Chapter One: A Gift
Aldon, be back soon, make yourself useful and start the harvest. I’ll be back around noon with a few extra cows and bales of hay. Glenn’s in the forest chopping wood and Denrir is doing trade. Don’t forget to separate the Piranha Tulips from the Guppy Blossoms or else they’ll start fighting. Oh, and we need to place another coin in the well tonight. See you soon, boy.
--Muren
The letter was written in Muren’s scrawly handwriting, probably written in a hurry, and tacked to the front door. The boy moved through the morning-lit room and sighed deeply. The windows were already open and the sunlight streamed in with a warm glow. The sky was blue and the weather fair, only the animals betrayed the silence as they awaited their chores as well. They too knew it was time for work.
The boy opened the heavy oak door, and readjusted his trousers to accommodate his high boots. He closed the door with a quick glance at the insignia adorned upon it and fidgeted. An eagle holding a sword in one claw and a scroll in the other stared back at him. He knew it was neither his insignia nor his blood kin.
He set to work quickly, milking the cows first and placing the frothy cream in the cellar to cool, then moved on to the pigs that needed slop, and finally the chickens who clucked for feed. He did these routine tasks mindlessly and was finished before a single trace of thought had passed his mind. He looked to the sun and marveled at how serene the farm was when he was alone. Well, not truly alone, but the only one capable of speaking.
A loud voice broke his train of thought.
“Hullo there!” A deep husky bass called out from behind. The boy whirled around to see a tall thick man with a red mustache and bald head poorly hidden by a straw hat. “Is yer father in ter’day? I’ve got his bushels of Dragonlilies and Butterbyes,” The man continued, unaware of his sudden and unwanted intrusion.
“No, he’s out to town for business.” The boy replied shortly, not wanting the conversation to expand. But the red mustached man bustled about unpacking Muren’s things and proceeded to sit.
“Ah well, I was wantin’ ter take a pause anyway.” He said as he lit the tobacco of his pipe and puffed. The boy watched him idly as the man scratched himself and lounged about. His fat face folded on itself and blushed from the exertion of walking with a pack in the day. True it was rather warm, the boy thought, but it was scarcely hot enough to try one’s reserves. Several minutes had passed and he had just had enough when the man suddenly stretched and stood. “Well, I’m off. Can’t be slowin’ yer work any longer. I’ll stop by later to see if yer father’s in.” The man waved and continued on down the trail to the town simply known to the nearby residents as Town.
The boy, relieved, thanked the heavens above and rushed off to finish sowing the seeds before Muren returned. Several hours later, the soil was tilled, any remaining weeds plucked, and the fertile earth impregnated. The small seeds ranged in size from a corn kernel to that of a fist, with every color in the rainbow. Everything was planted accordingly, the slightly hopping Piranha seeds away from the quivering Guppies.
Before long, the boy was laying against a tree with his hat over his face, the shade cooling his skin and the wind caressing his face tenderly. His shaggy blond hair tangled in the wind and his pale skin shone in the sunlight like pearl. He was considered a normal child despite being adopted. But only as Muren demanded he wear his hat at all times to avoid unnecessary eyes. The boy complied gratefully as he hated being the center of attention and cursed himself for having such a heavy burden. He often wondered to himself where his real parents had gone off to. Where they were now living, or buried, and why he had been chosen to live with farmers.
He held no contempt for them whatsoever, he loved them dearly, but he knew there was something more. All his life he had felt the call to leave and seek out whatever beacon yearned for his presence. Already he was sixteen years old and devoid of any such answers. He was nearly a man and expected to raise a roof and barn within the next four moons. His hope of finding his destiny faded as quickly as it rose and buried itself within his worries.
The sound of voices awoke him then, several men's' laughter and slow spoken words. He would recognize them anywhere. He rounded the corner of the house and smiled at the two men before him. The first was Muren, scarcely taller than the boy had been at fourteen and wide around the middle. His hair was curly and dark like mahogany, the same as his deep set eyes. His face was round and puffed whenever he laughed which was quite often. His clothes reflected his personality and were worn and repaired; only earth colors like green and brown. His bushy eyebrows lifted when he saw the boy appear.
“Ah, Aldon, we were just talking about you!” Muren chuckled and settled Biel the mule to a halt to unload the goods he had purchased.
“We were discussing your soon to arrive rite of passage.” The other elaborated. He was a tall, thin man, well fed yet still gangly. He stood over a head taller than the boy and had a great beard of silver that wrought to his chest, tied to a point. His head was covered in long hair reaching down his back and was as gray as a storm cloud in autumn. His thin face was gaunt and cheery, but beheld great wisdom, only noticeable in his deep blue eyes. He wore a long cloak despite the heat and seemed perfectly at ease. The boy had never seen him without a walking stick and often stared at his long crooked nose as a young child.
“Oh.” Was Aldon could say. He had dreaded this for well over a year now.
“Yes, yes.” Muren piped in. “It’s all accounted for, fourteen pounds of grain and flour, two sacks of lard, and two bales of hay.” He said cheerily as he motioned for assistance, interrupting the conversation he himself had started.
“Uhm, yes.” The tall man said after a short silence of carrying the goods to the cellar. “We have been awaiting this occasion for many years and I have something special to give you.” Aldon looked up at him utterly surprised. He had never received anything the others hadn’t gotten as well. He looked questioningly at Muren who leaned against the wall silently for once, then back to the other who now held out a small wooden box with an iron latch.
Aldon eyed it suspiciously wondering if it was a trick. He suspected foul play after a snake had been magically found in his bed and a spider in his cup. He recalled the stings of past betrayals however small with his amazingly good memory. He wondered how his many experiences were readily available for reviewing as he reached his hand out toward it then pulled it back, flinching. It was then he noticed the silence. He looked back and forth then back to the box.
His instincts told him to avoid it with a pleasant nod of the head and thank you. But his curiosity grew and ate at him. He picked at his fingernail as he debated whether it was worth the risk or not.
“Well what are you waiting for?” Muren shouted, louder than he meant to, shattering the silence. Both the others jumped at the sudden outburst. An apologetic Muren stared at the ground and fidgeted with his hands impatiently. Hesitantly, Aldon took the box from the man’s hands, looking away from it, arms stretched away from his body. The box was heavier than he’d expected and made of solid cherry wood. It was old and musty, covered with dings and scratches, smelling of smoke and cinders. The boy slowly, very slowly, unhooked the iron latch.
He looked up to see the old man smiling then, Aldon realizing too late grimaced.
Instantly the box’s lid swung back, a torrent of ice cold wind blasting from within with a shrill whistling; chilling Aldon’s entire skinny frame. The rush of arctic breeze refused to cease and grew in intensity until Aldon’s hair was blown back, his face waning and his back to the wall of the house. Muren watched on in a raucous laughter, slapping his knees as he doubled over crying at the hilarity of the situation.
Aldon slid down the wall and onto his back, the box still in his hands and sweeping the wind tunnel over Muren. His laughing stopped as he cringed and bellowed at the sudden chill.
The other man however stood smiling in silence as the boy wrestled with the box. He attempted to close it but wasn’t strong enough to prevail against the wind. He set it down and the box blew harder. Exasperated, the boy flung the box in the air and cried out to run, Muren right on his heels. They leapt behind the wagon and slid to imagined safety. The box landed with a hard thud and wailed, flipping the wagon over with a groan of the wood and screws. It landed atop the two like a prison, holding them in the icy wind’s grip, until Aldon crawled out; Muren having too much girth to squeeze from his cell.
Aldon charged at the small wooden box, struggling against the hurricane that would have frozen him in place if not for his new persistence. He clawed at the box, slowly inching closer and closer until he could reach out and touch it. He did, standing nearly parallel to the ground with only his toes touching the earth, he placed both hands on the lid and pressed with all his weight.
The lid closed suddenly and he fell to the ground exposed, knocking his forehead against the most disastrous gift he had ever received. He rolled over and stared at the box, its plain appearance from the outside. He cursed its very existence then looked up to find the old man still smiling, his hand on his bearded chin.
“Why would you give such a curse to anyone? I wouldn’t wish such a thing on my worst enemy!” Aldon exclaimed from the flat of his back. His hands were roughened and his hair a mess. His clothes were torn and his entire body felt like he had fallen through the lake in winter. He shivered and shook uncontrollably, staggering to his feet with trembling hands. His teeth chattered and his head ached, a whelp where he had fallen and struck the box. He rubbed it tenderly with stiff fingers and eyed the old man angrily.
“Well I should hope not as it was meant as a gift of friendship.” The old man said humbly. “It is a token of gratitude and a very rare object of immense value. However I would ask you not to sell it. You see, they are made of very powerful magic—“
“Magic?” The boy cried out involuntarily. He had felt such a thrill and excitement whenever he witnessed the old one do such small tricks. As a child he sat for hours watching campfires warp into scenes of heroics under his friend’s command.
“I knew you did tricks but this? Wherever did you find it, Garenford?” Aldon asked, suddenly curious.
“In the small town of Nilrem, I bought it from one of my oldest friends, Fladnag. We apprenticed together at a young age under the great Iniduoh. But that is another tale entirely for another time.” Garenford said smiling, steadying Aldon with a sure, long-fingered hand.
“What were you taught, you and Fladnag?” Aldon asked as he lifted the box and began to see it in another light. Garenford lit his long pipe and breathed deeply of it, then exhaled it in a great plume. Aldon could have sworn he saw the smoke twist and dance, suddenly animated, and then return to spiraling into the sky. He looked back to Garenford with a crooked smile.
“Oh this and that.” Garenford replied nonchalantly, chewing on the tip of his pipe stem. He twirled it in his nimble fingers and stared at the smoke rings. He seemed completely oblivious to Aldon’s existence and waiting expression, a master of feigning such, and continued to twiddle his thumbs.
“Fine, keep your secrets.” Aldon said, lifting the box and setting it just inside the front door. “I know the answer already.” He said, sitting down and stroking the dirt and leaves from his hair. He tried to keep his face calm and uncaring against the rising anticipation within. He pictured Garenford casting fire and lightning from his walking stick and summoning great storms when he grew angry. He imagined his blue eyes glowing with immense energies and his long hair and beard flowing in the turbulence of his might.
“And what would that be?” The old man asked with a smile.
“You wouldn’t care what I have to say, a simple farmer’s boy.” Aldon pressed, dismissing the subject.
“Amuse me.”
Aldon weighed his answer before his replying and decided it was of no consequence ultimately.
“A wizard.” He said, letting the word come out slowly for effect. Garenford went silent then, his head low. ”Am I right?” Aldon asked eagerly, ruining his charade. Garenford looked up then and burst forth with booming laughter, his rough voice echoing with a bass.
“A wizard?” He guffawed. “We were nothing of the sort.” He said between gasps for breath. Aldon stormed off angrily to the fields and into the woods. He could still hear Garenford’s mocking laughter as the old man left for home, his walking staff always a step ahead of him. Aldon leaned against a tree and bitterly thought of other options for the old one’s apprenticeship, each idea crazier than the last.
Time passed quickly as the sun began to set. He stayed a while longer to camp, and decided to stay the night. The boy started a small fire and placed his hands around it, warming his arms first, thankful for the light and heat.
Meanwhile at the house, Muren was still trapped beneath the wagon, his belly his true prison.
“Somebody help!” He called out to the night as the temperature dropped, cursing the old scarecrow and his accursed box.
Friday, February 3, 2012
Multiple Contacts
Multiple contacts. The words echoed in my head.
A deep fear grew in the pit of my stomach and gnawed at the back of my mind. Wrapping my arms about me, I stepped to the window and grimaced.
Two jeeps and a stolen Humvee roared toward us about two miles away, barreling clouds of dust tailing them. The desert sand whirled suddenly in the chilling wind and whipped across my face, cracking my lips and stinging my eyes.
I stepped away from the window sill and turned my back to the breeze, leaning against the wall nearest me. It was this that let me know I was still alive. This pain was all that I felt, even with the cold numbing me.
I walked slowly into the other room and warily dropped into the sand covered sofa. Brock (our medic) was already sitting on the other end and grinned at me from the corner of his eye. He pointed with his thumb behind him toward the backdoor.
I followed his aim and stifled a chuckle.
Murphy was a few yards away, attempting to impress a few of the local women by teaching them to shoot his colt. The women giggled and whispered in Korean to one another as they took their turn aiming without any rounds, Murphy wrapping his arms around them and pressing into their backs with his body as he “steadied” their aim.
Brock looked up, catching my attention, as Captain Thomas stepped inside and shook the sand from his BDU’s. Without speaking, he conveyed to us they were nearly here. Brock stood and stretched, cracked his knuckles, and heaved his medical supplies to his back.
I did the same and found my Remington 700 right where I left it. I checked the scope, adjusting for long distance, and loaded the eight round magazines, placing the four remaining in my belt.
I walked to the backdoor and rapped my knuckles against the doorframe, signaling Murphy to put it away and come in. I could hear him muttering under his breath and swear, but he knew better than to defy the Captain’s orders.
I slung the rifle across my back and headed upstairs, each step a resounding thud up the old creaky wood. It was a large house about forty years old and made entirely of wood. Eight rooms including the kitchen and living room built it up. A single bulb was placed in each, however most were out as it was just nine in the morning.
The high sun shone bright, casting deep long shadows against the small town. The wind creating eerie creaks and squeals. The neighing of livestock contributed to the atmosphere.
I pulled down the small ladder to the attic and ascended them heavily, closing them behind me. The attic was a small room, maybe eight by nine feet. The room was dark and had no light, only the large window facing out. The light did not stream in, making an ideal perch, and instead hid me in shadow as I took aim.
The vehicles were already killed and the men around them. Screams echoed as women and children were fired on. The men laughed maniacally as they slaughtered their own people below.
A radio crackled and came to life to my left.
I lowered my rifle and grit my teeth, the command still burning in my skull.
Do not fire on targets until I give the command. That means you, Shepherd.
I sat in torture, silent and watching. It was the waiting that churned in my stomach and made me sick, not the fact none of us had had more than a single strip of dried beef to eat in the last four days. Gunfire resounded loudly and echoed off the small wooden houses, the air heavy with screams and gunpowder.
A steady breeze kicked up and small dust devils spiraled across the small fields in between homes. House after house, the murderers entered then exited, always with less ammo in their guns and more blood on their hands.
A flicker of hate shot though me.
I hated these men.
It had been six years since I last saw my family, my wife and daughter, and here these monsters are, destroying families of other men. Taking anything they ever had and turning it into something else.
They moved to a house closer.
How could they do this?
Another house closer.
Can I really sit by and watch this?
Another house closer.
The men moved into the next building, a small house, and left a few moments later, three shots still ringing in the air. Suddenly a small child leapt through the door, tears streaming its face and blood flecked across its pajamas. Its small red face shuddered and wrinkled as she wept and cried out. The men turned on her, smiling wickedly. AK 47’s raising slowly.
A single gunshot rang out, shattering the silence.
The body collapsed and convulsed, splattering blood and gore across the dusty earth.
I reloaded and looked through the sight again, my barrel smoking. The child ran into the next house and a woman opened the door and took her into her arms, slamming the door behind them.
The men spun around wildly, firing in all directions in a panic. Their wide eyes shone like glowing targets, illuminating the red haze I now saw before me. Bullet after bullet I sank into these “men”.
The Captain shouted on the radio repeatedly but was drowned out by the gunfire. Smoke and woodchips erupted around me as they zeroed in on my location. Suddenly firm hands threw me to the ground and held me there as more bullets destroyed the room. I tried to get back up but his grip held.
I heard more gunfire down below as we opened fire. Dull gunshots reverberated in the old wood of the attic and shook dust from the rafters. Brock pulled me to my feet and stared me hard in the eye before tossing me an M16.
I followed a few feet behind down the stairs. The firing grew louder and grew in intensity until I was beside my comrades.
Captain barked orders from behind cover as Brock dragged a bloodied Harris to the corner. Murphy was still by the backdoor, firing around the corner with Snickett and Emerrit holding down the front. Bullets whizzed past and exploded into the back walls and into our cover.
I dashed into the kitchen and pulled the stove out, followed by the refrigerator, until we had a barrier. Bullets pinged off the metal but it held.
I looked over at the captain who sat back down and covered his ears. A bright flash followed by an explosion followed. I reloaded my rifle and laid the barrel over the barrier, firing at any open shot. The clips went quickly as more and more sentries appeared.
I ducked as I caught attention and moved across the room to Snickett just as a bullet passed through his chest as he reared back to throw a grenade. He slipped away and fell beside the explosive.
It erupted amidst several of the attackers, as I threw myself to the ground after throwing it. Sand and gravel blew in through the window and filled our lungs.
I peered over the top and cried out as a RPG appeared out the window across the street. I leaped up and was thrown off my feet as the missile took out Emerrit and the front wall, debris and shrapnel colliding against my back.
I hit the back wall and slid to the ground as night enveloped the house.
A bleak beam of light shone through the night as my eyes opened. My eyes ached as my throbbing head hummed with a high pitched ringing. I opened them and saw daylight, with everyone just as they were: Brock attempting to find all the pieces to Emerrit, Snickett half buried in rubble, Murphy by the backdoor, the women in the door a few yards away of their home; however the Captain was not.
It was then that I realized I was moving, and looked up to see him dragging me across the living room as the commotion and mayhem of war returned in a sudden crescendo. Bullets rained down on us and the occasional explosion shook the house and our morale. It was then that another missile blasted through the kitchen and passed through the back wall. Flames scattered across the wooden floor and licked their way up the walls.
The Captain shouted something inaudible to Murphy on the other side of the flames, then as if in slow motion, his face contorted and a volley of bullets tore through his chest. A large crimson stain grew across his torso and dripped onto my face as he stumbled backwards and slid down the nearest wall. Brock ran to him then to me.
I couldn’t tear my eyes away from him as his blank gaze stared right at me.
Unsteadily I got to my feet. I looked around for my M16 and picked it up, running to cover as bullets tore apart the floorboards around me. Brock slid near me and fired over his cover with a .45. I stood and fired on the enemy, dropping two with headshots and a third to the chest. I saw two more jeeps outside the city and scowled at their reinforcements.
I looked at Brock who nodded and said a quick prayer before unpinning his last grenades and leaping over the gaping hole to the nearest jeep. An enormous fireball engulfed the street and another dozen lives were lost. A cold tingling grew up my spine and left me feeling hollow and numb. It was then that I felt the pain and knew I was still alive.
However it was also then that I knew this was temporary, and it was the lives of those less lived who deserved a chance.
I stood and walked to the stairs, bullets colliding into me, followed by a silence as I trudged up the stairs. Murphy watched in surprise and dropped his rifle. He spun around the corner and climbed through the windowsill to the women’s house.
I sat, Remington in my hands, and leaned back against the wall of the attic, awaiting my assailants. The gunfire was gone, the world a silent graveyard, and the sky mourned all those lost to their sister, Mother Earth’s children.
Slowly, the loud creaky steps of the stairs met my ears, and the men emerged in the darkness. I closed my eyes and lit a flare, blinding the men and tossed it down the stairs and opened fire.
The body pile grew so much that the attic floor near the stairs collapsed, and a hail of gunfire echoed downstairs through the hole and into me.
Being shot was nothing like I expected. The impact was breathtaking, but after that was bliss. A silent world of no pain, no fear, only understanding. I knew I was dying and my blood pooled below me and dripped through the attic floor, but it was my choice.
* * *
The Remington sniper rifle fell from the soldier’s hands and laid by his side loyally. His eyes passed through his life and found no regrets, slipping away. The men left him there and searched the house finding nothing but the deceased, and left it to be consumed by the flames.
The murderous men, having nearly four dozen casualties, headed back to their vehicles to continue the raid another day, and passed by Murphy as he held his breath within the women’s home. He hugged the women tightly and stepped back, relieved.
It was then that he noticed his colt within her hands. He stared at her in disbelief as she fired the gun he had taught her to shoot into his chest, emptying the magazine. His body was left there in the doorway in a stain to be remembered.
It is only when one accepts their fate and admits their life has been had, that one can die in peace and truly live.
A deep fear grew in the pit of my stomach and gnawed at the back of my mind. Wrapping my arms about me, I stepped to the window and grimaced.
Two jeeps and a stolen Humvee roared toward us about two miles away, barreling clouds of dust tailing them. The desert sand whirled suddenly in the chilling wind and whipped across my face, cracking my lips and stinging my eyes.
I stepped away from the window sill and turned my back to the breeze, leaning against the wall nearest me. It was this that let me know I was still alive. This pain was all that I felt, even with the cold numbing me.
I walked slowly into the other room and warily dropped into the sand covered sofa. Brock (our medic) was already sitting on the other end and grinned at me from the corner of his eye. He pointed with his thumb behind him toward the backdoor.
I followed his aim and stifled a chuckle.
Murphy was a few yards away, attempting to impress a few of the local women by teaching them to shoot his colt. The women giggled and whispered in Korean to one another as they took their turn aiming without any rounds, Murphy wrapping his arms around them and pressing into their backs with his body as he “steadied” their aim.
Brock looked up, catching my attention, as Captain Thomas stepped inside and shook the sand from his BDU’s. Without speaking, he conveyed to us they were nearly here. Brock stood and stretched, cracked his knuckles, and heaved his medical supplies to his back.
I did the same and found my Remington 700 right where I left it. I checked the scope, adjusting for long distance, and loaded the eight round magazines, placing the four remaining in my belt.
I walked to the backdoor and rapped my knuckles against the doorframe, signaling Murphy to put it away and come in. I could hear him muttering under his breath and swear, but he knew better than to defy the Captain’s orders.
I slung the rifle across my back and headed upstairs, each step a resounding thud up the old creaky wood. It was a large house about forty years old and made entirely of wood. Eight rooms including the kitchen and living room built it up. A single bulb was placed in each, however most were out as it was just nine in the morning.
The high sun shone bright, casting deep long shadows against the small town. The wind creating eerie creaks and squeals. The neighing of livestock contributed to the atmosphere.
I pulled down the small ladder to the attic and ascended them heavily, closing them behind me. The attic was a small room, maybe eight by nine feet. The room was dark and had no light, only the large window facing out. The light did not stream in, making an ideal perch, and instead hid me in shadow as I took aim.
The vehicles were already killed and the men around them. Screams echoed as women and children were fired on. The men laughed maniacally as they slaughtered their own people below.
A radio crackled and came to life to my left.
I lowered my rifle and grit my teeth, the command still burning in my skull.
Do not fire on targets until I give the command. That means you, Shepherd.
I sat in torture, silent and watching. It was the waiting that churned in my stomach and made me sick, not the fact none of us had had more than a single strip of dried beef to eat in the last four days. Gunfire resounded loudly and echoed off the small wooden houses, the air heavy with screams and gunpowder.
A steady breeze kicked up and small dust devils spiraled across the small fields in between homes. House after house, the murderers entered then exited, always with less ammo in their guns and more blood on their hands.
A flicker of hate shot though me.
I hated these men.
It had been six years since I last saw my family, my wife and daughter, and here these monsters are, destroying families of other men. Taking anything they ever had and turning it into something else.
They moved to a house closer.
How could they do this?
Another house closer.
Can I really sit by and watch this?
Another house closer.
The men moved into the next building, a small house, and left a few moments later, three shots still ringing in the air. Suddenly a small child leapt through the door, tears streaming its face and blood flecked across its pajamas. Its small red face shuddered and wrinkled as she wept and cried out. The men turned on her, smiling wickedly. AK 47’s raising slowly.
A single gunshot rang out, shattering the silence.
The body collapsed and convulsed, splattering blood and gore across the dusty earth.
I reloaded and looked through the sight again, my barrel smoking. The child ran into the next house and a woman opened the door and took her into her arms, slamming the door behind them.
The men spun around wildly, firing in all directions in a panic. Their wide eyes shone like glowing targets, illuminating the red haze I now saw before me. Bullet after bullet I sank into these “men”.
The Captain shouted on the radio repeatedly but was drowned out by the gunfire. Smoke and woodchips erupted around me as they zeroed in on my location. Suddenly firm hands threw me to the ground and held me there as more bullets destroyed the room. I tried to get back up but his grip held.
I heard more gunfire down below as we opened fire. Dull gunshots reverberated in the old wood of the attic and shook dust from the rafters. Brock pulled me to my feet and stared me hard in the eye before tossing me an M16.
I followed a few feet behind down the stairs. The firing grew louder and grew in intensity until I was beside my comrades.
Captain barked orders from behind cover as Brock dragged a bloodied Harris to the corner. Murphy was still by the backdoor, firing around the corner with Snickett and Emerrit holding down the front. Bullets whizzed past and exploded into the back walls and into our cover.
I dashed into the kitchen and pulled the stove out, followed by the refrigerator, until we had a barrier. Bullets pinged off the metal but it held.
I looked over at the captain who sat back down and covered his ears. A bright flash followed by an explosion followed. I reloaded my rifle and laid the barrel over the barrier, firing at any open shot. The clips went quickly as more and more sentries appeared.
I ducked as I caught attention and moved across the room to Snickett just as a bullet passed through his chest as he reared back to throw a grenade. He slipped away and fell beside the explosive.
It erupted amidst several of the attackers, as I threw myself to the ground after throwing it. Sand and gravel blew in through the window and filled our lungs.
I peered over the top and cried out as a RPG appeared out the window across the street. I leaped up and was thrown off my feet as the missile took out Emerrit and the front wall, debris and shrapnel colliding against my back.
I hit the back wall and slid to the ground as night enveloped the house.
A bleak beam of light shone through the night as my eyes opened. My eyes ached as my throbbing head hummed with a high pitched ringing. I opened them and saw daylight, with everyone just as they were: Brock attempting to find all the pieces to Emerrit, Snickett half buried in rubble, Murphy by the backdoor, the women in the door a few yards away of their home; however the Captain was not.
It was then that I realized I was moving, and looked up to see him dragging me across the living room as the commotion and mayhem of war returned in a sudden crescendo. Bullets rained down on us and the occasional explosion shook the house and our morale. It was then that another missile blasted through the kitchen and passed through the back wall. Flames scattered across the wooden floor and licked their way up the walls.
The Captain shouted something inaudible to Murphy on the other side of the flames, then as if in slow motion, his face contorted and a volley of bullets tore through his chest. A large crimson stain grew across his torso and dripped onto my face as he stumbled backwards and slid down the nearest wall. Brock ran to him then to me.
I couldn’t tear my eyes away from him as his blank gaze stared right at me.
Unsteadily I got to my feet. I looked around for my M16 and picked it up, running to cover as bullets tore apart the floorboards around me. Brock slid near me and fired over his cover with a .45. I stood and fired on the enemy, dropping two with headshots and a third to the chest. I saw two more jeeps outside the city and scowled at their reinforcements.
I looked at Brock who nodded and said a quick prayer before unpinning his last grenades and leaping over the gaping hole to the nearest jeep. An enormous fireball engulfed the street and another dozen lives were lost. A cold tingling grew up my spine and left me feeling hollow and numb. It was then that I felt the pain and knew I was still alive.
However it was also then that I knew this was temporary, and it was the lives of those less lived who deserved a chance.
I stood and walked to the stairs, bullets colliding into me, followed by a silence as I trudged up the stairs. Murphy watched in surprise and dropped his rifle. He spun around the corner and climbed through the windowsill to the women’s house.
I sat, Remington in my hands, and leaned back against the wall of the attic, awaiting my assailants. The gunfire was gone, the world a silent graveyard, and the sky mourned all those lost to their sister, Mother Earth’s children.
Slowly, the loud creaky steps of the stairs met my ears, and the men emerged in the darkness. I closed my eyes and lit a flare, blinding the men and tossed it down the stairs and opened fire.
The body pile grew so much that the attic floor near the stairs collapsed, and a hail of gunfire echoed downstairs through the hole and into me.
Being shot was nothing like I expected. The impact was breathtaking, but after that was bliss. A silent world of no pain, no fear, only understanding. I knew I was dying and my blood pooled below me and dripped through the attic floor, but it was my choice.
* * *
The Remington sniper rifle fell from the soldier’s hands and laid by his side loyally. His eyes passed through his life and found no regrets, slipping away. The men left him there and searched the house finding nothing but the deceased, and left it to be consumed by the flames.
The murderous men, having nearly four dozen casualties, headed back to their vehicles to continue the raid another day, and passed by Murphy as he held his breath within the women’s home. He hugged the women tightly and stepped back, relieved.
It was then that he noticed his colt within her hands. He stared at her in disbelief as she fired the gun he had taught her to shoot into his chest, emptying the magazine. His body was left there in the doorway in a stain to be remembered.
It is only when one accepts their fate and admits their life has been had, that one can die in peace and truly live.
Guardian - Chapter One
Chapter One: Awake
I hung there for countless hours, noose about my neck, the strain of the rope taught with my weight. I stared down at the stone floor below me by mere inches and felt so distant from it. Like I should never have stepped foot in this place. I wasn’t welcome here and I was the only one who knew it.
How could I remain in such an unforgiving nightmare?
I refute that. I wish this was a nightmare. One of the many gifts I had lost. How I longed to dream in my sleep. To not feel like I was always adrift in an endless slumber. I knew it was stupid of me. I didn’t require breathing nor sleep but I attempted both. I remained still in this pose for hours or even days, hoping beyond hope my immortality would dry up and the noose would suddenly take hold.
I looked sidelong to the window, the sun just rising. I stared at the purple sky and longed to jump so high I would float into the sun. Surely that would be enough to destroy me. Fire hurt as far as I could tell but I had long since forgotten pain. I was nothing. An empty shell feeding from the essence of other living beings. A leech.
I tore the rope from my neck and landed silently on my feet. I would’ve been a great neighbor if I hadn’t already cleared out the nearest apartments with my hissing and growling in frustration. My personality, my soul, was split. One half my human remains, like how to speak and use daily items. But the other more powerful half, the vampire in me, kept me more animalistic. If I wanted something I got it. If I needed something, I had it before I knew it was necessary.
Thankfully few ever came to me of their own will. Despite being beautiful I knew I projected an aura to stay away. And I was glad of it. Humans, as my food, not as people, held no interest to me as I had seen generations come and go. However, I had seen great strides in humanity in the last century and recognize them as the ruling class. Just not mine.
I left them to themselves and they left me alone in kind. I hadn’t spoken a word in over seven months and I had no intention of breaking it. But life as it seems, enjoys all too much breaking a man, or former man, to his limits.
At that moment, a chill wind blew down an alley and through my nostrils flared a cold, dark scent. The wavering smell of death lingering. A vampire. I knew it; there was no other smell like it. Another creature of the night with the prowess and knowledge of what I was. I stopped and looked down the alley.
It was empty, the usual brick walls on each side with the assortment of trash cans, a dumpster covered in graffiti, random detritus and newspapers. I breathed in more deeply. The scent was gone. I’d lost it so soon, maybe it was never there. My imagination after so many years was more powerful than any human brain on subject of their liking. One of the perks of being alive for hundreds of years I supposed.
I shrugged and walked down the sidewalk ahead of me. It was only a short trip to the supermarket where I would find some food. Maybe a nice worker or full course meal of a couple. Anything would suffice. Anything but a—
“Hello, mister.” A young child said, not even old enough to have lost all its teeth. He had shaggy brown hair flowing this way and that, and very pale skin. He looked sick. I looked down on him and tried to read his expression. His soft features seemed frozen, too angular. His eyes were very light with a dark ring around the iris and pupil. His lips were thin and translucent, no red in his cheeks.
It was then I saw his expression, scared, no, frightened. But brave. He was trying to show no fear yet ask for help in the same moment. I held humans with little interest other than my meals. They still fought wars despite all the evolution, and had grown no stronger physically nor mentally. All in all, humans were a very slow developing species. Slow learning and taking long to learn from mistakes. But this boy, he had something within I could not see, but understood.
He stared up at me, unafraid, questioning. His curious eyes stared into mine with a burning for something. But what? He opened his mouth again to speak.
“Mister?”
I stared at him a few seconds longer then cleared my throat, trying to remember the words of this language.
“Yes?”
“I was wondering. Well, I uh. I need some help.”
I contemplated the request I knew was coming and answered almost immediately.
“That is something for your parents to do. Are they here?” I looked past him feigning a search.
He looked side to side and dropped his gaze.
“No. They’re not anywhere anymore.”
“I see. Then, young orphan,” He winced at the name, “what is it you require from me?”
“I know what you are.” He said shortly, eyes boring into my chest. He was no more than four feet tall yet here he spoke openly to me, of nearly twice his size and dangerous, with no one to protect him. I was no more stunned by his words than by his actions.
“And what is that?”
“A Vampire.”
I smiled amusedly and patted him on the head. It was cold. I stepped back and looked into his face another time.
“As are you.”
He nodded.
“My mother and father both were, and when they had me, they left me in the church orphanage. That’s where they found me.”
He frowned and clenched a tiny fist I knew could crush steel.
“Who? Who found you?”
He looked up at me slowly, eyes meeting my piercing gaze steadily.
“The Hunters.”
I raised an eyebrow and implored further of the boy.
“The ones they called ‘Bears of the Cross.’”
I froze like a statue and looked down on him. Anyone on the street would have thought I really was a statue with my pale unmoving body as hard as diamond.
“Bearers of the Cross, you mean.” I contemplated this and noted it for later. “What do you mean they found you?”
“They took me from the orphanage, and put me in a car. They strapped all these things on my arms and legs, but I broke out of them. They said something about me being fresh and young. But I was too scared to hear more. I kicked and screamed and fought but they pulled out a gun and told me to keep quiet. I did.”
“Young man, do you not understand we are impervious to such things?”
“No. But they stopped anyway, brought me back and left me alone.”
Why would they bring him back? The Bearers of the Cross were an old league of vampire hunters, created by Van Helsing himself to destroy what his great grandfather had become and created. But then, we were both in numbers, great armies colliding in flashes of thunder and fire. Terrible weapons and powers were found within us all to further the other’s demise. But eventually, it was for naught. Too many were lost to the other, and after a while the collateral damage was too much. And the armies dissipated into the night and began only fending for themselves, protecting individual towns and the like. But I had not seen them in numerous decades.
“Young man,” I began but he stopped me.
“My name is Angel.”
“Angel,” I continued. “How is it you have come to find me?”
“I smelled you. I have never smelled something as similar as them. I thought maybe you were one of them come to find me. So I followed you.”
The boy is strong, but not strong enough. They will find him and destroy him like the spawn we are. I would not get involved. This was not my fight and not my time. My time was long ago just after my birthday..
“I’m sorry, Angel. But I would be of no assistance to you. I know not of their plans nor their desires and I wish not to become a target. Forgive me.”I stepped past him mercilessly and continued, not looking back to see him standing exactly where I knew he would be. I would leave, forget all about him, and return to my self-loathing days of suicide attempts and murder.
Yet, I could not shake from my mind’s eye, his face. His fallen angel’s face like the tears of a newborn, tore through me like nothing I had ever felt. His torn expression was excruciating and burned in me like the hellfire I was doomed to remain in.
I turned around to look where I knew he would be, but nothing remained, only a small impression the size of two small shoes in the sidewalk. His scent was gone, the smell already fading from mind, and I was free again. But was this really what I wanted?
My trip to the store went by slowly, gazing blindly at row after row of frozen meals and other foods I had forgotten the names of. I watched them pass as I followed my prey outside: a rather fat man who had I seen stealing. Once in the parking lot, I swept him up, too quickly for the cameras or anyone to see, and broke him upon the roof. My hunger appeased, I began the walk home, my mind in another world remembering a better time.
But each time I pressed my brain for more information, it instead presented the screenshots of Angel’s despair; testament of my soulless demeanor. Every moment I saw the boy’s young eyes staring back at me, I felt what little human left in me cry out. But that part of me was easily subdued to just a buzzing in the back of my mind.
It’s not as if I really had a choice in the matter. He was already in too deep, I would have sunk too if I had dived in after him. So I let him drown..
I stopped and stared up into the sky, hearing the inaudible drone of the onslaught fast approaching. I lingered there a moment longer, waiting. Then just as my patience was waning, the rain began to fall.
It thrummed against everything like the very world itself was shaking; the little pools its beading sweat from the effort. The sky became the same gray as my skin beneath it, and cried for our loss, shedding tears for the next four days. I remained outside to mourn as well. To mourn the loss of the young one I had condemned to die. I would have wept with the world if I had the ability. My tangible remorse coated my tongue in a bitter taste like ash. A reminder of what I would be and probably already was on the inside.
I hung in silence, starting over my vow, and listened to the thunder collide outside like the very heavens were falling. Maybe now I’ll actually get to see them.
I hung there for countless hours, noose about my neck, the strain of the rope taught with my weight. I stared down at the stone floor below me by mere inches and felt so distant from it. Like I should never have stepped foot in this place. I wasn’t welcome here and I was the only one who knew it.
How could I remain in such an unforgiving nightmare?
I refute that. I wish this was a nightmare. One of the many gifts I had lost. How I longed to dream in my sleep. To not feel like I was always adrift in an endless slumber. I knew it was stupid of me. I didn’t require breathing nor sleep but I attempted both. I remained still in this pose for hours or even days, hoping beyond hope my immortality would dry up and the noose would suddenly take hold.
I looked sidelong to the window, the sun just rising. I stared at the purple sky and longed to jump so high I would float into the sun. Surely that would be enough to destroy me. Fire hurt as far as I could tell but I had long since forgotten pain. I was nothing. An empty shell feeding from the essence of other living beings. A leech.
I tore the rope from my neck and landed silently on my feet. I would’ve been a great neighbor if I hadn’t already cleared out the nearest apartments with my hissing and growling in frustration. My personality, my soul, was split. One half my human remains, like how to speak and use daily items. But the other more powerful half, the vampire in me, kept me more animalistic. If I wanted something I got it. If I needed something, I had it before I knew it was necessary.
Thankfully few ever came to me of their own will. Despite being beautiful I knew I projected an aura to stay away. And I was glad of it. Humans, as my food, not as people, held no interest to me as I had seen generations come and go. However, I had seen great strides in humanity in the last century and recognize them as the ruling class. Just not mine.
I left them to themselves and they left me alone in kind. I hadn’t spoken a word in over seven months and I had no intention of breaking it. But life as it seems, enjoys all too much breaking a man, or former man, to his limits.
At that moment, a chill wind blew down an alley and through my nostrils flared a cold, dark scent. The wavering smell of death lingering. A vampire. I knew it; there was no other smell like it. Another creature of the night with the prowess and knowledge of what I was. I stopped and looked down the alley.
It was empty, the usual brick walls on each side with the assortment of trash cans, a dumpster covered in graffiti, random detritus and newspapers. I breathed in more deeply. The scent was gone. I’d lost it so soon, maybe it was never there. My imagination after so many years was more powerful than any human brain on subject of their liking. One of the perks of being alive for hundreds of years I supposed.
I shrugged and walked down the sidewalk ahead of me. It was only a short trip to the supermarket where I would find some food. Maybe a nice worker or full course meal of a couple. Anything would suffice. Anything but a—
“Hello, mister.” A young child said, not even old enough to have lost all its teeth. He had shaggy brown hair flowing this way and that, and very pale skin. He looked sick. I looked down on him and tried to read his expression. His soft features seemed frozen, too angular. His eyes were very light with a dark ring around the iris and pupil. His lips were thin and translucent, no red in his cheeks.
It was then I saw his expression, scared, no, frightened. But brave. He was trying to show no fear yet ask for help in the same moment. I held humans with little interest other than my meals. They still fought wars despite all the evolution, and had grown no stronger physically nor mentally. All in all, humans were a very slow developing species. Slow learning and taking long to learn from mistakes. But this boy, he had something within I could not see, but understood.
He stared up at me, unafraid, questioning. His curious eyes stared into mine with a burning for something. But what? He opened his mouth again to speak.
“Mister?”
I stared at him a few seconds longer then cleared my throat, trying to remember the words of this language.
“Yes?”
“I was wondering. Well, I uh. I need some help.”
I contemplated the request I knew was coming and answered almost immediately.
“That is something for your parents to do. Are they here?” I looked past him feigning a search.
He looked side to side and dropped his gaze.
“No. They’re not anywhere anymore.”
“I see. Then, young orphan,” He winced at the name, “what is it you require from me?”
“I know what you are.” He said shortly, eyes boring into my chest. He was no more than four feet tall yet here he spoke openly to me, of nearly twice his size and dangerous, with no one to protect him. I was no more stunned by his words than by his actions.
“And what is that?”
“A Vampire.”
I smiled amusedly and patted him on the head. It was cold. I stepped back and looked into his face another time.
“As are you.”
He nodded.
“My mother and father both were, and when they had me, they left me in the church orphanage. That’s where they found me.”
He frowned and clenched a tiny fist I knew could crush steel.
“Who? Who found you?”
He looked up at me slowly, eyes meeting my piercing gaze steadily.
“The Hunters.”
I raised an eyebrow and implored further of the boy.
“The ones they called ‘Bears of the Cross.’”
I froze like a statue and looked down on him. Anyone on the street would have thought I really was a statue with my pale unmoving body as hard as diamond.
“Bearers of the Cross, you mean.” I contemplated this and noted it for later. “What do you mean they found you?”
“They took me from the orphanage, and put me in a car. They strapped all these things on my arms and legs, but I broke out of them. They said something about me being fresh and young. But I was too scared to hear more. I kicked and screamed and fought but they pulled out a gun and told me to keep quiet. I did.”
“Young man, do you not understand we are impervious to such things?”
“No. But they stopped anyway, brought me back and left me alone.”
Why would they bring him back? The Bearers of the Cross were an old league of vampire hunters, created by Van Helsing himself to destroy what his great grandfather had become and created. But then, we were both in numbers, great armies colliding in flashes of thunder and fire. Terrible weapons and powers were found within us all to further the other’s demise. But eventually, it was for naught. Too many were lost to the other, and after a while the collateral damage was too much. And the armies dissipated into the night and began only fending for themselves, protecting individual towns and the like. But I had not seen them in numerous decades.
“Young man,” I began but he stopped me.
“My name is Angel.”
“Angel,” I continued. “How is it you have come to find me?”
“I smelled you. I have never smelled something as similar as them. I thought maybe you were one of them come to find me. So I followed you.”
The boy is strong, but not strong enough. They will find him and destroy him like the spawn we are. I would not get involved. This was not my fight and not my time. My time was long ago just after my birthday..
“I’m sorry, Angel. But I would be of no assistance to you. I know not of their plans nor their desires and I wish not to become a target. Forgive me.”I stepped past him mercilessly and continued, not looking back to see him standing exactly where I knew he would be. I would leave, forget all about him, and return to my self-loathing days of suicide attempts and murder.
Yet, I could not shake from my mind’s eye, his face. His fallen angel’s face like the tears of a newborn, tore through me like nothing I had ever felt. His torn expression was excruciating and burned in me like the hellfire I was doomed to remain in.
I turned around to look where I knew he would be, but nothing remained, only a small impression the size of two small shoes in the sidewalk. His scent was gone, the smell already fading from mind, and I was free again. But was this really what I wanted?
My trip to the store went by slowly, gazing blindly at row after row of frozen meals and other foods I had forgotten the names of. I watched them pass as I followed my prey outside: a rather fat man who had I seen stealing. Once in the parking lot, I swept him up, too quickly for the cameras or anyone to see, and broke him upon the roof. My hunger appeased, I began the walk home, my mind in another world remembering a better time.
But each time I pressed my brain for more information, it instead presented the screenshots of Angel’s despair; testament of my soulless demeanor. Every moment I saw the boy’s young eyes staring back at me, I felt what little human left in me cry out. But that part of me was easily subdued to just a buzzing in the back of my mind.
It’s not as if I really had a choice in the matter. He was already in too deep, I would have sunk too if I had dived in after him. So I let him drown..
I stopped and stared up into the sky, hearing the inaudible drone of the onslaught fast approaching. I lingered there a moment longer, waiting. Then just as my patience was waning, the rain began to fall.
It thrummed against everything like the very world itself was shaking; the little pools its beading sweat from the effort. The sky became the same gray as my skin beneath it, and cried for our loss, shedding tears for the next four days. I remained outside to mourn as well. To mourn the loss of the young one I had condemned to die. I would have wept with the world if I had the ability. My tangible remorse coated my tongue in a bitter taste like ash. A reminder of what I would be and probably already was on the inside.
I hung in silence, starting over my vow, and listened to the thunder collide outside like the very heavens were falling. Maybe now I’ll actually get to see them.
Guardian - Prologue
Little time left now, I thought.
I heeded no warning I had been given. I didn’t care. They couldn’t hurt me. Not really. So I would take their bullets and their fire, and turn it into something positive. It kept me human. Well, as human as someone like me could be.
The explosions were audible then. Loud roars and booming reverberations all down the bridge of the small ship were felt even through the swaying of the current. Gunfire painting the skies among the smoke and overcast clouds shone an ominous purple like the swelling of a bruise. It was all too easy. I knew exactly what I would do. I would move in, separate, and have my way with my enemies. It was simple enough and implausible to think of failing.
The front man began to turn the door crank.
I sucked in the cool, briny air, filling my dormant lungs.
The crank began to spin wildly on its own.
The smell of war filled me to the brim, blood wafting in the air, practically visible to my eyes.
Everything stopped and fell silent, my comrade humans about me frozen in mid-stride. Faces of terror staring out to the destroyed beach where the cannons stood with smoke in a still coil barreling from the ends. Hundreds of men were cast about, dead and fighting, all in one big bowl.
The door fell open with a loud thud as it splashed through the shallow beach into the sand. Instantly a barrage of bullets pummeled our exposed front. Men shouted and screamed as the frontline was instantly obliterated, torn to shreds in seconds. The latter group including myself, charged over the dead and onto the beach.
The sand was squishy and soaked as thoroughly with blood as it was the sea. Every step sucked down my heavy boots with my rifle on my back still unloaded. I jogged behind the others then as an explosion wreaked havoc on them, paced myself.
Through it and out, no witnesses.
I leaped through the explosion, seeming to take minutes to dissipate, and landed in the trench on the other side, unscathed. I barreled through the five foot deep walkway, head down and gun in my right hand only. I waited patiently, knowing it would be enough to fulfill my hunger. This was just. My attack would be much quicker than bullets causing them shock then bleeding them dry.
I saw the first.
I heaved my rifle at him in a single swipe, the barrel puncturing through his chest with the sound of a shovel slicing through wet dirt. He fell and was passed as I continued to the other larger groups. I fell upon them, silently, and within the time they had to take a breath all were gone. I took this time to feed upon one, still trying to squirm away, lifting him off his feet and holding him to my face, his eyes wide with terror reflected my face.
I paused. A hesitating moment of anxiety. I had never seen myself this way before. As a monster. I knew what I was and who I wanted to be, but the two never seemed to collide. My face was gaunt, high jutting cheekbones stretched across a pale white face, smooth as marble with the most breathtaking features any human would die for. And I did. But it was how they were twisted into a fiercesome demonic scowl like those painted on centuries old canvas.
I took a deep breath of the man’s open wounds then took him.
I tossed him limply aside and climbed up the trench to the battle. All around me were the dead, the beach a deep scarlet with fleshy mounds I knew were bodies scattered about like heaps of trash. A low cliff of maybe twenty feet stood to the north, several ‘pillboxes’ I’d heard them called atop them. I saw the men within firing their machine guns in a constant drone. I spun around to face them and in one movement, with a flick, unsheathed my knife and sent it whistling through the air and into the man on the right. It sunk in with a thump just as he fell over the front and descended down the cliff face.
The explosions grew in consistency and the proximity of each round to the other grew smaller and smaller. They were becoming desperate.
A small platoon of my comrades moved so slowly it seemed across the beach firing at the men on the cliff. I saw past them, more and more of them swarming like ants crawling up the shoe of a toddler. I watched, unphased as the bullets ricocheted off of my stone chest with a zing.
I was too enthralled with this. This march of man. I saw them with emotion I had long forgotten them capable of. Stunned and silent I watched in awe. They moved quickly but still too slow for my liking, a constant pressure up the beach. When one fell another took his place, filling in the gaps like cement in a crack. Their fury and rage were tangible and hung in the air like the rank scent of death and fire. All around the destruction were flickering globs of inferno, dancing wildly in the cold wind.
They swept over the battlefield in an indefinite stride of victory, knowing the battle was won. I stopped down to find the body of someone too far destroyed to be recognized and ripped my dog tags from my neck. I stared at them, feeling their smooth cold surface. Too cold. I tossed them down beside the corpse and in the blink of an eye was atop the cliff, running far from this place to find somewhere I should exist.
I heeded no warning I had been given. I didn’t care. They couldn’t hurt me. Not really. So I would take their bullets and their fire, and turn it into something positive. It kept me human. Well, as human as someone like me could be.
The explosions were audible then. Loud roars and booming reverberations all down the bridge of the small ship were felt even through the swaying of the current. Gunfire painting the skies among the smoke and overcast clouds shone an ominous purple like the swelling of a bruise. It was all too easy. I knew exactly what I would do. I would move in, separate, and have my way with my enemies. It was simple enough and implausible to think of failing.
The front man began to turn the door crank.
I sucked in the cool, briny air, filling my dormant lungs.
The crank began to spin wildly on its own.
The smell of war filled me to the brim, blood wafting in the air, practically visible to my eyes.
Everything stopped and fell silent, my comrade humans about me frozen in mid-stride. Faces of terror staring out to the destroyed beach where the cannons stood with smoke in a still coil barreling from the ends. Hundreds of men were cast about, dead and fighting, all in one big bowl.
The door fell open with a loud thud as it splashed through the shallow beach into the sand. Instantly a barrage of bullets pummeled our exposed front. Men shouted and screamed as the frontline was instantly obliterated, torn to shreds in seconds. The latter group including myself, charged over the dead and onto the beach.
The sand was squishy and soaked as thoroughly with blood as it was the sea. Every step sucked down my heavy boots with my rifle on my back still unloaded. I jogged behind the others then as an explosion wreaked havoc on them, paced myself.
Through it and out, no witnesses.
I leaped through the explosion, seeming to take minutes to dissipate, and landed in the trench on the other side, unscathed. I barreled through the five foot deep walkway, head down and gun in my right hand only. I waited patiently, knowing it would be enough to fulfill my hunger. This was just. My attack would be much quicker than bullets causing them shock then bleeding them dry.
I saw the first.
I heaved my rifle at him in a single swipe, the barrel puncturing through his chest with the sound of a shovel slicing through wet dirt. He fell and was passed as I continued to the other larger groups. I fell upon them, silently, and within the time they had to take a breath all were gone. I took this time to feed upon one, still trying to squirm away, lifting him off his feet and holding him to my face, his eyes wide with terror reflected my face.
I paused. A hesitating moment of anxiety. I had never seen myself this way before. As a monster. I knew what I was and who I wanted to be, but the two never seemed to collide. My face was gaunt, high jutting cheekbones stretched across a pale white face, smooth as marble with the most breathtaking features any human would die for. And I did. But it was how they were twisted into a fiercesome demonic scowl like those painted on centuries old canvas.
I took a deep breath of the man’s open wounds then took him.
I tossed him limply aside and climbed up the trench to the battle. All around me were the dead, the beach a deep scarlet with fleshy mounds I knew were bodies scattered about like heaps of trash. A low cliff of maybe twenty feet stood to the north, several ‘pillboxes’ I’d heard them called atop them. I saw the men within firing their machine guns in a constant drone. I spun around to face them and in one movement, with a flick, unsheathed my knife and sent it whistling through the air and into the man on the right. It sunk in with a thump just as he fell over the front and descended down the cliff face.
The explosions grew in consistency and the proximity of each round to the other grew smaller and smaller. They were becoming desperate.
A small platoon of my comrades moved so slowly it seemed across the beach firing at the men on the cliff. I saw past them, more and more of them swarming like ants crawling up the shoe of a toddler. I watched, unphased as the bullets ricocheted off of my stone chest with a zing.
I was too enthralled with this. This march of man. I saw them with emotion I had long forgotten them capable of. Stunned and silent I watched in awe. They moved quickly but still too slow for my liking, a constant pressure up the beach. When one fell another took his place, filling in the gaps like cement in a crack. Their fury and rage were tangible and hung in the air like the rank scent of death and fire. All around the destruction were flickering globs of inferno, dancing wildly in the cold wind.
They swept over the battlefield in an indefinite stride of victory, knowing the battle was won. I stopped down to find the body of someone too far destroyed to be recognized and ripped my dog tags from my neck. I stared at them, feeling their smooth cold surface. Too cold. I tossed them down beside the corpse and in the blink of an eye was atop the cliff, running far from this place to find somewhere I should exist.
Elemental - Chapter Two
Years passed slowly in the small town of Eyo, the boys from the orphanage nearly adults now. Marin who had regained all lost dignity and respect was still the biggest and often took his anger out on anyone smaller than himself, but was sure to leave Benj alone for fear of the other boy. Being the oldest, he was the first to begin elemental training and had been classified as an Earth Waker. He often showed off by juggling pebbles without touching them and attempting to lift boulders indirectly. They floated above his hands, the different techniques he had learned controlling them.
The others had received training as well and were novices in Water and Earth waking as was common. Only a young girl raised by her grandmother controlled Wind in the village. They all practiced together despite being forbidden to use them outside of class and tried one-upping one another daily.
Benj had kept a steady friendship with the stray boy for these last years and spent most of his time away with him in the woods where they played swords and axes, climbed the great oaks and raced. Benj had become quite strong with the other boy’s help and finished work early each day to return to the forest, eager for the next day of play.
He had just finished his eight rows of planting when their Lady approached them.
“Boys, listen closely now.” She composed herself and smiled, clapping her hands together. “The youngest of you has just turned past the age of requirement, meaning he will begin his training as well. As with the last three to pass the age, I must once again remind you, it is forbidden to use your waking outside of class. Are we understood?”
All the boys nodded and laughed before returning to work. Their Lady sighed and shook her head.
“Thank the Greater none of them are fire wakers. It’s the most dangerous. I could only imagine..” She rambled on to herself about the village being burned down and the world dying as Benj looked to the others for instructions.
“Go to the schoolhouse on the right, to the far edge of town. Talk to Master Rumm to be tested for your element and assigned to an Elder. Good luck.” Serin said, pointing north. Benj’s heart raced as he ran full speed the three miles to town and through the door of the schoolhouse. He arrived panting and sweating, his face red and hair tangled. He brushed it back and wiped his brow on his sleeve. Master Rumm looked up and smiled.
“Ah, Benj. I wondered when I would see you. Have a seat.” Benj did as he was told and looked around the school. It was a single room schoolhouse and had a lighter yew colored wood inside and many windows. Sunlight streamed through and warmed the room to a comfortable level. The ceiling was painted as the night sky and the planets were illuminated with various rocks stuck to their surface. Several rows of seats sat in the room facing Rumm’s cluttered desk. A silver bowl sat there filled to the brim with water beside an unlit candle and stone.
“Let me see your hands.” Benj presented his hands to Rumm who turned them over after several moments of intent searching and studying. He made various ahhs and ohhs but never spoke above a whisper to himself. His rough hands were like shale and his face weathered and cracked like a sea side cliff. His hair was gray around the edges like ocean foam and his eyes were a deep blue.
“You have very strong bones and a firm grip, wide fingers and a square palm. Yet you are compassionate and share.” Rumm stopped and pondered for a moment. “Look here ma’ boy.”
He placed the pebble in Benj’s hand. Its’ surface was smooth and green like jade, but the stone was surprisingly heavy for being the size of a snail shell.
“Think about the stone. Concentrate like you can read it like a book. Imagine it had secrets to tell and try to extract them like squeezing water from a sponge. While you do this, move your hand upward like this, fingers pressed into a tight fist with your thumb out.”
“Like this?”
“Perfect. Here we go.”
Benj stared at the stone, watching it twitch in his palm as his heartbeat shook his balance. He eyed the jade glossy surface and seemed to lose track of time. The rock was there, and he was there, and that was all. Except. Something else was there too. Something he couldn’t see or smell. But he knew it was there all the same. He looked past the rock then to the bowl of water and watched its’ reflective surface, watched as it shone in the light and glistened, watched as it flexed and raised up from the bowl in a shimmering orb levitating from the bowl by several inches.
He sat up startled and the orb collapsed into the bowl, splashing across Rumm’s desk and lap. Benj shook his head and stood in an attempt to help.
“Im. Im sorry, sir, I didn’t mean to.”
“It’s fine son, its fine. I should have been paying better attention to it rather than you. I could’ve caught it, but it’s nothing.” He stood, Benj following him outside. “So, fellow Water Waker, are you ready to learn? Your training begins tomorrow at eleven o’ clock.”
Benj’s heart jumped and he nodded erratically. He had waited anxiously for this moment his entire life. He thanked Rumm hurriedly and ran off to the woods to tell his one friend. But as he arrived he saw the woods were silent and the sun was low. He pondered how long he had been inside as he sat on a stump and scratched his chin. He was so excited before he now seemed exhausted, his eyelids drooping lazily.
“Maybe it was the water waking.” He said finally before leaning against a tree and nodding off. The other boy dropped from the tree and laughed before leaving his friend in peace.
The other boy walked slowly, kicking dust up with his heels. He had nowhere to be, no family, no home, no boss. He was his own man as far he was concerned, and being as such; decided to go hunting to appease his stomach. The angry rumbles aside, he was silent in the tops of the tallest oak, waiting for movement below. An adept climber, he ascended yet higher in wait.
Maybe I’ll bag a nice hare or sparrow. He thought as he slipped his sling from his belt. He placed a stone as wide as his palm within, his long thin fingers curling around it. He held it at his side ready to swing, and began to count the new moons he had seen. After deciding he was about the age of sixteen, counting from when he knew for sure he was nine, he decided also he was not a Waker of any sort and was glad he had grown up using tools and weapons. It was an easy existence he decided.
Eager to catch something, he stretched his neck up, his long limbs craning to hold himself out from the tree. The branches he clung to leaned dangerously several feet from the others and threatened to snap, but the oak was strong and held. The boy stood then, perilously balanced on the treetop in which to see further. Something caught his eye.
What in the world is that? A bright light was off in the distance about four miles away, something wavering and alive. He leaned closer and wished he had the sight of an eagle. A foreboding smell wafted up to him, a heavy musk like scent he often smelled around dusk.
Fire.
Just then his head swam and his legs shook. His grip slackened and slid from the branch with a gash across his palms. The boy fell, plummeting through the bramble and forestry, hitting branches against every part of his body and scraping down the tree bark. He landed hard on his back, knocking the wind out of him and his consciousness with it. He lay there in a mound of snapped branches and brush, hidden from sight as Benj walked past, just having woken from his nap. He didn’t see his friend and hurried home, realizing how late it had become. The sun was setting behind the mountains and the moon was high in the sky, painting the forest in pale light like a ghost.
Benj ran past the phantom trees and ghastly shadows, his fear growing with every trail he took. He ran faster and faster until his home was in sight. He laughed then and slowed to a walk, chuckling at his own stupidity.
“What would I have to be scared of in those woods?” He said as he entered the house and struck up a conversation to avoid suspicion.
“So it turns out I’m a Water Waker.” He said to no one in particular. The other boys continued eating but a few smiled as they were too. Benj sat and poured himself a bowl of soup, eyeing the liquid.
Maybe I could manage to..
“I wouldn’t try it, Benj. It’ll spill all over you and it’s still hot.” Another boy interrupted his thoughts. Benj looked down glumly and picked up his spoon. He ate silently and thought of different places he could practice without the others noticing. He finished last and walked outside to the games allowed only in the backyard after the sun had set. Several torches lit the yard around the sides and a campfire crackled in the center. Merin shot several pebbles into it as the other boys followed suit.
“Hey, Benj, over here!” The boy from before called. Benj approached them slowly with a surprised expression. “Ready to practice?” He said to him.
“Yeah, uh, sure, Kanan. You guys are all Water Wakers too?” Benj asked hopefully. The four boys nodded then frowned at the others.
“Yep, just us. Not like the eleven Earth Wakers they’ve got though.”
“Oh well, just means we’re special.”
“Yeah, you are special.” Kanan teased. He removed a gourd from his tunic and poured it into a small hole. “Just levitate it in the air and try to hold it for as long as you can.”
Benj shrugged and began to concentrate. He clenched his jaw, gritting his teeth, and did as Rumm had showed him with his hands. Slowly, everything around him began to disappear one by one. In the end, only the water stood before him floating in a black astral plane. The world had vanished leaving him to his plans.
He focused on its smooth glassy surface as it began to warp, bubbling, then rose slowly above the hole. It floated gently then bobbed, only to be recovered by Benj, and ascended steadily. The process took several minutes and after the glistening orb had risen to the height of the house, Benj could hold it no longer. He began to lower it, sweating with the strain, when a pebble flew through the fire and into his calf. He cried out in surprise and pain as it burned into his flesh, blackening the bruise. The water soared into the air and rained down on the campfire, extinguishing it.
Merin roared with laughter then spat.
“Look what you did, speck! I hope you’re a Fire Waker, ‘cause that fire better be lit before I get to you.” Merin began walking toward Benj, fists clenched. His arms were much wider now and his muscles pronounced. His chest was broad and he stood taller than all the orphans by half-a-head. His face was distorted in a vicious scowl and his eyes black as the night.
Benj ducked a swing and rolled away from him. Merin followed and kicked at him, missing again. Benj backed away from him until he hit the house, the back of his head throbbing from the force. Merin snickered menacingly and reared back. Benj squeezed his eyes shut and fell to the ground. Merin threw his fist forward, smashing into the wall of the house where Benj’s head had been, and cursed profusely, slinging word after word in seemingly no order.
“That’s it you little piss ant!” Merin screamed and raised his broken hand and his good fist into the air, and suddenly, waved them up then down. A rock buried itself in the wall beside Benj with a thud. Benj yelled and ran as rocks and pebbles hurled themselves after him. Benj dared not cry as the objects stung him like fire and left whelps as large as his eyes.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Merin called behind him and grabbed him roughly by the collar, ramming his knee into Benj’s gut. “Your little friend aint’ gonna’ save you now.” He said and threw Benj to the ground. By now the other boys were protesting Merin’s advances and began to wish their Lady were back from town.
Benj began to cry now, tears streaming down his face as he felt his body burning with pain. Various whelps had burst to bleeding sores and his thrashed torso cried in anguish with every breath. He wiped his tears away and looked at them.
Suddenly Merin howled in pain, his arm bleeding from a thin slice of skin. He grabbed it with his broken hand and cringed again. He looked from it to Benj and back. Benj stood, his tears floating around his hand, and sang through the air again to Merin’s flesh. Each teardrop left a thin cut behind its’ travel and whistled away into the darkness. Merin clutched at his bleeding arms which were dripping to his pants now, and cried as he fell against the wall, sobbing.
Benj staggered then and collapsed, exhausted from the waking and fainted into the dirt.
The others had received training as well and were novices in Water and Earth waking as was common. Only a young girl raised by her grandmother controlled Wind in the village. They all practiced together despite being forbidden to use them outside of class and tried one-upping one another daily.
Benj had kept a steady friendship with the stray boy for these last years and spent most of his time away with him in the woods where they played swords and axes, climbed the great oaks and raced. Benj had become quite strong with the other boy’s help and finished work early each day to return to the forest, eager for the next day of play.
He had just finished his eight rows of planting when their Lady approached them.
“Boys, listen closely now.” She composed herself and smiled, clapping her hands together. “The youngest of you has just turned past the age of requirement, meaning he will begin his training as well. As with the last three to pass the age, I must once again remind you, it is forbidden to use your waking outside of class. Are we understood?”
All the boys nodded and laughed before returning to work. Their Lady sighed and shook her head.
“Thank the Greater none of them are fire wakers. It’s the most dangerous. I could only imagine..” She rambled on to herself about the village being burned down and the world dying as Benj looked to the others for instructions.
“Go to the schoolhouse on the right, to the far edge of town. Talk to Master Rumm to be tested for your element and assigned to an Elder. Good luck.” Serin said, pointing north. Benj’s heart raced as he ran full speed the three miles to town and through the door of the schoolhouse. He arrived panting and sweating, his face red and hair tangled. He brushed it back and wiped his brow on his sleeve. Master Rumm looked up and smiled.
“Ah, Benj. I wondered when I would see you. Have a seat.” Benj did as he was told and looked around the school. It was a single room schoolhouse and had a lighter yew colored wood inside and many windows. Sunlight streamed through and warmed the room to a comfortable level. The ceiling was painted as the night sky and the planets were illuminated with various rocks stuck to their surface. Several rows of seats sat in the room facing Rumm’s cluttered desk. A silver bowl sat there filled to the brim with water beside an unlit candle and stone.
“Let me see your hands.” Benj presented his hands to Rumm who turned them over after several moments of intent searching and studying. He made various ahhs and ohhs but never spoke above a whisper to himself. His rough hands were like shale and his face weathered and cracked like a sea side cliff. His hair was gray around the edges like ocean foam and his eyes were a deep blue.
“You have very strong bones and a firm grip, wide fingers and a square palm. Yet you are compassionate and share.” Rumm stopped and pondered for a moment. “Look here ma’ boy.”
He placed the pebble in Benj’s hand. Its’ surface was smooth and green like jade, but the stone was surprisingly heavy for being the size of a snail shell.
“Think about the stone. Concentrate like you can read it like a book. Imagine it had secrets to tell and try to extract them like squeezing water from a sponge. While you do this, move your hand upward like this, fingers pressed into a tight fist with your thumb out.”
“Like this?”
“Perfect. Here we go.”
Benj stared at the stone, watching it twitch in his palm as his heartbeat shook his balance. He eyed the jade glossy surface and seemed to lose track of time. The rock was there, and he was there, and that was all. Except. Something else was there too. Something he couldn’t see or smell. But he knew it was there all the same. He looked past the rock then to the bowl of water and watched its’ reflective surface, watched as it shone in the light and glistened, watched as it flexed and raised up from the bowl in a shimmering orb levitating from the bowl by several inches.
He sat up startled and the orb collapsed into the bowl, splashing across Rumm’s desk and lap. Benj shook his head and stood in an attempt to help.
“Im. Im sorry, sir, I didn’t mean to.”
“It’s fine son, its fine. I should have been paying better attention to it rather than you. I could’ve caught it, but it’s nothing.” He stood, Benj following him outside. “So, fellow Water Waker, are you ready to learn? Your training begins tomorrow at eleven o’ clock.”
Benj’s heart jumped and he nodded erratically. He had waited anxiously for this moment his entire life. He thanked Rumm hurriedly and ran off to the woods to tell his one friend. But as he arrived he saw the woods were silent and the sun was low. He pondered how long he had been inside as he sat on a stump and scratched his chin. He was so excited before he now seemed exhausted, his eyelids drooping lazily.
“Maybe it was the water waking.” He said finally before leaning against a tree and nodding off. The other boy dropped from the tree and laughed before leaving his friend in peace.
The other boy walked slowly, kicking dust up with his heels. He had nowhere to be, no family, no home, no boss. He was his own man as far he was concerned, and being as such; decided to go hunting to appease his stomach. The angry rumbles aside, he was silent in the tops of the tallest oak, waiting for movement below. An adept climber, he ascended yet higher in wait.
Maybe I’ll bag a nice hare or sparrow. He thought as he slipped his sling from his belt. He placed a stone as wide as his palm within, his long thin fingers curling around it. He held it at his side ready to swing, and began to count the new moons he had seen. After deciding he was about the age of sixteen, counting from when he knew for sure he was nine, he decided also he was not a Waker of any sort and was glad he had grown up using tools and weapons. It was an easy existence he decided.
Eager to catch something, he stretched his neck up, his long limbs craning to hold himself out from the tree. The branches he clung to leaned dangerously several feet from the others and threatened to snap, but the oak was strong and held. The boy stood then, perilously balanced on the treetop in which to see further. Something caught his eye.
What in the world is that? A bright light was off in the distance about four miles away, something wavering and alive. He leaned closer and wished he had the sight of an eagle. A foreboding smell wafted up to him, a heavy musk like scent he often smelled around dusk.
Fire.
Just then his head swam and his legs shook. His grip slackened and slid from the branch with a gash across his palms. The boy fell, plummeting through the bramble and forestry, hitting branches against every part of his body and scraping down the tree bark. He landed hard on his back, knocking the wind out of him and his consciousness with it. He lay there in a mound of snapped branches and brush, hidden from sight as Benj walked past, just having woken from his nap. He didn’t see his friend and hurried home, realizing how late it had become. The sun was setting behind the mountains and the moon was high in the sky, painting the forest in pale light like a ghost.
Benj ran past the phantom trees and ghastly shadows, his fear growing with every trail he took. He ran faster and faster until his home was in sight. He laughed then and slowed to a walk, chuckling at his own stupidity.
“What would I have to be scared of in those woods?” He said as he entered the house and struck up a conversation to avoid suspicion.
“So it turns out I’m a Water Waker.” He said to no one in particular. The other boys continued eating but a few smiled as they were too. Benj sat and poured himself a bowl of soup, eyeing the liquid.
Maybe I could manage to..
“I wouldn’t try it, Benj. It’ll spill all over you and it’s still hot.” Another boy interrupted his thoughts. Benj looked down glumly and picked up his spoon. He ate silently and thought of different places he could practice without the others noticing. He finished last and walked outside to the games allowed only in the backyard after the sun had set. Several torches lit the yard around the sides and a campfire crackled in the center. Merin shot several pebbles into it as the other boys followed suit.
“Hey, Benj, over here!” The boy from before called. Benj approached them slowly with a surprised expression. “Ready to practice?” He said to him.
“Yeah, uh, sure, Kanan. You guys are all Water Wakers too?” Benj asked hopefully. The four boys nodded then frowned at the others.
“Yep, just us. Not like the eleven Earth Wakers they’ve got though.”
“Oh well, just means we’re special.”
“Yeah, you are special.” Kanan teased. He removed a gourd from his tunic and poured it into a small hole. “Just levitate it in the air and try to hold it for as long as you can.”
Benj shrugged and began to concentrate. He clenched his jaw, gritting his teeth, and did as Rumm had showed him with his hands. Slowly, everything around him began to disappear one by one. In the end, only the water stood before him floating in a black astral plane. The world had vanished leaving him to his plans.
He focused on its smooth glassy surface as it began to warp, bubbling, then rose slowly above the hole. It floated gently then bobbed, only to be recovered by Benj, and ascended steadily. The process took several minutes and after the glistening orb had risen to the height of the house, Benj could hold it no longer. He began to lower it, sweating with the strain, when a pebble flew through the fire and into his calf. He cried out in surprise and pain as it burned into his flesh, blackening the bruise. The water soared into the air and rained down on the campfire, extinguishing it.
Merin roared with laughter then spat.
“Look what you did, speck! I hope you’re a Fire Waker, ‘cause that fire better be lit before I get to you.” Merin began walking toward Benj, fists clenched. His arms were much wider now and his muscles pronounced. His chest was broad and he stood taller than all the orphans by half-a-head. His face was distorted in a vicious scowl and his eyes black as the night.
Benj ducked a swing and rolled away from him. Merin followed and kicked at him, missing again. Benj backed away from him until he hit the house, the back of his head throbbing from the force. Merin snickered menacingly and reared back. Benj squeezed his eyes shut and fell to the ground. Merin threw his fist forward, smashing into the wall of the house where Benj’s head had been, and cursed profusely, slinging word after word in seemingly no order.
“That’s it you little piss ant!” Merin screamed and raised his broken hand and his good fist into the air, and suddenly, waved them up then down. A rock buried itself in the wall beside Benj with a thud. Benj yelled and ran as rocks and pebbles hurled themselves after him. Benj dared not cry as the objects stung him like fire and left whelps as large as his eyes.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Merin called behind him and grabbed him roughly by the collar, ramming his knee into Benj’s gut. “Your little friend aint’ gonna’ save you now.” He said and threw Benj to the ground. By now the other boys were protesting Merin’s advances and began to wish their Lady were back from town.
Benj began to cry now, tears streaming down his face as he felt his body burning with pain. Various whelps had burst to bleeding sores and his thrashed torso cried in anguish with every breath. He wiped his tears away and looked at them.
Suddenly Merin howled in pain, his arm bleeding from a thin slice of skin. He grabbed it with his broken hand and cringed again. He looked from it to Benj and back. Benj stood, his tears floating around his hand, and sang through the air again to Merin’s flesh. Each teardrop left a thin cut behind its’ travel and whistled away into the darkness. Merin clutched at his bleeding arms which were dripping to his pants now, and cried as he fell against the wall, sobbing.
Benj staggered then and collapsed, exhausted from the waking and fainted into the dirt.
Elemental - Chapter Three
The morning found the other boy under the bramble and brush, just waking from his paralysis. His entire body was covered in cuts and scratches and his face was bruised severely. His legs had long scrapes just scabbing over and his hands and feet were torn. He was splintered like a porcupine and beaten from his own ignorance. He stood slowly, swaying and shaking, and had to rest against the tree. He leaned against it, cursing its’ very existence, and hobbled down the trail, trying to ignore the pain.
He could recall the accident but not why he was there in the first place.
I remember looking for food, and climbing higher and higher. But then what? He walked slowly, not wanting to upset his wounds, and wracked his brain for thought. He remembered seeing something, something calling him to climb higher against his better judgment. He knew it was important, vitally so. But he could not remember.
He breathed deeply of the forest air to calm himself when his heart skipped a beat. It was not the fresh honey smell he had grown up with, but a smell he knew to fear.
Smoke. It was a fire! That’s what it was! He took off; racing through the trees at his maximum speed in spite of his scabs cracking, oozing blood. He willed himself not to stop, holding himself responsible if the forest was burned down to the south. He moved faster and faster, winding through trails and paths only he knew. He braced himself for a scolding but nothing could have prepared him for what he found.
He came to the main gate of Eyo, a large wooden doorway painted white and gold, carved vines embroidering it. But this day as he found it, was charred black. The vines were gone and the colors evaporated. Behind it, great pillars of smoke plumed into the sky as midnight clouds. The stained horizon was horrific and stunning at the same time. The boy dropped to his knees, empty, and prayed for those lost. But just as all his hope had vanished he heard screams.
Instantly he barreled in their direction, any attempt not made was unforgivable he decided and sped past the smoldering buildings and homes. The cottages were already destroyed and the stone shoppes were blackened and smoking. But as he went the structures were less destroyed and more recent, the last dozen still burning.
He found them. Two men wearing simple black garb stood around several women from the town. The men laughed and smiled deviously as they closed in on them. The men were not wakers and were simple bandits as they carried bags of loot on their backs and wore emblems to signify which clan they were from. Their simple swords and axes were tarnished and chipped and their clothing in as fair condition as his own.
The boy wondered why they were there but wasted no time asking questions and tackled the nearest man. They fell in a heap, struggling and kicking, the others swinging at them with their hands and feet. The boy ignored the strikes and continued to attack the men, punching and kicking as furiously as he could muster. The women ran, enraging the men who pulled the boy off their partner and tossed him aside.
“This un’s mine.” The man said as he wiped blood from his busted lip, the other holding the boys’ arms back. The man began punching him in his exposed stomach and face, cruelly beating him defenselessly. The boy dropped but was held up by the larger bandit as the smaller continued on him. The boy refused to cry and gritted his teeth in concentration, ignoring the pain and numbing his body. Twice he thought he had blacked out in doing so.
After several minutes of this the bandit dropped him.
“Let’s just kill ‘em already.”
“Why? And give him an easy way outta’ hittin’ me? I don’t think so.” He removed his dagger from its sheath and approached the boy sprawled out in the grass. He gripped the boy’s hair and leaned his head back, neck and face exposed. “No, I won’t kill ‘em yet.”
And with that, he drug the blade down the boy’s face from his left temple to his right jaw, across his nose and left eye. The boy fell in a heap as the waves of pain crashed against him, the current pounding him into the ground. He clawed at his face to make it stop but the blood continued pulsing across his face until he was drenched. The bandits left then and followed the women, continuing to burn the village.
“We’ll be back for you, punk!” The smaller one called over his shoulder as he tossed a torch behind him, landing just inches from the stained boy. His shoulder heaved as he gasped for ragged breaths that tore at his throat and burned his lungs. The fire caught his blood and smelled of death immediately. The boy recoiled from it and struggled to move away from it.
“Damn it, damn it, damn it!” He roared as he ripped his shirt off and tied it across his head, covering his wounded eye as well. He ran to the well and pulled up a bucket throwing it on the torch then the rest on himself. He looked down at his reflection, the massacre he was, and cursed himself for his brashness.
“How the hell am I going to fight them when I’m too busy getting thrown to the ground?” He asked aloud and kicked at the dirt. A sharp pain shot through his toe as it hit something solid. He cursed and looked at the object. It was a sword, the hilt pointing to him with the blade beneath a pile of burning rubble. He stooped down and pulled it out, dropping it as he did. The now freed sword was as hot as coals and the handle burned his palm to its design. He watched as the bright red serpent on his hand turned white and blistered. He removed the right glove off a body nearby and took the sword, inspecting it.
It was a long sword with a two handed hilt, the pommel silver and the hand guard white gold. It gleamed in the sunlight scintillatingly and faintly glowed orange from the fire’s heat. The boy took this advantage and rushed after the bandits, his body screaming in protest with every step. The weight of the sword slowed him but heartened him the same. He rounded the corner to the far side of town when he found them.
A single house was left, all the villagers crammed inside as the men stood around it, trying to fend off the bandits. Pitchforks, axes, and any tool they could find were brandished defiantly. The bandits were outnumbered but had the advantage of surrounding them with better weapons. The battle was just starting when the boy entered the fray, keeping away from all but his target. He watched in horror as blood was spilled and the cries of pain were silenced, his stomach twisting. He found the bandit who had beaten him just as he beheaded a farmer the boy once knew.
All time seemed to slow; the battle moving like sap. The boy hurtled past the oncoming attackers easily and advanced on the one man he saw clearly. He raised his sword, knowing it was still scalding, and drove it through the man’s back and out his chest in a spray of blood.
The boy left the sword impaled in the man at a crude angle and vomited into the grass. His heaving was met with both redemption and regret, a sour taste in his mouth from not only his last meal’s reappearance. He returned to the bandit, who sat on his knees, hands wrapped around the protruding blade in his chest, eyes wide and glazed and face as pale as salt. The boy stared at him a second longer before removing the sword with a sickening slurp.
The broken body toppled over and was left behind as the boy continued to fight. All around him were the only people he had ever known, the closest he ever had to a family. He would protect them to the best of his abilities, even in death. He heaved up his bloodied sword and watched the others, waiting for an opportunity before entering a fight. He felled two men with the farmers and another with a student. But despite their efforts the bandits continued to pile in, always one to take the last’s place.
Rumm appeared then, his gray hair and wrinkled skin seeming to age by the second. He parted his feet and bent his knees to a low crouch, then, swinging his right foot up to his head, brought it down to the ground and swung his arms away from each other like brushing away tall grass. Instantly, the ground shook and exploded beneath the men as the springs nearby were pulled through it. The water shone like crystals as it erupted through their ranks, shimmering and majestic as it spiraled and pulled into the sky. The geysers threw the men high into the air, Rumm freezing the water with a breath, petrifying the water as it formed and made a wide bowl connected to a slide facing a burning building. The men hit the ice with a crunch and were funneled into the flames they started.
Instantly Rumm threw the ice over the windows to muffle the agonizing screams.
“Gather the dead and bring the wounded into the schoolhouse. Quickly!” He called before rushing off. The boy stood there, motionless as he absorbed everything that had passed. The ice had already melted and the building had collapsed, smoldering like a thousand coals, and the town fared no better. In every direction lay fire and destruction, death at every turn and blood soaked into the grass and spongy dirt. The smell of burning flesh hung heavy in the air as the smoke stained the sky black and the clouds pulled together to rain around it.
The steady drizzle made it final, to the boy. It was the tell-tell sign of a new beginning, a rebirth. This was the town’s death, and now to begin anew after baptism. He surveyed the surroundings, all the old shops and homes steaming as they roasted, the dozens of bodies lying wasted and bloodied, soaked in the rain. He couldn’t shake from his mind the faces of all those around him, both dead and living. This was horror, he decided. This was hell and the fire its servant.
He stopped thinking of it all, too much to handle, and began working to keep himself busy. He helped pull a cart of the dead to the schoolhouse and carried the children inside. He watched the room fill cartful by cartful until it was packed to the brim of the crying and dying, sick and bloodied. Children and women alike were among the men and all wept for the lost. Over twenty had been declared dead with twelve more missing, twice those figures in wounded.
Rumm approached him then.
“You there, I saw you fight. I had expected you to run and hide as the others, but there you were. I know you are a close friend of Benj’s, so I bring it upon myself to tell you.” His voice strained and his face frowned, staring at the ground below. “He is of the missing. All his brothers are accounted for but he is gone. Do you know where he may have been?”
The boy cursed himself in his mind for not thinking of Benj sooner.
“He was in the woods sleeping. I was in the tree hunting when I saw them.” He stopped and fought with himself not to yell. “But I fell, and was lost in darkness while they came. It’s my fault this happened.”
“You knew? You saw them coming?”
“Yes.”
Rumm looked at the boy then, eyes hard and set. Their once liquid blue seemed frozen.
“Leave, orphan. You have brought us a curse and bring us no relief with your presence!” He swept his hand up to point to the wilderness past his shoulder. He leaned in close and stared into the boy’s eyes. “Leave and never return no-name.”
Without a word or look back the boy was gone, running faster than he thought possible. The remains of the town were a blur as his mind set on leaving only. He ran, longer and longer, through the trees and across the hills. He leaped over rivers and streams without hesitation and wound down valleys and plateaus stretching as far as the eye could see. The boy disappeared before anyone would realize he was gone, for no one would.
He could recall the accident but not why he was there in the first place.
I remember looking for food, and climbing higher and higher. But then what? He walked slowly, not wanting to upset his wounds, and wracked his brain for thought. He remembered seeing something, something calling him to climb higher against his better judgment. He knew it was important, vitally so. But he could not remember.
He breathed deeply of the forest air to calm himself when his heart skipped a beat. It was not the fresh honey smell he had grown up with, but a smell he knew to fear.
Smoke. It was a fire! That’s what it was! He took off; racing through the trees at his maximum speed in spite of his scabs cracking, oozing blood. He willed himself not to stop, holding himself responsible if the forest was burned down to the south. He moved faster and faster, winding through trails and paths only he knew. He braced himself for a scolding but nothing could have prepared him for what he found.
He came to the main gate of Eyo, a large wooden doorway painted white and gold, carved vines embroidering it. But this day as he found it, was charred black. The vines were gone and the colors evaporated. Behind it, great pillars of smoke plumed into the sky as midnight clouds. The stained horizon was horrific and stunning at the same time. The boy dropped to his knees, empty, and prayed for those lost. But just as all his hope had vanished he heard screams.
Instantly he barreled in their direction, any attempt not made was unforgivable he decided and sped past the smoldering buildings and homes. The cottages were already destroyed and the stone shoppes were blackened and smoking. But as he went the structures were less destroyed and more recent, the last dozen still burning.
He found them. Two men wearing simple black garb stood around several women from the town. The men laughed and smiled deviously as they closed in on them. The men were not wakers and were simple bandits as they carried bags of loot on their backs and wore emblems to signify which clan they were from. Their simple swords and axes were tarnished and chipped and their clothing in as fair condition as his own.
The boy wondered why they were there but wasted no time asking questions and tackled the nearest man. They fell in a heap, struggling and kicking, the others swinging at them with their hands and feet. The boy ignored the strikes and continued to attack the men, punching and kicking as furiously as he could muster. The women ran, enraging the men who pulled the boy off their partner and tossed him aside.
“This un’s mine.” The man said as he wiped blood from his busted lip, the other holding the boys’ arms back. The man began punching him in his exposed stomach and face, cruelly beating him defenselessly. The boy dropped but was held up by the larger bandit as the smaller continued on him. The boy refused to cry and gritted his teeth in concentration, ignoring the pain and numbing his body. Twice he thought he had blacked out in doing so.
After several minutes of this the bandit dropped him.
“Let’s just kill ‘em already.”
“Why? And give him an easy way outta’ hittin’ me? I don’t think so.” He removed his dagger from its sheath and approached the boy sprawled out in the grass. He gripped the boy’s hair and leaned his head back, neck and face exposed. “No, I won’t kill ‘em yet.”
And with that, he drug the blade down the boy’s face from his left temple to his right jaw, across his nose and left eye. The boy fell in a heap as the waves of pain crashed against him, the current pounding him into the ground. He clawed at his face to make it stop but the blood continued pulsing across his face until he was drenched. The bandits left then and followed the women, continuing to burn the village.
“We’ll be back for you, punk!” The smaller one called over his shoulder as he tossed a torch behind him, landing just inches from the stained boy. His shoulder heaved as he gasped for ragged breaths that tore at his throat and burned his lungs. The fire caught his blood and smelled of death immediately. The boy recoiled from it and struggled to move away from it.
“Damn it, damn it, damn it!” He roared as he ripped his shirt off and tied it across his head, covering his wounded eye as well. He ran to the well and pulled up a bucket throwing it on the torch then the rest on himself. He looked down at his reflection, the massacre he was, and cursed himself for his brashness.
“How the hell am I going to fight them when I’m too busy getting thrown to the ground?” He asked aloud and kicked at the dirt. A sharp pain shot through his toe as it hit something solid. He cursed and looked at the object. It was a sword, the hilt pointing to him with the blade beneath a pile of burning rubble. He stooped down and pulled it out, dropping it as he did. The now freed sword was as hot as coals and the handle burned his palm to its design. He watched as the bright red serpent on his hand turned white and blistered. He removed the right glove off a body nearby and took the sword, inspecting it.
It was a long sword with a two handed hilt, the pommel silver and the hand guard white gold. It gleamed in the sunlight scintillatingly and faintly glowed orange from the fire’s heat. The boy took this advantage and rushed after the bandits, his body screaming in protest with every step. The weight of the sword slowed him but heartened him the same. He rounded the corner to the far side of town when he found them.
A single house was left, all the villagers crammed inside as the men stood around it, trying to fend off the bandits. Pitchforks, axes, and any tool they could find were brandished defiantly. The bandits were outnumbered but had the advantage of surrounding them with better weapons. The battle was just starting when the boy entered the fray, keeping away from all but his target. He watched in horror as blood was spilled and the cries of pain were silenced, his stomach twisting. He found the bandit who had beaten him just as he beheaded a farmer the boy once knew.
All time seemed to slow; the battle moving like sap. The boy hurtled past the oncoming attackers easily and advanced on the one man he saw clearly. He raised his sword, knowing it was still scalding, and drove it through the man’s back and out his chest in a spray of blood.
The boy left the sword impaled in the man at a crude angle and vomited into the grass. His heaving was met with both redemption and regret, a sour taste in his mouth from not only his last meal’s reappearance. He returned to the bandit, who sat on his knees, hands wrapped around the protruding blade in his chest, eyes wide and glazed and face as pale as salt. The boy stared at him a second longer before removing the sword with a sickening slurp.
The broken body toppled over and was left behind as the boy continued to fight. All around him were the only people he had ever known, the closest he ever had to a family. He would protect them to the best of his abilities, even in death. He heaved up his bloodied sword and watched the others, waiting for an opportunity before entering a fight. He felled two men with the farmers and another with a student. But despite their efforts the bandits continued to pile in, always one to take the last’s place.
Rumm appeared then, his gray hair and wrinkled skin seeming to age by the second. He parted his feet and bent his knees to a low crouch, then, swinging his right foot up to his head, brought it down to the ground and swung his arms away from each other like brushing away tall grass. Instantly, the ground shook and exploded beneath the men as the springs nearby were pulled through it. The water shone like crystals as it erupted through their ranks, shimmering and majestic as it spiraled and pulled into the sky. The geysers threw the men high into the air, Rumm freezing the water with a breath, petrifying the water as it formed and made a wide bowl connected to a slide facing a burning building. The men hit the ice with a crunch and were funneled into the flames they started.
Instantly Rumm threw the ice over the windows to muffle the agonizing screams.
“Gather the dead and bring the wounded into the schoolhouse. Quickly!” He called before rushing off. The boy stood there, motionless as he absorbed everything that had passed. The ice had already melted and the building had collapsed, smoldering like a thousand coals, and the town fared no better. In every direction lay fire and destruction, death at every turn and blood soaked into the grass and spongy dirt. The smell of burning flesh hung heavy in the air as the smoke stained the sky black and the clouds pulled together to rain around it.
The steady drizzle made it final, to the boy. It was the tell-tell sign of a new beginning, a rebirth. This was the town’s death, and now to begin anew after baptism. He surveyed the surroundings, all the old shops and homes steaming as they roasted, the dozens of bodies lying wasted and bloodied, soaked in the rain. He couldn’t shake from his mind the faces of all those around him, both dead and living. This was horror, he decided. This was hell and the fire its servant.
He stopped thinking of it all, too much to handle, and began working to keep himself busy. He helped pull a cart of the dead to the schoolhouse and carried the children inside. He watched the room fill cartful by cartful until it was packed to the brim of the crying and dying, sick and bloodied. Children and women alike were among the men and all wept for the lost. Over twenty had been declared dead with twelve more missing, twice those figures in wounded.
Rumm approached him then.
“You there, I saw you fight. I had expected you to run and hide as the others, but there you were. I know you are a close friend of Benj’s, so I bring it upon myself to tell you.” His voice strained and his face frowned, staring at the ground below. “He is of the missing. All his brothers are accounted for but he is gone. Do you know where he may have been?”
The boy cursed himself in his mind for not thinking of Benj sooner.
“He was in the woods sleeping. I was in the tree hunting when I saw them.” He stopped and fought with himself not to yell. “But I fell, and was lost in darkness while they came. It’s my fault this happened.”
“You knew? You saw them coming?”
“Yes.”
Rumm looked at the boy then, eyes hard and set. Their once liquid blue seemed frozen.
“Leave, orphan. You have brought us a curse and bring us no relief with your presence!” He swept his hand up to point to the wilderness past his shoulder. He leaned in close and stared into the boy’s eyes. “Leave and never return no-name.”
Without a word or look back the boy was gone, running faster than he thought possible. The remains of the town were a blur as his mind set on leaving only. He ran, longer and longer, through the trees and across the hills. He leaped over rivers and streams without hesitation and wound down valleys and plateaus stretching as far as the eye could see. The boy disappeared before anyone would realize he was gone, for no one would.
Elemental - Prologue
The trees swayed gently in the summer’s breeze, dancing lazily in the soft sunlight. The sweet smell of honey and oak wafted through the forest and into the small town of Eyo, warming the town lovingly. The woods stood around the small village, protecting it from all the outside and forming canopies over the trails to protect from snow and rain. It was these great ancient oaks that stood against the storm fast approaching from the East. It was there the great winds of the Lesser brewed within the mountains, and bubbling in its immense heat, boiled over and into the valleys below; running like the many rivers down the hills and across the plains. It was this wind that scorched the land, charring everything black in invisible flames.
But the Greater, in His almighty armor of Earth; stronger than any metal and indestructible to any force, wielding His unparalleled sword of Fire; unstoppable by any weapon, His majestic helm formed of the purest of Water; granting wisdom and fluidity of any movement, and with His shield spun from the wildest of Wind; deflected every attack without any force, cast down the Lesser and exiled him to the Outlands, never to return.
And with this triumph, came the victory of man against the spirits, and they became one in the same. It is through this, young ones, that many of you are capable of manipulating the forces of nature. Each one of you, according to your soul and very being, may receive a piece of the according element to protect you.
Now you know the story of the Greater’s triumph over the Lesser, and how you came to possess such abilities. It is He we have to thank for saving our race from the wrath, a once simple man, given the very same abilities we have now, saved everyone of us very, very long ago. You all have such potential, but it is up to you, young ones, to decide for yourself, your fate and your future.
And how it will change all of ours.
The story ended then and was followed by silence as the story teller, Rumm, stood and poured a gourd of water into the fire, and with his grasp of the element, painted a thriving portrait of a man in armor with incredible detail out of the steam. The quivering picture throbbed and swirled like smoke, spinning and coiling but keeping perfect clarity as the man stood and raised his sword in the air, followed by a loud pop as the steam exploded into a countryside of cheering people.
Rumm, having told his tale to the end, dropped his hands to his sides, palms up, and the image faded into a rippling steam once again.
But the Greater, in His almighty armor of Earth; stronger than any metal and indestructible to any force, wielding His unparalleled sword of Fire; unstoppable by any weapon, His majestic helm formed of the purest of Water; granting wisdom and fluidity of any movement, and with His shield spun from the wildest of Wind; deflected every attack without any force, cast down the Lesser and exiled him to the Outlands, never to return.
And with this triumph, came the victory of man against the spirits, and they became one in the same. It is through this, young ones, that many of you are capable of manipulating the forces of nature. Each one of you, according to your soul and very being, may receive a piece of the according element to protect you.
Now you know the story of the Greater’s triumph over the Lesser, and how you came to possess such abilities. It is He we have to thank for saving our race from the wrath, a once simple man, given the very same abilities we have now, saved everyone of us very, very long ago. You all have such potential, but it is up to you, young ones, to decide for yourself, your fate and your future.
And how it will change all of ours.
The story ended then and was followed by silence as the story teller, Rumm, stood and poured a gourd of water into the fire, and with his grasp of the element, painted a thriving portrait of a man in armor with incredible detail out of the steam. The quivering picture throbbed and swirled like smoke, spinning and coiling but keeping perfect clarity as the man stood and raised his sword in the air, followed by a loud pop as the steam exploded into a countryside of cheering people.
Rumm, having told his tale to the end, dropped his hands to his sides, palms up, and the image faded into a rippling steam once again.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)