverberated throughout the fort.
“You’re not fighting alone and I will be out there.” Aldon said, teeth clenched. He was ready to fight and knew what he had to do. Everything seemed so clear and simple to him now. Briar was the most important thing and they had to stick together and escape.
“Ah, I thought that conversation was over.” Briar mused. He sat stock still and breathed deeply, releasing the air in slow and steady streams.
“Well you thought wrong. If you think I’m going to stand idly by you’re insane. I’m going out there with you and you can’t stop me.”
“Oh can’t I?” Briar challenged.
Aldon stepped back subconsciously then stepped forward two. “No.”
“We shall see.” Briar stood using only his legs, arms out at his sides, and rose with his knife already at the ready. Aldon drew his blade and leaned forward on one leg, leaving the other cocked to the side and ready to lunge.
Briar approached him slowly and swung a hard strike. Aldon batted it away without moving. Twice more this happened when the swings became faster, moving higher in tempo until they were lunging back and forth swiftly and with focused determination. All the while they stared the other down, eyes locked. Every time Briar would take a step forward and press on Aldon would press back and match his ferocity.
They pounded away, sparks flying and the piercing ring of metal on metal singing through the air. They danced across the room and into the kitchen where Briar kicked Aldon’s knee so that it buckled and slammed into the counter. Aldon retaliated by rolling past Briar pushing the table against Briar’s waist, leaving him cornered against the wall. Briar pressed it against Aldon and was taking the ground when the elf leapt to the side.
The table flew forward as Briar pressed against it suddenly uncontended and fell forward. Aldon tapped him on the side of the neck with his dagger.
“You were saying?” Aldon teased cockily.
“What I should have said was watch your footing.” Briar pulled something beneath him, and yanked the dusty old rug out from under Aldon. He landed sprawled out on his back with Briar’s knife held against his chest.
“Crap.” Aldon breathed out and let his lungs scream in protest. The burning was less than before but still enough to smart for a while. Aldon hoped he would soon pass this stage of fight-recover-fight.
“You did well. Exceptional really.” Briar mumbled. “I know I’m not good at giving compliments, but I mean the ones I do. Well done.” Briar helped Aldon to his feet and dusted himself off.
“Does this mean I can fight with you?”
Briar looked at him sideways and grinned his devious half-smile. “As long as you stick with me and fight like that..yes.”
“Good. Glad we don’t have to go through that again.” Aldon laughed and wiped the sweat from his brow. “My hair makes it way too hot for this.”
Briar stroked his scruffy chin and tapped his finger against his temple. “You know, you’re right?” His knife slipped from its sheath and twirled beneath his fingers as he spoke. “C’mere a minute.”
* * *
“Oh God oh God oh God!”
“Relax! It looks fine, much more mature and manly.”
“Manly? So now what, I used to look like a girl?”
“Well..a little.”
Aldon surveyed himself in the mirror as Briar swept the locks of golden hair out the door. His face was decidedly angular and the new short cut was cropped just below the chin with the front split to free up his face and vision. The gold itself seemed to dull into a more bronze color.
“Is it a bit cooler on your face now?” Briar asked unable to keep himself from smiling sheepishly.
”Of course, but now my neck feels cold.” He said stroking the back of his neck. “Though honestly I’m surprised to still have a neck with how hard you were cutting. I swear I saw my entire life so far reflected in that blade once.”
“Well if you did it would have been very boring eh?”
Aldon shoved him playfully and kicked off his boots. “Now that that’s over, I’m going to go take a bath.”
“Bath? What’re you kidding? There’s no bath here.” Briar’s eyebrow raised in question as Aldon stripped down to his skivvies. “Where are you going?”
“Outside, it’s been raining for weeks straight; plenty of water to have made a few creeks.” Aldon opened the door and gingerly stepped outside, shivering slightly at the cold and whirling winds. “I’ll be back shortly.”
“Here,” Briar tossed him his knife. “Take this with you. Don’t walk around here unprotected. They’ll be back.”
Aldon nodded and ducked out the door.
Roots - Chapter Twenty Four
Chapter Twenty Four: Down to Business
Sweat beaded on Aldon’s brow and slid down his neck, chilling his back as it ran down his spine. Shuddering, Aldon wiped it from his eyes and focused on the task at hand. A small stone, no larger than a grape, hung on a piece of string before him. It swayed side to side and back and forth with the wind, riding the currents like a spider web. Aldon watched its’ movements then nodded. Briar came from behind and blindfolded him immediately.
Aldon hefted the wooden stave over his shoulder and gripped it tightly. He pictured the stone swaying on the breeze, memorizing its pattern as he played it over and over in his head. His mind’s eye pictured its ruby red color and smooth facets. It reminded him of the stones he used to skip on the pond back home when he was a boy in Town. Muren would take him there in the summers.
He swung and gritted his teeth as he saw it still hanging, blindfold thrown to the floor.
“You’re not concentrating. Clear your mind, Aldon, picture only the stone.” Briar repeated. “Forget everything else around you.”
“Kind of hard when they keep talking to you.” Aldon grumbled. Briar raised his hands and backed away smirking.
Aldon let out a deep breath and stared at the stone a bit longer before hiding his eyes again. He pictured the stone’s weight giving it momentum as it swung on the string. He imagined how it would feel; cold and hard, and how it would hurt to be struck by it. The image of the rock zoomed out to reveal it among numerous others underwater. The river was rushing by fast and scintillatingly in the sunlight. He leaned in closer to the water and saw his reflection staring back at him so vividly it was as if he was there. He laughed and choked as water filled his lungs and swept him downstream losing consciousness.
“Ooh, another swing and a miss!” Briar announced. “What happened there, boy, eh? Too much noise about you out here in the silence of Aldon’s awesome fighting prowess?” Briar teased and mocked a bow. Aldon threw down the stave and kicked it against the wall. “Oh come now, don’t be such a sourpuss. It’s simple, watch.”
Briar laced the blindfold over his eyes and flicked his knife out of its sheath deftly. Aldon leaned in closely as he watched Briar’s foot tap slowly to some tempo on the wooden floor. Thump thump, thump thump, thum-clang!
Aldon looked up from Briar’s foot to see the stone spinning on the string in a wide swinging arc. Briar turned around slowly and dropped the blindfold to the floor. His knife slid back into place and disappeared from view.
“Just remember the pattern it makes and focus on it.”
Aldon swept up the stave and shook his head as he watched its pace. Swaying to the left, then the right, back and forth repeatedly with little twirls in between as the breeze buffeted it. It flicked back and forth like a clock’s pendulum, keeping time with a slow and steady beat.
Aldon tapped his foot and wrapped his eyes. Thump thump, thump thump, thump thump. His heart began to beat to the same pounding drive. Thump thump, thump thump. His lungs began to breathe slowly in and out with an even pace. Thump thump, thump thump. His grip on the stave tightened until his knuckled turned white. Thump thump, thump thump, thump thum-whack!
Aldon opened his eyes to see the stone hit the ceiling then fall to the floor, the snapped string swaying in the breeze idly. Aldon smiled inwardly and tried to keep it hidden. Briar strode over to the stone and picked it up slowly. He held it out in his palm, flat against his calloused hand.
“Good. Now strike it again.” He said simply and stood straight with his arm held out. Aldon froze and looked at him. “What are you waiting for? Let’s go, knock it out. You’re not scared are you?” He teased.
“You’d best hope I don’t miss on purpose.” Aldon retorted and held the stave aloft. He shifted its weight in his hands until he felt it was balanced correctly and changed his grip a few times. Briar stared at him passively as if he were waiting in line for something. Aldon ignored him and focused on his stance.
Feet shoulder width apart, hands gripped with thumbs out, handle turned beneath the crease of my fingers..
Aldon sucked in a breath and swung as everything slowed to a crawl. The stave drove through the air bluntly with a hum, wind whistling against its rough surface. A fly buzzed past with a snail’s pace, barely faster than Briar’s nonchalant blink that closed his eyelids as if a great portcullis. Aldon pushed forward as the stave carried itself on the momentum until it reached Briar’s hand. It hovered close, close enough to skim the skin, until the rock made contact and flew across the room, twirling in slow motion.
Suddenly everything returned to Aldon in a rush of sound. Everything that had happened silently passed its missed sound effects onto him at once. The buzzing of the fly’s wing, the howling of the roughly hewn stave and the dull thwack of the rock against wood. Aldon breathed out slowly and shook his head.
“How was that?”
Briar shrugged and picked at his hand. “May have gotten a splinter or two, but all in all you’ve done fine.” He walked off into the other room and returned with another wooden object.
“Is that a chair leg?” Aldon asked as he eyed the faded and chipped paint.
“Not anymore. Right now, it is my instrument in which to teach you a valuable lesson.”
“And what lesson is that?”
Briar struck forward suddenly, forcing the air from Aldon’s lungs and before he could recover, planted a firm grasp on Aldon’s shoulder and threw him to the ground. Aldon landed with a hard thud on his shoulder and leg and lost his stave in the process.
“Be prepared.”
Aldon rolled to his feet and threw up his weapon, caught it, and brought it down hard against Briar’s block. The wood bounced off one another with loud a loud knock and threw Aldon’s arms back. Briar took this opportunity to come in low and swipe at Aldon’s exposed belly but missed as the agile elf ducked backwards and struck high at an angle.
Briar parried the blow and twirled his weapon about, spinning on his heel, and rapped Aldon across the knees. Then, before Aldon could stand, he kicked the stave from his hand and stood on his wrist.
“What would you do now?” He asked gruffly. His eyes were focused on Aldon’s frozen face with a ferocity Aldon hadn’t expected here. “You would die, that’s what. Have you forgotten about your knife?” He pushed away and strode across the room before taking up his stance once again. “Again!”
This time, Aldon stood slowly and looked about the room. It was completely empty aside from an old throw rug and about twelve feet wide on all sides. He had about ten feet of space between himself and Briar with a stave maybe four feet long.
“Begin!” Briar commanded and charged forward. He lashed out at Aldon repeatedly in varying strokes and speeds, some slow and others capable of breaking bone. Aldon let him come then in mid-swing of Briar’s chair leg, stepped forward and blocked it with his left hand before reaching around Briar and twisting him with the other.
Briar grabbed Aldon by the elbow pulled him off, brandishing his stave over Aldon’s head.
“What have you to say for yourself this time?” Briar demanded. His face was grim and scruffy. He appeared to have died long ago and merely walk by day before returning by night.
“Have you forgotten your knife?”
Briar looked down to see his sheath empty, Aldon’s hand holding the knifepoint against Briar’s side. Aldon lowered the knife and handed it back to Briar. The old Ranger smiled and hugged Aldon roughly.
“You’re a good student, Aldon. A damn good student.” He said and stepped outside. Aldon sighed and leaned against the wall, his muscles aching and burning like fire. Every step he took was like wading through mud and throbbed his tender arms.
“Agh, my back is killing me. How does he do this for so long at that age?”
“Lot’s and lot’s of practice.” Briar interjected and stepped back in. “Again!”
Sweat beaded on Aldon’s brow and slid down his neck, chilling his back as it ran down his spine. Shuddering, Aldon wiped it from his eyes and focused on the task at hand. A small stone, no larger than a grape, hung on a piece of string before him. It swayed side to side and back and forth with the wind, riding the currents like a spider web. Aldon watched its’ movements then nodded. Briar came from behind and blindfolded him immediately.
Aldon hefted the wooden stave over his shoulder and gripped it tightly. He pictured the stone swaying on the breeze, memorizing its pattern as he played it over and over in his head. His mind’s eye pictured its ruby red color and smooth facets. It reminded him of the stones he used to skip on the pond back home when he was a boy in Town. Muren would take him there in the summers.
He swung and gritted his teeth as he saw it still hanging, blindfold thrown to the floor.
“You’re not concentrating. Clear your mind, Aldon, picture only the stone.” Briar repeated. “Forget everything else around you.”
“Kind of hard when they keep talking to you.” Aldon grumbled. Briar raised his hands and backed away smirking.
Aldon let out a deep breath and stared at the stone a bit longer before hiding his eyes again. He pictured the stone’s weight giving it momentum as it swung on the string. He imagined how it would feel; cold and hard, and how it would hurt to be struck by it. The image of the rock zoomed out to reveal it among numerous others underwater. The river was rushing by fast and scintillatingly in the sunlight. He leaned in closer to the water and saw his reflection staring back at him so vividly it was as if he was there. He laughed and choked as water filled his lungs and swept him downstream losing consciousness.
“Ooh, another swing and a miss!” Briar announced. “What happened there, boy, eh? Too much noise about you out here in the silence of Aldon’s awesome fighting prowess?” Briar teased and mocked a bow. Aldon threw down the stave and kicked it against the wall. “Oh come now, don’t be such a sourpuss. It’s simple, watch.”
Briar laced the blindfold over his eyes and flicked his knife out of its sheath deftly. Aldon leaned in closely as he watched Briar’s foot tap slowly to some tempo on the wooden floor. Thump thump, thump thump, thum-clang!
Aldon looked up from Briar’s foot to see the stone spinning on the string in a wide swinging arc. Briar turned around slowly and dropped the blindfold to the floor. His knife slid back into place and disappeared from view.
“Just remember the pattern it makes and focus on it.”
Aldon swept up the stave and shook his head as he watched its pace. Swaying to the left, then the right, back and forth repeatedly with little twirls in between as the breeze buffeted it. It flicked back and forth like a clock’s pendulum, keeping time with a slow and steady beat.
Aldon tapped his foot and wrapped his eyes. Thump thump, thump thump, thump thump. His heart began to beat to the same pounding drive. Thump thump, thump thump. His lungs began to breathe slowly in and out with an even pace. Thump thump, thump thump. His grip on the stave tightened until his knuckled turned white. Thump thump, thump thump, thump thum-whack!
Aldon opened his eyes to see the stone hit the ceiling then fall to the floor, the snapped string swaying in the breeze idly. Aldon smiled inwardly and tried to keep it hidden. Briar strode over to the stone and picked it up slowly. He held it out in his palm, flat against his calloused hand.
“Good. Now strike it again.” He said simply and stood straight with his arm held out. Aldon froze and looked at him. “What are you waiting for? Let’s go, knock it out. You’re not scared are you?” He teased.
“You’d best hope I don’t miss on purpose.” Aldon retorted and held the stave aloft. He shifted its weight in his hands until he felt it was balanced correctly and changed his grip a few times. Briar stared at him passively as if he were waiting in line for something. Aldon ignored him and focused on his stance.
Feet shoulder width apart, hands gripped with thumbs out, handle turned beneath the crease of my fingers..
Aldon sucked in a breath and swung as everything slowed to a crawl. The stave drove through the air bluntly with a hum, wind whistling against its rough surface. A fly buzzed past with a snail’s pace, barely faster than Briar’s nonchalant blink that closed his eyelids as if a great portcullis. Aldon pushed forward as the stave carried itself on the momentum until it reached Briar’s hand. It hovered close, close enough to skim the skin, until the rock made contact and flew across the room, twirling in slow motion.
Suddenly everything returned to Aldon in a rush of sound. Everything that had happened silently passed its missed sound effects onto him at once. The buzzing of the fly’s wing, the howling of the roughly hewn stave and the dull thwack of the rock against wood. Aldon breathed out slowly and shook his head.
“How was that?”
Briar shrugged and picked at his hand. “May have gotten a splinter or two, but all in all you’ve done fine.” He walked off into the other room and returned with another wooden object.
“Is that a chair leg?” Aldon asked as he eyed the faded and chipped paint.
“Not anymore. Right now, it is my instrument in which to teach you a valuable lesson.”
“And what lesson is that?”
Briar struck forward suddenly, forcing the air from Aldon’s lungs and before he could recover, planted a firm grasp on Aldon’s shoulder and threw him to the ground. Aldon landed with a hard thud on his shoulder and leg and lost his stave in the process.
“Be prepared.”
Aldon rolled to his feet and threw up his weapon, caught it, and brought it down hard against Briar’s block. The wood bounced off one another with loud a loud knock and threw Aldon’s arms back. Briar took this opportunity to come in low and swipe at Aldon’s exposed belly but missed as the agile elf ducked backwards and struck high at an angle.
Briar parried the blow and twirled his weapon about, spinning on his heel, and rapped Aldon across the knees. Then, before Aldon could stand, he kicked the stave from his hand and stood on his wrist.
“What would you do now?” He asked gruffly. His eyes were focused on Aldon’s frozen face with a ferocity Aldon hadn’t expected here. “You would die, that’s what. Have you forgotten about your knife?” He pushed away and strode across the room before taking up his stance once again. “Again!”
This time, Aldon stood slowly and looked about the room. It was completely empty aside from an old throw rug and about twelve feet wide on all sides. He had about ten feet of space between himself and Briar with a stave maybe four feet long.
“Begin!” Briar commanded and charged forward. He lashed out at Aldon repeatedly in varying strokes and speeds, some slow and others capable of breaking bone. Aldon let him come then in mid-swing of Briar’s chair leg, stepped forward and blocked it with his left hand before reaching around Briar and twisting him with the other.
Briar grabbed Aldon by the elbow pulled him off, brandishing his stave over Aldon’s head.
“What have you to say for yourself this time?” Briar demanded. His face was grim and scruffy. He appeared to have died long ago and merely walk by day before returning by night.
“Have you forgotten your knife?”
Briar looked down to see his sheath empty, Aldon’s hand holding the knifepoint against Briar’s side. Aldon lowered the knife and handed it back to Briar. The old Ranger smiled and hugged Aldon roughly.
“You’re a good student, Aldon. A damn good student.” He said and stepped outside. Aldon sighed and leaned against the wall, his muscles aching and burning like fire. Every step he took was like wading through mud and throbbed his tender arms.
“Agh, my back is killing me. How does he do this for so long at that age?”
“Lot’s and lot’s of practice.” Briar interjected and stepped back in. “Again!”
Roots - Chapter Twenty Three
Chapter Twenty Three: Side Effects
Air passed through Aldon’s lungs as the water flows through a broken dam. It began slowly, just trickling into his lungs, until it ran deeper and deeper, and before he knew it, Aldon was gasping for breath. He shook beneath his blanket and cast it off in a heap on the floor. His face and chest burned beneath his skin. He swiped at the invisible ants he was sure were crawling across him and rolled out off his cot. The dull thud of his feet hitting the floor and the flames were gone.
Aldon looked around the room, absorbing its every detail in a single gaze. The beds and cots were thrown about and pushed to the back wall, the door was open slightly, the window remained in shadow from the black sky, Took lay still in the rear of the room, and the steady rising and falling of Briar’s breathing lifted and lowered his blanket. Aldon lingered on his mentor sleeping.
Such trials he’s gone through, and here he is with nothing in return.
Aldon sat back on the corner of his cot in silence until his breathing returned to normal. Aldon placed his hand on his chest to feel his heartbeat slow but as soon as he did it picked up faster than before. His hand rubbed across his chest back and forth, fumbling for that which was not there. Aldon looked down slowly until he was sure he was awake. His chest was smooth and flat once again, no longer warped and covered in thick spider webbing scar tissue. His flesh was once again a pale tan with no trace of purple or crimson.
Aldon jumped to his feet and extended his arms like he were holding his balance.
Nothing, not even a twinge.
He swung them around as if he were falling and punched the air a few times for good measure.
“This is great.” He said aloud. “This is fantastic.”
Aldon swung about in a rapid manner, ducking and bobbing from side to side, weaving in and out of attacks and parries. He leapt forward silently until he was face to face with himself. The mirror stared back indifferently as Aldon’s lungs convulsed, sucking in a deep gasp. He was sure his heart skipped a beat. The face looking back at him was as normal as he could imagine. No sunken in cheek or half closed eye, not a single layer of charred flaky skin, peeling off in the rain. Only him. Only what should be.
Tears welled up in Aldon’s eyes as he stared at himself and thanked whoever had done this for him. Instantly his thoughts ran to Garen. “I knew you had it in you, Garenford. You’re too you not to be.” And he walked down the hallway, a bounce in his step, to the den; thanks on his mind for his oldest friend.
* * *
Fading lights flicker in and out, thriving then dying in flashes of color that swim and swirl like fire and ice. Rain pounds down on graves until they float away and off the earth, landing on the moon and forming a smile of tombstones. Necklaces of comets shimmer in the sky among the titans as they pluck us up from our homes to go to the forgotten places. Volcanoes of the ocean erupt in such a positive manner everyone smiles as the ash descends on them in waves of brimstone. Children cast away their parents to the old ones and flourish under the watching eye as not those but them. Falling, falling, falling, failing, into darkness. The clock is ticking.
* * *
“Briar, wake up! Get up now you have to!” Aldon shoved him and threw his covers off. “It’s urgent, Briar, please!” He shook Briar by the shoulders until his eyes began to open. They were bloodshot and weary, old and experienced beyond their years. Slowly they began to widen until he looked about ready to scream. He sat up and gritted his teeth. Aldon noticed a few knots beneath his skin.
“Aldon, what is it?” He said between grunting in pain. His breaths whistled through his teeth as his jaw clenched, veins in his neck jutting out. “Are the bandits back?”
Aldon shook his head and pulled Briar to his feet. Briar followed him hesitantly, wishing his knife was nearby. They padded down the hallway quickly, Aldon’s hands quivering slightly. As soon as they rounded the corner to the den, Aldon stepped aside and lowered his head. Briar waned like a ghost.
“Briar..come closer.” Garen whispered as dead grass rustles in the breeze. His eyes were closed and his skin hard as marble and cold as ice yet still hung off him like cloth. Bags under his eyes drooped to the point of revealing his entire lower eyeballs. Lips like shale and porous as pumice, he laid on the floor with his head against the wall, arms folded across his chest. His cloak lay plastered atop him. Nearby, sat his hat and staff as if waiting for his command. He coughed a few times in his chest and wiped his mouth. Briar sat beside him on his knees. “I don’t have much time, my old friend. Please listen to what I have to say.” He sat in silence as if expecting a retort from Briar. “Good. I see you understand the predicament in its full capacity. You have become wise with age, Briar, yet here you are among fools like I.” He attempted a chuckle as Briar’s lips pressed into a thin line. “I want you to continue as planned, Briar. You must, for all of our sakes. Mortan must not find Aldon. It could prove disastrous to the entire world; be sure you comprehend the incomprehensibly immense nature of your task as impossible as it is. So many lives and futures depend on you remaining strong in the face of evil and daunting within Death’s shadow. You are the only one I could ever trust with him, and Aldon agrees. He and I have already spoken and said our goodbyes.” Briar’s head turned slightly in Aldon’s direction. “But it is as I told him; I am not truly leaving. I shall be with you every step of the way, to guide you through the darkness. Briar, you are the last chance of a doomed nation, and the last of the Spiritblades.” Briar stiffened at this and closed his eyes tightly. “Yes, my friend, they are all gone. Yet you remain. You have a great destiny before you whether you acknowledge it or not, fate is what it is. But not always what shall be.”
Briar shook his head slowly and leaned his forehead to Garen’s. “But why now? Why can’t you help me, you know I can’t do this on my own. Why are you leaving us?” He said angrily and drenched in anguish. Aldon couldn’t bear to look at him.
Garen smiled faintly and his head lolled to the side, facing Briar. “ This is your story, Briar, not mine. This is my ending in one tale, and the beginning of a new chapter. I told you there would be side effects.” Garen smiled and seemed to sink into Briar’s arms.
All sound faded away as soon as Garen did. It was like their room had been illuminated by a single candle and it had just gone out. Briar’s head dropped low over Garen’s body and shook in silence. Aldon opened the door to the rain and stepped outside, letting it wash away his every sense until he felt nothing. He had forced himself to come to terms with Garen’s death in their conversation, where Aldon learned of what was to come.
Briar will train you, have no worry of that. He may seem unreachable on the outside, but you must remember he has suffered much in his life. Be patient and know you are doing him some good.
It seemed funny the way Garen could say exactly what Aldon was thinking and seem to understand how it felt more than he did.
But be aware of the danger you will face. Mortan is unlike any before him. He craves the darkness that destroys others and wields it against the might of the world. It is he, who watches for you and who has destroyed those whom mean most to you; and all to force you into his allegiance. He may tempt your heart with its most inner desires, but bringing Muren back cannot happen. Do not heed the darkness within, shun it with your mind and follow the pure energies of your spirit. That cannot be tainted. And never forget your friends for they are your true strength. Follow these guidelines and they shall carry you to the ends of the earth.
Aldon remembered what it was like to have friends. Fleeting thoughts of Denrir and Glenn flashed through his mind then drifted away as if forgotten. He often wondered what had happened to them; if they had escaped or died within Town. He knew they had not survived if they stayed for they did not come to see him nor did he see them in the march. Garen had mentioned something about the caravan stopping somewhere near Hromen and renaming themselves Remnants.
Seems appropriate enough I suppose. Just as we here are remnants of what was. Aldon glanced through the open doorway over to the pale Briar who sat hunched over Garen, performing the funeral rites for his oldest friend. He smeared candle wax across the old man’s brow and drew lines down his own cheeks as if he had been crying. He motioned for Aldon to come closer then made a dot on either side of Aldon’s mouth and on his eyelids.
“Sit.”
Aldon sat on the other side of Garen and crossed his legs. Briar closed his eyes and began to chant quietly, whispering for none to hear. Aldon did the same and prayed Garen’s soul would find rest in the Overworld while his body kept balance in the Underworld. He asked for guidance and for Garen to hold to his last vow.
I shall be with you every step of the way, to guide you through the darkness.
Aldon felt as if chains had strapped themselves to his arms and legs when he and Briar stood. Without a word, they lifted Garen and laid him beside Took in the largest bed, placing a sheet over his still form. Aldon leaned against the door frame and let the guilt wash over him in silence. Briar seemed to share the sentiment.
“You know it’s not your fault. No one could have stopped him from healing you. He knew what he was doing and what it would cost him.”
“Great, thanks for telling me he marched to his death to save me.” The reply was a cold shot, a low blow to Briar and Aldon regretted saying it immediately. But it was too late to take it back now, the damage was done.
“I’m going to bury him.” Briar said emotionlessly and brushed past Aldon without seeing him. His footsteps faded down the hall and out the door. Aldon kicked at the wall and cursed.
“How could I say something like that? I lost Muren and he lost Garenford.” He paused a moment. “Or should I just call him Garen? Either way we both lost our homes and families. Only difference is he handled my mourning far better.” Aldon grimaced and lowered his head. “I’m so stupid!” He trumped down the hall and opened the door.
Instantly the rain stung his face with rock sized tears. The sky was a deep navy like a bruise with lavender bordering its outskirts. The clouds were as thick and dreary as ever with an ashier appearance than usual. Aldon inhaled slowly to calm himself and almost gagged on the rancid odor the ground seemed to emit. It was like rotted meat marinated in soured milk had rained from the sky over night and soaked into the soil. Everywhere Aldon turned showed sign of decay. The trees were blackened and hung limp and leafless. The grass was gray and shriveled as winter approached furiously. The sweet lullaby of the singsong birds and chitter-chatter of woodland creatures were lost to him, they had been vacant for so long. Aldon looked to Briar who was atop the bluffs nearby digging determinedly with an old, warped shovel. His clothes hung off him soaking wet and briefly reminded him of Garen’s scarecrow form. Aldon rummaged through the backroom and reemerged with another trowel.
Together they dug in silence, neither looking at the other, for hours until they were satisfied with their labor. Two rectangular graves, dug a few feet from each other stared back at them. One was as long as the two of them nearly combined and the other as if for a child. In a slow funeral procession, Aldon and Briar carried the deceased wrapped in their respective sheet and slowly lowered them into the burial sites.
Briar dug his fingers in the wall of the grave for drier soil and held it aloft. He closed his eyes and his lips moved as if mumbling, then sifted the grainy dirt through his fingertips over Garen and Took.
“You deserve better.”
One by one they cast soil over them until the mounds were complete and the bodies secure from the flooding. A sense of finality settled in with the stormfront with every lightning strike and resounding thunder.
Garen is dead, he’s not coming back.
A spark of light, and a clapping boom.
We’re on our own, he’s not coming back.
An attempt at radiance and the clouds snuff it with a cry.
Can we do this without him, he’s not coming back.
Aldon and Briar walked slowly back to the fort and stared at the graves. Aldon lost his tranquil thought as he took everything with a shuddering breath. Briar noticed and clasped his shoulder.
“It’s going to be okay. I know you didn’t mean what you said earlier.”
Aldon’s cheeks stung but not from the weather. “I’m sorry. So much has changed, I feel I don’t know who I am anymore.”
Briar smiled sadly and nodded. “Maybe you never did.”
Air passed through Aldon’s lungs as the water flows through a broken dam. It began slowly, just trickling into his lungs, until it ran deeper and deeper, and before he knew it, Aldon was gasping for breath. He shook beneath his blanket and cast it off in a heap on the floor. His face and chest burned beneath his skin. He swiped at the invisible ants he was sure were crawling across him and rolled out off his cot. The dull thud of his feet hitting the floor and the flames were gone.
Aldon looked around the room, absorbing its every detail in a single gaze. The beds and cots were thrown about and pushed to the back wall, the door was open slightly, the window remained in shadow from the black sky, Took lay still in the rear of the room, and the steady rising and falling of Briar’s breathing lifted and lowered his blanket. Aldon lingered on his mentor sleeping.
Such trials he’s gone through, and here he is with nothing in return.
Aldon sat back on the corner of his cot in silence until his breathing returned to normal. Aldon placed his hand on his chest to feel his heartbeat slow but as soon as he did it picked up faster than before. His hand rubbed across his chest back and forth, fumbling for that which was not there. Aldon looked down slowly until he was sure he was awake. His chest was smooth and flat once again, no longer warped and covered in thick spider webbing scar tissue. His flesh was once again a pale tan with no trace of purple or crimson.
Aldon jumped to his feet and extended his arms like he were holding his balance.
Nothing, not even a twinge.
He swung them around as if he were falling and punched the air a few times for good measure.
“This is great.” He said aloud. “This is fantastic.”
Aldon swung about in a rapid manner, ducking and bobbing from side to side, weaving in and out of attacks and parries. He leapt forward silently until he was face to face with himself. The mirror stared back indifferently as Aldon’s lungs convulsed, sucking in a deep gasp. He was sure his heart skipped a beat. The face looking back at him was as normal as he could imagine. No sunken in cheek or half closed eye, not a single layer of charred flaky skin, peeling off in the rain. Only him. Only what should be.
Tears welled up in Aldon’s eyes as he stared at himself and thanked whoever had done this for him. Instantly his thoughts ran to Garen. “I knew you had it in you, Garenford. You’re too you not to be.” And he walked down the hallway, a bounce in his step, to the den; thanks on his mind for his oldest friend.
* * *
Fading lights flicker in and out, thriving then dying in flashes of color that swim and swirl like fire and ice. Rain pounds down on graves until they float away and off the earth, landing on the moon and forming a smile of tombstones. Necklaces of comets shimmer in the sky among the titans as they pluck us up from our homes to go to the forgotten places. Volcanoes of the ocean erupt in such a positive manner everyone smiles as the ash descends on them in waves of brimstone. Children cast away their parents to the old ones and flourish under the watching eye as not those but them. Falling, falling, falling, failing, into darkness. The clock is ticking.
* * *
“Briar, wake up! Get up now you have to!” Aldon shoved him and threw his covers off. “It’s urgent, Briar, please!” He shook Briar by the shoulders until his eyes began to open. They were bloodshot and weary, old and experienced beyond their years. Slowly they began to widen until he looked about ready to scream. He sat up and gritted his teeth. Aldon noticed a few knots beneath his skin.
“Aldon, what is it?” He said between grunting in pain. His breaths whistled through his teeth as his jaw clenched, veins in his neck jutting out. “Are the bandits back?”
Aldon shook his head and pulled Briar to his feet. Briar followed him hesitantly, wishing his knife was nearby. They padded down the hallway quickly, Aldon’s hands quivering slightly. As soon as they rounded the corner to the den, Aldon stepped aside and lowered his head. Briar waned like a ghost.
“Briar..come closer.” Garen whispered as dead grass rustles in the breeze. His eyes were closed and his skin hard as marble and cold as ice yet still hung off him like cloth. Bags under his eyes drooped to the point of revealing his entire lower eyeballs. Lips like shale and porous as pumice, he laid on the floor with his head against the wall, arms folded across his chest. His cloak lay plastered atop him. Nearby, sat his hat and staff as if waiting for his command. He coughed a few times in his chest and wiped his mouth. Briar sat beside him on his knees. “I don’t have much time, my old friend. Please listen to what I have to say.” He sat in silence as if expecting a retort from Briar. “Good. I see you understand the predicament in its full capacity. You have become wise with age, Briar, yet here you are among fools like I.” He attempted a chuckle as Briar’s lips pressed into a thin line. “I want you to continue as planned, Briar. You must, for all of our sakes. Mortan must not find Aldon. It could prove disastrous to the entire world; be sure you comprehend the incomprehensibly immense nature of your task as impossible as it is. So many lives and futures depend on you remaining strong in the face of evil and daunting within Death’s shadow. You are the only one I could ever trust with him, and Aldon agrees. He and I have already spoken and said our goodbyes.” Briar’s head turned slightly in Aldon’s direction. “But it is as I told him; I am not truly leaving. I shall be with you every step of the way, to guide you through the darkness. Briar, you are the last chance of a doomed nation, and the last of the Spiritblades.” Briar stiffened at this and closed his eyes tightly. “Yes, my friend, they are all gone. Yet you remain. You have a great destiny before you whether you acknowledge it or not, fate is what it is. But not always what shall be.”
Briar shook his head slowly and leaned his forehead to Garen’s. “But why now? Why can’t you help me, you know I can’t do this on my own. Why are you leaving us?” He said angrily and drenched in anguish. Aldon couldn’t bear to look at him.
Garen smiled faintly and his head lolled to the side, facing Briar. “ This is your story, Briar, not mine. This is my ending in one tale, and the beginning of a new chapter. I told you there would be side effects.” Garen smiled and seemed to sink into Briar’s arms.
All sound faded away as soon as Garen did. It was like their room had been illuminated by a single candle and it had just gone out. Briar’s head dropped low over Garen’s body and shook in silence. Aldon opened the door to the rain and stepped outside, letting it wash away his every sense until he felt nothing. He had forced himself to come to terms with Garen’s death in their conversation, where Aldon learned of what was to come.
Briar will train you, have no worry of that. He may seem unreachable on the outside, but you must remember he has suffered much in his life. Be patient and know you are doing him some good.
It seemed funny the way Garen could say exactly what Aldon was thinking and seem to understand how it felt more than he did.
But be aware of the danger you will face. Mortan is unlike any before him. He craves the darkness that destroys others and wields it against the might of the world. It is he, who watches for you and who has destroyed those whom mean most to you; and all to force you into his allegiance. He may tempt your heart with its most inner desires, but bringing Muren back cannot happen. Do not heed the darkness within, shun it with your mind and follow the pure energies of your spirit. That cannot be tainted. And never forget your friends for they are your true strength. Follow these guidelines and they shall carry you to the ends of the earth.
Aldon remembered what it was like to have friends. Fleeting thoughts of Denrir and Glenn flashed through his mind then drifted away as if forgotten. He often wondered what had happened to them; if they had escaped or died within Town. He knew they had not survived if they stayed for they did not come to see him nor did he see them in the march. Garen had mentioned something about the caravan stopping somewhere near Hromen and renaming themselves Remnants.
Seems appropriate enough I suppose. Just as we here are remnants of what was. Aldon glanced through the open doorway over to the pale Briar who sat hunched over Garen, performing the funeral rites for his oldest friend. He smeared candle wax across the old man’s brow and drew lines down his own cheeks as if he had been crying. He motioned for Aldon to come closer then made a dot on either side of Aldon’s mouth and on his eyelids.
“Sit.”
Aldon sat on the other side of Garen and crossed his legs. Briar closed his eyes and began to chant quietly, whispering for none to hear. Aldon did the same and prayed Garen’s soul would find rest in the Overworld while his body kept balance in the Underworld. He asked for guidance and for Garen to hold to his last vow.
I shall be with you every step of the way, to guide you through the darkness.
Aldon felt as if chains had strapped themselves to his arms and legs when he and Briar stood. Without a word, they lifted Garen and laid him beside Took in the largest bed, placing a sheet over his still form. Aldon leaned against the door frame and let the guilt wash over him in silence. Briar seemed to share the sentiment.
“You know it’s not your fault. No one could have stopped him from healing you. He knew what he was doing and what it would cost him.”
“Great, thanks for telling me he marched to his death to save me.” The reply was a cold shot, a low blow to Briar and Aldon regretted saying it immediately. But it was too late to take it back now, the damage was done.
“I’m going to bury him.” Briar said emotionlessly and brushed past Aldon without seeing him. His footsteps faded down the hall and out the door. Aldon kicked at the wall and cursed.
“How could I say something like that? I lost Muren and he lost Garenford.” He paused a moment. “Or should I just call him Garen? Either way we both lost our homes and families. Only difference is he handled my mourning far better.” Aldon grimaced and lowered his head. “I’m so stupid!” He trumped down the hall and opened the door.
Instantly the rain stung his face with rock sized tears. The sky was a deep navy like a bruise with lavender bordering its outskirts. The clouds were as thick and dreary as ever with an ashier appearance than usual. Aldon inhaled slowly to calm himself and almost gagged on the rancid odor the ground seemed to emit. It was like rotted meat marinated in soured milk had rained from the sky over night and soaked into the soil. Everywhere Aldon turned showed sign of decay. The trees were blackened and hung limp and leafless. The grass was gray and shriveled as winter approached furiously. The sweet lullaby of the singsong birds and chitter-chatter of woodland creatures were lost to him, they had been vacant for so long. Aldon looked to Briar who was atop the bluffs nearby digging determinedly with an old, warped shovel. His clothes hung off him soaking wet and briefly reminded him of Garen’s scarecrow form. Aldon rummaged through the backroom and reemerged with another trowel.
Together they dug in silence, neither looking at the other, for hours until they were satisfied with their labor. Two rectangular graves, dug a few feet from each other stared back at them. One was as long as the two of them nearly combined and the other as if for a child. In a slow funeral procession, Aldon and Briar carried the deceased wrapped in their respective sheet and slowly lowered them into the burial sites.
Briar dug his fingers in the wall of the grave for drier soil and held it aloft. He closed his eyes and his lips moved as if mumbling, then sifted the grainy dirt through his fingertips over Garen and Took.
“You deserve better.”
One by one they cast soil over them until the mounds were complete and the bodies secure from the flooding. A sense of finality settled in with the stormfront with every lightning strike and resounding thunder.
Garen is dead, he’s not coming back.
A spark of light, and a clapping boom.
We’re on our own, he’s not coming back.
An attempt at radiance and the clouds snuff it with a cry.
Can we do this without him, he’s not coming back.
Aldon and Briar walked slowly back to the fort and stared at the graves. Aldon lost his tranquil thought as he took everything with a shuddering breath. Briar noticed and clasped his shoulder.
“It’s going to be okay. I know you didn’t mean what you said earlier.”
Aldon’s cheeks stung but not from the weather. “I’m sorry. So much has changed, I feel I don’t know who I am anymore.”
Briar smiled sadly and nodded. “Maybe you never did.”
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