Samantha and the Wind (Conclusion)

The climb was tiring, and it took all of the might of Samantha’s small frame to get her to the crest of the hill. There, by a pair of maple trees, was the Wind. It was neither like a man or a woman, but it was certainly old and grizzled, but as it turned to face Samantha, it became young and vibrant. And, it was wearing Samantha’s hat.

“Do you like the hat?” it asked mockingly “It is a poor fit, but I’m sure it will stretch.” All about the hilltop were kites, hats, leaves, and dead birds.

“Give it back.” said Samantha softly, the way a taxman would speak when he came to collect debts that were due. She felt surprisingly composed and confident. That changed when the Wind began to roar.

“It is mine, and do not take it! I will strip the skin from your bones if you take what is mine!” screamed the Wind with all the gusto of a spoiled child. Samantha felt the intense cold of the arctic and the terrible heat of the desert as the Wind ranted. Its voice shook the forest, sending birds into flight despite the dimness of dawn.

Elsewhere in the forest, Justice and Vibrius stopped arguing and started running, letting their combined knowledge of their home guide their swift footsteps. Each prayed there was something that could be done; clouds were gathering, and the Wind was marshalling all of its power.

“I am eternal,” boasted the Wind as Samantha began to cower. “I have seen man build his world, and I have turned it to dust again and again. I am as strong as the sea and as fierce as flame. I am the Wind, and you are just a child.” Samantha felt herself being pushed back, and she tried her best to keep her footing.

Justice and Vibrius crashed through Livia’s glade, startling her. Seeing Justice, she asked, “Do you know how to dance?”

“No.” yelled Justice as he added “There’s no music, and there’s no time. There’s a girl to save. Come with us if you want to help.” Justice disappeared down the same trail that Samantha had disappeared on, and suddenly, Livia discovered that she was able to follow.

“It is mine!” yelled Samantha, her voice lost in the howling of the Wind. Dust scraped her skin and she could hear the creaking of the maples. She wondered how long they would stay rooted. “It was a gift, and it is dear to me!” she yelled. The Wind laughed in response, sending Samantha falling backwards into Vibrius’ arms.

“Stop this!” cried Vibrius, and the Wind stopped its fury, standing with a scowl on its face.

“Why should I?” asked the Wind childishly.

“Because we can bargain.” Vibrius pulled his mask off and offered it to the Wind. The Wind snatched the smiling mask from Vibrius and howled with delight. “Now the trolls will never accept you!” taunted the Wind as it tossed Samantha’s hat to the ground. “You are a fool, Vibrius! A great fool! Soon, they will never allow a half-breed in their ranks. A fool, a fool!” The Wind pranced and hollered, and then it took to the air, rustling the leaves as it went.

Justice, helping Livia to the hill top, arrived to see Vibrius’ stern, human face. He watched as the half-troll dusted off Samantha’s hat and put it on her head. Livia squeezed Justice’s arm with delight.

“You look well.” said Justice.

“Thank you.” said Vibrius. “I had to do something so that I could get some sleep tonight.” he was lying, and everyone knew because he was smiling.

Slow as the dawn, they descended the hill and walked through the forest as the sun rose into the sky. Justice and Livia retired in a comfortable crypt that Justice called home, and Vibrius left Samantha at the forest’s edge.

“I’m sorry you had to give up your mask.” said Samantha. She wanted to say it before she said good bye.

“I didn’t really want it anymore.” said Vibrius. “I’m done trying to be something other than what I am.” He wanted to say that he had a friend now, and that he didn’t have to try to be friendly with the trolls anymore, but he kept that to himself. “All in all, we made out fairly well.”

“Well, thank you.” said Samantha as she walked back home. She looked back to see Vibrius, and he stood stoically by the forest’s edge until she could no longer see him. With her hat on her head, she opened the window that lead to her bedroom, and furtively snuck in.

The light of day grew,

banishing the night again.

Bringing a new day.

Samantha and The Wind (Part Five)

Willingly, like a marionette, Samantha turned away from the grim scene. She held on to the woman’s hand tightly as she guided Samantha to a glade where the moon shone brilliantly.

When she felt safer and more secure, Samantha shyly asked “Who are you?”

“I am Livia, the Moondancer.” replied the woman with gentle nod. Samantha looked at herself and felt shabby. She also felt envy for the first time in her life, certain that she could never be as beautiful or graceful as Livia.

“Do you know the Wind? Do you know where it comes from, or, more importantly, where it goes to?” Samantha pronounced her words carefully, with great awareness to annunciation. Livia’s eyes glanced upwards and she extended her finger to the sky, and then lowered it to indicate a hill on the horizon.

“There is where the Wind goes, and there is where the Wind leaves.” Samantha glanced at the mound in the distance. It didn’t seem very far away, in fact she was certain she could arrive there before dawn, if she could follow a straight path. Her musing was interrupted by the clacking of horse hooves. She turned to see a horse-headed man riding a man-headed horse.

“Moondancer, I have come for your hand.” announced the horse-headed man. The man-headed horse whinnied, and Samantha felt confused. The androcephalic beast glared at her with a blank stare.

“Excuse me.” she interjected, trying not to be rude. “I was having a conversation with Livia, and I do not think we were finished.” The horse-headed man laughed deeply and pushed Samantha from his way. Enraged, Samantha stomped the ground and the man-headed horse responded by scraping his hoof across the ground.

“Can you dance?” asked Livia, seemingly entranced by the horse-headed man.

“I can waltz, I can tango, and I can do many country dances.” he responded.

“Then we will dance.” announced Livia.

“But to what music?” he asked. Samantha wondered the same thing, and the man-headed beast, wondering nothing, inspected the grass.

“You can’t hear it?” Livia asked as her body began to sway like a reed.

“I can,” lied the horse-headed man, mimicking Livia’s swaying. He reached for her with large, rough hands, but she twirled out of his grasp. Samantha watched as the dance continued, watching the horse-headed man’s frustration rising. His feet tangled around each other as he tripped along, trying to dance to music he could not hear. He could not comprehend the tempo of the music that Livia danced to.

Repeatedly, he tried to ensnare her in his arms, but she moved like electricity through water; fluid and fast. Her pace quickened, and the horse-headed man began to sweat. She leapt into the air, and he bounded. She spun and swung out her arms, and he felt his legs weakening.

“Isn’t the Moon’s Symphony magnificent?” Livia asked with a taunt in her voice.

“Yes, yes!” replied the horse-headed man breathlessly, his heart sending tremors through his chest. Samantha saw the joy in Livia’s eyes, and she understood that there was no music. If there was music, only Livia could hear it. The dance continued its frantic pace, until the horse-headed man fell to one knee. His beast shook its head and let out an equine sigh.

“Can you go on?” asked Livia casually, twirling about in a circle, light as a bubble. She offered her hand to the man, but he refused. Holding his side and panting, he mounted his steed, his eyes burry and head spinning. His entire body seemed weighed down with failure. As he disappeared in the night, Livia sighed.

“Never, not ever.” she said, mostly to herself.

“Why did you do that?” asked Samantha curiously.

“You will understand when you are older.” Livia remarked dismissively, darkened by a melancholy. Hanging her head, she seemed less beautiful, certainly less radiant.

“I’m perfectly capable of understanding now.” said Samantha, realizing how much she sounded like a child. As Livia spoke, Samantha started to worry that she would not understand.

“In searching for a mate, I cannot simply take whoever comes along. They must be truthful, smart, sensitive, and fit. That trial will prove who is and is not all of those things. It seems as though some consider me a prize to be won, and I need more than that, you see? It is my curse.” Her words were soft and sad, and they tugged at Samantha’s heart. She had heard of curses, but never one so terrible.

“I cannot leave until the one I am meant to be with comes here and passes the trial.” Livia’s face was awash with melancholy; she seemed about to cry as she wrapped her willowy arms around herself. Standing on her tip-toes, Samantha hugged Livia and tried to console her.

“I know that he will come along soon. What is meant to be cannot never be.” she said, feeling wise beyond her years. In truth, the words were not her own, but her father’s. However, it felt so gratifying to say them.

“You won’t leave me here, will you?” asked Livia as she stroked Samantha’s red hair. “You could forget the Wind, and you could stay here with me. You are just the right age to be my daughter. I could show you such wondrous things.” As she extended a hand, a pellucid orchid began to grow from Livia’s palm. Its roots wound around her wrist and reached for the ground, while its petals unfolded in a moonlight reverie.

“No. I have to find the Wind, and I have to take back what it stole from me.” said Samantha. She hated to say it, but she could not delay any more. Besides, she reasoned that she had her own home and family, and they would be worried if she did not return home.

“I knew you would leave.” said Livia, her skin becoming dark and shadowy. “Let the Wind take you.” said Livia, her eyes cold as clay. Samantha did not linger, and she bore her guilt like a back pack as she hiked up the path which lead to the steep slope of the hill on the horizon. Livia watched, her heart filled with hate, and her breath filled with curses. Yet, when Samantha disappeared from sight, all of Livia’s hatred and peevishness turned to abysmal sadness and anguish, tempered with disappointment.

Samantha and The Wind (Part Four)

The forest closed in on Samantha from all sides. As moonlight became more and more sparse, the forest became more and more quiet. Her pace slowed as she started to feel tired from her journey. She didn’t dare sleep on the ground, fearing that a snake would bite her, or a bug would poison her. She considered climbing a tree, but would never dare sleep so high off the ground for fear of falling. What she wanted was a bed, but they were in short supply.

When she decided that at least a fire would be nice, she saw the orange glow of one in the distance. She approached as quietly as she could manage, letting the darkness be her friend. As she drew closer, she could hear music and see tall shapes dancing around the fire. The creatures were like Vibrius in shape, but they did not wear masks: their faces bore unsettling smiles that spread from ear to ear. Their eye balls seemed to float inside of sockets that were too large for them, and bounced slightly as the forest folk leapt and cavorted.

“Food is glorious!” one announced. He seemed to be the eldest. The others shouted his name in praise, crying “Tula! Tula! Tula!” Stroking his long, web-like beard, he held a small, reddish something in his hand. Samantha had never seen a heart outside of a person before, but she had an inkling of what it might look like, and suspected it was quite similar to what Tula held in his hand. She wished to have no part of it.

“We will eat flesh!” cried Tula, and the others responded with gleeful shouts of “Tula! Tula! Tula!” Samantha slinked away, as quietly as a sleek, white cat. While the shadows concealed most of her, the light from the fire reflected off of her pale skin. And the grins of the forest folk grew wider. For a moment, there was a silence just like the one before the universe was made. Eyes glistened in the firelight, and Samantha’s right foot was stepping backwards. She could feel the soft ground as her foot touched it, and then there was a roar like the universe being birthed.

Long fingered hands grasped for her dress, reached for her long red hair. Dull, thudding footsteps rumbled after her like an earthquake. Her short stature and small frame gave her an edge, as the forest was thick with trees. She squeezed between trunks and darted down a ravine, tumbling head over heel and landing hard on the ground.

“Follow! Give chase! Get closer and get food!” shouted Tula, cheering on the forest folk as they ran helter-skelter through the woods, scraping their claws across the trees as the went. Samantha felt the world growing dimmer as the forest folk stood at the edge of the ravine, hissing like serpents.

When she woke, the forest folk were gone, but in their place was a terrible stench and the dim light of stars overhead. The earth on which Samantha rested was soft in spots and hard in others. As she reached out with her hands, she swore she could feel a cold, lifeless nose. In the darkness, she could make out faces and hands. She stifled a scream as she realized she was in an open mass grave. Around her, half eaten and desiccated bodies were rotting. Samantha knew that they were the remnants of Tula’s hunger; first she fought against a scream, and then she fought against tears. She moved gingerly across the grisly floor and slowly pulled herself from the shallow ravine.

Looking down at the mass of bodies, she lost the fight against her tears, and she began to sob. A cool, iridescent hand caressed her face. Even through her blurring tears, the woman looked beautiful, although her proportions were slightly strange, as though she had been slightly elongated. Rubbing her tears from her eyes, she gasped at how beautiful the woman was.

“Come away from there, child,” she said in a soft, sweet voice that reminded Samantha of her mother singing a lullaby. “This is not something you should see.”

Samantha and the Wind (Part Three)

“Well,” said Justice, his eyes looking upwards, then sideways. “You’re a child, a female, and that makes you a girl, right?” When his eyes fell on Samantha, she was surprised at their uncertainty. It was as though Justice had forgotten too much of what it was like to be alive.

“Of course I am.” responded Samantha, wondering if she should be unsure. She noticed that she was fidgeting with her fingers, which her mother always told her not to do.

“Well, a girl is nearly a woman, and,” Justice’s pause was uncomfortable in length. Samantha was filled with loathsome anticipation before he said, “I’d really like to know what a woman likes. If a woman could think I was handsome, or maybe what she’d like to do.”

Samantha exhaled with relief. While she was no expert on what women thought, she was happy that Justice didn’t have a more lascivious request. Cheerily, she answered, saying “A woman likes a man that is kindly; one that is willing to treat her well.”

“But there has to be more!” said Justice obsessively. “I have tried being kind. I have tried listening. I have tried being a friend. Yet all of these have failed. She must look for more than that. What else! Tell me!” His eyes widened in a maniac stare, his teeth ground together; it was as though he stood in front of a treasure that he had sought all of his life, and now it was his for the taking.

“Well, some women aren’t attracted to just any man. Some have an ideal in mind.” Samantha was proud to say such a mature thing, but when she saw how crestfallen Justice had become, she wondered if she said the wrong thing. His entire face drooped like a wet sack and his shoulders bowed as though bearing a thousand pounds.

“Oh.” he said desponded, “That’s what I thought. I’m ugly.” His chin wrinkled like a prune as he held back a sob. Samantha’s spine straightened and she pounded her foot against the ground with a soft thud.

“I didn’t say that.” she announced, angered by how he twisted her words. Her cheeks glowed red and her brow was creased with frustration. “You just might not be what she thinks of as handsome. The world has a lot of people.”

“Then you think I’m handsome?” he asked, his hands reaching out for hers. Gently, he held her hand and stroked its back with his cold fingers. “Do you?” His dark eyes pleaded with her.

“I, um…” Samantha’s mind whirled, unable to find an answer that she was sure was not wrong. He was handsome enough, but she feared that if she said so, that he’d get the wrong idea. On one knee, he was the same height as her, and she tried to stop herself from wincing when she smelled the charnel scent about him.

“I am trying to sleep!” announced an irritated voice. It was the stranger in the smiling mask. The murmurings of Samantha and Justice had been irritating him for quite a while. Unlike others of his kind, he had very sensitive hearing, and he had become fed up with their whispers, which to him were like shouts. He towered over Justice, and Samantha found herself wondering if he had been that large before.

“I apologize, Vibrius, I didn’t know that you were so close.” said Justice, cowering like a supplicant. “I was just asking this young woman what she thought of me.”

“I know. I could hear your prattling tongue from a mile away. You really should not drag this poor, young thing into your pitiful obsession.” reprimanded Vibrius, who placed a hand protectively on Samantha’s shoulder. “A man like you should not ask such things of a child.”

“Well, I needed to know why Livia does not love me yet. I thought another woman’s perspective would help.” explained Justice. He hung his head ashamedly and kicked at the dirt like a scolded child. Samantha was glad that Vibrius had come to her aid, but she also felt bad that she couldn’t help Justice.

“I think you are a good-looking man, but there is something about you that frightens me.” she said calmly and quietly. Vibrius and Justice both looked at Samantha with astonishment in their eyes.

“What is it!?” exclaimed Justice as he fell to his knees, reaching for the hem of Samantha’s skirt. With a mighty slap, Vibrius knocked Justice’s hands away, causing him to collapse to the ground. “I need to know! Tell me! What’s wrong with me?” his voice broke in sobs and weeps, and tears flowed in great, salty gouts from his eyes, muddying the dirt below. Samantha pulled the hem of her dress out of the groveling man’s grasp and wrapped her arms around Vibrius’ hand and wrist.

“Feh.” scoffed Vibrius, shaking his head at Justice’s display. “Why don’t you be a man about this? Willows weep less than you do.”

“I can’t help it,” responded Justice through a veil of sobs and pitiful moans, “Love does strange things to a man’s mind and heart. He becomes thirsty for it if he has gone without it too long, and I have been walking in the desert of loneliness for far too long. My heart feels so numb, ripped, and torn…”

“Makes me glad that I can’t love.” interrupted Vibrius, a smile hidden beneath his smiling mask and revealed only by the tone of his voice.

“You are intolerable!” admonished Justice, thrusting a finger through the air, pointing at Vibrius with menace. “An unfeeling monster, that’s what you are. Your own people cast you out.”

“So did yours.” responded Vibrius. “We’ve been through all of this before, so if you are done, sleep calls to me. I’d like to have some before the new day dawns.” Passively Samantha watched as the two argued, feeling herself becoming fearful that there would be a fight. For a moment, she felt bad for causing the argument, but then she realized that she was not at the root of the issue. What they argued about, while connected to her presence, went far beyond anything to do with her existence.

She released her grasp on Vibrius’ arm and slowly skulked away as the pair continued arguing, oblivious of her departure. Samantha felt freedom perch proudly on her shoulder as she walked deep into the darkness, clambering carefully from glimmering moonbeam to shimmering moonbeam as they poked through the forest’s canopy. Glee filled her as she confidently walked on a soft bed of pine needles, letting their calming scent fill her nose.

Samantha and the Wind (Part Two)

Deeper and deeper they walked in the forest. The stranger moved with the ease of a mountain goat on a cliff side, but Samantha stumbled and tripped over the winding bunches of roots that probed the forest floor. She wondered how the stranger moved so swiftly in the darkness, but she would not ask him, frightened as she was of his temper.
“This is home.” announced the stranger, pointing at a hollow in a tree trunk. Samantha squinted, struggling to see what the stranger was pointing at. “You seem too weak to be able to do anything to me, but I have learned not to make assumptions. You will enter first, and I will follow.”

Samantha felt panic rising in her stomach. She worried that the stranger was as evil as he seemed, that he intended to eat her. She studied the opening in the tree and considered how she could enter it, but still be afforded a chance at escape if it was a trap.

“You can stay or you can go, but I am tired and need to rest. I am slowly caring less and less about your fate.” pronounced the stranger, as if he were a judge passing sentence. “Decide now.”

“I won’t,” said Samantha, wondering if she would regret the decision. The stranger rolled his eyes and pushed past the hesitant girl. Extending a foot into the hollow, the stranger’s body began to twist and warp as he squatted into the hole. Filling the hollow as snugly as a cork in a bottle, the stranger yawned.

“If you don’t want to come into my home, I won’t be hurt.” announced the stranger in a morose tone. He tried to obscure his sadness, brushing his hands past his eyes. “You can sleep here, and if anything comes to harm you, I will kill it and protect you.”

Samantha considered the stranger’s offer, but her fear of him weighed heavily on her decision.

“I cannot. Since I have come this far, I need to finish my journey.” she said, trying to seem brave. She could think of no better way to decline the stranger’s offer without hurting his feelings further.

“Stay or go; I made the offer and will not make it again.” said the stranger with a wide yawn. Slowly, he began to meld with the tree. A crackling, creaking sound came from the tree as the stranger’s body disappeared. Only the smiling mask remained visible, embedded deeply into the tree’s bark. “Go North. The Moondancer will likely suit you more than me. She is beautiful, not like me. She is more like you, more like a human. I’m sure you’ll think that’s a good thing.”

“What do you mean by that?” asked Samantha, but the stranger would speak no more. She considered taking the Stranger’s mask and using it to disguise herself. She was certain that he must be the most fearsome thing in the woods, and appearing like him might have gotten her out of a tight spot, however, she could not reduce herself to stealing. Slowly, she walked away from the stranger, glancing back before the darkness swallowed both him and his home.
The night was getting colder, and Samantha wrapped her arms around herself to try to keep warm. She stood, not quite knowing which way was North. She considered going back to ask the stranger, but she felt that he would heed her no more. The trees around her groaned, swayed in the breeze. As their leaves parted, small beams of moonlight glistened on the ground, eventually falling on an enormous stone some distance away.

It was a tall, black obelisk that pointed unerringly to the sky. It looked older than anything Samantha had seen before; the writing on it was indecipherable in the dimness of the night, but even if it was afternoon, she would not be able to read it. The language was older than mankind, and far beyond the ken of such an innocent lass.

“Child.” called the fragile voice of a man. He was young by adult standards, but Samantha considered him a grown-up. His clothes were worn and baggy, his eyes sunken and intense. His pallid skin seemed iridescent in the shimmering moonlight. He regarded her suspiciously, then knelt beside the obelisk. “You are a child, yes?”

Samantha fiddled her fingers together, unsure of how to answer. She watched as the man produced a mirror from within the folds of his cloak.

“What do you see?” he asked, holding the mirror out to Samantha.

“I don’t see anything. It is too dark, and the mirror is black.” Samantha’s face showed a puzzled expression that was matched by that of the man. “To answer your question, yes, there are those that would think of me as a child.” she tried to keep her statement vague; she did not want to be eaten, and she remembered that children often are eaten by witches and monsters.

“Ah, a living child. That is novel. I haven’t seen one in many centuries.” said the man matter-of-factly. He withdrew the mirror and tucked it into the shadows of his cloak, amongst other strange tools that Samantha could not identify.

“I am Samantha.” said Samantha, holding out her hand and fighting the urge to say Will you be my friend?.

“I am Justice. I used to have a last name, but I lost need of it. There aren’t many spirit-whisperers named Justice in these parts.”

“A spirit-whisperer?” asked Samantha.

“Yes. As in, I whisper to spirits. I am a friend to the dead; I give them consul when they need it, help them when I can. You’d be surprised how many dead folk don’t know they’re dead yet.” Justice’s chest swelled with the pride of an accomplished professional that has been recognized for his superb work. A crooked smile invaded his face.

“How can someone not know they are dead?” inquired Samantha, trying to wrap her mind around the concept of being dead and not knowing it. She suddenly shuddered, wondering if she was dead and did not know it.

“Usually they are young souls; the sort of people that go through life without recognizing the value of each day. They get caught-up in the peace and comfort of monotony and simply continue trying to do what they did while they were alive.”

“How can you help them?”

“When I show them the mirror, they see their form. From there, I help them get to where they want, or need, to go. One needed to come here, and that is why I’m here. This monument can send a spirit on to the next world. So that’s what I’m doing in these woods at night. What about you, Young Miss?”

“The wind stole my best hat, and I tried to find it. I didn’t so much get lost as wander too far. Now it is dark and I can’t find my way.” said Samantha.

“And you want help to get out now, huh?” asked the man. A knowing smile traced across his face, and it made Samantha feel like she was being told what to do. She hadn’t decided if she really wanted to leave the forest and abandon her hat to the wind. First the stranger told her of the danger and bade her stay until morning and then turn back, and then Justice asked her if she wanted to leave. She started to feel very unwelcome. Spotting Samantha’s flaring temper, Justice threw up his hands pleadingly.

“I didn’t mean anything by that. I just assumed that you didn’t want to be in the forest. It was my assumption that you were lost; now-a-days nobody comes to this burial ground except for me.” Samantha was amused by Justice’s sudden humility, but she didn’t let it show on her face.

“I’m not lost,” she said insistently, “I just need to figure out where I need to go from here.”

“Well, if you need help, I can help you.” offered Justice. The knowing smile was on his face again, but it did not grow as wide. It was clear to Samantha that the man had something on his mind.

“At a price, I suppose. If anything, I’ve learned that there is little in life to be had that is free.” she said sternly, her feet together and waggling her finger. She could hear her mother’s voice over her own. ‘Nothing in life is free’ was one of her mother’s favorite lectures – ‘Don’t trust a banker’ and ‘Procrastination is not worth it’ were a close second and third, respectively. For a moment, Samantha wondered if her mother had ever been in a situation like her own.

“Well, not a large price.” said Justice, averting his eyes as he said so. “Just a small bit of information, really. A trifle, if you will.” Clasping his hands together, he leaned in closer to Samantha. She could smell the scent of the woods on him, as well as something bitter that she did not recognize and found most displeasing.

“What is it?” asked Samantha, “And mind you, I haven’t agreed to anything yet.” she added shrewdly.

Frank and the Fiction: The White Lord (Part 4)

Frank woke up glazed in sweat. His hair was a stringy, damp mess. Turning the light next to the bed on, the nightmare seemed to melt away. He gingerly lowered a foot to the floor, tapping a toe against the deep blue plush rug. Assured that the floor was solid, he stood up and began to pace. He tried to remember the details of the dreadful dream, but it was like trying to snatch a rabbit out of its hole. It was gone, but the sensation that there was something important in the dream was inescapable.

He looked at Claudia, envious of her peaceful slumber. He wondered what her dreams were like; he assumed that they were normal. He assumed that they weren’t like his. He tried to lie back down, but the sheet was cold and damp on his back. He glanced at the clock’s angry red glow and decided that it wasn’t too early to start his morning routine. He shuffled through the darkness, nearly stepping on Jeremy.

“Watch out!” growled Jeremy sleepily. Frank felt frustrated tears surging into his eyes.

“Shut up!” he bellowed, causing Claudia to stir in her sleep. “Why did you need to start talking?” Frank whispered. “I lived with you for five years, and we were fine the way we were.”

“It’s too early to deal with your crap.” snapped Jeremy. “Doesn’t a cat have the right to speak his mind? Fascist.” Jeremy curled himself into a tight ball and sleepily closed his eyes.

“Who are you calling a Fascist? Behaving like that, I’d call you a Fascist. Up with the feline agenda! Down with the oppressive bourgeois humans!”

“Sleeping.” sang Jeremy.

“No, you started this. I don’t need to have my cat comparing me with Hitler.” raged Frank angrily.

“What are you talking about Frank?” asked Claudia, freshly awoken.

“Nothing.” he responded elusively. “I almost stepped on the cat. Go back to sleep.” Groggily, Claudia rested her head on her pillow again and fell back asleep. Jeremy purred contentedly as Frank left the bedroom. He meandered about the house like a mouse in a cheese-free maze. He sat on the sofa and watched the morning news until he felt himself nodding off.

Tawdry McGuffin was staring at him as he dozed underneath a twisted elm tree. Kicking at the black iron leg he had crafted, he cleared his throat. The phlegm filled rumbling roused Frank. Startled, he leaped to his feet, the black iron leg almost giving out under his weight.

“ I went through the trouble of making the thing, the least you could do is actually put it to use. Thing’s made for walking, not sleeping.” grumbled Tawdry.

“I didn’t ask you to make them. And once I can find someone to fix my leg and arm, you can have them back.” Frank was still furious with the misshapen goblin. The bent and gnarled creature had taken the Ring of Runes, which identified Frank as an enemy of the Marmots. He found himself desperately clinging onto the hope that Tawdry McGuffin truly was an ally. The goblin had followed Frank, demanding a payment for his services. Frank had tolerated Tawdry’s presence, promising him gold when they found either the White Lord or Aurora.

Frank had hoped that the small goblin would fall behind during their travels, but Tawdry McGuffin wasn’t one to turn his back on any promised gold. The strange pair walked through the barren wilderness. The sun seemed to be perpetually setting as they traveled; Frank took it as an indication that the battle for Brightsphere wasn’t over yet, but the outlook was grim.

In the stillness of the gloaming, the pair came across a horrible sight; an army of men lay in the dirt. Mud stained banners which once streamed a bright white on the breeze. In the midst of the ruined army was a man dressed in white armor. His hair stained red with blood, a spear piercing his chest, the White Lord was weeping. Resplendent even in his agony, the pale seemed to be looking towards the heavens, praying for a miracle.

“You’re going to be late for work!” admonished Claudia, snapping Frank out of his renewed slumber. He tried to shake the dream from his head, but it wouldn’t leave his skull. He couldn’t get the image of the dead man out of his mind.

“I’m not going.” Frank said. “I need to go to Dr. Morrison. There’s something really wrong.” Frank’s brow was furrowed with worry, his eyes filled with fear and confusion.

“If you don’t think it can wait, I understand. I’ll go with you if you want.” said Claudia, afraid that Frank would hurt himself. Frank, still crumpled on the sofa, wasn’t moving.

“I’ll call work for you.” said Claudia.

“Please, don’t tell them why. I don’t need them knowing I’m a loon.” said Frank in near monotone. Claudia saw that he was staring into space, not focused on anything. She had always wished that this day would not come around again. She felt like a mouse captured by a cat; no matter how much freedom seemed possible, there was only one fate in store for her. She made the call, telling Frank’s boss that Frank needed a personal day, and that he’d be back to work tomorrow. She wanted to tell his boss the truth, but she knew she couldn’t. It would simply be too wicked.

“I can heal your leg and arm, but there’s nothing I can do for the White Lord.” announced Morris, the healer. He had followed the army, doing his best to tend the wounded as they fell. “This has pushed my powers to the limit. It was terrible! The Marmots fell on us; as wild and violent as a brush fire. The White Lord called for formations, but his men were all ready dying around him. Then, the trees bloomed with fire, trapping both armies here. I felt a hammer or axe smash against my helmet, and when I awoke, the Marmots were gone and the White Lord was left, dead on his feet.”

“Who leads the Marmots?” asked Frank, revenge stirring a fire in his heart.

“It was a power more than a man. It was shapeless and barely visible. It was unlike anything I ever saw.”

“Sounds like bad news to me.” remarked Tawdry McGuffin sourly. “Without the White Lord, the people will fall into submission. It happened before, and it will happen again.”

“Not if the White Lord isn’t dead.” replied Frank, a crazed grin on his face.

The Knights (Part Three)

This is just the first part of the third part of “The Knights.” I appologize for the incomplete story, but my mind is otherwise occupied with my upcoming wedding. I’ll have more up the week of June 22nd. Until then, read and be happy!

~Harry

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Hugo thrashed wildly in his sleep. The dreams had found him again. Aaron watched quietly as his friend went through his nightly torture. Hugo had told him the details of the recurring dream some time ago. The dream was of Hugo’s past, long ago and far away. When Hugo was younger, he served as a knight in service to the church. To him, swordplay was a prayer, and physical training was his pennance. Daily, he would push his body to the extremes of endurance. On one such day, he pushed himself too far; he asked too much of his body, and it betrayed him. Lying fevered and ill, Hugo had a vision of God.

God invited him to sit at the foot of His throne. He offered a life in eternal service as a warrior. Hugo eagerly agreed, but found himself awake in bed before he made the vow of service. A monk named Theodore witnessed Hugo’s enraged awakening. Though his boy was weak, Hugo threw himself from the bed. He was reaching out; the monk believed that Hugo desired water, but in truth the knight was reaching for his sword which leaned against the wall far from the bed. Hugo dragged himself across the floor, yelling that he promised to be of service and pleading for a return to Heaven. Theodore rushed to console the knight, but Hugo just weakly pushed him away. With his strength depleted, he broke down in tears. Weeping, he told Theodore of his vision of God, and of his longing to return to His side.

Theodore consoled the knight, and pulled him back to the bed. He told Hugo a tale that would alter the young knight’s life; he told him of the sacred desert of the East, where the prophets of God would wander and seek guidance. Hugo decided that it was his path to go to the desert and find a vision from his God. Once he felt well enough, Hugo began his quest. He traveled for over a year, ever eastward, doing good where he could. When at last he came to the last known settlement on the skirts of civilization, his heart filled with doubt. He was staying at a tiny inn where he met a woman named Miranda. She was young and beautiful, but carried the child of another man in her belly.

Hugo was entranced by the woman, but knew that she could never be his; his life was a holy life, and he chose to deny himself the pleasures of life as a way of honoring his God. His feelings for her were forbiddingly intense; he dreamt of giving up his vows and joining her, especially when he discovered that her child’s father had died. He told himself it would be a more noble thing to become her husband and the father of her child. However, his dedication to his God was even stronger. He left the village an walked into the wilderness as the moon rose high in the sky.

Wandering the unforgiving desert, Hugo’s devotion was tested. His body thirsted and hungered, his mind amble back to the village and Miranda. The nights of walking and days dedicated to mere survival in the inhospitable place wore on the young knight’s devotion. He found himself considering the journey back, dark until he saw the prophet of the desert, Uriah. The prophet was tall and lean; his silken robes rippled in the wind as he strode across the rocky expanse. Uriah payed Hugo no heed until the  young knight cried out:

“Prophet! I have heard of those that walk the earth searching for God. Are you truly one?”

“I am.” said Uriah with quiet words that could have blown away with but a soft zephyr. “What do you desire?”

“I need to know how to have a vision of God. I need to return to His feet and give Him my service.” said Hugo. Uriah leaned on his walking staff and contemplated…

The Knights (Continued)

Aaron sat by the fire and honed the blade of his flamberge. Hugo was intently polishing his armor and humming quietly to himself, losing himself in the simple task. Aaron thought back over the last year that he had been traveling with Hugo. Hugo had saved him from a trio of knights that had been told that Aaron was a rapist. While Aaron had done no such crime, the three knights seemed not to care. They waited until Aaron was in his cups and then swooped down on him like a thunderstorm across the prairie. The first nearly cracked Aaron’s skull with a heavy cudgel; Aaron swayed out of the way of the blow and pulled at the knight’s over extended arm and pulled him from the saddle. A second rushed in on foot brandishing a long sword and screaming for revenge on the behalf of some woman that Aaron had never heard of. Aaron tumbled drunkenly and rolled to his feet, meeting the third knight as he was drawing a short sword. Aaron’s head crashed against the third knight’s unprotected skull. The first was getting to his feet as the long sword grazed Aaron’s ribs.

Hugo, dressed in his best white surcoat and red, silk tunic saw the knights pummeling a drunkard and demanded an explanation. The three knights continued their assault against Aaron, who was beginning to regret having left his weapon at the inn. He tried to wrench the long sword away when a plated boot landed square in his crotch. Falling to the ground, he could see the cudgel swinging down. Sucking in what should have been his last breath, Aaron winced. When he opened his eyes again, he saw the knight backing away, the head of his cudgel sundered off. Hugo engaged the sword wielding knights with an impressive display of defensive swordsmanship.

“Why do you beat this man so?” he demanded. “No one deserves to die in the street like this!”

“He’s a rapist and a thief!” called back the knight with the short sword as the leaf-bladed weapon clashed against the side of Hugo’s broadsword. Hugo changed his stance and let the blade of his sword slide up to the short sword’s hand guard; the cross-bar wasn’t thick enough to bear Hugo’s blade as he pushed forward with his entire weight. The cross-bar spiraled off the hilt and the sword fell to the ground, along with two fingers. The knight with the long sword charged at Hugo in his blind spot, but Hugo was experienced enough to anticipate the attack and met it with the side of his blade.

“Stop now, and we will talk of this as knights should.” offered Hugo, but pride flared up inside of his opponent, who slashed wildly at Hugo’s head. Hugo stepped away, letting the knight spend his energy. Once he saw an opportunity, Hugo launched his sword forward. The wide blade bit into the knight’s groin and blood poured from the wound. The knight fell, crying out loudly. Soon, the cries of pain subsided into a wailing, tear-filled cry.

“Save me!” the knight begged. His comrades had run away long before, and it wasn’t to bring help back. Aaron approached the fallen man and smiled at him drunkenly. He pulled at the man’s surcoat and tore off a long strip of fabric. Hugo knelt beside Aaron; he pushed the armor’s tassets out of the way and unbuckled the cuisses. He tossed the broken armor away and studied the shattered rings of the chausses.

“That was some hit.” complemented Aaron as he pulled broken pieces of mail from the wound. “He’s going to die no matter what we do.” Despite his comment, Aaron spat on the wound several times and bound it tightly. The fallen knight’s skin was as white as milk and he was coated in a veil of sweat. Hugo called for a healer, but there was little her herbs and poultices could do for the grievous wound. Aaron sobered quickly when he had realized the totality of what had transpired. He sat next to Hugo, who was praying quietly.

“I’m sorry.” said Aaron. Hugo wanted to stay stoic and ignore the interruption, but he wanted answers as much as he wanted guidance. Not moving, he asked Aaron his name, and he also asked why the knights were trying to kill him.

“They said I raped some woman from the bar.”

“Was there truth in it?” asked Hugo softly but sternly.

“None. They were just looking for a fight, I guess.” replied Aaron, drinking some fresh water and trying to clear his head. “Then again, maybe they were just looking for a reason to fight me.” Aaron never thought that he would actually tell someone his story. The town was so small that everyone knew it, and visitors seldom paid a disgraced knight any attention. “I made too many mistakes in my life to have many friends. So instead of friends, I have enemies.”

“Why?” inquired Hugo, trying to keep Aaron at ease. He was taking his measure of the man, trying to understand him. He was also trying to rationalize killing someone in order to save him.

“I was knighted five years ago. My lord sent me to tournaments, but I was a poor jouster. He decided to send me on other business; he wanted me to be his killer. I didn’t want to, but I was a knight…”

“And a knight does as his lord asks.” said Hugo with sympathy.

“One day, my lord sent me to dispatch of his son’s mistress. She bore him a son, and my lord did not wish his son’s bastard to be able to grow up to challenge him, or a rightful heir, for his seat. I went, and I did what I was told. But then I left my armor behind, as well as my knighthood.”

“Why did you do it if you were going to leave your lord?”

“Because if it wasn’t me, it would have been another knight. One that wouldn’t have done his job so swiftly; perhaps one who would have taken pleasure from the killings, and maybe more.” Aaron sat, reflecting on Hugo. This knight was everything he had wanted to be when he had become a page. Hugo seemed like he was made of valor wrapped around honor. Aaron looked at himself and saw a drunkard that probably deserved to be beaten to death. “Friend, today has opened my eyes. I don’t want to be what I am any longer. I want to be something more. Something better than I was. I want to be like you.” Hugo turned and glared at Aaron.

“You don’t want to be like me.” said Hugo without passion, as though it were irrevocable truth. Aaron didn’t understand what Hugo meant, but he learned over the year. Now, as he set his flamberge aside and started to mend his armor, he knew what Hugo meant. However, he still wanted to be like Hugo, or at least he wanted to be like he thought Hugo was. Hugo continued silently polishing his armor, thinking about his own path, wondering where he was going and trying not to think about where he had been.

“We’ll find the King of Dragons, Hugo. Soon enough, you’ll be rid of me and this quest.” said Aaron with a smile, “You’ll be able to marry Miranda, and you’ll have a dozen kids. Hey! Why don’t you name one after me?” Hugo simply looked up at his friend and shook his head, smiling. The road often seemed unending and lonesome, but it helped to have someone to be lonesome with…

Part 3

Alternate Part 3

The Knights

Hugo gingerly squeezed his legs and his horse took a few wary steps forward. His full plate armor glistened in the early morning sun as he poked his spear at the knight sleeping under the gently waving tendrils of the willow tree.

“Wake up Aaron!” he called, gently poking his comrade on the side. Aaron woke, startled and nearly tripping over his legs. His hand reached for his flamberge, a blade nearly as tall as him, which jutted out of the ground. Naked and filthy, he slapped the spear away with a wave of the hefty sword. His long, matted blonde hair tumbled near his waist and swayed like a field of wheat as he launched himself forward, tugging at the horse’s bridle. Swiftly, he pulled himself up so he could look Hugo in the eye.

“Don’t wake me with a spear, or that damned thing will find its way into your heart!” threatened Aaron. Hugo resisted belting his friend with an armored fist, but instead calmly explained that he had all ready tried the most gentle of measures of awakening his traveling companion and needed to resort to more drastic measures. “Bah!” dismissed Aaron as he leapt from the horse. “What’s the rush anyways? The dragon isn’t going anywhere. Bastard’s been asleep ten years, and he’ll probably be asleep tomorrow and next week, and for many months to come. Another morning won’t make much of a difference.” Despite his grievances, Aaron started to dress for battle in his suit of boiled leather and chain mail. Tucking his open-faced helm under his arm and slinging his sword onto his shoulder, he walked slowly beside Hugo.

Hugo looked down on Aaron and smiled at the bull headed knight. Aaron never rode war horses; he always had a love for swift animals and prided himself on his acrobatic prowess. In truth, Aaron was less of a knight than Hugo, but he certainly was a better fighter. Hugo never underestimated his friend’s skills; while Aaron may never had jousted in a tournament, he had proven himself again and again. Despite his laziness, he made for a good traveling companion. He had good eyes and knew his way around a battlefield. Aaron loved Hugo as a brother, and had an equal respect for the accomplished knight’s skill.

“So the dragon will know. I’ve heard that too many times. ‘The dragon is old, the dragon is wise,’ Bah! The dragons are a blight on the earth and an affront to the gods. A snake with feet and wings; liars and thieves the lot of them.” complained Aaron as he walked through the thickly wooded forest. The trees shaded them from the sun and kept them cool as the day became warmer.

“Just another mile and we’ll find out where the truth of the matter is. There’s good and bad in all things; I saw a giant save a child from a well and I’ve watched a serpent-man lay his life down for his human comrades. Villagers always say these things are evil, but they never truly know, do they?” Hugo said softly.

“Bah, I say! Bah! I never heard any of those stories from anyone but you. You’re young and full of ideals that just don’t hold up in the real world. A giant may save a life, but how many will he take in a month? Anytime he’s hungry, that’s one less kid in the world and one more pile of dung. I say track ‘em and kill ‘em.”

“I hope you aren’t thinking of talking to the dragon like that.” said Hugo, trying to make the phrase ring as a warning to his friend’s ears. Aaron responded with silence; they were getting closer to the creature’s lair and he was starting to get on edge. Hugo strapped his shield to his arm; the leather straps groaned as he fastened the stag emblazoned shield’s buckles tightly. He said a quiet prayer, hoping that his God would bless him with the power to overcome the dragon peacefully. Aaron’s mind simply focused on his task. He would not pray to his gods, because he didn’t want to owe them any favors. He sneaked through the woods towards a giant cave that expelled a sulphurous and skunk-like stink. A purring sound rumbled out of the cave; the sleeping dragon simply stayed inert, oblivious to the possible dangers that lurked near it. Aaron entered the cave first, followed by the mounted Hugo.

“Awake, Thule! Awake and listen to me!” called Hugo, masking the sound of Aaron’s steps as he picked his way through a heap of gold strewn on the floor of the dragon’s lair. The dragon stirred in the darkness and opened its cat-like eyes. Sleepily, the dragon considered the mounted knight.

“What do you want!” boomed the dragon’s voice, “I’m tired and need rest. Why did you wake me?” Hugo felt the hot, rancid breath of the dragon wash over him. He slid his spear into its sheathe on the saddle and produced a small sack of gold. The dragon’s eyes flooded with greed as the bag flew through the air and crashed heavily to the ground. The dragon pulled at the bag’s drawstrings with its immense claws and let the coins spill out.

“Ask, then, if it is a question you want to ask.”

“I want to know where the father of dragons is.”

The dragon chortled deeply, not knowing that Aaron was in the shadows, readying his sword. “He is deep within the earth, at its core, far from the sun. Seek him at your peril. Why do you ask?”

“My reasons are my own.” responded Hugo, his hand on his spear.

“Keep your secret; your gold is good.”

“How do I get to the lair of the father of dragons?” asked Hugo. The dragon’s eyes narrowed evilly.

“What do you want with him!” demanded the dragon, whose ire was rising. Aaron tumbled out of the way as one of the dragon’s feet crashed into the ground near him. Aaron wanted to plunge his sword hilt deep into the creature, but he knew that Hugo would chastise him severely. Instead, he waited.

“He has something that is mine, and I wish to reclaim it.” responded Hugo. Tension rose as the dragon crawled forward slowly. Stalking Hugo, like a cat stalks a ball of yarn, the dragon licked its lips. Hugo began to worry when he saw the drool dripping from corners of the dragon’s mouth. Hugo pulled his spear from the saddle sheathe and drove his spurs into his horse. The dragon roared, blowing a stream of fire at Hugo. The thrust of the flame drove Hugo from his saddle with a force greater than any jousting lance could. The shield absorbed the heat from the flame, and glowed brightly. The dragon snapped its jaws at the prone knight, but whirled its scaly head about as Aaron plunged his sword into the dragon’s belly.

The dragon shrieked and rolled as Aaron held onto the sword with two hands, pushing and pulling the sword back and forth, aggravating the grievous wound. Hugo found his footing and launched his spear at the dragon. It found its mark deep in the dragon’s skull. The creature shrieked again weakly and then stopped stirring. Battered but uninjured, Aaron tugged his flamberge from the dragon’s carcass.

“Where do we go now?” asked Aaron wearily.

“North, to find another dragon. One will know where the father of dragons is; one will be able to tell me how to get back my soul.”

Part Two