Creeping

I could see him from far off, intent upon the book in his hand. Such a normal scene for this setting, it was a gorgeous park with plenty of sunlight and shade. It was a perfect day for lazing around reading a book, or putting thoughts to paper. It was an ordinary sight, it shouldn't have set me on edge, but it did.
Having drawn my attention so, I puzzled to figure out why this figure should pique my curiosity. I studied the man as I walked closer. His clothing did not seem out of the ordinary. While it was a beautiful spring day, the air still had enough a chill to warrant a long sleeve shirt on a cold-natured person. Myself, I was wearing a t-shirt and shorts, enjoying the coolness on my walk.
The man wore no hat, his shirt was a normal button-down shirt, the kind worn by most college students. He sat by himself on a bench, with his schoolbag resting beside him; not unlike so many of his peers who were out enjoying the weather. His pants were khakis of some kind, keeping with his scholarly appearance. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary about him. So why did he warrant all of my attention? Why did my eyes keep going back to him, apprehensive?
His hair, while long, was trimmed and his beard manicured. His features were normal. He could have fit in anywhere. Maybe that was what it was. The fact that he was too normal, too contemporary made him seem out of place, it made him stick out. All the attempts to blend in producing the opposite result.
I watched his pen scratch out a shape as he sketched something in the lower part of his book. My attention completely focused upon him, I was burning with curiosity to see what he was writing. I wanted to delve into his notes, bury myself in his subconscious. I wanted to learn him from the inside out, know what made him tick, what motivated him.
As I drew closer, I found my path drifting closer to this unaware stranger. A path that would bring me close enough to reach out and take the book should I choose, or I could simply catch a glimpse of the page he was working on. As I walked, I debated my course of action. Should I sneak a peek? Or should I go for the whole enchilada and snatch the book?
Ten feet, seven feet, five feet. I was fast approaching the moment of no return. What was I going to do? And in the instant before I had to make a decision, the man looked up. He looked me directly in the eye, and time stood still. In that instance, I made a connection with him. It was as if I suddenly understood everything about him, knew what was going, and without thinking, I stopped.
Looking down at his drawing, I found myself asking him to see his drawing. I found myself admiring it, and words coming out of my mouth. I was no longer in control. Something greater than myself was in control. Finishing my monologue, unaware of what I had said to the man, I stared at the man in silence; I was unsure what would happen next. The man looked at me and smiled.
"Now you are finally understanding." he said.
And with that, he walked away, leaving me standing there holding his notebook. All the answers to my unspoken questions in my hand. I stared around in confusion, unsure what had just happened.
Looking down, I found myself holding a blank notebook. There was nothing inside, just blank pages.

Hungry eyes

The smell of fire filled the air, filling his nostrils, choking and inflaming his lungs. In a mighty effort for breathe, he started coughing violently. It shook his massive frame causing him to bend over and drop to one knee. "No," he thought. "NOW was not the time dior this." He knew he had to keep going, keep moving. To stop now was to quit, to die. The fire would get him, it would stop him. They would all die.

Looking up, he could see the layer of smoke on the ceiling. That is what had gotten him, it was thick now. No more running, it was time to crawl. Gasping shallow breaths of the hot smoky air, he took stock of the situation. The last thing he could afford to do was to panic, here, now. In this.

Four more doors, he just had to crawl four doors to his daughters room. She was young and wouldn't know how to get out. He had to save her. He was sweating through his shirt, the fire was getting hot.

Soon, he reached her door, now to get her out. He reached for the knob and hesitated before opening it. "Was it hot?" he wondered. His survival instinct kicking in, his subconscious taking control. Gently, taking precious seconds he knew he didn't have, he touched the handle. It didn't burn him. Sighing with relief, he should hear his daughter crying over the sound of the fire alarm. It's incessant beeping had deafened him.

With a hurried effort, he opened the door. Only to be greeted with a parent's nightmare. His daughter sat huddled in the corner, crying, with a wall of flame between him and her. The roof was burning and had fallen through. He would have to cross through the fire to get her, and then back out.

He gathered a deep breath and never hesitated. The fire burned for a moment and then he was through. He grabbed his daughter into his arms, and hugged her tight. Then grabbing her blankie from her bed, he wrapped it around her and rushed for the door. It hurt a little bit more, but then he was through.

Once he reached the hallway again, he crouched down to catch his breath. Gazing towards the outside door, he could see that things had gotten worse in his absence. The fire had spread. It was going to be a hot escape. He knew he was going to get burned badly doing this. But it was their only chance of escape. And if he waited any longer, they wouldn't have that.

Gathering his sobbing daughter, he lunged for the door. The fire burned so bad, but he never stopped. Finally, he hurled himself through the burning door, back first and out into the cold night. He hit the ground hard, his daughter coming free. Instinctively, he rolled around on the ground making sure HE wasn't on fire.

Once satisfied that he was no longer burning, he looked for daughter. She sat a few feet away, her blankie smoking, but unharmed. He heard his wife running up to them, screaming their daughter's name.

And then everything went black.

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Only the Devil knows

Chap 1

He gazed up at the Hunter’s Moon. Back home, his family was out hunting the large elk to prepare for the winter. These few days of the Full Moon were crucial to the survival of their clan in the coming winter months. Yache (jack) ached for his home, for the beautiful valley that his clan ruled. He longed for the majestic peaks rising above him; he yearned for the crisp clean mountain water as it fell from the waterfall.

Yache lowered his eyes back to the land before him. He gave his eyes a minute to adjust to the shadows, the Hunter’s moon was providing enough light to see, but it was still night. As his eyes adjusted, Yache listened intently. The sounds of night remained the same. Nothing moved, nothing stirred, at least nothing out of the ordinary. He could hear the insects buzzing, the birds rustling around, the flap of a bat’s wings, but nothing that sounded amiss. That is, until, Stefan spoke, his voice breaking Yache’s concentration.

“How long are we going to wait here?” Stefan demanded. Stefan’s first instinct was to rush in swinging, subdue the enemy, and then to interrogate the survivors to find out what they knew. A typical soldier, Stefan was ready to rush into a situation blindly, ready to give his life. Yache would never understand this homicidal tendency of soldiers.  Yache was a warrior, not a soldier. He hunted to survive, but knew he could fight when needed.  “Soon.” was his quiet response to Stefan.

As he scanned the landscape, searching for anything out of the ordinary, Yache thought about the unlikely circumstances that brought him here, now, and with Stefan. Yache’s life had been going exactly the way he wanted it to. He wasn’t the best hunter of his clan, but Yache wasn’t bad at it either, he had many trophies to boast of his prowess. Yache loved his life, his clan and his home.  “So, why was he here on this island?” he thought. All of this because of a good deed, all because Yache had been trying to help the old woman.

Out stalking some white-tailed deer one day, Yache had heard a woman’s cries for help, and a low guttural voice. Not entirely sure he wanted to get involved, Yache quickly made his way to the sounds of distress. As he approached, he saw a marauder shove an old woman down harshly and steal her bag up. Just as Yache was surveying the situation, deciding his course of action, the marauder spied Yache and spun away. The marauder sprinted away into the forest, his actions deciding Yache’s mind, and causing him to race after the marauder in fast pursuit.

The marauder had a good head start on Yache, and was strong and powerful as the people of his race tended to be, but was no match for the fleet-footed Yache.  Not only was he built to move quickly around the forest, being lithe and agile, but Yache had spent years hunting this very forest and knew how to move like the wind. It didn’t take him long to catch the gargantuan marauder. As Yache approached, he could see how truly gigantic the marauder was, standing nearly 7 feet tall and twice as wide as Yache. “This is truly a giant.” Yache thought in amazement, and then focused his energy on stopping the giant. The marauder’s size was obviously going to play into his favor in a one-on-one combat, so Yache was determined to avoid this.

Passing the marauder by, Yache turned to head off the marauder, hopefully catching him by surprise. Yache’s plan was to startle the juggernaut and force him to change his direction towards the Cliffs of Insanity. Hiding behind a large tree, Yache gathered his breath, and looked behind him. The marauder was pounding ahead, but starting to slow. While behemoth, these titans had no endurance, no stamina. Calculating the precise instance, Yache freed his bow and got ready to lose some arrows at the marauder. He knew that they would make little difference against the armor and tough hide of the marauder, but Yache was counting on it being just enough of a hindrance to force the juggernaut to change directions.

Gathering his courage, Yache burst out in front of the marauder at the precise instant he planned. His arrows went flying as planned, the marauder reacted in surprise. Just not the way Yache had planned, the marauder turned, but not before launching the sack, the one the marauder had stolen from the old woman. It hit Yache right in the chest knocking him to the ground. The marauder never slowed, but continued on, leaving Yache lying on the ground trying to regain his breath. Absolutely sure the marauder would come back; Yache leapt up and prepared himself for the onslaught.

Seconds turned into minutes, Yache peered around nervously. He could hear the marauder getting fainter and fainter. Yache knew the juggernaut had to stop, he knew he needed rest. Yache was sure the giant would be coming back soon, and Yache didn’t want to be anywhere around when that happened. Snatching the sack up, and fastening his bow, Yache set out for the old woman. He hoped she wasn’t hurt too badly; Yache hadn’t had any thoughts for her safety before now.

Finding her slumped in the same spot Yache had left her, he feared for the worst. As he approached, Yache felt a deep sense of guilt. He might have been able to save her had he not gone chasing the marauder. Just as he was about to fall on his knees and ask the god’s forgiveness, Yache saw her chest rise. Quickly, he knelt and gently lifted the old woman into a sitting position, nestling her in the depths of the roots of the massive knuckle tree she had fallen against. Once Yache had her resting in a sitting position, he checked her pulse. It was weak and fluttering, but it was there.

Slightly relieved, Yache made quick work of gathering some sleeping moss from the knuckle tree and placing it around the old woman. She had seemed so cold when Yache had touched her; he just knew this was the best decision. Finally satisfied that the old woman was as comfortable as he could make her, Yache settled down and looked at the woman intently. He had never seen anyone with features like this. The old woman had high cheek bones and a chin that jutted out proudly, but it almost resembled the face of a raven. Her clothes were strange as well. At first, when everything had started, Yache had assumed the old woman was wearing rags, but upon closer inspection, Yache could see that what seemed like rags were the dusty remains of a once fine ball gown. It seemed grey and black from stains. Who was this woman? Yache knew his imagination could play tricks on him, but it was hard not to see what was in front of his eyes.

Gathering his energy around him, and pulling a bit more from nature, Yache leaned in to place his fingers on old woman’s temple and see what was ailing her. Yache’s people were blessed with such healing properties; it was part of what gave them such long lives. Before he could make contact, the woman’s eyes flew open and her hands shot up, grabbing both of his hands in hers. The energy he had been collecting had formed a slight greenish glow around his hands. When she grabbed his hands, he felt paralyzed, locked into staring into her eyes.  As their minds melded, she spoke one commandment to him. “Take the skull to island. You will know what to do when you get there. Only you can do this, Yache. It is what you were meant to do.” And then everything faded into black.

Chap 2

At first, when Yache woke, he thought he was back home in his own bed. It was so comfy and warm, but when he opened his eyes, Yache found the forest gazing back at him. He sat up and surveyed his surroundings. Yache sat nestled in the roots of the knuckle tree, swallowed by the bed moss. At his feet sat the sack that he had retrieved from the marauder, Yache stood slowly, crouching and looked around. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, the animals were moving normally, everything seemed normal. Yache looked back down at the moss; there was no trace of the old woman. Yache quickly moved the moss around looking for clothing, “Surely, there must be SOMETHING!” Yache thought to himself. But after a short intensive search, he found nothing. Stumbling over to the bag and falling down, Yache stared at the bag. “What the hell is going on?” he mumbled.

After what seemed like an eternity, but was really only a few seconds, Yache reached out and pulled the bag towards him. Sitting up, he stared at the bag. Yache knew he should open it, but was hesitant. “A lot of stuff has happened because of this bag,” he pondered, Yache wasn’t sure he really needed to open it. For a long moment, he considered just digging a hole and burying the whole damn thing here and being done with all of this. No one would know but himself. Yache could try to forget, but inside, he knew he couldn’t.

Slowly, with trepidation – hoping there wasn’t a dismembered head inside, Yache opened the bag. When the only things he saw were a box, a book, and some fabric, Yache breathed a deep sigh of relief. No dismembered anything. He slumped back against the root in relief. Sometimes, Yache knew, his imagination would run wild. Gathering the sack back up, Yache decided it was time to find a safer place to hide out.

Jerking his mind back to the present, Yache peered around. Nothing had moved. He had been sitting here long enough for the rabbits to have decided he wasn’t a threat, and was quietly grazing around him. Yache could sense the impatience of Stefan. Stefan would have charged in a long time ago. Turning his head to look at Stefan, Yache almost burst out in laughter. Stefan was tapping his foot in impatience, staring holes into Yache. The funny part was that Stefan was tapping his foot through a rabbit. It was so comical that Yache almost lost it. Stefan forgot he was a ghost quite often, but rarely in such a way as this.

Taking a deep breath and looking away, Yache chuckled to himself. It was the little things in life that kept him going. Yache surveyed the path. As much as he hated being so exposed, the granite slopes made for hard going any other way. This left only the path. He looked back at Stefan. “I figured this out hours ago,” came Stefan’s irritated response, “while you were sleeping with your eyes open.” Stefan REALLY didn’t like waiting. Yache smiled, “Patience is a virtue. One you REALLY need to learn.” Stefan stared daggers at Yache. Yache turned his attention back to the path. He knew there was an ambush somewhere ahead. That was why he had surveyed for so long. Yache was looking for that miss-step, the one goof that always gives away someone hiding. You learned such patience stalking deer in the forest. Yache had spent years being so still that animals forgot he was there. It was the only way to survive back home. They had to follow the path down to the beach. From there, all they had to do was get across the lake to the island. Stefan knew it was coming, and was anxious; he wanted the freedom it was to bring. Yache was still unsure about the whole thing. It still seemed so exotic.

Finally satisfied that it was as safe as it was going to be, Yache was preparing to move when he saw it. A slight movement halfway down the path, a quick flash of light, Yache froze. He knew that he had seen it. He sank slowly back behind the rock. Yache looked towards Stefan. Stefan had seen it too, and after a second of meeting Yache’s gaze, Stefan lowered his eyes. Yache’s point had been made.

They stared intently down the slope; Yache could make it out this time. Tents, many of them, in rows, they were camouflaged so well that they blended into the slope in the moonlight. They were made so well that Yache wasn’t sure if they wouldn’t blend in during the daytime as well. Yache counted the tents. They weren’t large, made small for concealment, big enough for only one man. A dozen, a dozen men that he would have to dispatch, Yache had to reach the beach. Soon enough, the sun would rise, and Yache had to be on the island before then. He only had one more night of the Hunter’s moon.

Gathering up his bow, Yache moved with all the stealth he could muster down the hillside. He moved like ancient ninjas of old. A shadow among shadows, Stefan was no-where to be seen. Back inside his skull, Yache assumed correctly. While Stefan was a valuable source of information, that was the extent of his help.  Stefan couldn’t manifest physically, he could only create a scepter.

Chap 3

Settled back at his base camp, Yache pulled the contents out of the bag. There wasn’t much to look at, nothing more than he originally saw - an old book, cracked and dusty; an empty box with strange engravings on it; and a large swath of fabric. Yache pulled out the fabric, entranced by the strange coloring of the cloth. The cloth was deep dark black with an iridescent sheen. As Yache lifted the cloth, he was surprised at the weight of the cloth. “This doesn’t seem right,” Yache mumbled. A cloth this delicate in looks couldn’t possibly weight that much, Yache decided.

Slowly unwrapping whatever was inside, Yache soon found himself face to face with what he had feared. While it wasn’t a dismembered head, it was pretty darn close. The object wrapped so gently in that elegant fabric was a human’s skull. But it wasn’t just a plain, out of the science lab skull. No, this skull had all sorts of strange markings on it, writing in languages that Yache had never seen before. While Yache was by no means a scribe, he remembered some of his early schooling from the scribe his father had retained.

Yache stared intently at the skull. The writing was hypnotizing Yache, he kept turning the skull around and around and over, examining every visible inch of the writing. Yache found that he recognized a few of the markings, but nothing to be sure. He set the skull down on top of the pile of fabric, and turned his attention back to the box and the book.  The box was empty when opened it, but had a large symbol finely carved into the wood on the top of the box. Yache was sure that it had some sort of significance, but he was clueless as to what it might be.  However, the book wasn’t far from being empty; most of the pages inside the book were filled with what seemed to be recipes in an angular hand, but in writing Yache had only seen in one other place – the skull.

Yache set the book down, and set about getting his dinner together. It had been a rough day and Yache wanted to settle back and relax some. Soon he had a fire going and a hot tea in his hand.  Soup for the night’s dinner was bubbling in its pot. Yache settled back and looked at the four items he had found today. A book –filled with writing he couldn’t read, a box – empty, yet important enough to save, and a large symbol of power in the center, a large interesting piece of fabric – unlike any Yache had ever seen before, and a skull. A skull full of questions. Yache hated questions without answers.

Picking up the skull and looking over it once more, Yache found himself staring at the runes on the very top of the skull. There were 4, but he only recognized 3. “Nacht gruen Viden”; life’s eternal power – at least which is Yache seemed to remember from those classes long ago. Tracing the runes with his fingers, Yache said it aloud, in the language of the God’s. All of the sudden there was a rush of wind, a sound of muted screams and a flash of light!

Yache fell over backwards and leapt to his feet, his side arm drawn in anticipation. He stared around anxiously, but saw no one. Still somewhat uneasy, Yache slowly sank back to the ground. Just as he sat down, he heard a voice. “Who are you? Where am I? Did you summon me?” Stefan demanded. Yache discharged his weapon all 6 times, spraying lead in all directions. “Surely, whomever had snuck up on me must be dead.” Yache thought. He stood, shaking the empty casings from his revolver, and silently began reloading.

Just as he finished, Yache heard that voice again, “That really has no effect on me.” Yache spun and pointed his pistol at the voice and fired 3 more times. As the smoke cleared, Yache saw Stefan walk past him laughing to himself. Turning, Yache realized he was face to face with a spirit. A member of the underworld, Yache wasn’t sure whether to run or to hide.

Chap 4

Approaching the tree line, Yache checked his weapons. He knew better than rush in unprepared. Yache was armed to the teeth. He carried an AK-47 assault rifle, had an automatic 12 gauge shotgun slung over his shoulder, had two fully automatic Glock 45’s with extended clips in shoulder holsters, and his trusty Colt 45 six shooter at his hip. Yache also carried a variety of throwing knives tucked away discreetly, and a katana strapped to his back.”You just never knew what you would come across.” was his motto, Yache liked to be prepared.

Slowly chambering a round into the AK, Yache peered out into the moonlight. After this, he would be visible, but hopefully not to the twelve men waiting for him. Yache knew that there were probably more soldiers ahead, but he had to get to the beach, there were only a few more hours of darkness. He knew he needed to be on the island come daybreak.

“You know this is suicide, right?” Stefan voiced his opinion, materializing beside Yache. “Of course it is,” came Yache’s reply, “but do you have any other ideas?” Yache didn’t want to do this, but he just couldn’t see any other way. “As a matter of fact, I do.” Stefan responded. Yache turned, and stared at Stefan. This was so uncharacteristic of him, every other violent encounter that the two of them had come across on this journey Stefan had wanted to run in swinging. Now, Stefan had something to say.

“You will never be able to kill all of them, not in time, and not before someone shoots you. The odds are simply in their favor. This isn’t television you know.” Stefan had a plan. “What is television?” Yache asked. Yache had never heard of this, Stefan was always referencing something from his life. “Never mind,” Stefan continued, “I’m not saying you aren’t a skilled fighter, I’m just saying that the odds are not in your favor.” Yache nodded, and waited for Stefan to continue.

“You need to cause a distraction and slip by in the midst of the confusion. If you have to fight anyone after that, you can use that giant knife of yours. Keep it quiet, sneak through like a ninja and be gone before they know what hit them.” Stefan’s plan seemed solid. Yache found himself nodding, he was very proficient with his katana, and it really was his weapon of choice. Yache liked the plan, but the only problem he had was, “And how do I create such a distraction?” he asked Stefan.

Stefan looked him in the eyes, and then gazed around. Turning his head back to Yache with a smile, Stefan asked, “How good of a shot are you with that AK?” Yache stared at Stefan for a second, and then Stefan turned his head to look above the camp to the top of the slate cliff face. Yache’s eyes followed Stefan’s, there at the top of the cliff; above the camp was a mound of large rocks. The weather had eroded the cliff face to leave these perching precariously atop.  Yache could see that if one shot in the right place, you could cause a tremendous avalanche; just the sort of distraction that Yache needed, but one full of all sorts of problems.

Lowering his eyes, Yache looked at Stefan, “If I make that shot, all the rocks will fall down. It will make it almost impossible to cross and there will be survivors to deal with. Of course all the other soldiers will come running.” Yache pointed out. Stefan nodded and grinned crookedly, “I didn’t say it was an easy plan. But it will draw all the other soldiers here, freeing you up to get to the beach and quietly steal a boat and be on your way. “

Stefan made sense. Yache stared out over the valley. He was quick, he could easily beat the avalanche to the camp and then through. Stefan’s plan solved a lot of problems, it wasn’t the way that Yache normally did things, but he felt that it was going to be the best way to go about this. Yache nodded his head, “You’re right. This is the best way to do it.” Stefan just kept grinning, and replied, “Once you take that shot, you need to be ready to run. The report is going to echo all over the valley. They are going to be looking for where it came from. You need to be ready to shoot and run.”

Checking his weapons, making sure everything was in place and squaring his gear pack in place, Yache raised his AK to his shoulder and sighted down the scope. This was his favorite hunting weapon, Yache felt he was a sure shot, but he needed the grace of the god’s to make this shot. It was the longest Yache had ever shot, and never before had so much ridden on the accuracy of one’s shot. This wasn’t for food, but life and death.

Bracing himself, Yache took a deep breath, and slowly exhaled, squeezing the trigger. “KOW!!!” came the report. Yache saw a clump of dirt fly into the air. He wasted no time waiting to see what was going to happen. Yache was already sprinting down the path heading straight to the camp, which was starting to mill about like an ant farm when kicked. 

As Yache quickly and silently approached, the soldiers spilled out of their tents, weapons raised, looking for the source of the sound. Unable to locate it, the men were peering around confused when they heard the sounds of the avalanche. Almost in unison, they turned to see the hillside come crashing down upon them. Some turned to flee, some remained frozen in place; of those turning to flee, and some of the soldiers saw Yache and started trying to make a stand against him. It mattered not to Yache. He reached the camp just as the first boulders started to bounce their way through. Yache nimbly leaped past the hurdling rocks and pulled his katana free. He made quick work of the few soldiers standing to face him, the boulders doing the rest. Yache flowed through the soldiers like air, slicing and cutting, never pausing to see if the man lived or died, just moving forwards. Within seconds, Yache was out of the camp on the other side running flat out down the path towards the safety of the coastal forest.

Yache never paused, never turned back to look. He could hear the screams and sound of rock slamming into rock. After a few minutes, Yache was safely in the darkness of the forest. Stopping to catch his breath, Yache looked back behind him. The camp had been obliterated, nothing remained, not even the path. “No going back that way,” Yache muttered. Taking one last deep breath, Yache melted into the darkness of the forest. He could hear a few screams from the survivors, but more importantly, he could hear the quick response of the other soldiers pouring towards the avalanche in an effort to determine what was going on. Now was his chance.

Like a shadow flitting on a moonbeam, Yache made his way through the forest to the coast. Once there, Yache found two guards standing watch over four boats. “Stupid,” Yache mumbled. They were standing watch by the glow of two large lanterns. They would never see him approach. Like the wind, Yache rushed towards them.

 Yache made short work of dispatching the guards left for the boats. Standing over the dead bodies, the blood pooling under them, steam rising in the cool night air, Yache looked at the four boats, he only needed one, but he couldn’t leave the others functional. Trying to decide what to do with them, Stefan appeared and made a good suggestion, “Set them on fire”. Yache knew all the other soldiers were back at the avalanche, or searching through the woods for him. By the time they found the boats, they would be unusable. Nodding his head, Yache soaked the boats in the oil from the lanterns and then set them on fire and shoved them adrift.  Taking the boat he had kept for himself, Yache started paddling out towards the distant isle. Looking at the moon, Yache felt he would make it just fine. But it was still too early to tell.

Chap 5

As Yache got further and further out, the lights of the burning boats got smaller and smaller. Soon, Yache was out in open water, paddling steadily towards the island. He was making good time, and should be there soon.

It was quiet out on the water, just Yache and his thoughts. He didn’t have to worry about Stefan; Stefan couldn’t materialize over open water. Stefan. Yache’s thoughts traveled back to that fateful meeting between the two. The meeting that was to change Yache’s life forever.

As Yache was recovering from the shock of seeing a supernatural being, he sat on the floor staring dumbfounded at Stefan. The spirit stood over him looking at him for the longest time. Finally, he spoke, his words sending a chill of impending doom up Yache’s spine. “You are no magician. I can tell, but you do have the potential. How did you come by my skull? Where is Marie? What have you done with her?” Stefan was demanding an answer of Yache, but he was still shell-shocked. All Yache could think about were the words of warning spoken to him by the Shaman at his last telling. Those faint, whispery words came floating into Yache’s subconscious, “You fate is clouded, son of Atan. You will be faced with a tremendous decision; its outcome will alter the course of history. Are you prepared to make that decision?” Yache had asked the old man what he was talking about, but the old man couldn’t seem to recall what he had said, and left very shortly after that. In Yache’s culture, one didn’t pressure the Shamans. It was bad juju.

Yache looked up to find Stefan standing directly over him, peering intently into Yache’s eyes. “Yes,” he said, “I can sense it now. It is hidden deep inside, work of your shaman no doubt. Tell me, boy, have you ever heard of Magick?” Yache nodded. Everyone knew of Magick. The storytellers were always telling stories of the evil magicians that destroyed the world, forcing them into the world they lived in now. A world of strange things and beings, a world of war-lords and armies; yes, Yache had heard of Magick. Stefan frowned. “I don’t mean those tells that your people told you, I mean the life-power of nature, the Earth’s blood that flows all around us and through us.” Stefan was cupping his hands together. Inside of them, a faint light started to glow. Stronger and stronger the light grew until it was almost blinding. Then with a quick flick of his hands, Stefan launched the light at Yache.

Yache screamed in terror, or at least he started to. All Yache managed was to open his mouth before the light hit him and consumed him. Every fiber in his body thrummed with energy, and Yache found his eyes drawn to Stefan’s. As their eyes touched, Yache suddenly understood. He understood what Magick was, he understood where Stefan had come from, and Yache understood the gift within him, the latent powers that simply awaited awakening. Blinking his eyes, and breaking Stefan’s hold over him, Yache looked around. He was still back in his safe spot, it seemed like Yache had traveled millions of miles, through time and space, yet he remained where he had been sitting on the floor. Nothing had changed, nothing except for Yache’s understanding of the world around him. He now had the sight, nothing seemed the same; everything seemed to have a glow around it to Yache’s eyes. Especially Stefan. Yache could see the pure energy that Stefan was, and it scared him.

“Regardless of the power you contain, you still haven’t answered my first questions. How did you come by my skull? Where is Marie? Did you hurt her?” Stefan’s eyes were menacing, his voice ending in a guttural growl. Quickly, Yache explained what had happened, from the marauder to trying to heal Marie, to reading the words on the top of the skull. Stefan was quiet, intense, waiting for Yache to finish. Once done, Stefan nodded. “Yes, that seems about right, Marie was searching for you, this I knew. The K’Ael, or marauder as you called him, had been tracking us for almost a week. I had done everything I could to throw it off our sense, but somehow it still followed us. It would have caught us a lot sooner if not for my efforts, that I have no doubt of. “

Stefan paused and looked over his shoulder towards the door. Turning, he walked to the door, and started drawing runes on it. Yache couldn’t believe what was going on, he watched Stefan until he was done, and then uttered those exact words, “What is going on here?” Stefan looked at him, “No, you wouldn’t know.” And with that Stefan began to tell Yache his story, of how he came to be a skull, why Marie was looking for him, and what was going to happen next.

Death watches over us

Boris stood in the shade and looked out over the field. This was his domain, his kingdom. He ruled with an iron fist, everyone followed his words and did what he said. Life was good for Boris, it was good to be king.

The shade of the tree protected Boris from the sun's harsh rays. His tail flicked only slightly, it seemed that even the cow flies knew better than to bother the king. Boris looked out over his herd, surveying his subjects. As the bull, they all had to obey him. He led them where he wanted to go. Whether to the stream, or to the tree, they followed him. Maybe tomorrow he would go to the far corner of his kingdom. "Yes," he thought, "I want some of the sweet clovers that grow there." His herd would be in for a sweet treat tomorrow. He was such a good ruler.

Bending his head down to graze a little, he saw the shadows flick by. The bane of his existence. He tried to ignore them, maybe they would go away today. Although, he had his doubts. Boris knew that there was only a slight possibility of this happening, and yet he still hoped.

Sure enough, they didn't go anywhere. As Boris continued to munch on his cud, he heard them call out, "Oh, Kingie-Poo, How are you? Do you feel that old age creeping up on you?" Boris really wasn't old for a bull, but he wasn't young either. He was still fertile, managing 43 calves this season, with 23 bulls. Boris was proud of his prowess. Some of the cows were real cows, and it was all Boris could do to do his kingly duties and service them. But he didn't like it any. "Sigh, the duties of a king," he thought morosely.

But the taunting didn't end there, those vultures liked to draw blood, so to speak. Boris knew the taunting wasn't over, he was doing his best to ignore it. "Hey, Bull-King, don't eat so much, you will get fat and die from a heart attack. That will do us no good, we like a good heart!" Boris swallowed hard. "Damn," he muttered. Now he couldn't finish eating without more taunts about being fat.

Boris didn't think that he was fat, but he was real sensitive to criticism. Which is why those vultures taunted him. They knew it would piss him off eventually, and then they would roll in hysterics while he just got madder and stormed off. "And the problem with storming off," Boris thought, "was that the only place he could go in his kingdom where they wouldn't bother him was out to the arid land. The middle of his domain, where no trees grew and no water ran. The grass was always dry and brittle from the constant exposure to the sun and other elements. It was always so hot there, Boris' delicate skin just didn't do well with lots of sunlight. It got all dry and ragged. Which then became more fodder for those damn birds when he did retreat to the comfort of the shade. They would just taunt him endlessly.

Boris sat there, staring at the ground, listening to their jeers. The vultures were going on and on about how if Boris didn't eat, then he would waste away to nothing and die, and kind of meal that would be for them. Boris sometimes wished he was deaf, so he could just shut them out. You couldn't win with those two. If you did one thing you were wrong, but if you did the opposite, you were still wrong.

Boris wondered how he was going to get rid of those vultures. He lowered his head and ripped up a mouthful of grass. He pondered this issue as he chewed. "Oh," he whined inside, "if only I could get rid of those two, then life would be so much better."

To be continued....

The Writer

He stared at the blank pages in front of him. He knew he should be able to fill them. He had the words in his mind, the story unfolded before him. But when he looked down at the paper, nothing came. 

He looked up and out over the lake. It was so calm here, this was his favorite place to go to write. It allowed him to escape all the distractions of the modern world. Here, he could immerse himself in the story he was telling, giving it life - making the story real. 

Today, he had nothing. No words coming forth. He stared at the glassy calm of the lake. The way the still water reflected back the world reminded him of the empty page in front of him. 

Sigh, he had never had trouble like this. He knew what was causing it, but refused to dwell on it. And so his mind remained blank. Finally able to stand it no longer, he put on his earphones. Maybe the music would cause the words to come forth.

He turned on his iPod, and her song came on first thing. He could feel the sadness lurking in the background, waiting for the opportunity to pounce and cause him distress. The song played on, paying no attention to his inner turmoil. 

And with that, he understood the blank page. His inner turmoil was causing the words to stay inside. But to look at his face, you would see nothing but calm. There was no indication that he felt anything. No one knew the hell he lived through. And all because of a single question and the answer that followed. 

He watched a loon beat its wings as it attempted to achieve flight. It brought him back to the present. And the blank page before him. He knew that he needed to write so many pages while he was here. Yet, still nothing came. 

The iPod proceeded to another song. Just like life, it moved on without notice of our struggles. No one cared, no one bothered. Life just kept moving on. 

He stared at the calm lake. He missed her so. That was his real problem. Why he couldn't write. She had left and wasn't coming back. And he knew it. This was a fact of life as real as the sun rising. Life was never going to be the same. And this sadden him beyond measure.

He looked down at the paper, his hand was flying across the paper. His story was spilling out of him. It wasn't the story he intended, but it was a story he needed to write. It was the story of his life. 

He wondered how it would end. 

Eyes of a Stranger

Warlock story, part 2

She looked deep into his eyes. His vibrant blue eyes. She once felt she would lose herself in them. Knowing now what she did, she was sure she would lose herself in those eyes. She broke his gaze, casting her eyes to the floor. She knew she wasn't leaving. 

And she knew that he knew this as well. 

Staring at the table in front of her, she heard herself ask the question that had been hanging in the air ever since he told her his secret. "Did you put me under a spell?" she asked.

Silence greeted her. She found that she was suddenly scared of his answer. As if he were reading her thoughts, he spoke. "Don't be scared." he said calmly. 

"I could have put a spell on you that would have you doing my bidding. You would jump to preform the slightest hint of a suggestion. But such a spell is evil for it removes your free will, it removes your soul. And then what kind of person would I be?" He paused, gathering his breath. "No, I chose to get to know you, to be able to assimilate into society. But the more I got to know you, the more I fell in love with you. So in love, that I have revealed my darkest secret to you."

She continued to stare at the table. They both knew that the ball was so totally in her court. She chose to stay and talk with him, but she wasn't sure of what her role was supposed to be. Hearing him profess his love for her, well, was an expected surprise. She knew he felt this way, but he had never expressed it, and with the bombshell he had dropped on her, she had forgotten about that aspect of their relationship entirely. Her mind was running circles, trying to figure out how this was going to affect her life. Nothing would be the same ever again. That she was positive of. 

He moved to the fireplace, and picking up the poker proceeded to play in the fire. She could tell he was choosing his words carefully. When he was silent like this, she had learned that he was deciding the best way to put his words together so as to concisely say what he wanted without leaving any room for argument. She hated it when he got like this, because he always was so damn logical, and she usually agreed with whatever he had to say. "It was so unfair," she fumed to herself. 

She stared at his wide shoulders and strong back. She couldn't help but smile slightly to herself. She knew this back so well, so intimately. "In fact," she mused, "I know him so well. This secret, this revelation about himself, was just another facet of him.? It didn't change her feelings, it didn't change her heart. The only thing she felt it changed was her perception of him. And the question now became, "Can I trust him?"

Turning slightly so that he could see her, he asked her that very question. "Do you trust me?" She didn't answer right away. Instead, she took in his profile. He was the furthest thing from one might expect from a warlock. He wasn't exceeding handsome, or charming. He wasn't very fit, and had many flaws. But his character shone through. He was one of the most genuine person she had ever met, and even though she wasn't completely sure herself, she responded slowly, "Yes."

He turned so that the glow of the fire cast a shadow across his face. He opened his arms in an embrace, beckoning her to him. She rose and walked into his arms. He pulled her in to his body, his arms holding her tight. He leaned his head into hers, touching forehead to forehead. Looking deep into her eyes, he spoke softly, "I promise you I will never intentionally hurt you, Emily. I love you so much. I need you to help me on my journey. I need you by my side." 

His need was so palatable, so full of yearning, it pulled at her heart. He was her master now, her everything. She looked into his eyes and felt so safe. 

"Yes" was all she could manage.

The look of Surprise

Part 1

She stared at the door. She had been told she could leave at any time. She wasn't sure she entirely believed him. Everything he had just told her was so foreign, so alien. It was so outlandish that she simply stared at the door, stunned. 

All she had to do was stand up and leave. She believed him on that much at least. The rest of it just seemed incredulous. There was no way it could be true. She was here because of her own free will. Or was she? She was no longer entirely sure. 

She looked down at the fire burning, pondering the situation. He had told her everything, bared his soul to him. She could get up and leave, and never have to worry about looking back. He would let her go, she would never have to worry about anything and she would never see him again. It would be so easy. 

But his words intrigued her. She wondered what life would be like if she stayed. If anything he had said were true, it would be a life she had never imagined. A life of fantasy made real. Her every wish, her every desire satisfied. His words still echoed in her mind. 

The little voice, the one that always refused to be silent at times like these, wondered if this was just not suave words on his part. People always lied. Maybe he was telling her all the things she wanted to hear. Was she lying to herself in hopes of her dreams coming true? She wanted to believe that it was possible. But it was so hard to give that hope life. 

She stared at the flames. The red glow of the coals, with the white ash on top. The orange and blue flames licking the sides, tickling the wood as it consumed. That was life. To live was to consume, to take from another. How was this any different? It was such a simple choice, yet so absurdly complicated. So many factors to weigh. 

She heard the kitchen door open, he was returning. She knew that she would have to give an answer very shortly. There was no exiting quietly now, if she still chose to go. Now she would have to look him in the eyes, and speak. Give an excuse. Assuming she chose to go.

He approached her. Standing over her, she slowly rose her eyes, taking in the drinks in his hand and rising to his eyes. His beautiful blue eyes. She loved to stare into those eyes. Everything he had said came pounding back through her mind. 

She stared into his eyes, he spoke, "Well? Staying or going?" 

She could no longer meet his gaze, she dropped her gaze. She heard herself speak softly, "staying". She raised her eyes, searching his. The eyes of a warlock. Her master.