Minerva was irate as she waved my uncle Carl’s latest paperback in my face. I wasn’t worried that it would become a missile, but I was worried about what she had to say. She opened the book and aggressively pointed at a page.

“I don’t care if he bases his stories on us,” she complained, “I just don’t like that he takes the liberties that he does. Seriously, ‘Her ample, rosy bosom swelled as the werewolf lunged towards her. Tania swung her legs around the beast’s neck and crushed its fragile throat with her curvaceous thighs. The creature’s last sense was of the flowery fragrance of her…’”

“Yes, I know. It is a bit much, but it is just fiction. No one knows that Tania Wulfsmasher is based on you.” I tried to hold in a slight grin; I had read the book the day before and almost laughed out loud picturing Minerva wrestling a werewolf to the ground. My uncle had been a newspaper reporter in all of the major markets, but his ludicrous stories about the supernatural weren’t fit to print in the normal newspaper. The rest of the family had considered him a nut, and I agreed with them until I learned otherwise. He later turned his factual accounts into a line of pulp novels that sold fairly well; now he was writing novels that were about Minerva and I. Actually, they were centered on Minerva.

“I know they’re just stories, but I know who Tania is supposed to be, and it doesn’t make me feel happy to read about my anatomy; I feel so objectified. To tell the truth, Tobias is a bit upset as well.”

Minnie was sincerely distraught. She had been mildly offended by past novels, but this one was particularly inflammatory. I guessed that her husband’s unhappiness had less to do with Tania Wulfsmasher’s voluptuous body and more to do with the escalating relationship she had with her partner, Nathan Kingston.

“If it is bothering you that much, I’ll go to my uncle and see what I can do. I don’t think he’ll be moved by any argument I give him though; these books are his livelihood.”

“And I don’t want to take that away from him,” she said, her blue eyes watery as though she were ready to cry, “but if you could get him to hold back a bit more. Not even a lot. This is just so uncomfortable, you know?”

I set off for the retirement village by bicycle that afternoon with a copy of Wulfsmasher and Kingston in hand. The retirement village was sedate and clean, although a light scent of old people hung in the air. Did every grandma in the place wear White Shoulders? Did they even still make White Shoulders, or had the little old ladies resorted to making it in the bath tubs? I made my way to the patio where my uncle spent his afternoons whispering his stories into his tape recorder. He sat at the round table in the shade of a huge umbrella, wearing the beat-up raffia porkpie hat that he loved so much. I could hear his rich voice as he recited, “Never did Katya Wirsbiski consider that the homeless man she passed would follow her; also, it never occurred to her that an unloaded gun might scare away some criminals.”

“But neither did it occur to her that something sinister dwelled inside of that man, waiting, begging, for blood to spill. Right?” I smiled as I waved at my uncle who returned my smile with an extended hand.

“August, my boy, it is nice to see you. Why’d you come?” He jumped straight to the matter at hand, skipping pleasantries almost entirely. This was going to be a tough sell.

“I came because I read the new book.”

“Oh, liked it that much, huh? First time you came by so soon after a release. What didn’t you like?” I couldn’t believe that he so swiftly deduced the reason for my visit, but he had. His reporter’s instincts were just as sharp as ever. I let it all spill out on the table; there was no sense in keeping anything hidden from my uncle. He’d learn it sooner or later, regardless of how hard I tried.

“I’m sorry Auggie, but this is what the people want. It sells well, and I’m sure the extra money helps you and Minnie out.”

“It does, and I’m grateful, but Minnie’s husband isn’t very happy about this. I mean, I know sex sells, but some of this is ridiculous. ’She arched her back as he pushed his thick member into her softness…’ Would you want to read about someone doing this to your wife? Minnie and I are just friends, and this makes it seem like we’re more.”

“Does the book make it seem that way, or do you want it to be that way?” asked uncle Carl, and the question drove into my heart. Did I actually want something more than friendship? I hadn’t ever really thought about it. A scream interrupted my pondering; an old man was bellowing as he tumbled from his apartment window ten stories about. A wailing exploded from the others on the patio as he collided with the ground. I winced and looked away, but my uncle looked up at the window.

“It’s that witch.” he muttered. Collecting his tape recorder, he rushed to the door of the apartment building. The sirens of a police car and an ambulance muddled together in a cacophony moments after the fall. I walked over to get a look at the body, flashing my paranormal investigator’s badge at the coroner. I saw no marks of interest, though when I looked at the pool of blood the body left behind, I was speechless; the blood pooled in the shape of King Bodon’s Star. There was definitely some kind of witchcraft going on. I looked around for my uncle, but he was out of sight. I rushed indoors, thinking he had gone up to the jumper’s room. Sure enough, I found him there looking for clues, weaving absent mindedly around the policemen in the room.

“Uncle Carl!” I cried out, ’What happened?” he didn’t answer me. “Carl! Carl!” I yelled to get his attention. One of the investigators yelled at me to be quiet while another yelled to ’get that old man out of here and shut up that kid.’ When they ushered my uncle into the hall, he glared at me.

“I think I was onto something. There were some kind of herbs on the floor, but you showed up and they kicked me out.”

“How’d you even get in?” I asked.

“You’d be surprised what you can get away with when people think you are an Alzheimer’s patient…

Frank felt his head drooping and his eyelids closing. He struggled to keep his attention focused on his computer. He glanced around at the tall, cloth covered walls of his cube, and wished that he could put something on them; a picture, a poster, maybe a small army of action figures for his desk. However, decorating his workspace was forbidden. He felt his head droop again. Taking off his glasses, he rubbed his eyes. Carter, who worked in the next cubical, leaned over the top of the cube’s wall.

“Did you get the e-mail I sent you? The video with the people dancing at the wedding?” Carter’s voice was enthusiastic. Anytime he had a chance, he would slip onto the internet and look for pictures and videos which were not quite pornographic, but definitely of a lurid nature. The video in question was taken at a wedding and was of a girl gyrating in a short dress; he could glimpse her round buttocks as she danced. Of course, he needed to share this with someone, and Frank was that person.

“No. I have too much to do right now.” replied Frank.

“It isn’t that long, and she’s really hot. The way she moves is just mesmerizing.” Carter was becoming lost; he looked as though he were staring at the sun. “It’s a beautiful thing.” Frank groaned and then decided to check his e-mail.

“Why did you send me all this?” he asked as nine e-mails popped into his inbox.

“Slow day for me. Data is processed. Mails mailed. I’m free until noon at least.”

“I’ll have to check this out later.”

“Why not now?” asked Carter, sounding disappointed.

“Unless you want to help with my pile…” said Frank, pointing at a short tower of invoices threateningly. Carter slowly sank back into his cube. Frank looked at the list of ten e-mails from Carter and deleted them without even reading them. Then, something caught his eye; it was a message from someone named Aurora. The name sounded so familiar to him, but he couldn’t place who it was. Disregarding the chance that it was a virus, he opened the e-mail and read the contents.

I doubt you remember us. How long has

it been, Francis? Ten years? Twenty? How

long has it been since you’ve ridden a

dragon? Swung a blade? Your armor is rusted,

and your sword is broken, but still we need

you. The land is blighted by darkness, and

only you could bring the light again. The

Marmots have taken the crystal castle, and

I do not know how long we can hold out in

the hills. The White Lord has gone alone to

war; he needs you! We need you! I need you!

Frank looked at the message in disbelief as the fog rolled back from his memories. He thought about the world in which he used to play. He called it Brightsphere, and he was a king there. Well, first he was a warrior and then briefly a cowboy, but mostly he was a king. The lord of his own land of imagination. This has to be a joke, he told himself convincingly. He tried to think of who he had told about his old childhood games, but no one was coming to mind. He had no brothers, sisters, or even any cousins that visited. His childhood was pleasant, yet lonely. Until he saw the message, he had forgotten about his imaginary world, but now the details had come rushing back in vivid flashes. Quickly, he moved the e-mail into a folder that he marked ‘BS’. He wasn’t upset about this prank, but he definitely wanted to know who played it.

The day passed slowly, and the e-mails he sent to his few friends about the message from Aurora had yielded no confessions of guilt. On the drive home, he thought about Aurora. She was a princess, and she was both young a beautiful. She was literally the woman of his dreams; she was more like a friend than anything else, though as he grew older she did become more interesting. But the adventures they had were incredible! The White Lord had opposed Frank rise to power, and it was Aurora that always rode beside Frank in his wars against the pale lord. The White Lord. The name brought with it a feeling of foreboding; he was an old man even those many years ago, and he lead a ferocious army. Frank remembered the White Lord’s glassy blue eyes and their cold gaze the day that he and the pale king had a duel.

Frank was jolted out of his musings when a car horn blared; he had started to drift into the high velocity lane and nearly caused an accident. He shook the images out of his head and focused on he road ahead. Turning up the radio, he sang to commercialized rock and roll music as he drew closer and closer to home. Annoyingly, his cell phone began to rattle against the plastic cup holder he always left it in when he drove. He picked up the phone and flipped it open. He knew that it would be his girlfriend Claudia. He heard her pleasantly saying hello and asking him to pick up a few things at the market before he got home. Jeremy needed food and a flea collar while she needed tampons, Midol, and Pepto Bismol. Frank heard himself agreeing to drive a half an hour through rush hour traffic to pick up the requested items. When he flipped the phone shut, he tossed it back into the cup holder. He felt pissed off at Claudia for calling him; sure, she asked politely, but he just didn’t feel like going to the Wal-Mart.

He turned the radio up even louder and sang out of tune as loudly as he could. He needed to push away some of the anger he was feeling. The rational side of he knew that this was anger that he shouldn’t direct towards anyone but himself. He didn’t have to go to Wal-Mart, he elected to go. However, he wondered how much choice he actually had. He was thirty-five years old and he was certain that he couldn’t just dump Claudia over some errands he didn’t feel like running…

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 thin man reeled in his fishing line and smiled smugly at el Monstruo, who froze immediately. Turning, he watched as the man sat cross-legged on the sand, gazing at the rolling ocean.

“How do you know that I’m turning into something?” asked el Monstruo meekly.

“We smell our own.” answered the man as he pulled the worn sandles from his feet. To el Monstruo’s astonishment, the sandles each had a single eye that looked eagerly at the surf. The sandles sprouted little arms and legs; they raced to the surf and began splashing each other. El Monstruo sat on the ground, his head swimming. The man looked at el Monstruo’s confused expression and giggled. “You don’t know anything about us, do you? You never heard of the yokai?”

“The yokai?” asked el Monstruo.

“That’s what we are. You are an Oni; I can tell from those horns and teeth. It is a curse and a blessing.”

“And you are one of these yokai?”

“Yes. I am a kappa, a water spirit. When I was a man, I fell into the water by a bridge. When I was under the water, I began to change. Instead of drowning, I became what I am.” replied the kappa in a bouncing tone. “Now you are what you are. The only question is, how did you become what you are?”

El Monstruo let his thoughts drift back to when he received the mask. “I started wearing a mask. It was red and reminiscent to what I look like now. Do you think that it did this to me? Maybe the mask was to me like water was to you?” El Monstruo didn’t notice the flash of agony wash over the kappa’s face.

“There was more to it than that.” replied the kappa softly. El Monstruo urged him to continue, but the kappa wouldn’t let go of his secrets that easily. He simply changed the subject, saying “What did you feel when you wore the mask?”

“I felt powerful. I felt changed. It was like the slate was wiped clean. I liked it.”

“Why did you like it?” asked the kappa, paying little attention to the sandles as they romped and played. El Monstruo’s eyes watched them intently, wondering if he had finally gone insane. “Why did you like it?” asked the kappa again.

“Because it let me be someone else. I was just tired of being who I was.” said el Monstruo, obfuscating the truth slightly. One of the sandals grabbed the other and heaved it into the ocean with a great, cackling laugh. The kappa listened intently, letting el Monstruo open up slowly. El Monstruo found himself telling the kappa more than he ever intended. He told him of the night he came home to find his fiancee with another man. He told the kappa how he just left, without so much as a word. El Monstruo’s eyes lit up when he told the kappa about Rita, who had helped him get on his feet after the break up, and then how she helped him after he started wearing the mask. El Monstruo realized that he was smiling broadly. “Talking about her always makes me feel happy.” 

The kappa took off his sailor hat, revealing a bowl of water that was balanced on his head. He felt it was time to reveal a little more of himself. ”This is part of who I am now,” said the man, “I need the water no matter where I go. Since that time in the water, I’ve lived on the fringe of the normal world. No one would ever notice a simple beach bum, you know? I just sit here and fish. I can’t live a normal life anymore. Could you imagine going to a job interview wearing a bowl on your head? This is part of my punishment, doled out because of the things I have done.”

EL Monstruo reflected on the kappa, then, pointing at the sandles said, “What did they do?”

“They are over one-hundred years old. Now they have their own lives. They let me walk on them only because of the good deeds I did for them.”

“You aren’t being very forth-coming about yourself.” said el Monstruo abruptly. An injured look appeared on the man’s face. Pointing a finger at himself, the kappa said, “I am trying the best that I can. This is hard for me.” A feeling of anger creeped over el Monstruo. He wanted to grab the bowl off the kappa’s head and smash him in the face with it. The kappa must have seen the anger rising in el Monstruo’s eyes, because he began to rise to his feet.

“I don’t want to fight you,” he said, “I know I can’t win. I just thought you might want some help. I’m sorry.” The kappa called to the sandles, which dashed back to him, throwing themselves at his feet. He slipped his feet into them and cautiously stepped back. He had dealt with an oni in the past, an he knew that he stoo no chance in a physical confrontation. He tried to soothe el Montruo, but realized that a rage had come over the red-skinned ogre. 

El Monstruo felt his fists curling into tight balls. He wanted his way; he was tired of the kappa’s hints and subterfuge. He wante to know the kappa’s secret. He had told his own, after all. Then, el Monstruo felt tears well up in his eyes and pour down his cheek. His emotions ran wild and confusing circuits through his heart and stomach. He considered what he was about to do and what he had done in the past. He roared with primal anger as the kappa continued a slow retreat.

“Grant! What are you doing!” yelled a feminine voice that cut through the turmoil that filled el Monstruo’s body. He turned to see Rita, who was followed closely by Arouna.

“Calm down, friend.” said the kappa as sweetly as he could. “They’re friends here to help you. Don’t let what you’ve become destroy them.” El Monstruo felt a rush of calmness flow through him. His anger, chilish upon examination, deminished quickly when Rita drew closer. He could smell the scent of flowers on her and he immediately thought of great rolling fields of multicolored blooms billowing in a gentle breeze as Rita ran through them gleefully. He held his arms out for her embrace, but she didn’t come any nearer.

“You need to go now.” said Arouna in a deep, thickly accented voice, “The kid is dead. The cops are gonna look for you. They are coming soon.”

“Why did you do it, Grant?” asked Rita, weeping.

“I guess you met me at just the right time.” remarked the kappa as he scanned the horizon, looking for police. El Monstruo felt a tremendous sensation of shame and hung his head sadly. He realized that Rita would no longer stand by his side as she stood there crying. He hated himself, because he had made those tears. “Come on, friend,” said the kappa, “the road is long and often short of cucumbers.”

“Hey man, that’s real weird.” said Arouna, perplexed at el Monstruo’s changed appearence. He touched el Monstruo’s cheek and once again drew his hand back swiftly. “That’s real weird. I’ve never seen anything like it. I’ve seen weird stuff, but not anything like this.” The redness had spread from el Monstruo’s face, down his neck, and across his chest. He stopped wearing the mask; it was stifling with all the heat his head was throwing off. It was bothersome to wear a shirt now, as his torso had begun radiating the strange heat.

“I don’t know what to do, Arouna. I’ve tried salve and I’ve tried clortrimezole. I talked to the doctor at urgent care, but he was afraid to come near me. He threatened to call the CDC if I ever came back.” El Monstruo leaned heavily against the counter of the bar. He was happy that the Freeky Tiki was empty, except for Arouna and him. And Rita. Why does she stand by me? Is she just being a friend, or is there more? Or do I just want there to be more? El Monstruo studied Rita’s petite frame and imagined her staying with him, not only through this ordeal, but anything that would come in the future. She would fight for me to the end if she had to. She’s my best friend.

“You know, I don’t know if I ever saw someone turn red. I don’t know if anyone has ever seen it. But maybe it isn’t a bad thing. Maybe you’ll be able to get some kind of grant to go back to school and finish your education. How about that, huh? They say minorities always get money for school. How much more minor can you get than just one?” said Arouna with a smile. He placed a tiki mug on the bar and filled it with seltzer and a mix of juices. “There. It may not work, but it is the best I can do. It may not turn you white again, but it will freshen you up. Maybe help you think better.” Arouna’s grin and impromptu cocktail made el Monstruo smile, until he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. His smile looked terrifying; a mass of sharp fangs jutted from his mouth from every direction. If the smile wasn’t enough, the pointed nubs of his horns were starting to push through his skin. His smiled swiftly bowed into a deep frown.

Rita watched as el Monstruo’s head drooped. Her heart was breaking to see him suffering so much. She put an arm around him and tried to comfort him. He leaned on her and felt tears rolling down his face. Arouna walked away, allowing them some space. “God, I am so happy that it is him and not me.” said Arouna softly to himself. Rita let el Monstruo cry on her, holding him closely. He shuddered as he wept; his body was radiating heat, tempting Rita to pull away from him.

The door to the Freeky Tiki swung open, and Rita turned to see a gang of men pour in. There were at least ten, and they were led by a young blonde with a broken nose. The guy with the broken nose popped the collar of his polo shirt and strutted towards the dimly lit bar. El Monstruo looked up, his large eyes puffy from crying. The thug in the polo shirt took a step backwards, forgetting for a moment that he had ten guys to watch his back.

“You think you’re big…” he started to say as el Monstruo stood up, swinging the metal stool he had been sitting on. The thug heard a loud crack thunder in his skull as his legs buckled and his body collapsed on the ground. Rita screamed and Arouna shouted for el Monstruo to control himself. The thug’s friends ran at el Monstruo, trying to grab at him. One was jabbed in the eye with the stool’s leg, another crashed into the solid, wooden bar. The third threw a punch that sent el Monstruo’s head rocking to the side. El Monstruo simply wrapped his arms around him and sent him flying over his head to the ground. The thug’s friends started to step away once another of their number was sent crashing to the floor with a head butt. They scrambled away, leaving their fallen friends, and the thug in the polo shirt behind. RIta tried to calm down el Monstruo, but he was deaf to her pleas. He wrenched the leg off the stool and clubbed the still body of the thug.

“Die!” he yelled vehemently. “Why don’t you just fucking die?” EL Monstruo swung the metal leg down hard on the young man’s skull, and heard a satisfying cracking sound. The sound of breaking bone was followed by the sound of a shot gun being cocked.

“Stop it now, man.” said Arouna, pointing the gun at el Monstruo. Sweat beaded on Arouna’s face; he could feel the intense heat flowing out from el Monstruo’s body. He prayed that the big man would stop and listen to reason. He hoped, at least, that el Monstruo wouldn’t kill the thug then and there. It was obvious what was going to happen, but the police wouldn’t see it the way it really was. El Monstruo rested the metal leg on his shoulder and turned to look at Arouna.

“I don’t want to stop. I need to do this. This would be justice.” said el Monstruo.

“You aren’t going to do it here, and if you’re smart, you just won’t do it at all. Stop now. You got a girl that cares for you, and…”

“I used to have a girl that cared for me!” shouted el Monstruo, “She was supposed to be my wife. Instead, she went off to fuck some rich bastard and left me here alone.” Rita was frightened; she had not moved since the violence started. Her mind was filled with so many things she should say or do. She wanted to say that he wasn’t alone, but she was afraid to say that she would be there for him after what he had just done. “I need to do this.” continued el Monstruo, “It’s all I can do.”

“Then take him out of here, and don’t come back. If you do what I think you are going to do, I won’t forgive you.” said Arouna, lowering the shot gun. “We stood by you, and we believed in you. Both me and Rita. Don’t think for a minute I don’t support you in what you’ve done, but if you do anymore, well, that’s too much.”

El Monstruo felt the need to kill the kid; he was a law breaker, and he would hurt Rita if he gave him the chance. El Monstruo knew that the thug saw her comforting him, and if he let the thug live, he might be back. Confused and afraid, el Monstruo just ran. He ran from the restaurant and down to the ocean. He looked at the expansive sea and let loose a primal yell. He threw pieces of drift wood at the ocean, and hurled big rocks when he ran out of drift wood. The excercise calmed him down, freed him of his aggravation.

“What did the ocean ever do to you, my friend?” asked a thin man with a beak-like nose who was fishing from the shore. El Monstruo was startled, as he hadn’t seen the man earlier. The thin man was wearing loose, green pants that he had rolled up to his knees and a ratty looking Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles t-shirt. Sparse, straw like hair peeked out from under a bright white sailor’s hat. “I know the ocean can be mean, but I didn’t see him take anything from you.”

“What do you know?” asked el Monstruo dismissively, stalking away.

“I know more than you can imagine,” called the thin man. “For example; I know what you are turning into.”

Here’s the conclusion to Minerva and August, Supernatural Investigators: The Little People Village.

————————————————————————————-

“I am the queen here.” she declared in a proud voice. The leaves of her dress rustled as she walked past Minerva and August. She smelled of dry leaves and  the cool autumn night. Her dark eyes met with August’s as she sat on the throne. Hewn from stone and bearing carved images of thousands of faeries intertwined with each other, the throne looked impossibly uncomfortable, but the queen seemed perfectly easeful. She traced the body of one of the faeries with her fingernail, bringing the carved being to life and letting it dance in her hand. Minerva watched; August was transfixed by the queen and her power. The tiny villagers began to dance around the throne, chanting.

“August.” whispered Minerva. The spell cast by the beautiful queen preoccupied August’s mind. His hand had gone for a scroll, but he made no move to unroll the parchment. Minerva weighed her options. She knew her powers were limited; she had placed the limits on them herself. She wouldn’t use the scroll; she couldn’t bring herself to cast a spell ever again. She felt herself slipping into the past, her mind wandering back to one night, seven years ago. Minerva forced herself back into the present; the queen was looking at her quizzically.

“What did you do, dear?” asked the queen in a motherly tone. Minerva had to decide what to do quickly, before she gave the queen a chance to learn anything she could use against her. The queen blew softy on the faerie in her hand and it turned to rose-scented dust. Minerva pulled at August’s arm and rushed at the startled queen. She crashed into the queen with all her weight and sent her hard into the throne’s back. August fell to the ground, dazed but free of the spell. He tried to stand, but his head was swimming. Pawing at the scroll, he tried to remember what he was doing here and why. Five tiny people rushed at him with pitch forks; each sting brought a wave of pain and rememberance. He brushed the people aside and unravelled the ten foot long scroll. The parchment bore an intricate painting of a labyrinth. Agust struggled to remember the words he needed to recite, his concentration breaking when he chanced to see Minerva trapped in a series of roots that flowed from the queen’s hands.

“The thousand eyes of Uggthac are on you,” he yelled, “the master of the maze calls you.” August repeated the words, louder and louder. He could feel the power swelling slowly from the scroll. He saw one of Minerva’s hands grab for a rock; in a moment, the rock crashed hard on the queen’s skull. The queen fell to the ground, pulling the root entangled Minerva with her. August continued his invocation, drowing out the little peoples’ attempt to counter his spell. The roots relaxed as the queen began to fade from reality. The tiny people screamed in anguish as he winked out of existence completely.

“What did you do?” they demanded, brandishing their tiny farming implements. August pulled a small parchment out of his coat and placed a drop of ink on it, smearing it into a magical symbol of rememberance. Minerva stood up, brushing herself off and combing the leaves from her hair.

“Remember who you are.” he said as the symbol began to glow. A scent of rosemary filled the air as a wave of energy pulsed from the symbol. Slowly, the little people remembered that once, they were not so little. Sadness filled their faces as they remembered lives long abandoned and forgotten. “She got into your minds and made you her subjects.” said August. The silent shame of the little people brought him his answer. Minerva rested her hand on August’s shoulder. He looked up to see sadness in her expressive blue eyes.

“You didn’t need to do that.” she said softly as they left the melancholy village.

“I did. They had a right to know.”

“But you can’t undo the spell she put on them, can you?”

“No, the magic is too old and powerful. I’d fall into a horrible debt calling on such strength.” August felt disappointed with himself. He looked at the scroll with the labyrinth and saw a tiny speck moving through its drawn corridors. “One hundred years isn’t enough for her.” he said finally. Minerva lost herself in thought. She knew why August did what he did; he had lost one friend to a monster in the past and wouldn’t let it happen again. However, she knew it didn’t have to end the way it did. If only I used the spell instead. I could have trapped her and freed August from her spell. I could have stopped him…

They sat in the station wagon and gloom blossomed. Neither of them spoke through the ride back to Woonsocket. When August shifted the car into park and turned the engine off, he sunk into his seat.

“I got carried away. This was supposed to be just an investigation, not a removal. It was supposed to be a fun escape and nothing else. “I go get myself entranced, then I start slinging curses and spells.”

“Don’t worry. I would have done the same thing if it came down to it.” said Minerva, “Don’t beat yourself up about it.”

“I guess you’re right. I just feel so bad.”

“You were right; the people had a right to know. Maybe there was a kinder way to tell them. The queen was aggressive and you did what you know how to do. I’m the one that’s wrong. I should have cast that spell.” Minerva sighed and sunk into her seat. August studied the pensive expression on her’s face. He just didn’t know how to respond.

“You want some ice cream?” popped out of his mouth.

“Sure.” responded Minerva. August sat up and started the car again. He drove down the street to a small ice cream stand. Somehow, as they sat there eating their ice cream cones, everythng started to seem all right again.

“What should we do tomorrow?” asked August.

“Hopefully, we get a call. The electric bill’s going to be coming in.” said Minerva, punctuating her sentence with a bite of the crunchy ice cream cone.   

This is a story based on a real place in Connecticut. I thought I was going to have time to finish it all in one post, but unfortunately I need to get up early in the morning. I hope to post the rest before the end of the weekend.

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August stared at his laptop in disbelief. He closed the lid and swiveled his chair so he could face Minerva, who was sitting on the floor, surrounded by dusty books.

“Can you believe it? No e-mails. Not one.” August whined drearily. He had been in demand as an investigator of all things supernatural since 1999. Back then, he was an unsuspecting art student, but since then he abandoned his studies of the human form for the study of occult tomes. His specialty was binding and exorcising; Minerva was much more sensative to psychic vibrations than he was. She also was much more patient.

“I’m sure even Superman has his off days. Dr. Doom can’t trouble Gotham everyday.” Minerva smiled widely as aggravation spread across August’s face. He loved comic books almost as much as he loved hunting for ghosts; Minerva knew just how to provoke him.

“Superman doesn’t live in Gotham. Dr. Doom is not even in the same universe.” said August, exaspirated. “All I want is a case. Something to sink my teeth into. I can’t just sit here.”

“Then why don’t you dust the bookshelves. Some of these volumes of Tobin’s Spirit Guide are caked with dust.” Minerva ran a finger along the cover of volume two-hundred and twelve and showed August her dust laden finger.

“I don’t want to do something mundane. I want some action. I need to get out there and find something.” Minerva was tiring of August’s rantings and wished that he would find himself a girlfriend, or something; anything to get his mind off of work for a few hours. She pulled a copy of The Most Haunted Places in New England, a thin soft covered book of about two hundred pages, and tossed it at August’s feet.

“How about a field trip? Some hiking, fresh air, and all that.” August picked up the miniscule volume and leafed through it inattentively.

“Where are you thinking?” he asked.

“Connecticut. The Little People Village. Page one-seventeen. It’s a bit of a ride, but it might be worth it. Some weird stuff happened there. A guy built these tiny houses for the voices he heard in his head, and then he built a throne. After his death, a cult used the site for ritual murders. Place hasn’t been on the radar since 2000, when the current owners of the land destroyed the throne.” Minerva closed the copy of Marduk and Other Divinities Amongst Us and put it back on the shelf. She picked up the other books she had littered the office floor with and put them back on the shelf as well. August read the entry about the Little People Village and felt intrigued enough to undertake the hour and a half drive to get there.

Leaving their tiny office, which sat above a weiner shop on Woonsocket’s Main Street, the pair looked like an odd couple. Minerva was wearing a soft pink peacoat and her long, blonde hair was waving like a spider web in the wind. August was dressed in his usual work attire; a black kilt made out of thick cotton and a black duster. His dark hair was recently cropped into a curly mass atop his head. They walked down the street past several brick buildings with glass store fronts. Some were normal businesses; shops selling antiques, some small restaurants, and a karate studio. However, others were simply facades for less mundane enterprises…

They piled into August’s station wagon, in the back of which was a tangle of wires, books, camera equipment, scrolls, and a massive altar top from one of the city’s abandoned churches. As he started the car, Minerva’s cell phone exploded into the chorus of ABBA’s Dancing Queen. While Minerva talked unceasingly to her sister, August guided the automobile towards the highway. They headed Westward on thickly forested highways.

“Connecticut lasts forever.” said August when Minerva finally finished with her call. “It’s like Connecticut is a wormhole or something. You get so far, then suddenly you’re right where you started, or at least at a place that looks just like where you started.”

“It isn’t that bad. At least it’s nice and green. I bet it’s pretty in the fall around here.” Minerva contentedly watched the scenery pass by while August concentrated on the road ahead. Silence slowly filled the car. Neither was uncomfortable; they had been working together for nearly ten years now. They rode on in silence, listening only to the hum of the car’s engine because the radio died years before.

“Do you think we could have been something?” asked August, breaking the quiet. Minerva was surprised by the question. August, thinking he needed to clarify the question, said “I mean, do you think we could have been an item? If things were different?” Minerva took a moment to digest the question.

“Why?” she asked, evading the question.

“I just found myself thinking about it. What if? You know, those questions bug me. ’What if I never came to Woonsocket and saw the shuggoths?’ ‘What if I hadn’t met Ana? or Sarah?’ Sometimes, when I’m just sitting there, I think of these things. I don’t mean anything by it. I know you’re in a relationship and all, but I was just thinking how weird this would be if we were, you know, a couple.”

“Do you really think it would be weirder? We’ve seen some strange stuff over the years, and couple or not, I don’t think it would be weirder.” responded Minerva.

“Well, I just don’t know if I’d want to let you risk yourself going out like this if you were more than just a friend.” said August. His mind wandered back to the day that Sarah had saved him, throwing herself at that thing. 

“I don’t know if I should be offended by that.” remarked Minerva, trying to be playful. Seeing the grim expression on August’s face, she changed the conversation. “So, this village. Are you excited to see it?”

The smile returned to August’s face as he nodded his head. “Yes.” At the end of the long ride, August was himself again. They parked the car in the parking lot of a Wal-Mart. August took a sheaf of parchment from the rear of the station wagon, as well as his digital camera and a small, wooden writing set. They made their way on foot through the quaint town; locals looked at them suspiciously, half-knowing why they had come to visit. In the late afternoon, they arrived at the path that, according to The Most Haunted Places in New England, would wind into the woods and lead to the Little People Village. The path was hard to follow, but after fifteen minutes of wandering, Minerva spotted a tiny house. August took out his camera and took a picture of the knee high cottage.

“Windows. Tiny windows!” marvelled Minerva as she bent down to look at the exquisitely detailed house. It was carved from stone; intricate patterns of shingles covered the roof and when she looked in a window, she saw that Persian rugs were skillfully hewn on the floors. “How did he do this?” she asked out loud. August heard her, but could offer no answer. His eyes were drawn deeper into the forest, where a stone throne sat on a small hill, surrounded by a dozen detailed domiciles.

“I thought you said that was destroyed.” said August as he took steps away from the distant object. “Minnie, Do you think we should leave?”

Minerva took her attention from the tiny house and let her focus drift. Her vision slowly blurred and she felt herself expanding into a thin sheet of consciousness that canvassed the area. August quieted his thoughts and heard a squeaky voice.

“Greetings, friend.” said the voice. August stumbled forward, startled. Minerva’s focus fell to a tiny man, about the size of her thumb. Other tiny men and women started to swarm out from the houses. August held up his camera and snapped several pictures. He started to think about wards that he could use to keep the little people away, but none came to mind.

“Hello,” responded Minerva in a friendly tone.

“We don’t get many visitors here.” said the tiny man, “except for the Queen.”

“Queen?” asked August.

“Yes. She comes at night and takes her place upon the throne. She is our Queen and Goddess.” explained the man, “She is our Great Mother.” The other little people began to chant ‘Great Mother’.

“Who is this Queen of yours?” asked Minerva, hoping for a less general answer. 

“She called us here and had this town built for us.”

“And that is her throne.” said August, pointing at the hill.

“Yes,” replied the tiny man.

“Yes.” said a voice from behind August and Minerva. They turned to see a tall woman with green, bark splotched skin and root like hair. She wore a dress crafted from leaves and a crown of antlers…         

El Monstruo let himself sink deeply into the warm bath water, but not so deep as to get his mask wet.  When he asked if he could use Rita’s bath tub, she insisted that he take the mask off. Despite himself, he told her that he would take it off. While he didn’t feel right about taking the mask off, he was starting to feel itchy; sometimes, it felt like the mask was crawling on his face. He tugged at the laces and pulled the mask off. How long has it been? Two months all ready. I wonder… El Monstruo pulled himself from the tub; dripping water, he walked to the mirror. Apprehensively, he looked at himself in the mirror.

Rita was sitting on the porch watching the tide coming in. She was proud that she stayed ‘just friends’ with el Monstruo. He was beautiful in his own way. He was tender and caring with children, and he had grown to be extremely gregarious since starting his job at the Freeky Tiki. Arouna had confided in Rita that he wasn’t sure if the burly man was the right fit for the restaurant. However, el Monstruo’s presence warded off any chances of drunken patrons starting a brawl and soon he found himself working in the kitchen. Rita was quite happy with the man that el Monstruo was becoming; Grant was meek and mousy, while el Monstruo was quite the opposite. Her quiet satisfaction was interrupted when she heard el Monstruo yell out.

Rita rushed into the seaside condo and rapped on the bathroom door urgently.

“What’s wrong!” she asked, praying that there was nothing wrong at all. El Monstruo didn’t answer. “El-Mo, what’s wrong? I heard you yell.” She put her ear to the door and could hear sobbing. Her imagination painted the picture of a suicide; in her mind’s eye, Rita imagined el Monstruo laying in her tub with his wrists cut deeply. She couldn’t bear the idea of him giving up when everything was going so well. She started to open the door and el Monstruo slammed it shut, dropping his weight against it. Rita pounded on the door desperately.

“You can’t see!” said el Monstruo pleadingly, “I need to put my mask back on.” El Monstruo grabbed his mask and slid it over his head once more. He wrapped a towel around himself and opened the bathroom door to see Rita with tears in her eyes. She threw her arms around his neck and sobbed. He folded his arms around her waist and held her close.

“I was so worried about you.” she said while weeping. “I thought you killed yourself. I was so worried!”

“I’m sorry,” replied el Monstruo, “I just took my mask off.” El Monstruo’s voice trailed off as he lost himself in Rita’s embrace. She smelled nice, like she was kissed by the sun and massaged by the sea breeze. She took her arms from around his neck and took a step away. To el Monstruo, it seemed like she had suddenly became wary and frightened. In truth, she felt his hardening manhood pushing at her from beneath the towel and realized what she was doing. When he saw her turn away, el Monstruo apologized even though he was unsure what he was apologizing for.

“No, you don’t need to apologize. It isn’t your fault. It’s my fault. I just…” Rita’s voice faltered and she felt herself starting to panic. She didn’t know what to say, so she didn’t say anything. The pair stood silently for a minute or more, searching for the right thing to say.

“This is awkward. I just don’t know what to say.” said Rita weakly.

“I’m sorry” responded el Monstruo, frustrating Rita. He turned to go back into the bathroom and Rita took a couple steps forward, and then she noticed that the mask was not tied. In the gaps between the laces, she saw that el Monstruo had black, curly hair and that his neck looked red in color. She stepped back, slightly shocked. El Monstruo shut the door and started to towel himself off. Rita tried to convince herself that el Monstruo’s skin wasn’t actually red under the mask. It’s just my imagination. He just Grant under that mask. But Grant didn’t have black hair.She was still thinking when el Monstruo came back out of the bathroom dressed in white linen shirt and pants.

“Thank you.” he said without much feeling. He tried to stride towards the door, but Rita stood in his way.

“What made you scream?” she asked him directly. Perhaps not the most tactful approach, but I need to know. I need to know what’s under that mask.

“Please don’t be afraid, and please, don’t tell anyone.” El Monstruo questioned his reasoning. He would show her what he saw, and hopefully she would still talk to him. Hopefully she will keep it secret. El Monstruo took off his mask, and Rita felt her knees buckle.

“What happened to you?” she asked as she studied el Monstruo’s face. It was deep red and his awkward smile exhibited a mouth filled with jagged fangs. A wiry beard was growing on his chin and his hair was matted. She could see tiny lumps emerging on his forehead.

“I don’t know.” said el Monstruo truthfully. Rita extended a hand to touch his face; her touch excited el Monstruo’s emotions. He hadn’t felt a woman’s hand on his face in so very long, however she withdrew her hand swiftly.

“Your face is scalding hot!” she exclaimed, trying to cool her hand by waving it about. El Monstruo’s head tipped downward and he felt something growing in his stomach. It was despair, hate, anger, and love all at once. He had truly become a monster; although he didn’t know how he became a monster, he knew how beautiful women usually treat monsters. He also knew how most stories about monsters normally ended. Rita considered what she should do next. She felt the urge to run from el Monstruo, but she also felt the need to help him. He looked at her sheepishly and simply said that he was sorry.  

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…

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.”