Shieldwolf Chapter 3: Skulls and Bells by Hades

January 27, 2012

Chapter Three: Skulls and Bells

     Jonathan was surrounded by mist. He was amongst gnarled, stunted trees, completely bare of leaves. The mist swirled around his shoes. It rose to chest height, and everywhere it touched his skin, he burned. He screamed and screamed, and the mists burned him. He looked down at himself, and yelled again; his body was covered in angry red bumps and hives.

As he sank to the ground in agony, he looked up at the trees. Now their branches were not bare, but full of crows, black and shimmering. They hopped from branch to branch with fussy little caws. As he watched them, they turned as one bird to stare at him. Again, as one bird they spread their wings, and lifted into the air. As one bird, they dove-

Jonathan was lying in his bed at home, the blankets wrapped tightly around him. They were stranglingly close, and the more he struggled to tear them off, the more trapped he became.

“Josh!” he yelled “Josh! Josh! Help me!”

“You’re sick, little brother.” came Josh’s voice from somewhere out of sight. “You need to stay in bed today.”

“Josh! Please, Josh, help me!”

Josh only laughed. The laughter grew louder and deeper until it vibrated in his teeth, in his bones. And he was burning, burning, burning…

He was running up a hill, Scott’s Hill, through the snow. He was panicked, terrified. He had to reach the top. He glanced back, and there was the wolf. Its muzzle was flecked with blood, and its eyes shone with malice. It drew closer and closer, and he forced himself to speed up.

He was getting away! He sprinted on, and suddenly it was snowing. Except the flakes were not white, they were iridescent and black; not flakes, but feathers. He was running through a storm of crows, and the wolf was on his heels again. It leapt-

Jonathan opened his eyes. Tob’s hand was on his forehead. He tried to push her away, but he was weak and shaky. He blinked. He was no longer in the forest. There was a ceiling that slanted down to the floor on both sides. It looked as though he was in some sort of attic. Not an attic though, for there was hay all around. A barn loft, then.

“W- what did you do to me?”

“Knocked you unconscious.” Tob said matter-of-factly. “Well, spelled you to sleep at any rate. I was a bit nervous about using magic on you, but it seemed safe than hitting you over the head with a rock. We had to get you on that speeder somehow. Anyways, I woke you up just now. We couldn’t find an inn with any room for us to stay, so we’re staying in here.”

Jonathan closed his eyes. His head was pounding.

“If I had eaten anything today, I think I would be throwing up right now. I just can’t believe this. You guys could have at least told me what you were going to do.”

“Old habits die hard, I guess. It’s a bad idea to tell someone when you’re going to use magic on them. Most people know how to resist at least a little bit.”

“Where’s Ari?”

“Paying the owner of the barn.”

Jonathan kept his eyes closed and did not say anything. He heard Tob fidgeting with something a little ways away. He wanted to prop himself up to see what she was doing, but it seemed like far too much effort. A few minutes later, he felt a blanket being drawn over him. He tried hard to open his eyes, but they were suddenly very heavy.

The next thing he knew, low voices were whispering somewhere in the dim loft.

“-don’t know why you haven’t told him.”

This was a woman’s voice; Tob’s voice. She sounded exasperated.

“What does it matter to you?”

A lower voice, surly, and defensive; Ari was speaking now. “He’ll know in a couple of days anyways.”

“If it doesn’t matter, then why don’t you explain it to him? You’re being ridiculous, Ari!”

Keep your voice down!”

There was a pause. Jonathan made sure his breathing stayed steady.

“Anyways,” Ari continued, “I don’t know how he’ll take it. I mean, he’s a Traveler. If his world is anything like ours, then-”

“That’s not what I’m talking about. My point is that you’re pretending to be a-”

“And my point is that that doesn’t matter, Tob.”

Jonathan turned his head slightly and opened his eyes a crack. Ari and Tob were sitting close to the Fire Box, facing him. As he watched, Tob touched Ari’s arm lightly.

“Ari, it isn’t fair to the boy. He is depending on us completely for protection, poor little bastard. I think he deserves to know at least a little bit about who we are.”

“Yeah, and you’re one to talk.”

“Don’t start. You know that this,” Tob gestured to her face, “is a safety measure. Rimvolf is a dangerous place for my people now.”

“And this is a godsdamn safety measure too. If the Royalists found me, who knows what they’d do? It was a risk even going to Aeolik.”

“So you think that they are still looking for you?”

“If they found me, I’m sure they wouldn’t waste much time in administering their punishment. But I’m more worried that my parents will find me and ship me off to some godsforsaken castle in Corithis.”

Tob leaned forward and kissed Ari on the top of his head. Obviously irritated, Ari withdrew, wrinkling his nose.

“Don’t worry about that right now. Get some sleep. I’ll stay up and keep watch.”

Ari nodded crisply and curled up near Jonathan. Jonathan hurriedly shut his eyes. He considered snoring gently for effect, but thought better of it. Late into the night, he replayed the conversation in his head. He fell asleep wondering what secret Tob and Ari were keeping from him. When he dreamed, he dreamed an empty, maze-like house.

Ari prodded him awake at the crack of dawn. Jonathan was dimly aware of eating something flavorless, and being bundled out into the cold morning. He yawned enormously. Tob drove the speeder out of the barn, hopped down, and placed her hand on Jonathan’s forehead.

“Wait, I don’t-”

He woke up swaddled in blankets, lying on an under-stuffed mattress in a dim room.

“Will you stop doing that!” he snarled feebly.

Tob shrugged.

“Where am I anyways?”

“Red Eagle Inn, somewhere off the main road. We’ve got another day of driving ahead of us, this time off road.” Ari said from across the room. “You’ll need to slow down a little, Tob. I swear I thought we were all dead when that patroller came around the corner. You could have run into them.”

“Could have is a long way from did, my friend. Besides, I thought you wanted me to get you there in a hurry.”

“In a hurry, but also with all limbs intact.”

“I’ll do my best. For now, I’ll leave you two boys to talk.”

Tob winked at Jonathan, and made an unfamiliar hand gesture at Ari, and left the room. Ari shook his head ruefully.

“How do you feel?”

“Sick. Tired. I don’t like getting knocked out every morning and waking up somewhere random. It makes me feel like I’ve been kidnapped.”

“Sorry. If you come up with a better solution, tell me.” Ari sounded brusque again.

“I will. Do you have any food? I haven’t eaten since breakfast.”

“Yes. Here.”

Jonathan had some rather stale bread, a handful of nuts, and a hot drink that Ari brought from downstairs.

“Is there somewhere where I could wash off?”

“Yes. There’s a wash basin in the other room, but the water is heated by magic.”

“Never mind then. I’m going to sleep.”

Silently, Ari left the room, locking the door behind him.

As soon as he left, Jonathan pulled off the blankets and got up. There were three mattresses in the room, all of them on the floor. He crept past them. There were three doors leading off the bedroom. Ignoring the one Ari had just exited by, Jonathan opened the next door. It was a closet. Inside was Ari’s pack. Jonathan smiled grimly.

Stealthily, he opened the pack. Inside, there were a number of tins and packets, each labeled neatly with words like “Jerky”, “Biscuits”, and “Dried Fruit”. Under the food were dull colored blankets and clothes, all folded crisply.

In various pockets, Jonathan found bandages, bottles of ointment, rolls of twine, several types of little round tablets, a number of efficient-looking tools, a small bag of coins, a wooden case that would not open, the Fire Box, and half a dozen sewing needles in various sizes.

Other than the locked box, Jonathan did not find anything that seemed to pertain to Tob and Ari’s strange conversation. He closed the pack, closed the closet door, and tried the next one. It opened onto a room with a large bronze tub inside it.  Jonathan closed that door as well.

He walked around the bedroom twice, but did not find anything of interest. He sat down on the mattress, defeated.

Jonathan rolled over and closed his eyes. He counted splotches on the wall. He tried to remember all of the geometric proofs he had learned the year before in math class. He recited the words of The Star Spangled Banner backwards in his head. He attempted to touch his nose with his tongue. When that proved impossible, he started pondering possible solutions to The Sussex Vampire.  With a pang of regret, he realized that he would never finish it. He rolled over again.

After a couple of hours, Ari and Tob returned. Tob was laughing at something Ari had just said. Her chuckles were louder than usual, amplified, Jonathan supposed, with alcohol. Ari held a finger to his lips, motioning to Jonathan. Jonathan narrowed his eyes until they were open only a crack. Blurrily, he could see the two figures in the doorway.

“Is he asleep?” whispered Tob.

“I think so. Keep it down anyways, just to be safe.”

Jonathan watched the taller figure open the closet and retrieve the pack. He tensed slightly. Suppose he had left a pack undone, or something was out of place…

Ari took out his cloth and started cleaning his daggers. Suddenly, he froze.

“Tob, have you been going through my pack?”

Jonathan stiffened.

“No. Why?”

“Someone has.”

He shut his eyes as Ari approached his mattress. He felt a strong hand gripping his shoulder, shaking him. With feigned grogginess, he opened his eyes and sat up.

“What? What is it?”

“Have you been looking in my pack? Answer me! This is important.”

For a moment, Jonathan considered lying outright, but thought better of it.

“Y-yes. It’s just that I was…hungry. And I didn’t want to leave the room, so I was just looking for some food…and…um.”

Wide-eyed, he stared at Ari. At first, Ari scrutinized him suspiciously, but after a moment, he gave an irritable jerk of his head and shrugged.

“Don’t do that, you stupid sonuvabitch. I thought someone had been in here sneaking around.”

“I’m sorry.”

He made his voice as meek and contrite as possible.

“Just don’t do it again. I’m sorry I woke you up. I had to check, though. Go back to sleep.”

“Oh, I’m not tired now. I think I’ll stay up a while.”

“Fine. Try to stay in the rooms. I’m going to go bathe.”

“Need any help with that?” Tob asked.

Her face had an expression of angelic innocence. Ari glared at her. He picked up his pack, and stalked across the room. Tob winked cheerfully as he passed her. With a loud slam, the bathroom door closed. After a moment, the noise of running water could be heard.

Uncomfortable at being left alone with Tob, Jonathan tried to think of some way to occupy himself. There were not many options.

“Game of Four Armies?”

Jonathan started a little.

“Um…no thank you.”

“That’s just as well. You need four players, and I haven’t got a board.”

“Oh.”

“Want to play cards, then?”

“What game?”

“Anything. Capture the Fortress, Skulls and Bells in the Green, Triple Goddess.”

“I don’t know any of those games.”

“I’ll teach you.”

Reluctantly, Jonathan got up and sat by Tob on the floor. She got out a deck of playing cards.

“Let’s start with Skulls and Bells. It’s the easiest.”

Curiously, Jonathan examined the cards. They looked more like a tarot deck than a set of playing cards. They were illustrated on one side with little pictures of what looked like gods, goddesses, monsters, various symbolic figures, a skeleton or two, and a number of animals. On the other side, each card was printed with black diamond patterns.

“Right, so you draw seven cards each round. You try to get a pantheon, full court, battalion, half court, trinity, or duality. Any lone cards get added to your score.”

Tob began expertly shuffling the deck. The cards blurred beneath her fingers. Jonathan watched them, mesmerized. This close, he could distinctly smell alcohol on her breath. He watched her carefully for signs of intoxication, but her hands were steady as she dealt the cards.

“What were those things you’re looking for, sorry?”

“A pantheon is all seven part of a set. Full court is six upper cards. Half court is three. Battalion is four or five of a set, in order. Trinity is three in a progression, and duality is opposites. Anyways, you can pick up cards from the deck or the top of the Graveyard each round. You can’t have more than seven cards. First person to have no lone cards turns their cards over, and the round ends. If you get a pair of Green Men, you have to discard your entire hand. Reapers and Grey Ladies are wild. Bells don’t count for any points if you have them left over. ”

Jonathan had to ask a lot of questions before he understood the rules. It was, indeed, not very difficult, and actually quite fun once he got the hang of it. Tob did impersonations of the little characters on the cards, explaining who they were when they turned up in the game.

He and Tob chatted and laughed through the rounds. Jonathan began to relax. He gained confidence.  In the last round, he was ahead by fourteen points. He glanced at his cards and smiled. There was a half court: the smith, the phoenix, and the girl in fire. He had an additional Grandmother Spider, hanged man, and Great Whale.

Tob laid her cards down with a snap.

“Pantheon.”

“What? You haven’t even drawn any cards!”

“Lucky deal, I suppose.”

“No way. Let me see.”

She passed him the cards. There they were: the Lady of Earth, the Green Man, the Great Tree, a green dragon, a golem, a Reaper, and a Grey Lady. His eyes widened. Tob smirked.

“And that means I’ve one by one po-”

“OH GODSDAMNIT!”

They leapt up, card game forgotten. Jonathan, who was closest to the bathroom flung the door open.

“Ari, are you o-”

The first thing Jonathan noticed was blood. Ari’s hand was stained red. A knife was lying, as though dropped, on the floor. The second thing Jonathan noticed was that Ari dressed only to the waist. And the third thing…

Ari dove for a towel, but it was too late.

“Y-you’re-”

“Shut it!”

“But you-

“Didn’t I tell you to shut your mouth?”

“But-”

Tob elbowed her way into the room.

“Ari, are you…oh.”

“Everyone get out. I’ll be out in a minute.” Ari snarled, clutching the towel more tightly.

Jonathan retreated. His face was burning.  He stared appealingly at Tob.

“I didn’t know- I didn’t mean to…”

“I know. I know.”

“But why did-”

The door snapped open. Ari, hair still wet from the bath, was standing there, fully clothed, and glowering. The injured hand was no longer bleeding. There was a hideous moment of tense silence before Jonathan found the courage to speak.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Does it matter that much to you?”

“Well it is kind of an important thing to tell someone.”

Why?”

There was venom in Ari’s tone. Jonathan opened his mouth and then closed it. When a reply was not forthcoming, Ari sighed and ran a hand through her wet hair.

“I’m the same me,” she said, “I’ve just got a few different…parts.”

She smiled a little as Jonathan blushed.

“It’s not just that! Don’t you trust me?” he muttered.

“Should I? You’re this just some traveler I met a few days ago. We don’t even come from the same world.”

“I’ve had no choice but to trust you, and you don’t even have the courtesy to tell me that you’re…not a boy!”

“That’s enough. I don’t have to explain myself to-”

“Comrades,” Tob cut in, “there is something you might want to pause your charming little argument for.”

“What?” Ari and Jonathan asked together.

“That.”

Their eyes followed Tob’s pointing finger. The door was shaking, and muffled crashes sounded from the hall beyond.

“What is it?” Jonathan breathed.

“Guards, probably. Ari, that man at the bar, the one who was asking questions. He must have driven back up the road to Kerik, and-”

“Never mind that! We need to get out!”

“Window again?”

Ari sprinted across the room and opened the shutters a crack.

“No good. They’ve got it covered. How many do you reckon are in the hall?”

“Don’t know. But the passage is pretty narrow. We could probably take them.”

The door trembled in its frame. Ari slung on his-her, Jonathan reminded himself-pack. She drew her knives, and passed one to Jonathan.

“I don’t know how to use this.”

“It’s easy. You hold the blunt end, and stick the pointed end at the angry bastards in the grey uniforms.”

“But-”

“Understood? Excellent.”

“Hold on, I-”

“Tob will open the door in a few seconds. Some guards will come hurtling in. Tob will deal with them. Follow me down the hall, and above all do not get lost.”

“Okay, but-”

Tob opened the door.

“Wait!”

A man fell headlong into the room. He had obviously not expected the door to jerk open just as he was ramming into it with his shoulder. Tob leapt at him before he could rise. Jonathan did not see what happened next because Ari was tugging him out into the corridor. The hall was filled with people in grey uniforms.

At first glance, there seemed to be dozens, but a quick headcount showed that there were only seven. Three where blocking the hall on each side. One was doubled over in the middle of the floor, clutching at a puncture wound in his stomach. Ari kicked him out of the way, not bothering to wipe her blade.

There was a shocked and awkward silence. Then, as one, the rest of the uniformed men surged forward. Jonathan winced in preparation for sudden pain, or death by dismemberment.

Neither came.

Instead, the wall behind him exploded. He was flung forward and peppered with chunks of plaster.  The noise was incredible. There was something underlying it too, a sort of penetrating buzz: magic.

Then, there was a blessed pause.  Around him, he could hear coughing and little groans of pain. He blinked. Gingerly, he glanced up. Thick, white dust obscured everything more than a few feet away.

His moment of repose was rudely interrupted when someone hauled him to his feet. He cried out, protectively cradling his throbbing head. He was being dragged down the hall, past the prostrate guards, down the stairs, and into a milling mob of people.

Head still ringing, he flinched at the noise and light.

“Can you walk?” Tob hissed in his ear.

“I…I…what did you do?”

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes’.  Follow me.”

“Hold on! Where’s Ari? Where are we going?”

“I’m here, and right now we’re going away from this inn.”

Startled, he jerked around. Ari was, indeed there, covered in dust, and bleeding from a cut on her face. Her hair was still damp. Powdered plaster clung to it, making her look decades older.  Jonathan stood there blinking until Tob started tugging him forward again. He realized that he still had Ari’s knife squeezed in one hand, and dropped it compulsively. The world was a blur of confused voices, and frightened faces.

“Did you hear that? Never been so scared in my life! I thought-”

“Whole hall way full of guards-”

“Have you got any idea what just-”

“-wall completely blown out!”

“They say it’s an attack from Grek!”

“They say it’s those rebels again!”

“They say it’s-”

Unnoticed in the confusion, Jonathan, Tob, and Ari slipped out the back door and into the night. They narrowly avoided a group of guards by diving into an unnecessarily thorny bush. The guards rushed past, shouting and gesticulating. They were headed toward the inn as people poured out of it. Jonathan heard screams. He smelled something burning. The inn’s upper windows flickered with orange light; soon flames were licking at the roof.

“What did you do?” he asked again.

“Only thing I could think of.”

“I said we could take them.” Ari grumbled, dabbing at her temple.

“No need to take that tone, love.”

“’We can take them’ doesn’t mean to blow up the whole damn building.”

“I didn’t blow up the whole building! Just a wall.”

“It started a fire!”

“Not our problem. With any luck, it will serve as enough of a distraction to let us get away clean.”

“Where did you leave the speeder?”

“I’ll show you. Jonathan, come on- Jonathan? Are you still with us?”

“What? Oh…yeah. Yeah, let’s go.”

He shook himself. This was no time to fall apart. Clumsily, he hurried after Tob. The speeder was stashed just out of sight of the inn.

“We don’t have time to put you out and hide you in the hold. You’re going to have to hang on very securely and try not to vomit.”

Tob strapped on a pair of goggles, and leapt onto the speeder, followed by Jonathan and Ari. As the contraption rose and accelerated, Jonathan saw red spots.  The sensation was comparable to nothing he had felt before. He felt as though his bones were full of fire. Lightheaded, he teetered.

“Stay awake!” Ari hissed in his ear.

Tob was fidgeting with some dials. All of a sudden, the speeder shot forward. Jonathan winced as a tree rushed toward them, but they swerved at the last moment. The forest rushed by on all sides. Ari was yelling something, but he couldn’t hear it.

“TELL-TOB-TO-SLOW-DOWN!”

Still dizzy, he leaned forward and relayed the message to Tob.

“SHE SAYS WE NEED TO GO FAST. THERE ARE GUARDS FOLLOWING US.” he called back to Ari.

“SHE’S BEEN DRINKING. WE NEED TO SLOW DOWN.”

Tob merely swore at him when he told her. He shrugged at Ari and focused on clinging onto the back of Tob’s jacket. He shut his eyes tightly.

Cold air numbed his face. After an immeasurable length of time, Ari tapped him urgently on the shoulder. He glanced back and understood the problem at once. There were lights behind them in between the trees. Faintly over the rush of air, he heard shouts.

“KEEP YOUR HEAD DOWN!” Ari yelled in his ear. “TELL TOB.”

“THEY’RE CATCHING UP! ARI SAYS TO KEEP LOW.”

Tob said something indistinct.

“WHAT?”

“I SAID, HOLD ON TIGHTLY!”

Something roared over their heads. It left purple afterimages hanging in the air. All of them crouched a little lower in their seats. Tob jerked the handle bars, and they turned so sharply that for a moment, Jonathan was leaning out over empty space.

“THEY’RE SHOOTING AT US,” Tob informed them rather unnecessarily.

Jonathan glanced back. The other speeders were only yards behind. They were grey, and marked with an official-looking crest: a golden bird rising from red flames. They were slightly larger, and much sleeker than Tob’s tank-like vehicle. Four uniformed guards sat on each.

They made another sharp turn. This one felt somehow less controlled than the last. Jonathan’s vision flickered. Ari shook him, and he straightened a little, only to feel something hot miss his head by inches.  He hunched down again..

“TOB!”

Ari yelled so loudly that Jonathan started. One of the grey speeders had pulled up alongside them. The guard sitting behind the driver was holding a very serious-looking weapon of some sort. More than anything, it reminded Jonathan of a flamethrower.

“STOP YOUR VEHICLE IMMEDIATEL-”

Tob once again yanked on the steering wheel. They slammed into the grey speeder very hard. The impact jarred Jonathan so badly that his vision distorted for a few moments. When his head cleared, they were off again, trailed closely by three speeders. The one they had just rammed was lagging slightly.

The two undamaged vehicles were attempting to flank them. Nimbly, Tob guided their speeder between two large trees. Just as they were almost through, she braked. The two closest pursuers rocketed past. However, the driver of the slightly slower, crippled craft noticed the ploy. The guard with the projectile weapon was taking careful aim.

They lurched forward with a shocking burst of speed. Jonathan almost toppled off the vehicle, but saved himself by catching hold of Tob’s shoulder. He jolted her arm slightly, and the speeder yawed right.

At that moment, a burst of bright blue light scythed through the air an inch away from Tob’s left elbow.

“THANKS!”

Swiftly, they streaked away into the trees. In the distance, the whine of the pursuing speeders sounded faintly. Tob breaked their craft and twisted around to look at Jonathan and Ari.

For a long moment, they hovered there, panting faintly.

“Well. That was fun.”

“Let’s not do it again.”

“Agreed.”

The night was silent. Jonathan could no longer hear the hum of pursuit. He slid off the speeder onto the ground, and pressed his face to the cool earth. He heard a faint click, and behind him, the speeder settled to the ground. There were no words to describe the relief he felt.

Categories: Fantasy Fiction, Fiction, Modern Fiction, Must Reads, WORST.

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Shieldwolf Chapter 2: Thunder and That Which Follows by Hades

January 27, 2012

Chapter Two: Thunder and That Which Follows

     Jonathan was not nearly as astounded as he should have been, but the word still made him stop. Unmistakably, it had just come from the wolf’s mouth. It hadn’t actually growled, but spoken.

“Hello, Jonathan.” There was a pause.

He looked at the wolf. The wolf looked at him. Its head was tilted expectantly to one side.

After a few seconds, it prompted “this is the part where you say ‘hello’ back.”

There was a sexless, ageless, inhuman quality to its voice that Jonathan couldn’t place.

“Wolves don’t talk,” he said stupidly.

“Of course they don’t. They don’t have the right vocal cords or mouth shape. But you shouldn’t take my word for-oh no you don’t!”

The wolf bounded after him as he darted toward the street. Its paws hit him hard in the middle of the back. He toppled. It stood on top of him, its weight crushing the air from his lungs.

“Now we can have an intelligent conversation without you running off.” The wolf’s voice was close to his ear. It was quiet, calm, and pleasant, but this scared him more than anything else could have. Panic was twisting uncomfortably in the pit of his stomach. His heart pounded. There was icy breathe on his face.

“Now, let’s skip the tiresome business of ‘oh goodness a talking wolf? How can this be? I must be dreaming! I must be hallucinating. La dee da dee da.’ This is real. A talking wolf is standing on your back. And it’s going to eat you once it finishes this increasingly one sided conversation.”

“Wait, why?” he managed. The wolf’s bulk was making it difficult to draw breath. “Why do you want to eat me?”

It seemed amused. “I’m hungry, of course. And you are an interesting edible food creature. An interesting mind. I will be very happy to gobble it right up after I’m done with the rest of you.”

Suddenly, the weight vanished. Jonathan sprang up, fists clenched, prepared to strike and flee. The wolf was crouched a little way away. Its tail was waging playfully.

“Run!” It said happily.

He dropped his backpack and ran.

Soon, he was gasping for breath: short, ragged inhales, and heavy, panting exhales. A howl sounded close behind. It was hopeless. Impossible. Jonathan knew it. Nevertheless, he sprinted on.

He wondered if he could somehow get far enough ahead to ambush the beast. He considered this. He could hide in the trees, and when it came around the corner, he could hit it with a branch; injure it enough to get away. Would it work? Could it work?

Jonathan was still not entirely convinced that he was not drugged, dreaming, or hallucinating.

He cast a glance behind him. There was no sign of the wolf. He sprinted on for another few minutes before checking again. Still nothing. Tentatively, he slowed to a jog, then a walk. He was completely alone. There was a momentary flicker, almost as though the world had blinked.

Turning slowly in a circle, Jonathan stared up at the surrounding trees. There was something odd about them that he could not quite place…

A sudden panic rose within him. He was lost. He was lost in the Woods with a talking, potentially imaginary wolf that wanted to eat him. Desperately, he stared around for some sort of landmark. There was none.  Even the familiar path, with its itchy, shredded red bark was gone.

He started walking in what he guessed was the direction of his house. After what seemed like an hour, he stopped. He could not have run this far. Pausing, Jonathan reflected that he could have accidentally turned himself around during his mad dash through the Woods. Cautiously, he took a few steps in the other direction.

After an impossibly long time, he gave up. He had no idea if his search for a landmark had brought him closer to or farther away from his home. He was hot. He took off his jacket, put it on a tree stump, and sat down. Not knowing what else to do, he waited.

More time trudged by. He found a heavy branch and propped it up against the stump. Still no sign of the wolf. He was beginning to wonder if he should build some sort of shelter, but it seemed like too much effort. He felt slightly stupid for even thinking of it, as though he were some rugged hero in a survival story. It was still mostly light. He sat there in the silence, one hand resting on his make-shift club, and other clenched on nothing. He got up and paced. He sat back down.

“Growl, growl, woof, woof. Have you missed me?”

Heart racing, he sprang up, turned, and swung the branch hard. Jonathan gasped as he overbalanced, stumbled against the trunk, and fell. The wolf sprang on him, taking the back of his shirt in its jaws. Cold breath on his neck.

“Ahm oing oo ea oo ow,” the wolf mumbled around its mouthful of cloth.

The words were unintelligible, but Jonathan thought he understood the jist of the phrase. He struggled harder, even as icy drool dripped down his back.

“Stop!”

The jaws opened. Jonathan fell, grazing his palms. The animal was still close; its bristling tail almost brushing his face. Very slowly and quietly, he got to his feet. The wolf didn’t seem to notice. It was staring at two people standing in the path across from them.

Jonathan glanced at them, looked away, and then did a double take. He had never seen people so…odd. At first, they seemed to be slim, angelic boys. Then, Jonathan thought they were androgynous, prepubescent girls. He could not tell for sure either way.

One had a shock of jet black hair; the other a mop the color of a dandelion clock. The first had truly white eyes without irises or pupil. The second’s were uniformly dark. Both had skin of a medium grey that fell precisely halfway between black and white. Each wore a knee-length grey tunic belted at the waist over grey leggings.

Their clothing seemed too scant for winter. Admittedly, there was a warm lightness to the air that puzzled him, but he did not pay it much attention. Very stealthily, he began creeping backwards, away from the wolf.

“What do you want, master of duality?” it sneered. “I was just playing with my food, so if you don’t mind…?”

“We do.” The dark haired one stepped forward. “He does not belong to you, Wolf. He belongs to us, as all things do.”

He hardly heard their words, so total was his focus on the placement of his feet.

“You have no right to make that claim! He’s mine! I found him, I caught him, and I’m bloody hungry, so back off!”

The wolf glanced back at him. He froze with one foot half raised.

“For what it’s worth, I agree with those guys. You should definitely not eat me.” He said, surprising himself slightly with the words.

“No one asked you, edible human.”

It turned back toward the odd people. Jonathan slunk back another few inches.

“Listen to us, wolf.” the white haired one said. “You have entered our domain. The human is subject to our will. And our will is that you will release him immediately into our care. There will be no argument.”

The wolf tensed as if in preparation to spring. Jonathan almost cried out a warning. However, after a few taught seconds, it flattened its ear to its skull, tucked its tail between its legs and trotted off the path.  He only released his pent up breathe after its bushy tail vanished behind a tree trunk.

“Are you injured, Jonathan?”

“How-?”

“Rest for a moment only, then we must carry on.”

“What-?”

“All will be explained in time.”

“But who are you? What are you? What the hell is going on? What was the wolf? Am I hallucinating? This is all completely effing insane!”

The words came rushing out in a jumbled, tangles stream of questions and accusations. Jonathan was angry, Jonathan was scared, and above all, Jonathan was utterly confused.

“Silence.”

Disobeying the quiet command was physically impossible. Try as he might, he could not voice the objection on his lips. Tree branches trembled in the wind. It struck him suddenly that this forest was composed of tall, silver-barked, deciduous trees; leafless, but untouched by snow.  The landscape was arid.

“Come.”

Again, he obeyed, his feet propelling him relentlessly forward even as his mind rebelled. The two strangers led him through the thin underbrush. They walked in silence as the forest darkened. Jonathan realized that he had forgotten his winter jacket on the stump after being saved from the wolf’s jaws. He did not mention it.

He followed the little grey figures through the trees, his uneasiness growing. After a long time, or perhaps very little time at all, he saw a red glow faintly illuminating the trees ahead. They were walking toward it, Jonathan and the two strangers. The light brightened. Jonathan slipped between a pair of slim trees and emerged in a clearing.

The clearing was illuminated by a dull red light, and was much warmer than the rest of the forest. A figure sat at the center of it, warming its hands over a small, luminous cube. Its head jerked up as Jonathan and his companions approached. The man, or rather boy, leapt to his feet, drawing two long knives from his belt. Jonathan yelled, and jumping back about a foot. He stumbled and nearly fell.

“Oh,” the boy said shortly, “it’s you. Again.”

His voice was very sharp, higher than Jonathan expected, and strangely accented. Something Eastern European, Jonathan supposed. He was glaring with intense loathing, at the strangers, completely ignoring Jonathan.

Sheathing the knives, he strode toward them with a loose, feline gait. He was taller than Jonathan, and probably a few year older too; maybe seventeen or eighteen.  Jonathan flinched a little as he approached, not sure what to expect. The strangers had hardly twitched throughout the encounter.

The boy flicked a few strands of coarse auburn hair out of his face. His hair was long, slightly dirty, and drawn back into a ponytail. His bangs were uneven, falling into his eyes in some places, cut close to his scalp in others. It looked as though the boy had cut them himself, without a mirror, using a blunt sword.

He wore trousers, battered knee-high boots, and the same sort of sleeveless, mid-thigh length tunic as the strangers. His arms were sinewy, his skin a deep bronze hue. As he drew closer, Jonathan noticed many abrasions on his arms: faint, whitish scars, older, scabby wounds, and one ugly cut that looks almost fresh.

Ignoring Jonathan, the boy glared at the strangers with obvious hostility. They remained expressionless. Jonathan cleared his throat awkwardly. Tension was palpable in the chilly, evening air.

“Well?” the boy said abruptly. “What are you doing here? I don’t really care how you found me, but I’d like to know what you want so that you can leave.”

“Um, I don’t mean to be rude, but I don’t really-”

Jonathan trailed off as the boy drew a dagger and started cleaning his fingernails with the tip. He looked pointedly at the strangers

“Your implied threats mean little to us.” The dark haired one’s voice was even colder than usual. “Put the toy away.”

Defiantly, he tossed the knife in the air and caught it by its blade without looking at it.

“You are going to do a service for us, Ari,” the other commanded, “You will take this boy, here. He is a traveler lost, and in need of protection. You cannot object. We are owed a debt, and you must pay.”

“Does he want to join?”

“It does not matter.”

Although the boy, Ari still looked mutinous, he nodded curtly. He sheathed the dagger with ill grace.

“Hold on a minute. You guys are just leaving me here with this random person who just threatened us with a knife? Excuse me for not having complete confidence in this plan.” Jonathan’s voice cracked slightly as he said this.

“Ari will take good care of you, won’t you Ari?’

Ari shrugged. Jonathan was not convinced. Before he could object, the strangers strode away into the forest, leaving him alone with Ari.

Avoiding Jonathan’s gaze, he sat cross-legged in front of the illuminated cube. At this proximity, Jonathan could tell that it was giving off the light and heat in the clearing. Nervously, he sat a little ways away. As he drew close, he became aware of a sort of humming vibration. It was faint but perpetual and a little annoying. He shook his head. The buzzing did not stop.

“So…what is that cube thing?” he ventured.

“Fire Box.”

“Oh. I see.” he lied. “So, um…Ari. I’m Jonathan. Hi. I mean, hello. Listen, could you please-“

“No, I could not please. This is how this is going to work, Jonthen. Tomorrow morning, we are going our different ways. I will give you some supplies, enough for a few days. There is a town not far to the east. I do not have time to take care of you.”

“What town? The Woods are in the middle of my neighborhood, except all of a sudden, there’s this wolf chasing me around, and talking, and the snow’s gone, and I am hallucinating or dreaming, so why do I even care what you do? You know what, fine. Go ahead and leave me here. And it’s Jonathan. Not ‘Jonthen’.”

“Oh. That kind of traveler.” Ari started chewing the ragged end of a fingernail thoughtfully. “I suppose you’ve jumped.”

“What?”

Jonathan felt as though his brain was running at half its normal speed. He recognized the words, but when Ari strung them together, they were confusing and meaningless.

“Alright, you know what an Edge is, right?”

“Um…”

“How about fey?”

Jonathan shook his head.

Ari sighed, and pulled off a strip of fingernail with his teeth.

“This might be difficult to explain, then. Where should I start…let’s see… you live somewhere. You presumably live on a planet, in a solar system, in a galaxy, in a universe, right?”

“Yeah.”

“But there are a bunch of other universes. Got it?”

“So far.”

“These other universes aren’t exactly outside yours. They’re all sort of stacked, and overlapping. I guess, it’s more like the same universe repeated over and over, but changed a little each time. So one universe might be exactly the same as yours, except…I don’t know…people have eyes in the middle of their foreheads. It could even be something smaller. The most obvious example is of someone flipping a coin. It comes down face up in your world, but face down in another.

“So there are all these universes, an infinite number of universes, just existing. And they usually don’t bother with one another. And that’s where Edges come in. In some places, the separation between universes gets thin, and things can slip between them.

“This usually happens when something alive gets close to an Edge and is drawn through. Most of the time, they die crossing, or end up somewhere inhospitable. They could jump to somewhere with too much gravity, or not enough air, or something.

“So you were probably wandering around, being an idiot, really close to an Edge. And some sort of fey or Edge feeder, senses you, and comes along for a snack. You were lucky, because it looks like This One and That One found you and helped you jump to somewhere safe.”

Jonathan opened his mouth, but found he did not have anything to say.

“There are some things that can move easily between worlds; fey like This One and That One. They’re that dual creature that picked you up. Then there are things that live close to the Edges, and waited for prey there.”

“Like the…the wolf?” Jonathan said numbly.

“Wolf? What wolf?”

“It chased me. It talked.”

The wolf.” Ari repeated as if there was some profound meaning to the statement.

After a few moments, he ran his fingers through his long, rust colored hair.

“This complicates things. But who knows? You might be useful. If you want, you can come with me to True Home. It will most likely take a few days to get there, and I have an old friend I need to meet along the way.”

“Is there a way I could go…back instead?”

Ari looked directly at him for the first time. His eyes were a funny, silvery shade of grey. They were sharp, but a little pitying.

“No.”

“I guess I don’t have much choice then, do I?”

“You could strike out on your own, I suppose.”

“I guess I’ll come with you, if you don’t mind too much. I’m tired, now.”

“I’ve got blankets. Here.”

From a large, canvas pack, Ari produced two squares of material, each about the size of an envelope. He began unfolding them. When he was finished, he handed Jonathan two full-sized blankets. He took them without thanks, and did not ask about the strange fabric that was simultaneously thin, light, warm, and sturdy. He wrapped himself snugly in the blankets and closed his eyes.

Facing away from Ari, hugging his knees, Jonathan bit his lip to stop himself from crying. Despite his best efforts, he felt a few rebellious tears trickle across his face. He bit his lip harder. He tried to breathe deeply through his nose.

Jonathan did not dream that night. He lay awake listening to the forest until he sank into a dark state of oblivion.

“Up! Jonth- Jon-a-than, get up! We need to get moving!”

“Go away, Ben. I’m sick.”

“What?”

“I said…oh.”

Jonathan stared blearily into Ari’s sharp face. Ari was shaking him roughly. His eyebrows were drawn into a harsh “v”. It was still dark. Up close, Ari looked younger than he had the night before. Jonathan could tell he hadn’t started shaving yet.

“Are you coming or not?”

“What? Oh, yeah. Sorry.”

Weakly, Jonathan dragged himself out of the warm cocoon of blankets. Ari brushed the sparkling layer of frost off of them, and folded them methodically until they were once again crisply envelope-sized. He put them back in his pack, and rummaged for a second before passing Jonathan a small cloth bag.

Jonathan opened the bag. There were several things that resembled energy bars inside, wrapped in brown paper. He took a bite of one. It tasted distinctly nutty. He could not decide whether he liked it or not. He ate two of them.

By the time they left, Ari had erased every trace of the campsite.

“Why are you doing that?” Jonathan asked as Ari meticulously arranged leaves and branches on the ground to hide the imprint where Jonathan had been sleeping.

“To make sure nobody knows we were here.”

“Is that important?”

“Yes. If they find us, they’ll kill us.”

Jonathan was about to ask who they were, and why they were going to kill Ari if they found him, but decided not to. He was not sure if he wanted to know the answer.

Ari must have noticed Jonathan’s discomfort, because he added, “I’ll explain later. We need to go now.”

The forest was illuminated with a misty, grey light. Jonathan supposed that the sun was rising. He wished he could have slept a few more hours. More than that, he wished he were home, and not trekking through a strange forest with Ari, but he could not allow himself dwell on that. He listened to crows cawing in the naked branches of the trees.

They were walking west, with their backs to the rising sun. Their shadows stretched before them, pale, and thin, and elongated. Frost on the ground glittered, making the day morning seem brighter. Jonathan was cold. Ari was wearing a light, high collared jacket, but he looked perfectly comfortable. Jonathan did not say anything.

Although they walked swiftly and without many pauses, the going was fairly easy. The forest they traversed was open and largely free of underbrush. The land was flat. Jonathan tried to imitate Ari’s loose, effortless stride. He found that he could propel himself mostly by momentum if he let his feet do most of the work. It was a curious sensation. He felt almost out of control of his limbs.

They stopped twice that day. To eat a midday meal, they sat on a fallen tree. Jonathan twisted to scratch his back where the crumbly bark was making his skin itch. He jumped as a centipede scurried over his hand. Quickly, he stood up and had another bar, and a crisp, green fruit that tasted a little like a melon, and a little like a pear. Ari remained seated and had half of a bar, which he ate with very little enthusiasm.

Later, they paused for no apparent reason when Ari raised a hand. The forest was very quiet. Jonathan wondered if the mysterious ‘they’ had caught up and were going to kill them. After a few minutes of looking and listening, Ari motioned them onward.

When they stopped, Jonathan was very cold, and very tired indeed. His back hurt. His legs hurt. His feet were numb, but he was certain he would soon be feeling blisters. He wished he had his hiking boots.

They camped in a tiny clearing surrounded by brambles. Ari set up a small, canvas tent. He glanced at the sky.

“It’s going to rain tonight.”

Jonathan looked upward too. There were heavy clouds pressing against the tree tops. The light streaming down was weak and grey.

“Okay.”

“Are you alright? You look dazed.”

“I’m fine.”

“Good.”

Ari sat down beside the tent. Jonathan sat down too.

“So,” Ari said, “what’s home like, for you?”

“Um…”

“It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it,” he said hastily, “it’s just that travelers are rare. They had one at court, but it didn’t speak Varrim. I don’t think it even had a mouth.”

“I don’t speak ‘Varrim’. I speak English.”

“Whatever. English for you, Varrim for me. Our worlds must be similar. Sorry.”

“No, it’s alright. I don’t know. I guess it was just home. I have…had a family. You know, parents, two sisters, a brother, three cats. My mom and dad work-worked for some boring company. They worked a lot, doing something that didn’t really matter to the world. They were depressing. They had no idea what was going on in my life, or in the larger world around them. My older sister Becky knew that too. She tried to tell them, but nobody listened to her except for me. Then there was my other sister, Celia. She was just a kid. Kind of stupid, and petty, but sometimes kind of sweet. My brother Ben was a year and a half older than me. We didn’t get on. I was jealous of him.”

“That sounds…unpleasant.”

“Yeah, I don’t know. It was just life. It was mundane. It was lonely a lot of the time. I guess it was just a lot of ordinary middle class problems. They add up and make it all seem so big and insurmountable.”

“You are the next to youngest in your family?”

“Yes.”

“I’m the eldest. I have two sisters.”

Jonathan was interested. This was the first time his companion had volunteered any sort of personal information.

“Oh. Are you close?”

“No. We do not see each other often.”

“Why not?”

“I ran off. I haven’t seen them for over a year now.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“I’m not. Tell me more about yourself.”

Reluctantly, he accepted the change of subject.

“Okay.”

Jonathan gathered his thoughts for a moment. It was kind of nice to tell his story to someone who was entirely removed from his life.

“I go to a public high school. I’m in tenth grade. I don’t have a lot of friends. It’s usually just me and Alex and Lucy. Alex is a year ahead of me and Lucy. We were in orchestra together. He plays the viola, and I play violin. We always argue, sorry, argued about which instrument is better.”

“What are they? A ‘violin’ and a ‘viola’, I mean.”

“They’re stringed instruments. The viola is lower, and doesn’t sound as good. Anyways, we met a couple years ago. But Lucy and I were in elementary school together. We’ve been best friends since we were like eleven. We went to different middle schools, but now we go to the same school. We have lots of classes together.”

“Are you…romantically involved?”

“No. Everyone asks that. I had a major crush on her when I was in seventh grade, but then she came out.”

“Came out?”

“You know, of the closet.”

“What closet?”

“That means she’s a lesbian. She likes girls. She dated this girl called Sonja for almost two years, but they split up the day I, um, left.”

“So that is allowed in your world?”

“What, being gay? Uh some people think it’s immoral, but to hell with them. Why? Isn’t it okay here?”

“There are laws against…homosexual conduct. The fines can be quite high. Under the royals, if people were covert, it was generally ignored. The Auttans, however, are not so lenient.”

“I’m sorry. Are you gay?”

Ari inhaled sharply.

“You don’t have to answer that,” Jonathan added.

Just as he had decided that Ari was not going to respond, he said, very carefully, “I am not attracted to men.”

“Are you a homophobe?”

“No. I knew a number of…’lesbians’ during my military training. My shieldsister Germa was homosexual.”

“Yeah. I never told my parents about Lucy and Sonja. Dad always assumed she was dating a guy, and I never bothered to correct him. My parents are pretty Christian. Um, that’s a religion. I guess I’m Christian too. I don’t know though. I guess it doesn’t matter now. This whole interdimensional thing kind of changes one’s perspective on morality and theology and so on.”

“I am sorry. The experience must be beyond shocking. I would like to…apologize for my behavior earlier. I don’t much like This One and That One, you see. I don’t like fey much at all.”

“Oh. Is it that whole ‘owing them a favor’ thing?”

“It is a contributing factor. They convinced they fey Ramorrim to help lead our army as the Tactical.”

“Army?”

“Yes. I’m part of the rebellion against the Auttans. They took over our country, Rimvolf about three years ago. We’re part of their empire now. Kor province.”

A heavy water droplet splashed against Jonathan’s head. It started to drizzle. Ari extracted a bag made of heavy, light brown cloth. He set it out on the ground, and he and Jonathan crawled inside the tent. Ari took out the Fire Box and set it down in between them. It glowed dimly, illuminating the fabric walls, and giving everything a bloody tinge. Ari brought out some more bland, but filling food.

Jonathan took a small bite of a round, crumbly piece of flatbread.  He realized that the same odd buzzing that he had noticed the night before had started up again.

Ari reached over and drew the tent’s flap shut.

“We are fighting the Auttans as best we can with a bit of help from some of the surrounding countries. They’re afraid that they’ll be conquered next. Rimvolf used to be a convenient barrier against the Auttan Empire. I suppose we were just an annoyance, a small label on a map that was hindering their expansion. Our neighbors don’t want to openly oppose such a powerful empire, of course.  It’s been bloody difficult, especially since we split. Some of the rebels wanted to restore the monarchy, and go back to how things were, but the way I see it, there isn’t much difference between the royals and the Auttans. Either way, they’re in charge whether we like it or not. But a bunch of people, mostly the nobles want the crown back on the Hellick’s head, so to speak.”

Jonathan turned the piece of flatbread over in his hands.

“So I’m walking into a war zone with a rebel fighter?”

“I’m not taking you into a war zone. We’re going back to True Home. That’s where our main base is located. Then, the Trinity will figure out what to do with you.”

“Who are they? What will they do to me?”

“Don’t worry. You aren’t an Auttan, a Royalist, or a traitor. They won’t punish you.”

“But I don’t want to be a rebel. I don’t fight. I’m a pacifist.”

“A what?”

“A pacifist. I believe everything can be solved peacefully. You know, through civil disobedience and stuff.”

Ari looked puzzled.

“’Pacifist’ or not, I assume that you would prefer to accompany me back to camp than end up wandering the countryside by yourself. If you were lucky, you might end up as some sort of novelty in the Auttan court.”

“Well, what’s going to happen to me once you take me back to your base?”

“Like I said, the Trinity will decide. I do not know what will ultimately happen to you. Presumably, it will be in the best interest of rebellion.”

“But not in my best interest,” Jonathan muttered.

What was that?”

“Nothing.”

They ate. Ari started cleaning his knives with a cloth. The blades looked red in the bloody light.

“Does everyone here fight with knives and swords and stuff?”

Ari shrugged, still focused on his work.

“Only if they’re spelled. Regular ones are easy enough to protect against. We’ve also got some projectile things, but I like blades better. They soak up the spellwork more easily.”

“Spellwork? Like magic?”

“Yeah.”

“We don’t have that at home.”

“Then how do you protect yourself?”

“Um…there are laws, and policemen, and things. Some people have guns, but I think that just contributes to the problem, so I guess it’s mostly the government’s job. And we can fight physically if we need to.”

Ari snorted, but did not say anything.

“What, have you got a better solution?”

“Yes. Magic.”

“Well, unfortunately for us, we haven’t got magic. So we just make do with what we have.”

“You’re world doesn’t sound very well designed.”

“It’s not designed! It’s scientific.  It just sort of happened. And it works just fine. We can get by without magic.”

“Fair enough.”

“It’s just different.”

“Yes. It sounds as though it is. And that reminds me, you should probably change clothes before we get to Wall. You’re dressed incorrectly. We’re going to have to go into a city to meet my friend, and people will be excessively curious. I’ll lend you some clothes.”

Jonathan shrugged.

“They might be a bit big.”

Jonathan shrugged again.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah. Fine.”

“That’s good.”

“Yeah.”

Conversation petered out. Jonathan noticed that the sound rain drumming against the sides of the tent had stopped too. He scooted a bit closer to the Fire Box. Ari put away his knives, and the cloth.

“C’mon.” he said quietly. “I won’t let anything happen to you. It’s not your fault that you’re here. I’ll try to make sure you don’t get swept up in our cause. Fighting isn’t for everyone. If it was, we’d have overthrown the bastards already.”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

“Seriously, though, is everything-”

“Everything is fine, thanks, Ari.”

It was beginning to get stuffy inside the tent. Ari put the Fire Box away. Closing his eyes against the intense darkness, Jonathan curled up and pretended to sleep. He breathed deeply to fool Ari, and he ended up fooling himself as well, because before he knew it, it was morning.

“Where are we going anyways?” he yawned as Ari packed up the tent. He did a slight double take when he noticed that Ari had braided his chaotic ponytail, and tucked the braid down the back of his jacket. He had also tied a rough sort of bandana over his head, effectively hiding his hair.

“Aeolik. Or as it’s now called, Mayin. We should reach it this evening, but we’re camping a few miles away. Now take these, and change.”

Jonathan took the stack of neatly folded clothes, and stripped down behind a tree. The ground was damp from the light rain of the previous evening. However, the clouds hung as low as before. Now there was a charged feeling to the air. Goosebumps erupted all over his skin. He felt defenseless, clothed only in his underwear, out of sight of Ari, in the middle of the forest.

He dressed himself in Ari’s clothes.  They did not fit well. They were loose at the hips and shoulders, tight across the chest and waist, and slightly too long everywhere. He felt funny in the high necked tunic, and trousers still worn over his running shoes. He came out from behind the tree, and Ari gave him a strange, grey coat. It came down almost to his knees, and buttoned all the way up to his chin. He assumed it was waterproof. It had a funny, shiny surface.

Ari had only a light jacket over his tunic, trousers, and boots. He seemed irritatingly at his ease; hardly inconvenienced by the chill.

The new clothes made Jonathan’s skin feel oddly electrified. It was not a pleasant sensation, somewhat like being exposed to low-grade static shocks all over his body. He tried to ignore it.

“That’s better.” Ari said. “If we could only do something about those ridiculous shoes, you’d look almost ordinary.”

Jonathan shrugged, ignoring the remark about his sneakers.

“Thanks for lending me the clothes.”

“It is not an inconvenience. But don’t lose them. They belong to the Circle.”

“The what?”

“The Circle. The rebellion. Just be careful with them, understood?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

He watched his breath puff out into the cold air like a cloud. He looked for trees with leaves still trembling at the ends of their spindly branches. He counted birds, and mushrooms, and shrubs with white berries. He made up a song in his head. He got bored. He wondered if he was allergic to the material of Ari’s clothes. The tingling, prickling sensation persisted.

“Ari?” he called.

Ari, who was a few paces ahead, glanced back. He paused until Jonathan caught up with him.

“What are these clothes made of?”

“They’re a little bit hemp and a little bit magic.”

“Oh.”

Jonathan was pretty sure that he was not allergic to hemp. Becky had bought him a hemp shirt once, and it had not bothered him a bit.

Since the silence had been broken, Jonathan tried to think of something else to talk about.

“Ari, who are we meeting in…Allik?”

Aeolik. But you’re to call it Mayin. That’s the Auttan name for the city. It means ‘the flower’ in their language. That’s the name you’re to use. And we’re meeting my friend, Tob. Tob’s from outside the country. She helps out the Circle by bringing us supplies, and weapons, and money.”

“Okay. I was just wondering. So where’s Tob from?’

“Grek. It’s North of here. They’ve been sending us lots of weapons, but no soldiers. We used to be allies. Not exact-ly allies, but trade partners. Anyways, we weren’t enemies. They’re supporting us over the Royalists, thank deity.”

“Thank deity?”

“I wasn’t thanking a specific god or goddess.”

“O-kay. Um.”

“What?”

“It’s nothing. Only, I believe in only one god. Or at least sort of believe in it. Him.”

“That’s very strange.”

“Not where I come from.”

They arrived at a road. It was paved in something that looked like neglected cement. Its surface was cracked and uneven. Spindly, spiny plants seemed to be in the process of destroying it from the inside. Together, the two boys glanced up and down the road. There was no one else in sight.

“We’re very close, now. We ought to set up camp.”

“Why can’t we just go into the city?”

“I don’t want to rent a room. We haven’t got much money, and I don’t want to get stuck inside the walls after curfew. It’s not safe.”

He couldn’t think of anything to say to that, so he suppressed his twinge of annoyed impatience. He followed Ari away from the road, and helped him set up the tent in a small clearing shielded from view by heavy underbrush. It was wet, and cold, and miserable that evening. Ari was especially laconic, staring almost angrily out into the now pounding rain.

Jonathan started to wonder what his family was doing at this very moment. Maybe his mother and father were making dinner. Chicken? No, they had had chicken only two nights ago. It would be steak, or maybe pasta. But perhaps the times were different, and they were not making dinner at all. Maybe hundreds of years had passed, and they were all dead. Maybe they had not yet been born.

Suddenly, Jonathan wondered if his world had ever existed at all.

He felt a creeping sense of loneliness so intense that it made him want curl up in a ball on the ground. It was isolation beyond words that no amount of companionship could assuage. He looked over at Ari who was crouched in the opening of the tent, and realized that he did not know this person, not really. Jonathan felt cold deep inside, as though his heart had frosted over.

He picked up a leaf that had blown into the tent and started carefully tearing it apart. He scattered the pieces of leaf on the ground. When he had nothing left but a stem, he broke it into tiny pieces and started fidgeting.

“Will you stop that?” Ari snarled after a few minutes.

“Stop what?”

“Just stop moving around. Stay still.”

“Fine.”

Thunder rumbled in the distance.

“Seriously, stop fidgeting. It’s making me nervous.”

“Well, it makes me nervous when you play with your knives.”

“I’m not playing with my knives, in case you haven’t noticed. Just stop, alright?”

“Okay. Whatever.”

Jonathan tried hard to refrain from tapping his fingers and shifting his weight. Accidentally, he itched his chest where the unpleasant feeling of the clothes was the strongest. Ari did not seem to notice. Jonathan concentrated on counting the time between thunder claps. He had read somewhere that one could calculate the distance of a storm based on the time span between the rolls of thunder. He was not sure exactly how to do this, but counting gave him a distraction. He listened and counted silently. The storm seemed to be getting closer.

In the entrance of the tent, Ari was humming quietly. Jonathan doubted that he even realized he was doing it. He looked very cold, even wrapped in a heavy blanket.  Rain plastered his reddish hair to his wet face. His arms were crossed tightly, but Jonathan got the sense that he would like to be fiddling with his daggers.

Rumble. CRACK!

Jonathan and Ari both jumped.  They looked sheepishly at each other. Jonathan smiled a little uneasily.

“Just lightening.” Ari breathed. “It was just some godsdamn lightening. We should be fine. There are lots of tall trees, but the rain should put out any fires. Maybe. We’ll be just fine.”

“Yeah.”

“Yes.”

“Okay.”

Rumble. Rumble. CRACK!

“Just lightening. Everything’s perfectly fine. Everything’s fine, fine, bloody fine. Godsdamn.”

Ari’s face was white. He yanked the tent flap closed, and scooted away from the entrance.

“Are you okay?”

Jonathan hesitantly laid a hand on Ari’s shoulder. He was trembling. He flinched a little at Jonathan’s touch, but did not pull away entirely.

“Yes. Of course. It’s just some godsdamn lightening. Nothing to be afraid of. Just loud noise and godsdamn light. I’ll be fine in a moment. I’m alright, really. It’s just lightening. I don’t like lightening. But I’ll be fine.”

CRACK! Rumble. CRACK!

Ari flinched again.

“Try breathing deeply. Or something. Er.”

This time, Ari did pull away. He sat up a little straighter. His face had gone blank.

“Thank you, but I am really perfectly alright. I am just a little…on edge.” Although steely, his voice was a emotionless as his face.

Lightening cracked again, but Ari hardly batted an eye. There was a frigid determination in his manner. Jonathan could tell he was fighting the impulse to react, but the only sign of his struggle was a faint tightness in the set of his jaw, and a quickness to his breathe. He regarded Jonathan coldly, but without anger. It was like looking at an unoccupied mask, or a house with blinds drawn over its windows; the windows themselves were visible, but everything within was obscured.

Jonathan shrank back a little bit. For some reason, he was keenly aware of the knives in Ari’s belt. Rumble. Rumble. Rumble. Crack.

The storm was receding. Each roll of thunder came farther apart. Nevertheless, rain pounded down with the same ferocity. There was a loud crack and a thump; a branch fell to the ground mere feet away from the tent. Jonathan looked up at the fabric ceiling uneasily.

The next morning, Jonathan and Ari surveyed the destruction around them. Fortunately, no tree limbs had fallen on the tent, which Ari claimed was due to the excellent spot he picked, but Jonathan suspect was more thanks to luck. It had stopped raining sometime in the night. There were thin branches and fallen leaves scattered everywhere. They did not wait for breakfast, but started toward Aeolik- Mayin, Jonathan reminded himself- immediately.

Although Ari led them on a winding route that never came quite in sight of the main road, Jonathan glimpsed a vehicle hurtling past every one and a while. He could not tell exactly what they looked like, but they did not seem to touch the ground as they zipped by.

They left the trees behind, and crossed an extremely marshy field. Muddy water soaked straight through Jonathan’s shoes in a matter of minutes. It seemed that the dry soil had absorbed every drop of water it could hold, but had been unable to drink up all of the rain that had flooded from the now distant clouds.

They crossed a somewhat less marshy field. They came to a foot path. As they walked, Jonathan spotted a few houses scattered far apart amongst the expanses of brown, broken stalks. The buildings had small windows, flat roofs, and thick, whitewashed walls. He supposed that they would keep a lot of heat in, or out, depending on the season.

Jonathan noticed it before they spotted the city. It started as a faint hum that was felt more than heard. As the city loomed on the horizon, the sensation grew more obvious.

“What is it?” he asked.

“What is what?”

“That buzzing!”

“What buzzing?”

“It’s getting stronger, and it…it hurts.”

It was true. As they continued to walk, the vibration reached a painful level. Jonathan gritted his teeth, not only against the pain, but to stop them humming in his mouth. Ari looked at him curiously.

Eventually, they reached a wider road.  There were other people walking ahead of them, but Jonathan hardly noticed them. He held his hands tightly over his ears. Ari led him to the end of a short line of people that had lined up before a wooden gate in the enormous, crenellated wall. There was a pair of men in official-looking grey uniforms flanking the entrance, questioning each person passing through.

“City Watch.” Ari murmured in Jonathan’s ear. “Shouldn’t be too much trouble.”

Jonathan nervously glanced at his running shoes. They did look very out of place. He looked again at the watchmen. They were both very tall and broad chested. He darted a glance at Ari, and was surprised to see that he seemed perfectly at his ease. He even smiled at Jonathan as if to say, not to worry, naïve traveler.

Jonathan was worried. He was worried about the guards, but he was more worried by the fact that the closer he got to the city walls, the more intense the buzzing became. He felt sure that his bones would shake themselves to dust before they got through the gates.

They reached the entrance in less than twenty minutes.

The first guard, a man with a rich brown beard and moustache said, “Names?”

“Burn Nick, and this is my cousin Lok Coil.”

“Business in A- in Mayin?”

“Visiting  my cousin Bret.”

“Duration of stay?”

“Just for the day. We’re leaving before nightfall.”

“What’s in the bag?”

“Camping gear.”

The first guard opened Ari’s pack and unenthusiastically rummaged. He pulled out the Fire Box. It was dull at the moment, not glowing or burning.

“Is this regulation?”

“Yes, sir.”

“We’ve been having lots people selling illegal Fire Boxes lately.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, sir.”

The guard turned it over in his large hands, rubbed the surface, and sniffed it before handing it back to Ari.

“Pay the toll. It’s a half crown.” said the second guard.

He was even taller than the first, and looked to Jonathan like he was from India, or maybe the Middle East. Of course, Jonathan thought, there is not India here. No Middle East either. If only that buzzing would stop…I think I’m going to throw up…no, I can’t. Stop thinking about it. Lalalala everything’s totally fine…

Ari rummaged in his jacket pocket and removed a shiny, yellow coin. Jonathan made out the sharp profile of a person before the second guard took the coin and tucked it into a bag tied around his waist. He handed Jonathan and Ari each a piece of paper typed with the words ‘Visitor Pass. One day only.’ The first guard yawned.

The vibration started to lessen as they drew away from the wall. Jonathan felt a bit better. He glanced around at the buildings. They were flat roofed, narrow, and closely packed. He thought of skyscrapers, but these buildings were nowhere near as tall as many of the towering office buildings back home. Pipes led from the eaves troughs to enormous rain barrels at ground level.

He doubled over and vomited.

“What’s going on?”

Jonathan spat. His mouth tasted disgusting.

“I don’t know. I just…I don’t know. I was starting to feel okay after we got away from the wall, but then…”

“Can you walk?’

“Yeah. I’m  okay. I just need a drink of water or something.”

“Wait here.”

Ari lead him to a mostly empty square. There was a fountain at the centre. He sat Jonathan down on its edge. Jonathan fidgeted uncomfortably. The stone he was sitting on was very cold. There were only a few inches of water in the fountain. He glanced at his pale reflection and winced. He looked awful.

A few minutes passed. Jonathan lay down and pressed his hot face against the cool marble. He closed his eyes. Suddenly, he jerked upright. There it was again! So faintly that he had barely noticed it before, the fountain was humming! He stood shakily and sank to the ground a few feet away.

“Jon-a-than?”

He sat up. Ari was back with a full water skin. He drank thirstily. Then, he took a small mouthful, rinsed, and spat into the fountain.

“Thanks. Ari, what is going on?”

“I don’t know. Maybe you’re just sick or something. Anyways, the sooner we get to our destination, the better. Tob should be staying at an inn a little ways from here. I’m showing up a little earlier than expected, and Tob can be a bit edgy, so it would be helpful if you stayed quiet and stuck close to me.”

“Okay. Sure.”

Jonathan trailed Ari through the narrow streets. It seemed to him that the surroundings were getting increasingly grubby and run down. They finally stopped before a squat wooden building with ‘Whit’s Inn’ painted on it in dirty white letters. They slipped inside.

It was cramped and dim within. Jonathan squinted into the gloom. He supposed that it was some sort of pub. There was nobody inside except for a skinny, tired-looking woman behind the bar. She glanced up half-heartedly, when they entered.

“We’re here to see Brettin Nick. I believe that she’s renting one of the upstairs rooms.”

“Nick? She said she didn’t want any visitors.” the woman said tersely.

“Well, let her know that Burn called. Thank you, milady.”

“I’ll be sure to tell her next time I see her. Good bye, sir.”

The woman turned away and started putting glasses away in a drawer. A scrawny, tousle haired girl entered from a back room carrying a tray. She stopped when she saw Ari and Jonathan and smiled shyly at them. Ari smiled back, nodded again to the barwoman, and led Jonathan back out the front door.

“What now?”

“Quiet. This way.”

Purposefully, Ari walked back up the street. Jonathan followed. They turned a corner, and slipped into an empty alley.

“Back entrance.”

Ari pointed to a door painted with chipped blue paint. He tried the handle. It was locked. He extracted a few oddly shaped pieces of metal from an inside pocket of his jacket, knelt, and began deftly picking the lock of the door.

“Are you crazy? What if someone sees us?”

“Sh!”

There was a muted click. Ari put on his pack, and turned the doorknob. The door opened a fraction.

“Hurry!”

He darted into the inn, Jonathan on his heels. They were in a dirty room full of wooden crates and barrels. There was a rickety set of stairs leading up. Just as Jonathan reached them, a door creaked open. It was the girl, now without her tray. He froze, heart pounding. She had not yet glanced up, but it was only a matter of moments…

“Mere! Come back here and finish the dishes!” a voice called from the front room.

The girl turned away from Jonathan. Stealthily, he put a foot lightly on the first step. It creaked a little, but the girl did not seem to hear it.

“But Mama, you told me to get you more barley crackers from the storeroom!”

Ari was beckoning to him. Jonathan held up a finger. Slowly, he put his full weight on the first step and placed his other foot gently on the second.

“Do as I say! Dishes first, then crackers!”

“Yes Mama.”

She left, closing the door behind her. Swiftly, but gingerly, Jonathan climbed the stairs. He and Ari emerged into a landing above. It was dim, the only lighting coming from a dirty window at the end of the hall. There were five doors. They tried each in succession. The first four opened to reveal dingy bedrooms. The third and final door was locked.

Ari sat down in the hall and brought out his lock picks.

“You can’t just break into-”

Quiet! This is a delicate procedure.”

After a minute or so, the lock clicked. Ari tried the door. It did not budge.

“Spelled. Of course.” he said, seemingly to himself.

Ari laid a palm against the wooden surface. His eyes had a faraway, unfocussed look.  After a few motionless moments, the buzzing surged so strongly that Jonathan almost cried out. It vanished just as suddenly as it had come, and the door swung inward with a faint pop.

Silently, they crept into the shabby rooms. Ari silently checked the hall closet, a bedroom containing a mattress, an empty bookshelf, and a small wardrobe, and a room that was completely empty except for a bare table. As Ari examined the scant contents of the closet Jonathan wandered back into the bedroom.

He crossed to the window. It overlooked the alley that they so recently occupied. It was not a particularly scenic view. He turned and started walking back across the room.

“Don’t move!” a voice whispered fiercely.

Something cold, sharp, and metallic was tickling the back of his neck. Jonathan froze. The point where the metal was touching his skin burned.

“Take four steps backward. Slowly now. Hands up.” The voice hissed.

Jonathan obeyed, mind racing.

“What are you doing here? Who sent you?”

“No one!” he whispered.

“Then what do you want?”

“We’re looking for Tob. Or Ari is anyways.”

“Ari? What do you-”

At that moment, Ari entered the room. He stopped, and stared at something behind Jonathan. A look of incredulous delight crossed his face.

Tob?”

“Ari!”

Someone darted out from behind Jonathan. There was a blur of motion, and suddenly, a slim, raven haired young woman was hugging a rather uncomfortable looking Ari.

“What are you doing here, Ari? I wasn’t expecting you for at least a week! I thought you were out scouting.”

“I was. But I’m going back to True Home earlier, so I thought we could both go. The fey gave me a Traveler to look after.”

“Who? Him?” the woman turned slightly, and Ari carefully slipped out of her embrace.

Tob was more than a head shorter than Ari, but looked to be about nineteen or twenty. Her skin was so pale that she almost glowed, and her hair and slanted eyes were black. She wore a red bandana over her head, a leather vest, tunic, and trousers decorated with horizontal stripes in black and grey. She looked somewhat piratical. Jonathan decided that she was extremely pretty in an elfish sort of way. He wondered if she was actually an elf. Perhaps there were elves in this world…

He rubbed the back of his neck. There was a small raised bump that itched horribly.

“Yes. That’s Jon-a-than. Jonathan, Tobbit Nix.”

“Um…” said Jonathan.

“Nice to meet you Jonthan. Sorry about all that. One can never be too careful.”

Tob grasped his hand and wrung it enthusiastically.

“Where were you hiding, by the way?” Ari asked.

“Wardrobe. It was a tight fit, even for me, but I managed it. I heard my door open, and realized that there were at least two of you, so I thought that it would be best if I was a tad on the cautious side if you know what I mean. Then, I slipped out to ask a few questions of Mister Jonathan Traveler, here.”

Both Jonathan and Ari looked toward the wardrobe. It was open. Jonathan could not imagine how anyone, even the small, delicate Tob, could fit inside it.

“I’m impressed.” said Ari.

“Are we heading out, then? I’m already packed.”

Tob retrieved a pack much smaller than Ari’s from behind the wardrobe and slung it on.

“Yes. What about the shipments.”

“I stashed them in the woods.”

“Let’s get moving, then.”

Jonathan trailed the pair out of Tob’s room. Ari and Tob weren’t actually speaking, but they kept exchanging subtle glances of the sort that made Jonathan feel like an intruder. Old friend indeed, he thought, giving a mental snort.

When they reached the stairs, Ari halted.

“We aren’t exactly…supposed to be here, Tob. The barwoman told us you didn’t want visitors, so we broke in through the alley.”

“Lock picks still in good condition, I take it?”

Ari wrinkled his nose. Jonathan could tell he was suppressing a grin. He cleared his throat, and Ari and Tob started slightly.

“How are we going to get out?” he asked, a little petulantly.

“Window.” Tob said. “I’ve paid for the entire month, so old Mitz can’t complain if I leave early.”

They went back into Tob’s vacant room. Tob shoved at the window.  Its hinges creaked stiffly, but it opened smoothly enough.

“Do we jump, or something?” Jonathan eyed the ground below nervously. Two stories was not really so high up, but the pavement looked extraordinarily hard.

Tob shook her head.

“We climb up onto the roof.”

Before Jonathan could ask for clarification, all that was visible of Tob were her feet on the window sill. After a moment, those too vanished up and out of sight. Ari followed.

Jonathan crossed to the window. There was a narrow ledge outside it. He glanced up. Ari and Tob were peering down at him from atop the roof.

“I don’t know about this.” he called.

“Get moving! It will be fine.” Ari sounded impatient.

Reluctantly, Jonathan got onto the window sill. He stuck his head out the window.  Very slowly, he shifted so that his back was to the sheer drop behind him. He grasped the edge of the roof with both his hands, and stood. He wobbled for a moment as he edged out of the window, but steadied himself against the building. He pulled himself onto the roof with a grunt.

“Okay. What now?” he was pleased that his voice hardly trembled at all.

“We climb down the rain pipe.”

Tob led the way across the flat expanse. Jonathan felt vulnerable even though the roof was as even as the ground below.

The street was deserted except for an old woman rummaging in a garbage bin. Tob gave a significant nod. She dropped her pack off the edge of the roof, then lowered herself after it. Jonathan craned his neck to watch her shimmy down the pipe. It looked disconcertingly frail.

“Go ahead, Jonathan. I’m going back to close the window.”

“Oh. Right. Okay.”

Descending the pipe was not quite as nerve-wracking as climbing out of the window, but Jonathan’s stomach still lurched uncomfortably every time he glanced down. The pipe held, but it was wet, and slippery, and hard to grip.

Ari came a short while later, first tossing down his pack, then expertly lowering himself. The old woman was still digging in the bin. She did not seem to have noticed anything.

As they started walking, the city seemed a little more alive, but just barely.  It was not so early that people would not be at work, Jonathan decided. He wondered if it was a weekend or holiday. However, he quickly discounted this idea. The few people in the streets looked subdued. They hurried along, not making eye contact with anyone.

Jonathan tapped Ari on the shoulder.

“What’s going on?”

It was Tob who had answered.

“Mayin is a royalist town. Imperial soldiers caught and executed a group of crown rebels two days ago. During the investigation, they found out that some members of the City Council were aiding them. They’ve been imprisoned, and are awaiting trial. The entire city is being punished with trade restrictions and curfews.”

“Oh.”

“Fortunately,” she continued, “they aren’t stopping visitors from coming and going. At least, not yet.”

Their route was more circuitous than the one that had lead from the gate to the inn, leading them deeper into the city. At one point, they came to a wall. It was taller than the first, and grey uniformed guards circled it like very orderly sharks. When no one was looking their way, both Tob and Ari spat on the ground.

“That’s where the government buildings are,” Tob said out of the corner of her mouth. “You need papers and a pass to get in at the very least.”

“Oh,” said Jonathan.

They came to the outer wall after a while, and exited. Jonathan was once again almost sick from the awful buzzing, but he managed to refrain from actually vomiting. There were two new watchmen. Technically, a watchman and a watchwoman, Jonathan supposed. Neither paid them much heed as Jonathan and Ari returned their visitor passes.  Tob pulled a much older, crumpled Month Pass out of a vest pocket, and the three of them set off toward the forest.

Jonathan plodded back across the field and into the forest with ill grace. He felt somehow betrayed. He knew it was stupid, that Ari of course had friends, and ‘friends’, and a life beyond Jonathan and the forest and the tent, but it still made him feel resentful. It was like being abandoned by a new buddy in elementary school in favor of one of their older companions who had suddenly returned. He kicked angrily at a pale brown mushroom. It collapsed satisfyingly.

“This way, now.” Tob motioned them deeper into the trees.

And after twenty minutes or so: “Here.”

She was pointing to a mass of brambles about ten feet away. Gingerly, Tob lifted a long, thorny vine, and vanished into a small hole in the foliage. There was a scuffling noise, then a bang, and a quiet, steady purr. Slowly, something emerged from the thicket.

Tob was sitting astride something dull green, and built like a small tank. It floated about a foot and a half above the ground, purring faintly. It had a depression where one could sit, gripping with one’s knees, a steering panel, and a windshield. There was room for at least four people to mount the vehicle. Ari clambered up.

“God.” Jonathan groaned. “Oh God. I think I’m going to-”

He wretched, but nothing came up. Ari leapt off the machine, and knelt by Jonathan.

“What? What is it?” his voice was low and urgent.

“That buzzing! It’s here again! It’s coming from that thing. It’s so strong. I can’t- I just can’t-”

“What’s wrong with him?” Tob murmured.

I don’t know. He was like this earlier after we crossed the wall, but he seemed to get better. I don’t know what’s going on.”

“The wall, the speeder… is there anything else that makes you feel like this?”

Jonathan tried to think. It was difficult because he felt like he was on some sort of murderous vibrating massage mattress.

“Um…the Fire Box, but it’s not as bad. It’s just this faint hum.  Ari’s clothes too. And your knife burned me and left a welt on the back of my neck.”

Ari and Tob looked at each other.

“Do you think it might be-”

“That hardly makes sense, but-”

“It’s just possible-”

“What?” Jonathan growled.

He sat up and glared at the other two.

“Spellwork.” Tob said simply.

“What?”

“You might be reacting to spellwork. You sense it as a vibration. The city walls of Aeolik are very ancient, and spellcasters have been reinforcing them for centuries against attacks. The speeder is powered by spells, as is the Fire Box. My knives are spelled to burn in battle, but they’re under concealment spells to avoid detection.”

Jonathan looked at Ari for confirmation. Ari shrugged.

“Some people are better at sensing spells than others. I’ve never heard of anyone having such an extreme reaction to it, but I wouldn’t rule it out as a possibility.”

Nevertheless, he sounded a little skeptical.

“So I’m like allergic to magic or something?”

“Yes.” said Tob.

“Perhaps.” said Ari.

“Then how am I supposed to ride that thing to wherever we’re going? I’ll fall off, or throw up, or pass out, or something.”

“Well, we can’t walk. The supplies…” Ari broke off midsentence.

He and Tob exchanged a look that Jonathan did not like one bit. He squinted at them suspiciously. After a moment, Ari turned to face him.

“Jonathan,” he said very gravely, “do you trust me?”

“Why?”

“Do you trust me?’

“I’m not going to like this, am I?”

“No.” Tob said.

She crossed to Jonathan and put a hand to his forehead. He tried to jerk away, but she forced his head forward with her other hand.

“What are you doing?”

Jonathan began to struggle in earnest. With an impatient noise, Ari pinned his arms.

“Ari! Stop!”

Tob closed her eyes, and her hand burned against his forehead. Jonathan cried out, and then-

Categories: Fantasy Fiction, Fiction, Modern Fiction, Must Reads, WORST.

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Shieldwolf Chapter 1: Avoidance Techniques by Hades

January 27, 2012

     As soon as the door closed, Jonathan felt stupid. He took off his sodden jacket and hung it on a hook. Somewhere upstairs, Becky was playing her violin. His mother and father were arguing about how to cook a chicken in the kitchen. The nightmare world of wolves and wind and woods seemed much farther that a wall’s width away.

By dinner time, he had half convinced himself that the wolf had been nothing more than a stray dog, or a particularly bold coyote. He was embarrassed about his panicked flight through the forest. There was nothing beneath those dark trees to be scared of. Nothing that he couldn’t handle, at any rate.

Jonathan ate quietly. He ate with his mouth closed, kept his elbows off the table, and chewed each bite thoroughly. His cheerful, intelligent parents had a cheerful, intelligent conversation. Jonathan suppressed the urge to glance over at his sister Becky and roll his eyes.

Becky had not touched her chicken. Becky, his rebellious, hippie sister. The violinist, the melancholy poet, the impractical idealist. She was the crazy one. Not Ben, who was loud, and funny, and popular at school, both on and off the Frisbee field. Not Celia, who desperately wanted a cell phone and blond hair and tickets to a concert she was too young to attend. And certainly not Jonathan.

He ate with a focused intensity. He helped clear the table without his parents reminding him to, and loaded his plate into the dishwasher. He was not paid for chores, but he worked efficiently and went upstairs to do his homework with the same blank ferocity. Jonathan’s face was expressionless.

He would not think of about the assignments, would not let himself rebel against the awful futility of the work. He would not think about the fact that he would write meaningless words, do meaningless calculations, turn them in, and receive more to do as soon as he returned to school. To avoid this despair, he unplugged his heart and his mind and attacked his assignments coldly.

Finally, after hours of essay writing, and graphing, and note taking, Jonathan lay on his back, staring at the ceiling of the room he shared with Ben. The door frame glowed orange with light from the hall. He lay flat, arms by his sides, legs straight. The lonely, slightly muffled sound of Becky singing in the room next door sent a cold tingle down his spine. It was a high, wild tune, probably of her own invention.

The wind was picking up again outside. At 8:00, the radio weather man had predicted that school would be cancelled the next day. A branch whipped the window. Jonathan thought of another branch, a branch in his hand that he had thrown in frightened fury. He remembered the sound of it breaking against a tree trunk. And then, the Woods. With uncomfortable vividness, he recalled the metallic smell of snow, the crunch of frosted pine needles beneath his feet, the rough cawing of a crow, and, most of all the silent, magnificent, terrifying creature that had stared at him with fathomless eyes. In Jonathan’s mind, it loomed hugely, magnified with almost crystalline clarity: the wolf in the Woods.

The need to share the experience built inside him like a headache, the pressure growing until he finally said:

“Ben? You still awake?”

“Mph.”

“Okay, so I saw this…dog, you know walking home the short way through the Woods.”

“So?”

“Okay, okay, I’m getting to the point. Anyways, it was big and it didn’t have a collar, and looked sort of like a husky. Except it was more wild looking. It looked kind of like a coyote or…you know…”

“A wolf?”

“Sure. A wolf.”

He heard Ben sigh. There was a rustling of sheets and a meow from Sparrow, the only one of the three cats that occasionally slept in their room. Ben had obviously disturbed her as he rolled over to face Jonathan and more effectively scorn his supposition.

“Jonathan, that’s stupid. We don’t get wolves around here.”

Jonathan did not like Ben’s tone.

“That’s not true. There’s a breeding program where they release wolves back into the wild and stuff. I read about it in the paper.”

“You read too much.”

“I like reading.”

“Whatever. Okay, so you like reading and logic and stuff like that, right? So let’s just think about this logically, Mr. Spock. People aren’t releasing wolves into urban areas. They’d be running around eating little dogs, and kids, and stuff.”

“One could have gotten lost and wound up in the Woods where it’s isolated and quiet. And besides, I just know it wasn’t a dog. It was too…” he trailed off, searching fruitlessly for the right adjective.

“Wolf-like?” he could tell Ben was grinning. “Can I go to sleep now?”

“Yeah. Sorry. Good night.”

“Night.”

Sparrow hissed as Ben rolled over again.

Jonathan stretched his leg, extending his feet beyond the confines of his blankets. He lay awake, listening as Ben’s breathing slowed to a steady rhythm. The house quieted.

Ben started muttering unintelligibly. By this, Jonathan gauged that it was probably close to midnight. He closed his eyes and sucked in a deep lungful of cool air. Sleep remained elusive.

Somewhere close to the house, a branch cracked. It was a sharp, intrusive noise. Jonathan stiffened. The sound did not repeat, and he forced himself to relax. The strange encounter in the Woods had left him on edge. He mentally berated Ben for his midnight orations.

There was another crack, somewhat louder, and closer than the first. Across the room, Sparrow hissed. He heard a soft thump.

Jonathan sat up and peered into the darkness. Something near the floor meowed. The cat leapt onto his bed, and jumped from there to his desk.  Silhouetted by the faint light, Sparrow looked out from the gap between the curtains.

Guarding us, he thought. He stared at the little grey cat perched on the window sill. For a long time, they remained in that fashion: the boy watching the cat, and the cat looking fixedly out the window. Then, Jonathan fell asleep.

He dreamed an enormous thorny tree with black feathers instead of leaves. He dreamed his friend Lucy was walking through a forest of eyes, dressed in vivid scarlet. He dreamed about a wolf leaping through his bedroom window in a shower of glass and devouring his family.  But he did not remember any of it in the morning.

School was cancelled that day. Even his intrepid parents were forced to concede that they would have to stay home. Celia practically deafened them all with her excited shrieks when she heard the news. Ben grinned, and fell back into bed. Becky shrugged moodily.

Jonathan sat down on the end of her bed. She was already up, writing something in a black-bound journal.

“Here.”

She passed the book to him. He read:

A Memory of Roses

she walks amongst them like a ghost

in the cold garden

where the roses used to grow

 

the spiderwebs all hung

with mists and moons and fire

black thorns harsh against the sky

 

written on her pale lips

in a sharpness that does not fade

flocks of crows in dark

feathered trees

a fretful forest

with one hundred eyes

 

He shivered.

“I like it.”

“Thanks.”

“Yeah.”

Becky looked at him strangely. Her tone was very grave, and the meaning was somehow profound when she said, “Thank you.”

“What for?”

“I don’t know.”

He frowned a little, and went downstairs. A fully dressed Celia was devouring a plate of eggs at the table. His mother and father were eating more sedately. Ben was nowhere to be seen.

“The snow won’t just vanish.” His mother reminded Celia as she inhaled her breakfast. “You can go down to the park with your friends, but please don’t go sledding on Scott Street. I swear someone will get hit by a car going down that hill!”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I get it. Stay away from the big, scary hill,” she said, shoving the last forkful of scrambled egg into her mouth.

When his mother turned her back, Celia rolled her eyes exaggeratedly.

“Jonathan, you’ve been awfully quiet.” His father was looking at him intently, an expression bordering on suspicion on his face. “What’s up?”

Jonathan hesitated perhaps a moment too long before answering. “Nothing is going on Dad. I’m fine. Really Dad. I’m alright.”

He continued his scrutiny, obviously unconvinced.

“Well, I think you should get out of the house today. You could go hang out with Alex and your girlfriend.”

“She’s not my girlfriend, Dad. Lucy is…seeing someone.”

“Lucky guy, whoever he is.”

“Yeah. Guy. I guess.”

He did not bother to correct his father. Jonathan rarely did.

“Well, why don’t you go hang out with Alex and Lucy-who-is-definitely-not-your-girlfriend?”

“I’m not feeling that well. I guess I’ll just stay home, and get some rest.”

Placing a palm on his forehead, his mother said doubtfully, “You’re a little warm. Still, some fresh air would be good for you. Why don’t you walk Celia down to the park?”

He shrugged wearily.

“As long as she isn’t too annoying.”

After eating, Jonathan pulled on a jacket and sneakers. Celia grabbed a small foam sled from the garage and set out into the wintery day. Once out of sight of the house, she changed direction.

“Where are you going?” he called from a little way behind.

“Scott’s Hill.”

“But that’s-” he stopped myself before he could add ‘across the Woods.’ Instead Jonathan said “Mom won’t let you.”

“So? Mom’s not here. And you won’t tell her, will you?” Celia sped up, the sled bumping over the uneven ground behind her. He hurried to catch up and grabbed the sleeve of her parka.

“It’s dangerous, Celia. And it’ll be my fault if you get hurt. I’m supposed to be responsible. You can’t go.”

Celia crossed her arms and regarded him with raised eyebrows. There was something distinctly Becky-ish in her determined expression.

“What are you going to do? Go wunning to Mummy and tattle on me?” she asked in a mock baby voice.

Jonathan breathed in deeply. Patience.

“Seals, I don’t want you to get hurt. You’re my sister. I’ve gone sledding there before, and it’s dangerous. Plus I’m not feeling good and I don’t want to go all the way over to there. So, I think I will go back and tell Mom and Dad.”

A little impatiently, Celia said, “No one has ever been hurt on that hill! Relax. You don’t need to be so uptight about everything. And don’t call me Seals. I hate that stupid nickname.”

She turned and started to trot away.

“Wait!”

Celia ignored him. If anything, she was walking faster. He stopped. He could see the snow covered trees not far ahead.

“Hurry up, Jonathan!” Her voice was sharp and impatient. “You know I can’t go through the Woods alone.”

“Why do you care about rules all of a sudden?”

She tilted her head and rested it on her hand in mock contemplation. “Well, let’s see. Maybe because I don’t want some creepy pedophile to kidnap me or something.”

Jonathan didn’t move. As he recalled, the only people he had ever seen in the Woods were their neighbors, the occasional jogger, and once, a homeless man asleep amongst the trees. Of course, that did not take the gigantic wolf into account.

“So if I stay here, you won’t go?”

“Don’t be stupid.”

With a deep intake of breath, he followed his little sister into the Woods. Celia waited until he had almost caught up with her. Then, she turned on her heel and half-walked, half-jogged down the path. The sled bounced erratically behind her.

They reached Scott’s Hill without any more pauses. There were about a dozen giggling preteens already there, each with a flimsy sled. A couple of boys were pelting each other with snowballs from behind parked cars.

Before Celia could scamper away to join her friends, Jonathan leaned in and whispered, “Enjoy your sledding while you can, Seals. I’ll give you forty-five minutes before Mom and Dad show up. Tops.”

Celia shrugged unconcernedly. Without a backwards glance, she ran off, yelling, “Tessa! Anne! Wait up, you guys!”

Shaking his head, Jonathan started off toward home. The hill was in a quiet part of the city, so he walked in the street. It looked like snowplows had been at work. Nevertheless, snow was soaking through his sneakers, and his fingers were bright red with cold. School tomorrow, he thought. Ben and Celia would be disappointed.

Determinedly staring ahead, he marched into the Woods. There would be no distractions; no delays. In less than half an hour, Jonathan would arrive at his house. It won’t matter if there is a whole pack of wolves; a whole flock of crows, he thought. I’m going home.

Before he knew it, he was out of the Woods and facing the back gate. He carefully scanned the area for signs of movement. There were none. He glanced up, then down.

Slowly and deliberately, he rubbed out the large paw print preserved in the snow with the toe of his sneaker. He opened the gate and latched it securely behind him.

“No need to worry,” he breathed. “Too late.”

The next morning, he decided to be sick.

“Get up, man! Jonathan! Up! We’ve got school! C’mon, get up!”

Pulling his covers up over his head, he croaked, “Go away Ben! I’m sick.”

“Like hell you are.”

“No, really. I’m sick and I can’t go to school.”

Ben gave a derisive snort, but exited quietly in case his brother was actually telling the truth. It was very comfortable, just lying there, eyes closed, listening to the distant sound of other people preparing to face the chilly, snowy world outside. Although it was stuffy under his quilt, Jonathan did not pull it away from his face. It would help bring his temperature up, should one of his parents demand to take it. Sure enough, his father arrived less than ten minutes later. Jonathan could hear a thermometer clink against something else he was holding, maybe his glasses, or car keys.

“Are you awake? Ben told me that you’re sick. Will you going to be able to go to school?”

Very slowly, and feebly, he pulled the blankets away from his head, and rolled over to face his father. He put a hand to Jonathan’s forehead, then handed him the thermometer.

“You’ve definitely got a temperature. How do you feel?”

Making his voice thin and frail, he whispered, “Dad, I can’t go to school today. I’m all cold, and my throat hurts, and I’m nauseous. I just feel really, really bad.”

“Hmm…then I suppose you should take some cold medicine and get some rest.”

It was a test, and he knew it. The cold medicine in question was a thick, brown, gelatinous syrup. It half-suffocated the helpless patient while simultaneously burning the coating off their throat. It tasted strongly of pepper.

This deterrent served to stop Jonathan and his siblings from faking illness to avoid school until they reached twelve or so. His cheerful, intelligent parents hadn’t figured out that they were sometimes willing to take the ghastly concoction if they thought that facing the alternative test, homework, or social problem was worse.

“Yeah. Having some would probably help me feel better. Can you bring it up before you go? Thanks Dad.”

“Okay.” He seemed convinced. “Do you want me to bring you up some breakfast too?”

“No thanks. I’ll have some plain toast if I’m hungry later.”

“That sounds like a good idea.” He ruffled Jonathan’s hair gently. “I’m sorry, but you’re going to be home alone for most of the day. Your mom and I can’t get off work today, but Becky said she’ll skip her violin lessons and come back early. She’ll get home around four.”

“Alright. Bye Dad.”

He listened as his father’s heavy footsteps faded. They returned, and a bottle of cough medicine was deposited on the bedside table. He took his dose docilely. His father reminded him to take another spoonful in the afternoon. He promised he would. Exit father.

Below him, Jonathan could hear his mother’s shoes clacking across the tiled kitchen floor. Spoons clattered on bowls. Voices buzzed unintelligibly. Keys jingled. Doors slammed.  Engines purred faintly from the driveway.

Silence.

He waited for five minutes, still listening. Nobody returned to collect a forgotten binder of briefcase. Slowly, hesitantly, Jonathan smiled with self-satisfaction. He was comfortable, and free to do as he pleased. Right now it pleased him to pick up a large book of Sherlock Holmes mysteries from his bedside table. He thought about what Ben would say if he knew that his brother was reading on a sick day. He frowned slightly. He did not like to think about his brother unnecessarily.

He opened the book and tried to immerse himself in the story. After a few minutes of reading, he succeeded in forgetting his family, and the life he was currently escaping.

“Mrow.”

He turned a page idly. He was about half way through The Sussex Vampire, and could not fathom what the solution might be.

“Mrow!”

He glanced up, annoyed. Sparrow was sitting by the marginally open door, flicking her tail impatiently.

Mrowle!”

“Listen, cat, I’m trying to read. This is classic literature you’re interrupting.”

Sparrow didn’t seem to care. “Mreo-o-o-ow!”

“Let yourself out. You’d only have to nudge the door with your nose, and you could leave. And the door was open earlier!”

“Mrow!”

“Oh for the love of…”

Muttering darkly, he folded the page to mark his spot and heaved himself out of bed. Sparrow wound between his legs, obviously pleased with her cleverness.

“There. The door’s open. Out.”

Without a second’s hesitation, she streaked away down the hall. Jonathan shook his head.

“So much for gratitude.”

For a moment, he was torn between clambering back into bed and going down stair to feed himself. Hunger won. Jonathan grabbed an errant sweatshirt before realizing it was one of Ben’s. It had a faded picture of a cartoon dog catching a Frisbee in its mouth, and the sleeves came down past his hands. He put it down and wrapped a blanket around his shoulders instead.

Shivering a little, he edged down the stairs, and sprinted across the cold kitchen floor barefooted. The house silent except for the hum of the refrigerator, and the faint murmur of the wind outside. Pale, grey light suffused the morning. Jonathan felt very pleasantly alone. He thought that Becky would have written a song or a poem about the solitude. A few lines came to him, but as he tried to hold them in his mind, they dissolved into nonsense.

Celia’s small, white tomcat Ed was curled up on the warm spot in front of the fridge. He stood, stretching languidly when he spotted Jonathan. To his great surprise, Ed stalked up and rubbed against his leg.

“You’re awfully solicitous.”

He gently scratched Ed under the chin, feeling the vibration of his purr. Then, he scooted the cat away with his foot, and yanked open the fridge. There was half a loaf of whole grain bread, a small square of hard cheddar cheese, and not much else. They would need more food soon.

Meditatively, Jonathan constructed a sandwich with far too much cheese. He sat in one of the straight-backed kitchen chairs, sandwich in one hand, newspaper in the other. Ed clambered onto his lap. He craned his small neck as if to read along with him. Jonathan raised an eyebrow. The cats were very friendly this morning.

When he was done eating, he carried his plate to the sink and left it with the dirty dishes from the family’s breakfast. There was a tap. It was a sharp, but slightly muted noise: the sound of something hard but dull striking glass. Jonathan paused, warily. It came again. He circled the kitchen, searching for the source. Tap. Tap. Tap.

“What the…”

He was face to face with the crow. It was perched boldly on a window sill, staring into the house.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Its ebony beak made hard contact with the glass.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Half entranced by the bizarre scene, he backed away from the window. There was a dream-like quality that prevented him from running up the stairs for cover. Jonathan was rooted to the spot, transfixed or perhaps hypnotized. Tap.

In a disconnected fashion, he thought, Quoth the raven ‘Nevermore’.

Then, he wanted to laugh at the melodramatic nature of what had just entered his mind. The whole scene was too surreal. He was half fascinated, half petrified…

MREO-O-o-O-o-OWLOWEOWMRoW!”

A hissing, thrashing, yowling, black phantasm hurtled past him. It leapt onto the counter and dashed itself against the window. The hypnotic moment passed. A massive cat crouched on the window sill, menacing the crow. After a few moments of intense staring, the crow gave up and flapped away.

“Inky?”

It was. The great, ink colored, half-feral cat had emerged from the attic. Jonathan was truly astounded. When Becky adopted her four years ago, she had been flea ridden, emaciated, and missing chunks of fur. Now, Inky was enormous, her black coat glossy. Although scarred and lacking part of an ear, she was well fed and clean. She never forgave them for it. The cat lurked in the attic, venturing out only to collect her meals from the stairway. Sometimes, not even then. Jonathan supposed that there were mice living amongst the storage boxes.

Her evil yellow eyes gleamed. Foolishly, he reached out to pat her and she shied away, hissing. Jonathan climbed back upstairs in a daze. Sparrow was sitting on his bed. He flopped down beside her and stared at the ceiling. It had a lot of interesting whorls and shadows to keep him occupied.

Although he lay there unmoving for a long while, he did not drift to sleep. He roused himself only when the doorbell rang twice: Becky was home. He heard the jingle of keys, the thump of a backpack hitting the ground, the gentler thump of a violin case being set on the kitchen table, and the quiet patter of feet on the carpeted stairs.

He sat up when she entered the room. Her face was very hard. School was not kind to Becky, he observed sadly. As she looked at him, she smiled a little.

“Have you eaten?”

“Yeah.”

“How do you feel?”

“Better, I guess.”

“I guess that’s good. Do you need anything?”

“No. It’s okay.”

“Alright.”

They looked at each other for a moment, and then Becky turned away and closed the door behind her. Jonathan sighed. One could only be sick for so long, he mused.

The next morning, he stared regretfully out the back window of his mother’s car. Rain was streaking down in freezing sheets. Water droplets coursed down the window of the car. He touched the glass. It was very cold. It misted slightly with his breath. He and Ben and Becky were getting a rare and welcome ride to school. His father had already dropped off Celia at the middle school.

Unfortunately, that afternoon they would be walking home despite the unfriendly weather.

The car pulled up in front of the high school, gutter water flying from its tires. Becky, Ben, and Jonathan sprinted for cover. In a few, brief seconds of exposure, they were completely soaked, their hair plastered darkly to their rain spattered faces. Ben shouldered open the door, and Becky followed, their wet sneakers squeaking on the linoleum floor.

Jonathan paused for a moment, staring out into the rain. The parking lot was only half full. His mother’s sleek, silver car had already pulled away. He thought about his parents working busily, happily, and contentedly at their respective offices. He turned away from the rain and wind and trees, and opened the door.

Crowds of rain soaked students were drifting between lockers and classrooms. He was intensely and unpleasantly lonely. Yesterday, he had been alone, and perfectly happy to remain so. Today, he was surrounded by people, but he had never been so isolated.

He frowned a little and put his hands in his pockets. A bell sounded, and he hurried down the 200 hall toward his English class; there was no time to visit his locker. Jonathan felt the sudden urge to turn around and dash out the front doors of the school. He had never skipped classes before in his life; well, at least not without feigning illness. He wanted to leave, unexcused, without seeking any permission but his own. He half turned, but the hall was full of blank-faced students. They were walking inexorably toward him. He could not look at them, could not face the awful anonymity of their blank, tired eyes, so he slipped into his classroom and went to his seat.

The day did not improve from that point. Mr. Stein handed them their new novel: The Scarlet Letter. Jonathan read the inside flap unenthusiastically. The cover was decorated with an ugly painting of a distressed young woman with big, sappy eyes. He stowed it in his already heavy backpack. Mr. Stein lectured them. Jonathan disengaged his senses, took crisp, boring notes, and stared attentively at Mr. Stein’s eyebrows. They were bushy, and grey, and they moved up and down as he talked.

In math, they had a test that he was thoroughly unprepared for. Science was so dull that he was bored almost literally to tears.  At lunch, Lucy told Alex and Jonathan that she was splitting up with Sonja. And so it continued…

He approached the Woods with a sense of impending doom. Frigid sleet trickled down the back of his jacket in an ominously melodramatic fashion. He wanted to feel cool and unimpressed, but nevertheless, he faltered indecisively. If he circled the Woods, he would probably end up walking home in the dark, down by the college. He did not relish that prospect. He did not want to take the bus either. The bus gave him a case of existential depression more severe than reading a whole book of “Peanuts” comics.

The rain cast a misty pall on the street. Thirty minutes. Then he would be home, ashamed of his weakness; his pitiful fear. There were odd things going on, it was true. But home, despite its flaws, was safe.

With a muffled patter, rain struck the trees above. Forest green was not an accurate name for a cheerful, plastic-Christmas-tree color, he thought. Forest green was an ugly, mossy black that darkened with wet weather.

He did not realize that he was in trouble until he lost sight of the street. Too late, he noticed the subtly sinister padding of leathery paws on pine needles. The wolf faded out of the shadows.

“Growl.” it said.

Categories: Fantasy Fiction, Fiction, Modern Fiction, Must Reads, WORST.

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Shieldwolf Prologue by Hades

January 27, 2012

In the beginning…

There was a boy. He was skinny, and tall, and looked as though someone had grabbed his feet in one hand and his hair in the other, and pulled hard in opposite directions. His feet were large, and clad in heavy, black running shoes that skidded slightly on the icy pavement. Above the clumsy feet, he was dressed neatly in jeans, a collared shirt, and a black windbreaker left unzipped. An overstuffed backpack made him lean slightly forward as he walked. His tousled brown head was bare despite the biting wind.

He hurried down the street, shoulders hunched against the chill of the late afternoon. Soon, the bustle of cars, bicycles, and pedestrians was muffled by the soft soundlessness of snowfall. The flakes fell around him and on his hair and shoulders. They dashed themselves against his warm cheeks and neck. He shivered, zipping his windbreaker up to his chin. This was sharp, angry snow that pelted down with the vengeance of hail, stinging slightly where it landed.

Faster and faster the flakes fell. The boy barely avoided collision with a cyclist riding the wrong way down the sidewalk. So thick was the snowfall, he almost continued on past the faint but familiar path that stretched across a field toward the Woods.

Frozen grass crunched beneath his shoes. He hung his head wearily and buried his hand deep in his pockets. Almost before he realized it, the Woods were directly ahead, looming before him out of the early dusk.

Their green shadow had already engulfed him. He faltered, glancing perhaps a little apprehensively at the blackness of the limbs above. Snow was falling faster now. Huge, thick flakes the size of quarters settled on a crisp outer layer that already blanketed the ground. The wind whipped the snow until it fell almost horizontally. The wind was blowing at his back, pushing him into the Woods’ embrace, and yet he hesitated.

Finally, after what seemed like five minutes, he took a deliberate step forward. He squared his shoulders, clenched his hands in his pockets, and kept walking.

It was much darker under the evergreen boughs. Occasionally, one of the trees would dump a load of snow onto the needle-strewn ground with a mighty, creaking thump. Then, the branch would spring up again, sending any remaining flakes cascading down in a glittering stream.

His footsteps were too loud.

A flurry of white crystals landed on his bare head. He stopped to brush the snow out of his already wet hair, shivering as some flakes trickled down his shirt. Rubbing his hands together vigorously, he hurried on lest the offending branch should attack again.

In the trees above, something croaked, deep and gravelly. The boy jumped a little and quickened his pace. Feeling a draft on his neck, he ducked as a dark something swooped low over his back. It soared upward again and landed in the low branches of a tree across the path.

Squinting through the dim half-light, the boy could vaguely make out the outline of a crow. Its impossibly black eyes glinted at him out of the gloom. The bird opened its beak and let out a loud, irritating caw.

He stooped and snatched a stick from the ground. When he straightened, the crow was nowhere to be found.

“Stupid bird.”

His voice was small, and young, and very quiet.

“I said, STUPID BIRD!” he threw the stick at a tree trunk. It split with a sharp crack.

And silence. It was as though the abrupt noise had switched off the howling wind, quieted the creaking trees, and ended the small scurryings of squirrels. The boy stared around wildly. He took a step back and whirled around, feet light and poised for flight.

There was a wolf in the middle of the path.

It was sitting there nonchalantly, watching him with tawny eyes. Snow crystallized the long, silver hairs of its coat, and encrusted its bushy tail. It was very still. In fact, it did not move at all except for the occasional twitch of its moist, black nose as it sniffed the air. It hardly blinked.

The wolf stared at the boy. The boy stared at the wolf. The seconds stretched on like hours. The boy eventually lost his nerve and looked down. He froze again, staring at his shoes instead of at the wolf.

Perhaps this scene would have stayed unchanged until the snow had melted and winter passed if a raspy cawing hadn’t momentarily distracted the boy. Perched on a branch across the path, the crow bobbed up and down, splintering the silence with its harsh cry. The repetitive noise visibly calmed him. He took a deep breath.

“Go on!”

He stomped his foot at the wolf.

“Go home! This is the city! You don’t belong here. Well, GO ON!”

The wolf twitched its nose, apparently unperturbed. The boy started edging around it, keeping a safe distance from the animal. With one fluid motion, it stood. Still watching him, it shook a few snowflakes out of its fur and gave a huge yawn. It had a lot of very sharp, white teeth that managed to glisten despite the low light.

It turned and trotted off into the Woods. He watched until the darkness swallowed it completely. The crow gave a low croak.

“What are you looking at?”

He adjusted the position of his backpack. The bird gave one last irritating caw and flapped away after the wolf.

“You do know that crows don’t fly at night!” he called after it.

Shivering slightly, he started walking toward home. Then he broke into a gentle jog. He heard, or maybe imagined that a branch cracked somewhere in the darkness behind him.

It was so cold…

He ran. He stumbled and nearly fell, but righted himself just in time. The wind had changed directions and was blowing in his face. Minutes later, although it felt like an hour, a day, a dark, snowy eternity, he arrived panting at the back gate, unlatched it, and slammed it shut behind him.  With clumsy, frozen fingers, he unlocked the back door and half-fell into his house.

The wind howled in the Woods.

Designed by Tim Sainburg from Brambling Design

Categories: Fantasy Fiction, Fiction, Modern Fiction, Must Reads, WORST.

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The Eater of Flowers by Hades

December 6, 2011

A story I wrote last year, but never thought to post until now.

Welcome to the Growing Land. The sun is high, and the earth is rich. The Growing Land BLOOMS. Not just during the spring like the Bright Land or the Red Land, but year round. The trees drip flower petals like clouds drip rain. No matter the season, there are at least two dozen different types of blossoms you can name, and probably twice as many you can’t. Welcome to the Land of Constant Spring.

But where there is wealth, there also is greed. Meet the Eater of Flowers. The Eater of Flowers lives in a cave, and ventures out once a year on New Year’s Eve. The Eater of Flowers is ancient, so ancient, and so hungry for the people that live amongst the blooms and blossoms and endless garlands. So hungry.

Once a year, on the night before New Year’s Eve, the people of the Growing Land select the best of their youth: the strongest, cleverest, most promising young man or woman to face the Eater of Flowers. None had ever returned.

This year, it was Chess’s turn. He was not looking forward to it. The walk itself was enough to kill, he thought. The path wound up the mountain, up and up, and up, between the flowering trees and bushes. And at the top, there was the cave. He could see it now: dark, but glowing dimly with some faint illumination.

At fifty feet, the smell of was cloying. At twenty, it smothered. Now, at the very lip of the cave, Chess was positively retching from the reek of flowers. Sweet odors wafted from the cavern’s dark recesses. Holding a cloth to his face, Chess edged into the cave.   

Hello Chess, said the Eater of Flowers. I have been waiting for you a very long time. Suncycles. Mooncycles. And you are here, today. Chess didn’t say anything. Cat got your tongue? I had hoped for some conversation. Chess was too busy to respond. When you’re face-to-face with the legendary Enemy of Your People, it is hard to engage in witty banter. This wa especially true when you were trying to draw a dagger from your belt without being noticed.

“Er…”

Er? It purred in a voice like rose petals. Er? You are inarticulate, and that is displeasing. Put the dagger away. Just because I only have one eye does not mean that I cannot see.

Chess scowled. The dagger clattered to the cave’s floor. Good boy, Chess. I don’t like games. Unless, of course I win them. I am a poor loser, you know. But, that is of no consequence. Today, I want to talk about your future. More specifically, your future in the next five minutes. The Eater of Flowers straightened its great, tree-trunk legs, and took a step toward Chess. It was directly between him and the mouth of the cave. He could smell its breath, faintly scented with honeysuckle. You see, Chess, every time the Growing Land sends a champion to face me, the same thing happens. I crack open their bones and suck out their soul flowers. Do you think this will play out any differently, Chess?

Chess did.

“I do.” he said.

And why is that? the rose petal voice was very low and sweet. Above all, it was close. Chess took a breath. The smell of flowers was overwhelming.

“Because I am different.”

He ducked under the Cyclops’s arm, and hurtled out of the mouth of the cave. Chess wasn’t brave, but he certainly wasn’t an idiot. He ran away, down the mountain path, dooming the Growing Land to another fifty years of terror.

Chess changed his name to Dreufus Duckweed, grew a beard and moved away to the North. There, he won an inn in a game of dice, got married, had five kids, and lived to the ripe, old age of ninety-seven.

The End

Categories: Fantasy Fiction, Fiction, Short Stories, WORST.

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Inundation of Hallucination

October 20, 2011

Here’s just a funny short (our maximum was 300 words!) story that I had to write for one of my classes…so….enjoy! :)

 

I looked over the edge of the deck to the crystal water below. The full moon shone down and so majestically made its mark on the ethereal dress of the sea. Even though this moment would be considered serene by anyone’s standards, I had a vague sense of uneasiness rising inside of me. Suddenly that feeling of foreboding was replaced with fear and trepidation as I heard shouting growing louder and louder behind me. Something was terribly wrong.

Charley came running onto the deck and began rummaging through the chest on the starboard side of the ship. I ran to him for an explanation; Charley knew everything. “What’s all the shouting about?” I asked him with a hint of fear in my voice.

He stopped what he was doing and looked at me hesitantly. “The ship is beginning to sink,” he replied finally, failing at his obvious attempt to keep his voice steady. I gulped. Even I knew that this was not good. I wanted to run to a safe haven, and pretend that everything would be alright, but I knew that was impossible for soon the whole ship would be at the bottom of the sea.

“What can I do to help?” I asked.

Without uncertainty Charley replied, “Help me look for the flares” quietly adding, “It’s the only hope we have left.”

I nodded, and began searching alongside of him for the hidden flares. We found them among the ropes, and quickly sent them up. For a few minutes that felt like forever, we sat in silence, waiting. We were elated as we saw a ship coming.

Our hearts sank as we realized that it was a pirate ship…


Categories: Fiction, Short Stories.

five

August 9, 2011


Run! Yelled Urch he looked back to see the barn he had lived in for 7 years crumbling to dust.

 

We need to hurry they have spotted us! Urch forced his aching legs to run faster. Come on he

 

yelled as they approached the abandoned space station. That one there Urch yelled as he

 

checked his new pocket computer and pointed to a small 10 person ship. We have to hurry,

 

there coming! He started to try to pry the door open “help me!” He shouted. Mai walked up

 

and pressed an quite easy to see button and the door opened. “Ah” said Urch. Come on! said

 

Mai as she ran into the star-ship Urch and Chaz quickly followed, Urch suddenly stopped

 

and saw James staring off into the distance you coming. James snapped out of it and said

 

oh, right. they climbed into the ship and started the 6 hour flight to Traype.

 

 

Categories: Children's Fiction, Fiction, Futuristic Fiction, Science Fiction.

Rune, the novel Chapter Eleven

June 28, 2011

Days passed, in which
Taren, Wheatweeve, Casey, and I all roamed further and further from Intisa. The
August air was dry, and bitingly hot. We ripped the sleeves of our garments in
order to keep from cooking inside our clothes. Casey grew increasingly bad
tempered, grumbling that it was too hot, that we ought to try to head to
another settlement, and that we were getting nowhere. I told him, equally
angry, that we had no clue how to get to any of the other settlements, and to
stop being such a whiner. Before I could lose my temper and punch every inch of
his body black and blue, Taren did.

“YOU COMPLETE *Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep!
WE ARE LUCKY TO BE ALIVE, THANKS TO SILAS, AND YOU STAND HERE
COMPLAINING ABOUT THE WHEATHER?!? YOU
HAVE BEEN OF ABSOLUTELY NO HELP
WHATSOEVER! JERK!!! BLGAHGOIVWJFYUUIHUHFUCKIGYIGYIHGHOIHV…

*Reader- Note that I
have made some words unintelligible. This is because I don’t want to print
these foul (and often unintelligible) terms.

At this point,
Taren’s screams became completely incoherent, and she began punching every
single inch of Casey’s body. To my surprise, I found myself subduing her. “We have to stick together,” I whispered
to her as I dragged her away from Casey, who was now bleeding at both the lip
and the nose, “I know Casey’s an annoying
little shit, but he’s
part of our group.”

Taren nodded, still
glaring ferociously at Casey. I was also surprised to find that this
altercation didn’t make me happy that Taren didn’t like Casey anymore. The
latter was sitting on the dry grass, bleeding and sniffling.  I once again shocked myself by sitting down
beside him.

“Look Casey,” I said,
putting my arm uncertainly on his shoulder. He shrugged it off, “I know that we
don’t seem to be getting anywhere. But, look at us! We’re still alive! And
we’ve been out here for days! That’s certainly a feat that few have
accomplished!”

My words seemed to
cheer Casey, for he stopped crying and gave me a watery smile. I was just in
the act of returning the grin when Wheatweeve exclaimed, “Silas!”

I leapt up, grabbing
my sword as I went. I turned around to find that Wheatweeve and Taren were
standing, swords drawn, looking in fear at a group of twelve very grubby, very
dangerous looking men that had surrounded our camp. Bandits. These were people who had been exiled for murder, torture,
and other brutal crimes. I knew this because they had D, a tattoo given to dangerous criminals, tattooed on their biceps
and because they were carrying some very nasty looking knives and swords.

“Well, well, well,”
said the bandit furthest to the right. I took him to be the leader. “What have
we here? Poor, lost, little children by the looks of it. Ah, and I see that you
have some nasty swords. Nasty little children, then.”

The man was garbed in
a dark brown coat that reached his calves. He wore several rings on his
spider-like fingers, and had stubble that covered much of his chin and cheeks.
His hair was long and blonde, but dirty. And his cold, grey eyes sparkled with
cruel amusement. This man is going to
kill us
, I thought, and nothing we do
is going to change that
.

“So children,” the
man said, chuckling, “May I ask who the leader of this bold group of adventurers
is?”

My companions all
looked at me, so I said, as bravely as I could muster, “I am. And may I ask who
you are?”

At this point, the
entire group of bandits roared with laughter. “Kid,” said the leader, “You are
asking who I am? You’re in no
position to-NO!”

For Casey had roared
angrily at their laughter and swung his sword. It slashed cleanly through the
skin of one of the bandits’ stomachs. He crumpled to the ground, moaning as a
dark stain appeared on his dirty, green shirt. We didn’t wait for his group’s
reaction. We bolted through the opening Casey had created. I grabbed Casey’s
shirt and dragged him with me, because he was staring in horror at what he had
done. Wheatweeve and Taren had grabbed the packs, but they had to carry two
each, and they were slowing down. I sped up, Casey now running along with me,
and grabbed a pack from Wheatweeve. Casey snatched a pack from Taren, and we
sped up as a group. The bandits were hot in pursuit, and they were gaining. The
packs were still slowing us down.

“DROP THE PACKS!” I
screamed to my companions.

“ARE YOU CRAZY? THESE
HAVE ALL OUR FOOD IN THEM!!!” Wheatweeve yelled back.

“WE’LL BE PLANT
FOOD IF WE DON’T, WHEATWEEVE!” Taren told my sister, tossing her pack behind
her. It hit the bandit in the front, and he toppled backwards.

Wheatweeve chucked
her bag behind her as well, grinning as she heard a satisfying “AAARGH!” from
behind us.

Then there was
nothing. No ground beneath us. In our haste to escape the bandits, we had run
off a cliff. Genius, I thought
sarcastically to myself, pure god damn
genius.
Then, we slammed into the densely packed foliage of the top of the
Greenblade forest.

You see, in less than
three weeks, we traveled a little under 100 miles. That is slow! We must have
been walking less than a ¼ mile every day! What were we, turtles? Of course, it
wasn’t like we were trying to go anywhere. Our main plan involved staying
alive.

Right. Back to the
story I’m supposed to be telling, in which we had just slammed into the
Greenblade forest.

I fell through
several branches, bruising myself up a bit on my way down, but landing fairly
gently on the ground, which was preferable to the alternative of being
splattered all the way up a tree.

I looked around. It
seemed like all of my friends were okay, so I dared to turn my eyes to the top
of the cliff. All of the bandits, except for their leader, were looking at the
place where we had fallen. The leader was looking right into my eyes and,
even-though there were trees obscuring me from his view. I could swear he saw
me. Apparently, he had, because he mouthed, I’m
going to kill you
plain as day.

Categories: Fantasy Fiction, Fiction, Inspirational Fiction, Must Reads.

Tags: ,

Dungeon prologue

May 25, 2011

The darkness is overwhelming. But what is worse is the silence. The lack of noise. Of emotion. Of anything. I am totally alone, without the comfort of even someone’s tortured scream. It has been days since the guard came down to feed me. As for water, I am forced to drink my own urine. It is pain, to be locked in a dungeon because you are different, not because you have committed a crime.

At last, a noise. A skittering, scuttling noise that would cause the flesh of any normal being to break out in goose-bumps. I laugh at it. It is a relief to know that there is something in this stone prison besides myself.

I am lying on the floor, my face pressed against the lukewarm rock. Something furry brushes my face. Its slightly scaly tail slides across my cheek. A rat. I have grown to love the rats in the dungeon, and I believe the feeling is mutual. I once heard that rats show affection by licking, as dogs do. I feel this rat’s tiny tongue upon my cheek for a heartbeat of a second. Now, my furry companion curls up near my neck. I reach my hand up and stroke it. Now, many more rats are climbing over me, like a warm (albeit slightly dirty) blanket. Many of them nestle near my neck as the first did, but the majority of them are curled in my large, leathery, batlike wings.

Categories: Fantasy Fiction, Fiction, Must Reads.

Tags: ,

Chapter One (Ever)

April 21, 2011

Author’s note: For those of you who don’t remember my story “Ever”, I posted the prologue back in November, and here’s the link :) http://theworstending.com/blog/2010/11/22/prologue-ever/

A stately carriage pulls up in front of the orphanage; the couple has arrived.

I sit and watch from the window as they exit the carriage, knowing I should be running to hide myself from their view but unable to. I stare, enchanted, at the woman’s billowing red cloak. She reminds me of Red Riding Hood. She is pale and beautiful, and her smile looks like it can light up the world.

The man, standing a head taller than his wife,  is pale as well and has ebony black hair. He puts a protective arm around her, saying something to her that makes her smile up at him again. They walk toward the door, and suddenly a rough hand closes around the collar of my dress.

I am yanked backward as Mrs. Proctor snaps, “What are you still doing here?!” I’m never allowed to be in sight when possible buyers come along because I might scare them off. Yes, that’s what Mrs. Proctor calls them secretly. “Buyers”, like the children they adopt are mere cattle.

Ignoring her usual lecture—because it comes right away—I walk out to the back yard despite the fact that I’ve no shawl on and a frigid wind is blowing. Winter is nearly here, and for all the children (who sleep upstairs in the orphanage), it means nights of being so cold you wonder if you will truly be an icicle by morning, frozen in place forever.

I hurry to my sycamore tree; my dear, dear sycamore tree. How I love it. If it wasn’t here I fear I’d shrivel up and die.

“There’s another couple here,” I tell it as I shiver against its rough bark. “They’re beautiful, both of them, and I know they’ll choose a beautiful child and be a beautiful family together. A happy family.”

A lone tear slides down my cheek.

“I wish I could be beautiful. I wish someone would look at me for more than a few moments and not think the entire time, ‘Her eyes are evil’.”

My tree sways me as always, the wind rustling its leave in a gentle ssh ssh noise. My tree is trying to calm me, so I close my eyes, put my face against the bark and forget, for a moment, that I am ugly. That I am not wanted, that I am not loved. I pretend that my tree can solve all my problems and make my life wonderful. I pretend I’ve never heard a single unkind remark; never once seen someone turn their head from me to look elsewhere.

I pretend . . . I am beautiful.

~

I sit there, my arms around my tree, for hours and hours. I know the couple must have left by now—its suppertime—but somehow I can’t bear to go in and hear Mrs. Proctor gloating about how well “business” is going. I can’t bear to go back in there and be slapped by the reality that I’ve been left behind again. That I will have to live here until Mrs. Proctor throws me out on the street, unwilling to have anything more to do with me.

I don’t get a choice about staying outside or going in, however, because the door to the orphanage kitchen suddenly opens. Mrs. Proctor sticks her head out, calling, “Get in here, Little Demon! It’s time for some delicious supper!” She cackles, going back inside.

Little Demon. One of her favorite names for me since I appear to “bear the devil’s mark.”

I climb down slowly, hardly feeling the bark scrape my hands. I hardly feel anything. I think my life has just been so full of pain and sadness that my heart is used to it now; numb to it.

I wonder what we’re having for supper tonight – no doubt lumpy porridge.

“Goodbye, tree,” I whisper once my feet are on the ground again. I put my hand on its trunk. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” My tree’s leaves blow in the wind, whispering a sad farewell.

I trudge inside, mentally preparing for the rant that’s sure to come from Mrs. Proctor’s far too-large mouth.

I close the door behind me and it begins. “While you were outside, Little Demon, that couple came and adopted little Sarah. They were so happy—they all loved each other right away. They’re going to come for her in three days.”

I try not to roll my eyes. Mrs. Proctor wouldn’t know true love if it slapped her in the face, so her statement isn’t very trustworthy. Besides, all she cares about is the money.

Still, her words nearly succeed in biting me—but then I push them down. You’re stronger than those words, I tell myself. You’re not a devil’s child, and her words cannot define you.

She sees her words aren’t breaking me down, so she changes her tactics. “Aren’t you glad now you went outside so you didn’t scare them off? Just think, Sarah might be without a mother and father because of you.”

I swallow hard. Her words have hit a tender spot. Part of me is saying, That’s silly, don’t listen. But another part of me, a louder part, is letting her actions to me be justified. The loud part of me is saying, She’s right, you know. You’d do anything for the other children to get adopted, wouldn’t you? So it’s only good and right of you to go outside when possible parents come. You do it for the other children.

Mrs. Proctor laughs then, obviously knowing her words have my heart in a tug-of-war. “Go eat your supper, Little Demon, or I’m giving it to the cat.”

I grit my teeth and stride past her, forcing myself not to let my hands curl into fists. But then defeat washes over me. I am in prison, and I will be in prison until the day she tosses me out on the streets. My life is in her grimy hands, to keep or throw away as she chooses. And when she does decide to throw it away, I’ll most likely be killed out on the streets because people are afraid of me.

I sit down at the ugly, marked wooden table where we children eat our meals. There is one bowl still on it, full of lumpy porridge, just as I suspected. I pull it toward myself and put one finger in to test the temperature. I grimace and shove the bowl away again; the porridge is cold. It’s probably been sitting here for hours.

“Ever?”

I turn around to find Sarah standing behind me. Her face is solemn, though her eyes contain her unquenchable joy over what has happened.

I make myself smile. Sarah has always been kind to me, one of the only children in this accursed place who didn’t tease and laugh at me.

“Yes?” I respond.

“I . . . I’m sorry it’s not you going.” As she moves into the moonlight illuminating the room, I see her eyes are glistening.

“Don’t be sorry, Sarah,” I say, though my heart says, Yes, pity me. It isn’t fair. It should be me going. “I’m happy for you.” And I am truly happy for her, despite the gaping wounds in my heart.

“But it’s not right, Ever.” She comes to sit beside me, examining the tabletop for a moment. Then she lifts her gaze back to my face. “The couple, they . . . they looked like you. They act like you. They’re both dark-haired and pale, sweet and gentle. It’s not right, Ever, it’s just not right.”

I sigh. “Sarah, they chose you. All right? They love you, and you love them. If I’m not the one they chose, then clearly it wasn’t meant to be. So you don’t need to feel guilt. Please. I’m really happy for you.”

“Ever, how can you ever get a chance to be chosen by anyone if they never see you?!” Sarah gets to her feet and goes to the window, staring out at the night. “Mrs. Proctor always makes you go outside when someone comes.”

I smile bitterly. “It wouldn’t matter if she let me be in the same room as them. People never see past my eyes.” I look at her. “Not you though. You saw past my eyes.”

She looks back and smiles, the joy still not hidden completely from her gaze. I feel terrible that she feels she must hide it from me, and yet I feel very touched that she’s so sweet she does actually feel guilt over it all. “Ever, you know what? I think your eyes are beautiful.”

I smile again. “Thank you, Sarah.” But I don’t take it to heart. She’s a sweet, wonderful friend, and she’d do anything to make me feel better—even tell me my terrifying eyes are beautiful.

She hugs me goodnight and I look back at my bowl. My stomach is growling, and I have to eat something. Sighing, I pull the bowl back toward myself and take the first bite, my mouth and stomach quickly objecting. But it’s better than the pain of hunger, where it feels like there’s a beast inside you tearing at your stomach.

As I take a bite of the tasteless mixture, I look at the night sky. Stars are scattered through it, glittering and twinkling like pixie dust would if it were real.

I wish I could be a star, forever hovering above the world, never having to move. Just watching.

Then you’d have to watch Mrs. Proctor from afar. I frown in disgust, telling myself, Well, then, I’d just look at a different part of the earth.

I sigh. How silly it is to sit here and dream of being a star. I should be preparing myself to become better accustomed with the terrible world around me than ever before. Because any day now Mrs. Proctor will throw me out on the streets. I’m amazed she has let me stay this long. There are children far younger than me working in the factories already.

What can tomorrow hold? I do not know.

Categories: Fiction, Historical Fiction.

Tags: ,

Saving A Life

April 6, 2011

               Hey, Everyone! This is another assignment for language class. Actually, its pretty safe to say that half of the stuff I put up – at least – is an English assignment. I just wanted to get some feedback and see what you think. Thanks! (By the way, I believe this is my shortest “short story” yet! Less than two pages on Word! :) )

                I gasp, the lingering feeling of the ice cold water still on my skin. I blink, my vision slowly clearing. I hear voices, see the sun shining brightly, a jumble of sound and activity. Suddenly, I can’t keep my eyes open, and they close with a terrifying kind of finality.

                I panic, trying to fight and flail, but I couldn’t move. Am I dead? I wonder. I struggle to open my eyes, to kick, to move my lips, anything.Finally, I resign to channel all my effort into wiggling my finger. It’s not working. The only confirmation amid the blackness is my overwhelming sense of fear. Now that I’m thinking about it, so was the blackness. My fear, however, was at this point far beyond all rationality. I feel the sensation of being moved drift past my consciousness. I try to struggle, scream, cry – all unsuccessful. Finally, the effort exausts me and I slip into unconsciousness.

                I don’t dream, or if I do I don’t remember any of it. At first, as I drift out of unconsciousness, I  want to retreat back into sleep. Then I remember that it’s the last thing I want. Terror threatens to grip me in more impenetrable blackness.

                Then, I open my eyes.

                My head’s throbbing. I reach up and feel dried blood on my hair. There’s some on my clothes, too. I must’ve fallen into the river and hit my head on something, I guess.

                Owwww, something hard and sharp.

                I take a deep breath, then gasp as my head throbs harder than ever.

                Okay, then. Something really hard and really sharp.

                I look around at my surroundings. I’m laying on a thin mattress, the pure white sheets tucked underneath my arms and greatly contrasting the blood on my hair and clothes. There’s a bedside table next to me, completely clear. I sit up, gripping the metal hand rails on both sides of the bed , my feet pressing against the one at the base. Everything seems so sterile, so clean.

                It’s obviously not my room.

                I can see through the window out into a large parking lot, filled with cars, and, to my left, a separate wing of the tall brick building I must be in. As I watch, a flashing ambulance pulls into the lot. Two men leap (LEAP or HOP here? I’m not sure.) out, wheeling a limp form on a stretcher.

                I wince once more at the pain in my head, lying down again. I squeeze my eyes shut, assuming the worst is over. After a few minutes, the main in my head begins to recede, making room for a slight pinch in my arm. My eyes flutter open, flying to a small needle stuck into the vien on the inside of my arm. I want to pull it out – I hate needles – but I’m afraid to. What if blood comes spurting out? No thank you.

                The pain in my head begins to slip away a little more. I shut my eyes, a wave of calm rushing over me. My head no longer hurts. When I open my eyes, nothing is new, but it seems to me that I see a shimmering mist. I shake my head to clear it, sure I’ve gone crazy. I must have hit my head really hard. Yeah, that’s it. But then, I take a look at the once-bare bedside table next to me. There, seeming to tell a very different story, lay a small black Bible.

Categories: Fiction, Inspirational Fiction, Modern Fiction, Short Stories.

Tags: , ,

Un-Named Short Story (Pt. 3)

April 2, 2011

Author’s note: If you guys have any title ideas at ALL please lemme know, I’d really appreciate it! xD

I clenched my jaw and my hands into fists in anger. They were so selfish! Who were they to decide if someone got to live or die?! If they’d just have let us stay in the building instead of sending us home we might have figured out the cure by now! People even now could have been getting IV’s in their arms and having medicine pumped through their systems!

My rage made me see red. I shook my head, trying to clear it. Stay focused! I told myself. There would be time enough later to vent about the idiots trying to bomb us up to protect their own stupid hides.

I started forward again, almost able to feel every second tick by. An hour passed, then two. The doctors’ building was finally in sight, but there were at least ten soldiers in front of it. They must have expected that someone would try to break out of their house and run there.

Pound, pound, pound. If my heart had burst out of my chest I wouldn’t have been surprised. I calculated how I could get around the building to its back door, which would be hidden in shadow right now. The moon had, thankfully, been hidden by clouds almost this entire time, and I could only hope it would continue to stay so.

I crept to the next house over, and I was finally in line with the doctors’ building. If you went through its doors and two stories up, you would be at the lab—where all the nearly completed cure sat waiting. Sat wasting.

Suddenly I realized a gaping flaw in my plan.

I would have to get across the street to get to the side the doctors’ building was on.

My mind raced even faster than before, if that was actually possible. There were soldiers walking up and down the street at least every five minutes, there were soldiers driving tanks up and down the streets, still occasionally shouting for everyone to stay inside, there were soldiers in front of the building, there were soldiers planting bombs . . .

Diversion. I had to distract all the soldiers to one end of the street.

THINK, EDEN, THINK! my mind screamed. I felt around in my pockets for anything that could possibly help.

Matches. I had been using them earlier to light Ev’s birthday cake.

I looked around frantically and then spotted it—the thing that would save me. It was an old, empty house that no one had lived in for years . . . but the soldiers wouldn’t know that.

Thankfully it was on my side of the street, and I crept cautiously toward it, ever aware of the soldiers’ watchful gazes. I was glad I had chosen to wear a dark sweatshirt today.

Striking the match with shaky fingers, I threw it through a broken window. It didn’t take long to get going, and smoke curled out the window.

Before the soldiers noticed, I went as quickly as I could to a house three spots down. I had to be as far from the fire as I could, so that when all the soldiers gathered there I could just run across the street.

Would it actually work? I guessed I was about to find out.

The old house burned quickly, and I began to hear soldiers and people in their houses shouting in alarm. The soldiers swarmed to the building, shouting about water.

I glanced up and down the street. There were still soldiers that might spot me as they ran to the fire, but they also might mistake me for one of them in my dark clothing. I took the chance and bolted.

In his hurry to get to the fire one soldier slammed into me. “I’m getting water!” I shouted in my gruffest voice possible. He didn’t respond, only rushed to the house.

I ran from shadow to shadow until I came to the back of the doctors’ building. I dove beneath a bush, feeling its rough branches leave a dozen new scratches on my face.

I waited, listening with all my might. My blood was rushing so noisily through my ears that I could hardly tell if anyone was following me or not.

I didn’t hear anything so I decided to just open the door. Yanking the key out of my pocket, I tremblingly shoved it into the lock and tried to turn it.

At first it didn’t work. I almost passed out from adrenaline and fear as I ripped the key back out of the lock. I saw why it hadn’t worked; I’d had it upside down.

I turned it the right way, stuck it back in the lock, and turned—and this time it gave. As I pulled open the door and went inside, I could still hear soldiers shouting as they fought the fire. I knew they would probably have it out soon. I needed to move.

The building was pitch black and almost instantly I banged my shin. Biting my lip so I didn’t cry out, I limped to the elevator. I couldn’t chance using the stairs; it was so dark I’d probably fall and die.

I pressed the up arrow and the elevator dinged, its door sliding open. I wanted to tell it to shut up—it seemed so loud in the pressing silence of this building.

I got in and pressed the button for the second floor. The elevator began its way up, seeming to take forever to move.

I stared at my hands as it moved. They were dirty and bleeding from the many scratches, and they were starting to throb.

Not that it mattered now. I had a lot more to worry about than some scratches on my hand.

The elevator dinged again, making me jump. The doors slid open, and I hurriedly stepped out, eager to be concealed in darkness once again. The elevator’s light had made me feel like I was being watched by everyone.

There wasn’t total darkness this time, though, as the clouds had now parted to let the moon’s powerful light through.

I crept along until I found the door the laboratory. I felt like crying as I suddenly remembered I didn’t have a key for it. I glanced around; I’d have to bash the handle in somehow.

But something in me commanded to try the handle, at least once. This is stupid. Of course it’s locked, I told myself even as I found my hand reaching forward to try it.

The handle gave, and I was able to open the door.

My breath caught as I saw a light coming from somewhere in the room, and I didn’t have any time to react as a hand slid over my mouth.

Categories: Fiction.

Tags: ,

Un-named Short Story (Pt. 2)

March 26, 2011

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. This had to be done. This had to be done.

Squaring my shoulders, I took hold of the window and gently eased it open. I stared up at the sky, willing clouds to cover the moon. Even though this side of the house was more in shadow, it still wasn’t dark enough that there was no chance I’d be seen.

Stepping on a little stool we kept in the bathroom, I hoisted myself up onto the windowsill. My heart was pounding so hard it hurt.

I squatted there on the sill, looking down at the ground. It looked so far away from up here . . . I would never make it . . .

Then I had to laugh inwardly at myself. I’d climbed this gutter pipe hundreds of times to get in my house after Redlan’s annoyingly early curfew of 6:00 PM. I would be fine.

My smile faded. This wasn’t exactly the same, because I couldn’t make a single noise. For all I knew there could be five soldiers posted at each house to make sure its occupants didn’t leave.

Then came my big break—the moon went behind some very dark clouds. I turned around, grabbed the pipe, felt down with my feet, braced them against the wall, and started climbing down.

The gutter pipe was old and it shook with my weight. I held my breath as if that would help, stopping for a moment to listen for voices or footsteps.

I heard nothing, only Evelyn’s coughing from another part of the house. I sighed in relief and started down again, wincing as the gutter pipe creaked loudly.

My hands were sweaty, my grip slippery. My heart pounded and I felt dizzy from holding my breath, but I couldn’t help it—my lungs did it automatically.

After what seemed an eternity, the pipe ended and I felt beloved ground beneath my feet again. Wanting to cry for joy, I slid down beneath the nearby bushes and breathed torturously slowly, certain that a soldier would jump out at any moment, shouting to his comrades that he’d just seen a girl go under the bushes.

But no one jumped out. I didn’t hear one single sound beside my own breathing.

Slowly I rose, scouting out the places that had the best shadow and how big a jump or sprint I would have to make to reach each of them.

I pressed against the wall as I suddenly spotted a few soldiers patrolling the streets, their rifles over their shoulders and their gas masks securely on. Cowards, I thought to myself.

I slid along the side of the house, breaking away only to jump into another shadow. I did this for at least twenty minutes, hardly getting to the next house over when I had to stop again.

I heard someone’s door creak open, and then a soldier say, “Please go back inside or we’ll have to shoot you. Please.” The door creaked shut.

My hair was damp with perspiration. Adrenaline was pumping so fiercely through me that I felt like I could jump over a house.

The soldier who had told the person to go back in their house walked off down the street, his boots clicking on the black-top. I breathed a sigh of relief again, creeping forward and making my slow but steady way to the doctors’ building again.

Thirty more minutes crawled by. So far, I’d made it three houses down from my own. This is going too slow! my mind screamed at my limbs, trying to force me to run. I had to force myself to walk, knowing the moment I started running I would no doubt feel a bullet enter my flesh.

I stopped in some shadows to breathe for a moment. I had to calm down or I was going to have a heart attack.

Suddenly I heard voices only a few feet away. I ducked behind a tall bush, holding my breath again.

“Plant one every two houses down to be safe.”

They were talking about bombs.

Categories: Fiction.

Tags: ,

Hand Sanitizer

March 5, 2011

Lady kisses strangers’ hands. They taste like hand sanitizer.  She has kissed a hundred hands and they all taste the same except for these hands. Salt and toast and black dirt like what grows under trees.

She kisses it again.
“Interesting little girl we have here, ma’am.” His voice tastes like black dirt too.
The mother clinks a plate of vegetable squares in front of him, and her white fingers tremble into her pocket after a bottle of blue hand sanitizer. Blue like the spider veins in her wrists.
“Sarah,” he says. He does not eat. Lady does not eat either. She feeds squares to the floor. The mother finds them later and presses her lips white.
The mother blobs blue into her skin. But her skin does not turn blue, it only turns wet. But when Lady blinks, they’re dry and white again. “You can’t be here.”
Lady sits by the man’s feet. He rumples her hair. She pulls her hair to her nose to check if it smells like the man, but it smells like vegetable squares.
“I don’t want you here,” the mother says.
“Do you think they’ll see? You have no windows, Sarah.”
The mother glances back at the blue sink (the mother calls the sink sky blue. The sky is a ceiling far away and Lady is not allowed to talk about it but Lady wouldn’t talk about it anyway because there is no such thing as a sky).
“You used the paint.”
“I cover it with dishes when they visit.”
“Next time make them eat it.”
“Don’t!”
He stands. “The world is safe now. No more fire.”
“They have pictures. The reports…”
“- the reports!”
The mother looks at Lady.
“Run away with me, Sarah.”
The mother shakes her head.
“Sarah!”
“I can’t.”
He stomps to the door. “Alright, Sarah, alright!”
“Please go.”
He swivels around.
“I know you’re just bluffing but I want you to really go.”
His face reds. “I can’t come back.”
“Goodbye, Mark.”
His mouth presses thin until it is white and tight. So does the mother’ mouth.
“Sarah,” he nods. And he leaves, closes the door soft like the mother’s hands.
Lady kisses the doorknob and it tastes like metal and hand sanitizer and a little like black dirt. The mother walks to stare into the blue sink.
Lady is thinking she will never kiss hands like the man’s again.

Categories: Fiction, Short Stories.

Rune: the novel, Chapter Ten

March 2, 2011

Long grass whispered around our legs. It was nearly dawn, and a pale glow was beginning to creep over the horizon. We had been walking near Intisa’s wall for several hours. Wheatweeve had decided that it would be best if we stayed close to the colony, where Nightmares ventured less frequently. We had enough food to last us for up to two months, once again thanks to my amazing sister.

The minutes dragged on. I thought about my mother, and if she was awake yet. In her stupor, would she still notice that both her son and her daughter were gone?

 Taren and Casey stuck close together, but Taren would not return the arm Casey put around her shoulder. When I saw Casey’s arm slung around her shoulder, I could hardly contain my rage. I cursed several of the foulest words that have ever darkened the face of this planet (and, for that matter, probably any other as well) and resumed pacing.

At five o’clock, the morning went from infuriating to terrifying. Taren had extricated herself from Casey’s nefarious clutches when we heard it. Whoosh! At first we thought it was the wind. Then we realized that there was no breeze. What then, was making that noise?

Whoooosh! The sound was louder now, closer. The noise was beginning to frighten me now. I looked at the hills, and my fear turned to terror. Nightmares were swarming over the hills once again. The black smoke tore through the grass at breakneck speed. They were just as horrible as when they had fed on Douglas.

The others stood, paralyzed with fear. No help, I thought, angrily. It was up to me.

“Everyone, follow me!” I screamed at my companions. The nightmares were hurtling towards us. A few more seconds, and we would be fed on. “RUN!!!” I enforced, beginning to dash towards the gates myself. Taren, Wheatweeve, and Casey all raced after me, dropping their swords in order to lighten their load. I did the same, tossing my weapon aside and diving under the arch in front of the gate. No sooner had my companions joined me than the nightmares arrived. For one horrifying moment, I thought my plan had failed. But then the nightmares hit Mage’s protection that was in front of Intisa’s wall, and disintegrated.

We lay before the gate, panting. Taren lay slumped on the ground, and, for a split second, I thought she had been fed on. But then I saw her chest heaving, and I breathed a sigh of relief. Casey and Wheatweeve lay in similar condition. I was no better, lying on my stomach, my feet uncomfortably wedged into the gate.

“Oi, outcasts!”

It was the guard captain standing behind the gate. He looked much braver now that there were metal bars and a thick wall in between us.

“If I see you four within fourty miles of here again, I’ll get the guards to chuck you to the nightmares!”

So, exhuasted, and still panting, we picked up our swords and set out to the west.

Categories: Fantasy Fiction, Fiction, Inspirational Fiction, Must Reads.

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Rune, the novel: Chapter Nine

February 24, 2011

The morning came all too quickly. After my speech, Leader had decided that it would be better if I was locked up for the rest of the day. I had been moved to Casey’s cell, and Casey, to my annoyance, had been moved in with Taren.

Throughout my last night in Intisa, I lay awake. The day’s events played themselves over in my head. I had undermined Leader’s athority, I had seen myself on a wanted poster, and I had spoken to the entire colony. Whoa. So much had happened in that day, it was a shock when I realized that I was about to be exiled.

The guards woke Taren, Casey, and I at three o’clock in the morning. We were greeted by”Rise and shine convicts!” before being dragged from our cells. I was shackled in between Taren and Casey, and I was glad to see that the two weren’t exchanging lovey dovey looks anymore. Being dragged out of a prison cell at three in the morning can work wonders. My spirits were relatively high until we reached the gate, which brought me back to our dire situation.

The guards unshackled us, but kept their swords pointed towards us. I found this fairly ridiculous.  They were five heavily armed, hugely muscular men, worrying that they would be overpowered by three pre-teens of average strength with no weapons. I allowed myself an inward chuckle.

A sixth guard began to open the gate. I thought about the certain death that was past that gate. I thought about the family I would be leaving behind.

“WAIT!!!” screamed a voice from behind us.

I spun around. Wheatweeve was standing there, holding a wicked looking set of four swords and looking like she was ready to kill somebody.

“THAT’S MY BROTHER YOU’RE SENDING TO DEATH!” Wheatweeve roared, so loudly that the guards flinched. “SO UNLESS YOU ALL WANT TO LOSE YOUR HEADS, YOU’RE GONNA LET ME GO WITH HIM!”

The guards nodded vigorously, mumbling, “Of course ma’am” and “No problem”. Wheatweeve came to stand beside me.

“Why do you want to come with us?” I whispered. “And where did you get those swords?”

“As for your first question,” Wheatweeve responded, “I can’t just let my dumb younger brother go out to be killed by himself. As for your second, I stole these swords from the armory. Smashed the window to get in.” At this point, my annoying, mean, obnoxious, amazing older sister grinned. I couldn’t help but smiling too. It had taken me getting exiled, but Wheatweeve and I were finally getting along.

“Does Mom know where you are?” I asked.

The grin faded from my sister’s face. “No. She’s in some kind of shock. Been that way since she saw you in the prison. I sent her over to see Mage. Speaking of whom,” Wheatweeve pulled an amulet from a rucksack slung over her shoulder, “he told me to give you this. Said it will help.”

Reluctantly, I took the gift. I still blamed Mage above all others for Whetstone’s death, but I needed all the help I could get. I clipped the amulet around my neck. The stone on it was sapphire ringed with gold. The metal felt warm against my chest.

“Cool,” I said to Wheatweeve, “Thanks.”

“Okay you…you rats,” the guard captain said shakily, “You get out of the colony.”  He saw the looks on our faces and our raised swords. “Please?” he added hopefully.

We would have resisted, but just then, more guards arrived, and we had no choice but to exit our home. The gate clanged shut behind us, sealing our foursome from our home.

Categories: Fantasy Fiction, Fiction, Inspirational Fiction, Must Reads.

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Rune :Part Two: Chapter Eight

January 25, 2011

The crowd stared at me, dumbfounded. A prisoner?!? Speak against Leader?!? It was unheard of.

A guard unchained me and shoved me to the podium. Leader glared at me and stepped back. I gulped. What was I going to say? What was I thinking? My brains found no words, but evidently my mouth did.

“When I was nine,” I began, my voice rang out,  incredibly loud, “My brother was killed by nightmares. Mage gave him a sword that could supposedly kill nightmares.” I saw Mage in the back of the crowd. His bald head gleamed in the morning sunlight. From within the wrinkles that comprised his  face shone his misty green eyes. Somehow, those blind eyes seemed to watch me more intently than all of the functioning ones that also gazed at me.

“The sword didn’t work,” I pressed on, “Whetstone was fed on by the nightmares. After that, the tribunal stopped trying to defeat the nightmares. But, I continued! I, a nine year old boy, continued trying to defeat the nightmares!”

Leader looked like he was ready to bite my head off. He probably would have too, but that would have looked bad in front of a crowd.

“‘Why?’, you might ask. Why did you keep trying, when the attempt to kill the nightmares killed your brother?”  The crowd was hanging on my every word now. “IT IS BECUASE MY BROTHER DIED THAT I CONTINUE TO FIGHT!” I was yelling now, and no one would have dared stop me, “AND IT IS BECAUSE DOUGLAS’S FATHER DIED THAT HE FOUGHT TOO! WE ARE CHILDREN, YET WE ARE THE ONLY ONES TRYING TO FIGHT AGAINST THE CREATURES THAT THREATEN OUR EXISTENCE! AND, EVEN IF YOU DO EXILE ME, I INTEND TO KEEP FIGHTING! I WILL FIGHT UNTIL VICTORY IS OURS, OR UNTIL I DROP DEAD!!!”

The crowd went berserk. They screamed and clapped, they hooted and hollered, they did everything they could to show their appreciation for me. Leader whispered an order to a guard, who began dragging me away from the podium. But, I had one more thing to say.

“YOU MAY TAKE WHAT IS MINE, LEADER! BUT, I WILL NEVER LET THE NIGHTMARES TAKE WHAT IS INTISA’S!”

Then, the guard chained me to Taren, and we were ushered back to the dungeon, amidst the cheers of the crowd.

Categories: Fantasy Fiction, Fiction, Inspirational Fiction, Must Reads.

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Rune, the novel: Chapter Seven

January 14, 2011

The next day was the day before Taren and I would be exiled, and it held a surprise for us. The guard came into our cell block. “You two,” he said to us, “And you, next door.  Leader wants you three to come out to the square. He said that he wants you to see something that will be ‘good for you’.

We were ushered out of our cells and out of the cell block. The person next door turned out to be a curly haired boy. I assumed that he was probably the boy who had gone over the wall with Taren. He had very tan skin, a prominent chin, black hair that fell in thick curls, and electric blue eyes. Numerous cuts adorned his arms. Apparently, he hadn’t gone over the wall and come back unscathed.

By observing their behaviour, I discovered that there was probably a little more between this boy and Taren than just being friends. They looked into eachothers’ eyes often, then smiling, half laughing, and looking in the other direction. These little glances were making me inexplicably irritated. It was like I wasn’t there, being shoved roughly alongside Taren.

To my relief, we soon reached the square. Leader was standing on a podium near the fountain, his grey hair shining in the early light. Taren saw something and gasped, squeezing my arm, hard. “What?” I inquired, though I wasn’t exactly frustrated about that squeeze.

“That,” she replied, pointing. On a signpost near the fountain, there were two posters. One had Taren and the curly haired moron’s- I mean boy’s- faces on them. Under each face was a name.

Taren Willow                    and                      Casey Johnson

To Be Exiled For Wall Jumping and Third Degree Murder

On another signpost was a poster with my face on it.

Silas Harrif 

To Be Exiled For Wall Jumping, Treason, And Third Degree Murder

I’ll bet they just tacked on treason to make me look worse!” I whispered furiously. 

The guard said, “SHUT IT, CONVICT!” very loudly, and shoved Taren, Jerk-face- I mean- Casey, and I up on the podium behind Leader. Another guard shackled us together insuring that, as he put it, “THERE WON’T BE NO FUNNY BUSINESS!”

I ’started to notice’ that the guards seemed to like to shout. I was about to say something witty like, ‘My, aren’t you polite!’ but Leader began to speak to the crowd.

“People!” he said in a loud, resounding voice, “We are gathered here today, not only to speak about the loss of my nephew, Douglas, but also to speak about a issue which has been creeping into Intisa like a plague of locusts. I’M TALKING ABOUT WALL JUMPING!”

 At this, the entire crowd gasped. Taren and Casey scooted a little bit closer together.

“If there’s anybody here, people,  ANYBODY HERE WHO WANTS TO TALK OUT AGAINST ME, I WILL HERE THEM. BUT FIRST, I CHALLENGE THEM THIS! I CHALLENGE THEM TO ASK THEMSELVES, WHY? WHY DO I SPEAK OUT WHEN THESE CRIMINALS BEHIND ME,” he gestured to us, “COULD BE TARGETING YOUR CHILD NEXT! YOUR CHILD COULD BE THE NEXT ONE TAKEN OVER THE WALL TO BE FED ON BY THE NIGHTMARES! So,” he said, calming down, “If there’s anybody here who wants to speak against me, do so now.”

No one spoke. Taren and Casey were holding onto eachother, terrified of Leader. The crowd was deathly still.

“I will.” I said as loudly as I could, “I will speak against you.”

Categories: Fantasy Fiction, Fiction, Inspirational Fiction, Must Reads.

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Rune, the novel: chapter six(hey peeps. sorry to keep you hanging. i’ve been pretty busy lately.)

January 13, 2011

I lay in my cell, staring up at the ceiling. Taren was now in court, being tried for similar reasons to me. She and a boy had gone across the wall with her older sister. Her sister never came back.

In the hours when I lay there, alone, I thought about my mother. I thought about how I hadn’t called her that for years. I thought about Wheatweeve, and how I had been so short with her. True, she was obnoxious, but still. I was so deep in my musings, I jumped nearly five feet when Taren returned. To her credit, she was very quiet. Then again, that was probably because she had just been told that she had been exiled.

“Didn’t mean to shock you,” she said halfheartedly.

“Bad news as well?” I asked her.

“What do you think?”

The sarcasm made me chuckle, although there was nothing amusing about the situation. I probably needed something to laugh about, after all that had happend in the last 24 hours. Evidently, so did Taren, because she began to giggle as well. Soon, we were laughing up a storm. We would have kept howling with laughter, but a guard came in and told us to “quit acting mad!”

“And you,” growled the guard, pointing at me, ” You’ve got a visitor!”

I nodded, glumly. I knew who it would be. I just didn’t want to have to face her.

Taren was hancuffed and escorted out of one door. My mother slouched in through another. She was much paler than when I had seen her a day ago. There were dark circles around here eyes, which were bloodshot from crying. Her hair, which was usually a sleek, pure black, was now tarnished with bits of dirt and grime. My mother took one look at me, and burst into tears.

“Mom-” I began, not knowing what to say.  She looked at me, and uttered one word. “Son.”  Then, she fainted. She didn’t look like she could have taken much more. A guard dragged her out leaving me alone, stricken.

Categories: Fantasy Fiction, Fiction, Inspirational Fiction.

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Rune: the novel, chapter five

December 15, 2010

“You there!”

The guard’s voice jolts me from my muesings. For the past hour, I had been sitting on the wall, drinking in the horrible truth. Douglas was dead. He had gone down fighting, yes, but still, dead. My resolve to kill nightmares had become more prominent than ever. These beasts had taken my father, my brother, and now my best friend. But, all of these thoughts vanished when I saw the guard. The truth was devilishly simple. It was against the laws of  Intisa to go past the wall after dark. I was an outlaw.

And then, another painful fact hit me like a boulder from a rockslide. Douglas’s uncle was on the tribunal. And his nephew had been fed on because of me.

Terrified, I tried to run. My legs were windmills, spinning full throttle. But, I wasn’t fast enough. One of the guards threw a stun charm at me. Curse Mage,I thought as electricity crackled up my spine, He killed my brother with by giving him that dud of a sword. Now his damn invention has gotten me arrested.

~*~

I woke up in a dank, cold room. The smell of mildew crept into my lungs, making me gag. My body ached all over. I tried to swear under my breath, but no words came out. Of course. Mage’s charm had side effects. With a stupendous effort, I lifted my head off the itchy pillow it lay on, I wanted confirmation that I was where I thought I was.

 Grey walls loomed all around me, and steel bars surrounded me. I can’t believe it. I’m in one of the high security vaults.

Someone else was in the cell. A girl, sitting on a cot, gazing at me intently. She had brown hair and brown eyes, and she was wearing a tattered looking grey dress. Her ears were slightly pointed, and her skin was a lightish tan. But, what really intrigued me about this girl was her expression. She was smiling. It was unbelievable! This girl was in a prison cell, for god’s sake! Why was she smiling?

Not that I was complaining about that smile, for it was the most beautiful I had ever seen, and it was directed at me.

 ”Hi.”

Hi?!? I was talking to the most beautiful girl in the world, and all I could say was ‘hi’?

Fortunately, she didn’t seem to care.

“Hi,” she responded. “I don’t get much company down here. Especially famous company.”

“Famous?” I asked.

“Oh, I forgot. You’ve been out for the past ten hours. Your the talk of the entire colony! You went across the wall with-”

Yeah,” I said, “With Douglas.”

There was silence for a moment. At last, the girl spoke again.

“Sorry.” She sounded like she meant it. “Sore subject. By the way, I’m Taren. Taren Willow.”

I would have kept talking to Taren Willow, but at that moment, a guard walked in.

“Alright, pretty boy,” he said, “It’s time to drag your butt to the tribunal.”

~*~

 I was shoved roughly into a chair. Famous? More like infamous.

Douglas’s uncle glowered down at me. Beside him sat two other people: a muscular black man, and a pencil thin old woman.

“This trial is now in sesion,” boomed Douglas’s uncle, Leader, “Silas Harrif, twelve years old, as of today?”

“Yes,” I responded.

“You are accused of wall-jumping and third degree murder. How plead you?”

I thought about my answer. I could say no and be discovered as a liar, or I could say yes and face the consequences. Pfft! So much for choices.

“Guilty.”

The crowd, who I hadn’t noticed before, gasped. I looked at them. My mother and sister were in the front row. Mother’s eyes were red from crying. Wheatweave was trying to hold back tears.

“Silence!” shouted the black man. “The tribunal must now decide on the punishment of said induvidual!”

The crowd went silent as the tribunal whispered. At last, Leader spoke.

“All in favor of public service say ‘I”.”

“I!” said the black man.

“All in favor of exile, coming into effect in three days, say “I’!”

“I!” Leader and the old woman chorused.

I hung my head. Exile is the same thing as execution. No one survives past the wall for long. Not with the nightmares out there.

Categories: Fantasy Fiction, Fiction, Inspirational Fiction, Must Reads.

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Prologue (Ever)

November 22, 2010

AN: A story I started awhile back and have had in WE drafts since before September of this year, I think.  “Ever” is, for now, a place holder title, but it could possibly end up being the title. We’ll see.  And I may end up making the prologue longer . . . we’ll see again :) And for now I’m not sure that this is fantasy fiction – it may just stay fiction. We’ll see about that too (yes, that’s a lot of “we’ll see’s”) :) Well, hope you enjoy! Remember to critique and be brutally honest! =) Over and out, Myth

The only way I have survived these long, lonely years is because of my friend the sycamore tree. It is out in the yard, and I love to climb right up to the top and rest in its branches. I can tell it of all my problems, and it just sways me gently in the breeze as if to soothe me. It never shouts at me, runs away from me, or teases me. It just listens and sways.

You see, I live in an orphanage. I have lived here since a few days after I was born, or so I’m told. My earliest memories are of this place.

The children make fun of me and the orphanage caretakers loathe me. I can’t remember the last kind word I heard.

I have one green eye and one brown eye. I have milk-white skin and hair black as crow feathers. I am emaciated; skin stretched taut over protruding bones.

All in all, I’m no beauty to look at. People are afraid of my oddly colored eyes, calling me “witch” or “devil’s child”. No one has ever shown interest in adopting me, and I doubt that anyone will. They take one look at my eyes and then they look away. Were the orphanage not afraid of getting in trouble for letting devil spawn roam about, it would have thrown me out on the streets long ago.

What can I do about all of this? Nothing. I’m a child and I have strange eyes—I might as well be mute, because I certainly don’t get to use the voice I have.

I wonder who my mother was—the woman that named me and then left me here. Was she afraid to keep me because of my eyes? Was she afraid I really was possessed, some sort of dark evil?

I sigh, wishing I could know why. I wish, I wish, I wish. But wishing won’t help me to know.

My name is Ever, and I am ten years old. I have always been alone and I fear I always shall be.

But I am no devil’s child. I am no witch.

I am just a human being who wants to feel a mother’s gentle touch. Who wants to hear a kind word. Who wants to know . . . she is loved. That she does have purpose and meaning.

But I know, deep down, that this can never be. Who could love someone like me?

So I remain Ever, the girl who has never been loved, and the girl who never will be.

And this is my story.

Categories: Fiction, Historical Fiction.

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Rune: the novel, Chapter Four

October 30, 2010

 At last, it was 11:50. I was relieved, because all night I had been thinking about Wheetweeve’s words. Mother needed a son. Instead, she got a fanatic. Over and over these words played themselves in my mind.

I crept out of the house, shutting the door as quietly as I could. I sprinted along the cobbled path that led to the statue of Leonard Bernstein. All of the lights were out in the houses. Good, I thought, no distractions. Then, distractions came flooding into my mind like a tidal wave.

I began to think about Mother, and how I hadn’t called her that in almost three years. I thought of Wheatweeve, and how I hadn’t talked to her unless I had to ever! And then, I thought about someone I hadn’t thought about since I was nine. I thought about myself. I watched myself sit in the wheat field on the day my brother was fedon. I saw Whetstone show me the Dreamblade, then walk through the gate. I viewed the Nightmares swarming around him. I watched as his sword did no good. I saw my nine-year-old self scream as Whetstone was cloaked in darkness. I remembered howling like a wounded animal as my brother’s body fell to the ground, soul gone.

I arrived ten minutes late. Douglas was pacing around, looking anxious. When he saw me, he ran to my side and whispered, “Where were you?!? You’re ten minutes late!”

“Sorry, I responded, Got held up. Listen, do you think this is a good idea? I mean, we could be fed on!”

“It’s a great idea! C’mon, let’s do it!”

We clambered up the guards’ ladders. Douglas carried the rucksack. I carried the rope. Slowly, we climbed nearer and nearer to the top. All the while, the two sides of my brain were locked in a battle of wits. Don’t go, said the reasonable side, One of you is going to be fed on!

Go ahead! said the other side, This is what you’ve been waiting for! A chance to stick it to the Nightmares!

What about Douglas?said my conscience, Do you want him to get fed on?!?

He’ll be fine, crooned my ego, He wants to go, remember!

By the time Douglas and I reached the top of the wall, my ego had won the brain battle. I was convinced that the plan would see us through. However, all went wrong within seconds.

I tied one end of the rope to a battlement on the wall, throwing the other into the darkness on the other side. “I’ll go first,” I said confidently. Douglas nodded. Carefully, I swung myself onto the rope. I swung side to side, but the strands of fiber held firm, keeping me from falling and injuring myself. Sighing with relief, I began to shimmey down the rope.

In a matter of minutes, I reached the bottom. “IT’S OK!,” I shouted up to Douglas, “YOU CAN COME DOWN NOW!”

Douglas was about half way down the rope when his hands slipped. He flew away from the wall, and landed with a sickening THUD! in the wheat field. “DOUGLAS!” I screamed, and ran to find my fallen friend.

“I’m al-OUCH-right,” said Douglas, who, despite his words, did not sound in the least bit alright.I found my friend lying on one side in the wheat. His leg was twisted at such an odd angle, it had to be broken. “Oh man,” I said, noticing how crooked Douglas’s broken leg was, “Man, I’m so sorry.”

“No-OUCH-problem. Let’s just get out of-oh gods NO!” my friend screamed.

I looked. Gliding over the hills were nightmares in all of the hideous forms they could take. Skeletons danced, werewolves howled, but, most of all, there was just the dark mist that nightmares became when they wished to move fast. The moment when I would face the nightmares had arrived and I was totally unprepared.

I tried to drag Douglas at first. But, he was too heavy. He outweighed me by several pounds. I tried toget him to stand. He managed to raise himself a couple of inches off the ground before falling back down.

I tried to think of a solution. Nothing came to mind. Then, Douglas said something that would haunt me for the rest of my life. “Go,” he said, “If you try to save me, we’ll both be fed on.”

“No way. No way I’m leaving you to die,” I said.

“There’s no other way,” my good, faithful, and only friend Douglas said.

Then, he used his last bit of strength to turn and face the wave of nightmares. “BRING IT!!!” were the last words I heard Douglas say before I was forced to turn and climb up the rope. By the time I reached the top of the wall, and turned to see what had become of Douglas, it was too late. The nightmares had enveloped him.

I didn’t cry. I couldn’t cry. I was beyond grief. I had no more friends. I was useless. And, worst of all, Wheatweeve had been right. I wasn’t a good son. I wasn’t even a good friend. I was just a revenge obsessed fanatic. And now, I didn’t even have douglas to confide in. I just sat on that wall, dreading the dawn.

Categories: Fantasy Fiction, Fiction, Inspirational Fiction, Must Reads.

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Rune: the novel, Chapter Three

October 28, 2010

Night, we had decided, was the perfect time to carry out our plan. The guards would have gone home, leaving the protective enchantments to sheild Intisa from the Nightmares. The enchantments kept the Nightmares out, but they didn’t keep people in. Douglas and I would meet at the statue of Leonard Bernson, Intisa’s first mayor at midnight, then climb up the ladders onto the wall. We would use rope to help us climb back down into the wheat field. I knew that today was my turn to to go to Market to get eggs, and I began to form a plan.

After my encounter with Douglas that morning, I returned home. I was very polite to Wheatweeve, and even called Silk ‘Mother’.

“What has gotten into you young man?” she asked, “Are you up to something?”

“No Mother,” I responded.

Silk went back to the kitchen, eyes brimming with tears. “Mother,” she whispered to herself,”My boy’s finally calling me Mother.” I glared at her when she turned her back. You killed Whetstone, I thought, You all killed Whetstone.

Wheatweeve was annoyed. “But,” she complained, “You’re supposed to be brooding and rude! Now you’re….Nice! Where’s the fun in THAT?!?”

I just smiled politly at her.

A couple of minutes later, Silk asked me to run to Market and get some eggs. She gave me enough newly sewn garments to trade for something for myself. I thanked her and ran off to Market.

I bought the eggs, as promised. Then, I went over to Twinemaster. He was selling thread, fishing line, and most importantly, rope.

“I’ve got a nice, warm shirt and some wollen, your size, that I’m willing to trade for ten feet of rope,” I said.

Twinemaster raised his eyebrows. “Ten feet?” the burly man said, “That’s a lot of rope yer gettin’ there. What’re ya plannin’ on usin’ so much fer?”

“An experiment,” I said, ” Me and my friend are trying to measure the height of his house.”

“Fine then,” grunted Twinemaster, “Do whatcha want to do.”

He handed me ten feet of sturdy looking rope. I thanked him, put it in my rucksack, and began walking towards home.

“Boys these days,” I heard Twinemaster grumble, “Doing experiments and suchn’t. In my day, we solved problems with our fists not with our blasted brains!”

~*~

I gave the eggs to Silk when I got home. When she asked what I had gotten for myself, I told her that I had bought a wooden sword. “He’s finally acting like a child,” Silk said as I walked up the stairs, “He’s finally having fun.”

An hour passed. I continued my goody-two shoes act, trying to please both Silk and Wheeteweeve. At one point, I almost gave myself away. I was packing my rucksack with the essentials Douglas and I would need for the night. As I was stuffing a long, sharp knife in, Wheetweeve opened my bedroom door.n I barely had time to shove the dagger in and close my rucksack.

“What is it?” I asked her.

Wheetweeve scowled. “You know exactly  what it is, Mr. ‘I’m-so-perfect’. I know you’re up to something! I will find out!”

“I’m not up to anything.”

“Really?!? Then, say that it wasn’t Mother’s falt that Whetstone died!”

I almost shouted then. I wanted to scream in her face, say “IT WAS HER FALT! IT WAS BOTH YOUR FALTS!” Instead I said, as calmly I could, “It wasn’t Mother’s falt that W-Whetstone died.”

My voice wavered a little bit when I said my brother’s name. But, Wheatweeve didn’t notice. “FINE,” she said, “Maybe you have gotten over his death. But, I still don’t forgive you for all these years you’ve been moping. Mother needed a son after Whetstone died. Instead, she got a FANATIC!”

Then, she stormed out of the room, leaving me shaken and, to my own surprise, weeping.

Categories: Fantasy Fiction, Fiction, Inspirational Fiction, Must Reads.

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Rune:the novel Chapter Two

October 28, 2010

“Hello Mr. Jordon! Stopping by for some light reading?” joked Librarian. This had been a running joke for ever since my brother was fed on. It had happened by accident. After I had seen Whetstone step towards the three nightmares, try to kill them, and fail, I went straight to the library, desperate for knowlage that would help me kill the nightmares. ‘In for some light reading?’ Librarian had asked.

“Yes, of course I am,” I replied.

I went to my usual corner of the library and began searching for books. All of the volumes I had already read were there, as well as a new title. It was a book called, Nightmares; Everything We Know, by Reedy Melspike. I gasped. An author without a true name! Why, this book must be from the East, from the city of Gadorous! Maybe they know things there that we don’t!

I left the library disappointed. More of the same. Nightmares can’t be killed. Don’t waste your life. I refused to believe it. There has to be a way to kill nightmares, I thoght, Has to be!

“SILAS! HEY!”

I turned to see my friend Douglas running towards me. He had black, bristly hair, was short and squat, and had arms that spun like a windmill when he ran. His dark skin seemed even darker today, for clouds swirled ominously in the sky.

“Hey…Silas,” my friend panted, “I…get…my true…name tomorrow. They hinted that…it might…be Harvester! All because my dad was a baker! It sucks!”

“Well,” I said, “the only way you’ll get a couragous true name is if you do something heroic.”

“Like what?”

“You know old Mrs. Jackson?” I asked.

“Yeah,” Douglas replied.

“Well, some idiots took her broach and threw it way out into the wheat field beyond the wall.”

“So you mean…” Douglas said, in awe.

“Yes. I mean we go past the boundaries to get it.”

Categories: Fantasy Fiction, Fiction, Inspirational Fiction, Must Reads.

Tags: ,

Tambourine – Eight (part two out of three)

October 22, 2010

Behind the covered wagon there are people. A redheaded girl, her great mane of hair wrestled into a white ribboned ponytail, croons over a ragged doll. A boy grabs at a frog, hooting for the redhead to join the chase, but she ignores him. An older girl-woman leans against the wagon, fiddling with a knot in her hands, staring darkly at the sky. Her face is covered in bright red leisons, frighteningly white against her flat crow-black hair, and flakes like snow fall from her face every time she moves her head.
Lizzy, the girl who found me first, plunges ahead and grabs the girl-woman’s arm.
“I found someone,” she says.
“She’s a ghost!” the boy says, abandoning the frog and running toward me.
“She’s not,” Lizzy says, sticking out her tongue.
“Of course she isn’t a ghost, Jimmy,” the girl-woman says reproachfully, her eyes never leaving me. She steps forward, Lizzy still hanging from her arm. “Hey,” she says. “I’m Marion.”
Jimmy stops and stands motionlessly, watching me.
“Hey,” I say hesitantly. I take a deep breath. I’m not scared, but there are so many people… they are not touching me, but I feel like they’re crawling all over me.
I look over at the redheaded girl, still playing with the doll. She looks over her shoulder and smiles. Her face is completely red, open and oozing. I’m startled. She goes back to her play, unconcerned.
“You have the Disease?” Marion asks.
I do not understand her.
She steps even closer and taps the cloth wrapped around my face. I flinch. “We all have it. You don’t have to hide your face if you stick with us.”
“I’m not sick,” I say.
Marion looks at me sympathetically.
“What’s wrong – ” I pause.
She watches me for a second, then gets a hard look on her face. “What’s wrong with us? Is that what you’re asking?” Her voice is angry.
I nod slowly.
“Yeah, well, some babies are kissed by angels at birth, and they get good luck and good looks. We were kissed by demons.”
Lizzy drops Marion’s arm and looks up at her with big eyes.
Marion softens and shakes her head gently, patting the top of Lizzy’s head. “No. We just got a hard lot. We have the Disease, only we’re not rich and we don’t got parents, so there’s no way for us to get the cure. So the Home for Orphans kicked us out of their building, and the city officials kicked us out of the city, so we get to make do on the outskirts.”
“I’m near the city?” I ask, suddenly hopeful.
“Yeah,” Marion says. “Right outside.”
I’m thrilled, but with a rush of memory I am left empty. What is left for me in the city? The man left me, and Rawnie is sick. She is probably glad not to have to keep a freak with her buisness. I would have kept customers out with my face. My hands go up to the cloth around my face.
“What’s it like there?” I ask.
“You’ve never been?” Marion asks, incredulous.
“No.”
“It’s clean,” she says. “And prissy.” She stares at me curiously. “What’s your name?”
“Tambourine,” I say. “I’m from the other side.”
“Just passing through, then, Tambourine?” she asks.
“Maybe,” I say.
Instantly she’s wary. “We don’t have much food. Water, but that’s it.”
“I have food,” I say. “And a little water.”
“You have food?” Lizzy chirps, tired of being ignored. “What kind of food?”
“Lizzy,” Marion hisses, but she looks up at me hopefully.
I walk behind Jasper and rummage in the cart. I take out the half-full basket of cactus leaves. Lizzy makes a face. The little boy – Jimmy – walks up, too, and hovers hopefully beside Marion. I look in another bag, and find nuts. They smell a little musty, but when I look up, I know I’ve found a treasure.
“Oh,” Marion gasps.
I am glad. I hand her the bag.
“Ours? All of them?” she asks, surprised, her eyes suddenly looking scared and young and wondering.
I feel shy and pleased. I drop my head.
“This will taste good with rat,” Marion says.
I nod, peeking back up at her. Her in-control face is back. She smiles.
I search the cart for any more unexpected treats. I find only the water jars, the tent matierals, a few blankets, two trunks of Rawnie’s dresses that Marion eyes longingly but I don’t let her have, a bag of Christoph’s clothes, and Rawnie’s colorful bags. I don’t open them. I feel like it would be wrong to touch her carvings and tools without her there.
I unharness Jasper and let him roam.
Marion leans against the covered wagon again and says, “You can stick with us for a while, if you want.”
“Thank you,” I say. “I – I will. For a while.”
She smiles faintly at me, pulls a knotted string from her pocket, and starts trying to unravel it. “It’s an impossible knot,” she says softly. “My father is the only one who can tie them.”
I would have watched her longer, but Lizzy runs up to me and tugs at my arm.
“Do you know how to play jumprope?” she asks. She looks behind her at Jimmy, who is drawing something on the ground with a stick. “Jimmy is setting it up.”
“No,” I say.
“I’ll show you.” She drags me over to him. Her hand is warm on my arm, but in a moment her touch is gone and she throws herself down to sit beside Jimmy. Jimmy scowls at her.
“Can she play?”
Lizzy tosses her head. “Of course. I told you she could.”
I watch them, my hands hanging awkwardly at my sides. “I don’t – ”
“I’ll go first,” Jimmy interupts me. He grabs a rope from the ground and grabs onto either side. As he spins it around, hopping over it, he counts. He gets to twenty-three before Lizzy shouts:
“You jumped out of the circle!”
He drops the rope. “I did not!”
“Yes you did! I saw! Your foot went out! She saw it too, didn’t she? Tam-bor-een, didn’t you see his foot go out of the circle?”
I look down and see that he had been jumping in the middle of a wobbly circle drawn in the dirt.
“Oh, I didn’t see – “
“See? You’re a cheater!” the boy shouts.
I start to back away.
“I am not!”
“Wait,” the boy says suddenly, seeing me leave. “Don’t leave. Do you want a turn?” His voice is suddenly kind.
“I don’t know how – “
“I’ll show you,” he says firmly.
He hands me the rope, and I try to hold it with both of my hands. But my crippled hand loses its grip again and again before I can try to twirl the rope over me.
“I am not a cheater, Jimothy Brown,” Lizzy hisses under her breath.
“Are too, Lizzy Nobody,” he hisses back. Then they notice me watching and stop fighting.
I try again, harder. My crippled hand trembles with the effort, but does not hold. I drop the rope to the ground and stare silently back at them.
“What’s wrong?” Jimmy asks.
“My hand – “ I say, my face burning with shame. I am glad they can’t see my reddening skin under my turban.
“What’s wrong with your hand?” Lizzy asks. Jimmy glares at her. “What?” she asks defensively.
“It’s crippled,” I say.
Lizzy stares at it. “Does it hurt?” she asks.
“No.”
“Oh, good,” she says. “If we find a longer rope, me and Jimmy can swing it while you jump.” She runs to Marion and Jimmy follows her. I stay behind, standing in the circle with the rope, feeling useless.
Marion looks at me while they explain, then climbs into the covered wagon to hunt for another rope.
I sprint across the camp to Jasper’s side, throwing my arms around his bristly neck. He brays in protest, but I am kneeling with my arms around him and I can’t let go. I do not know how to play. And if they saw my face under my pretty blue turban, they wouldn’t want me to play with them, anyway. I close my eyes.
“It’s alright,” an airy voice says quietly beside me. My eyelids snap open and I look over to see the redhead girl with her oozing face standing beside me. She holds out her doll. I watch her warily.
“You can hold her,” she says.
I look into its gray face and blue cracked buttons for eyes. I let go of Jasper and gingerly take it in my good hand, cradling its head against my arm.
“Her name is Beauty,” the girl says softly. “She’s my sister.”
I look up at the girl. Our eyes meet.
“Why do you hide your face?” she asks.
“To protect me from the sun,” I say.
“That’s not the only reason,” she says. I hand her back Beauty and she smiles.
I pull out my wood elephant and hand it to her. “She reminds me of Princess. She was a baby elephant at the circus, with little tiny tusks. They would dress her up in beads around her neck and feathers tied to her ears and scarlet paint around her eyes and little gold suns painted all over her back. Sometimes they would paint her whole trunk gold. Those days she didn’t even look like an elephant, she looked like a demon.”
Jo brought out the angels in people. I hear Mia’s voice and it stabs me with guilt. I do not even know why.
“Did she like that?” the girl asked with wide eyes.
“Never,” I say.
“I wouldn’t,” she says. She hands me back my elephant. “Do you want to play?”
“I don’t know how,” I whisper, blushing. I search and find Marion emerging from the wagon, triumphantly waving a long rope in her hand. My stomach twists.
“Not with them,” she says gently. “Beauty and your elephant.”
I look at her. Her face is like an open wound, bleeding and gummy with pus. Scabs are caked around her eyelids, and her eyelashes are stuck together with pus. They’re puffy, I can barely make out the green-gray of her irises. But I see a softness in her eyes.
“Alright,” I say.
She sits down. We are standing in a patch of scrabbly grass. I sit beside her and self-conciously place my elephant between us.
The girl holds Beauty in her lap and leans over her. “I have a new friend for you to meet, Beauty,” she says. “You must be very nice.” Then she looks up at me expectantly.
I reach for my elephant and place her in my own lap. She is much smaller than Beauty, so I have to balance her carefully on my leg and try hard not to move. “I have a new friend for you to meet, elephant,” I say.
“She needs a name,” the girl says.
“Why?”
“Everyone needs a name,” the girl says. “Mine is Nona.”
“Mine is Tambourine,” I say.
“Name her something special. Like the name of someone you miss.”
“Mia,” I say without thinking.
“Hello, Mia,” she says, waving Beauty in the air like Beauty is the one talking.
“Hello,” I mumble, touching Elephant Mia’s back.
“We’re going to the moon today, to make the moon children jealous of our wings,” Nona says.
“We are?” I stare at her.
“In the story,” she says.
“Oh.”
“Come on, Mia,” she says, and lifts Beauty up in the air like she’s flying.
I lift Elephant Mia up and twirl her in the air.
“Wow, you are incredible at flying,” Nona makes Beauty say.
I blush. “Thank you,” I have Elephant Mia say. “Are we really going to fly to the moon?”
“Yes,” Nona says with wide eyes.
“What’s it like on the moon?” I ask, looking up. But it’s too bright for me to stare for long, I drop my gaze back to Playing.
“White. And all the moon children wear silver gowns and they sing instead of talk, but none of them have wings because they aren’t angels.”
“Really?”
“Really,” Nona says, suddenly Nona and not Beauty. “Sometimes I look up and I see them shimmering there on the white. They wait for wishes there, and when a good wish comes, one of them catches it and turns into an angel. Angels have wings, so the new angel can fly down to earth and make the wish come true. After that, they are the wisher’s guardian angel.”
“What’s a guardian angel?”
“An angel who protects you and gives you invisible gifts,” she says seriously. “And even,” she leans in close to whisper. “Makes you a little more beautiful every day.”
I stare at her, my mind tossing in the spell of her breezy voice.
“Why are you over here?” Jimmy is back, now holding a new rope. I blink, looking up at him and Lizzy who runs up behind him.
“I’m playing,” I say. A swell of pride rolls in my chest at my words. Playing.
“I thought you were playing with us,” Jimmy says.
“I don’t know how,” I say, anxious. I do not want to make them angry, but I love playing with Nona.
Jimmy shrugs. “Come on, Lizzy,” he says loudly, patting her on her shoulder. “She’s Nona’s friend, not ours.” Something in Lizzy’s face broke as she looked at me.
“No!” I say, up on my feet hurriedly, dropping Elephant Mia on the dirt. “I don’t mind, I mean, I want – ”
Nona looks up at me, her face unreadable. Lizzy watches me with an expression that looks like she wants to swallow my words whole and keep them forever. Jimmy looks annoyed.
I feel miserable.
“Can’t we all play?” I ask. “Together?”
They all stare at me.
“She’s odd,” Lizzy whispers. We all hear her.
Nona turns away and gently smoothes Beauty’s face.
“Why?” I say, something hot rising in my chest.
“Her stories,” Jimmy says awkwardly. “She believes them.”
“Why shouldn’t she?”
“Well,” he says. “They aren’t true.”
“They aren’t?” The heat in my chest twists and crawls into the root of my throat, simmering.
He stares at me. “Don’t you know anything?”
The heat leaps out of my throat and its name flashes across my eyes, Anger.
“Yes,” I say. “I do. I know that Nona tells beautiful stories. And Beauty is beautiful. I like her. She’s my friend, and you are like a circus,” I say. But this time, I do not want to run. I want to fight.
Jimmy’s eyes flash.
I throw myself back down on the ground beside Nona pick up Elephant Mia. “I’m flying to the moon!” I shout, and spin her through the air. Nona smiles incredulously at me, a wide crack in her bleeding face. I smile back.
“Beauty is ugly,” Jimmy spits.
I glare up at him.
“And so is Nona,” he says.
I leap up. The air rushing against my face as I move suddenly shocks me, and I wobble on my feet feeling small and scared. I want to curl up into a tight ball. I turn away.
Nona is hunched over Beauty, whispering, “It’s okay, I don’t mind. It’s true, after all. You’re the beautiful sister.”
I spin around and smash my good fist into Jimmy’s shoulder. He yelps and leaps back, then raises his own fists. I stare him square in the face, blazing.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Marion grabs Jimmy back and glares at me.
My bravado deflates. My knees are rubbery as I open my mouth. “I – ”
“Don’t even think about giving me excuses.”
“I hit him,” I say.
“Yeah,” she says. “Get out.”
I stand frozen.
“I said get out,” she says. “I don’t know who you are. I don’t know how old you are. Under that blanket, who even knows what you are!”
“I – ”
“Take your mule and your nuts and walk,” Marion says. “You can’t attack the children.”
Suddenly I feel Nona’s hand take mine. It is small and cold, despite the heat of the desert sun. “I’m going with her.”
Marion takes a step backward. “What?”
“Tambourine is my guardian angel,” she says calmly.
Lizzy looks up at Marion. “Jimmy was being mean,” she says.
“You were being mean, too,” Jimmy hisses under his breath.Then he shrugs. “Don’t make her leave. I – we were teasting Nona. I don’t think she understood.”
“It wasn’t just teasing,” I say.
“Oh, grand,” Marion groans. “Come on, Jimmy. You know Lizzy follows you. Buck up and act like a man.”
Jimmy drops his head, scuffing the dirt with the toe of his boot.
“Tambourine – ” she says, looking at me. “We don’t fight here. We’ve got enough hot-headed judgement scowling at us. We don’t need it inside.”
I nod.
“Do you have the Disease?” Marion asks abruptly.
“I’m not sick,” I say.
“You’re going to get it now,” she says gruffly. “But if you don’t have it, why do you hide your face?”
“To protect it from the sun.”
“Right.”
I just stare somberly back at her.
“Listen,” she says, her hand resting on her hip. “There are no secrets in this family. If you want to be one of us, you’re going to have to take it off. None of us hide our faces, no matter how far the Disease has taken us.” She glances at Nona, who watches me placidly.
Panic rattles in my stomach.
She’s my guardian angel.
I’m not! I’m not I’m not I’m not. I’m the Origional Fruit of the Devil.
Jo! I call out with all my body, tears wobbling behind my eyes.
You can do whatever you want to do, I hear him saying, angry. You are a beautiful person in all the ways that matter.
I take a deep breath and drop my head to the ground as I reach up to my turban. I feel the roughened, sun cooked state of it as I slip my hands inside and begin to unravel it. I let it slip past my face and my body and to the ground, my eyes shut tight.
I am standing on my show box. The air smells like the almond perfume of the woman in front of me, her hair braided into a wrapped, elegant bun and veiled with a thin pink scarf. She is wearing a pink dress, and she looks beautiful. I stare at her, at her perfect skin and limbs, her gorgeous wholeness, until she steps back and grimaces.
“I swear,” she says in an ugly voice. “What kind of a zoo is it that oogles you right back?”
She walks away, thin chin propped up on the air, two fat, trussed children flouncing after her.
I gather all my strength and stand still, letting the eyes comb my face and belly and arms and legs, each of them taking me body with them as they walk away, and along with my body a little piece of my self. My skin aches with their glances, like every look gives me a tiny yellow-purple bruise.
A ruddy faced man jostles his son. “There’s a wife for you, boy!”
His son yelps with laughter, sticking his fingers in his mouth and spitting on my foot. I do not move. I must not move. “Incredible, the demons these circuses unearth. Where do they find them?”
“Smooching Hades, I assume,” the father says.
My sandal is wet with his bubbly saliva. I feel it soak through its thin make and dampen my skin.
“You can stay,” the son says. Suddenly he shrinks, then slims, then sprouts black hair. He becomes Marion looking at me anxiously. “You can stay,” she says again.
I stare at her.
She twiddles the knot in her hands. “You can stay with us, if you want. You’re only little, aren’t you? Eight?”
“Nine,” I say.
I feel Nona looking, but I ignore her, looking instead at Marion.
“I’m a Marvel,” I say.
She smiles queerly. “You are,” she says. “You’ll match up with us quite nicely. Welcome to the family. If you want.”
“Yes,” I say.
Marion nods and walks briskly back to the wagon.
I look over at Jimmy. He doesn’t meet my eyes, but I know he feels my gaze. “I’m sorry for hitting you,” I say.
“Yeah,” he says. He looks up into my face and attempts a small smile. Then he takes Lizzy’s hand and walks away. I hear them start jumprope again.
I look at Nona hesitantly. She just grins at me.
“You’re not scared of me?” I ask.
“You’re not scared of me,” she says.
“I’m not a guardian angel.”
“Why not?” she says. “Maybe you are, and you just don’t know it.”
“Thank you,” I say.
She smiles.
I sit down, and she sits too.
We play.

Categories: Fiction.

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