Sharon’s eyes flashed open. Her vision blurred, her head throbbed, and her ears ringed with a wretched intensity. She glided her hand over her forehead and felt something wet and warm. She pulled back her hand. Her palm was a bloody mess dripping dark red and bits of hair and skin. Not good. She looked around. The former hollowed-out tree had exploded all over the snow—sharp fragments and wood-chips scattered everywhere. She gazed up the mountain. No Mount Everest but at least two stories up from where she rolled off. It was a miracle she was still alive. She’d be dead if not for the snow cushioning her fall.
Sharon scanned the woods, no hungry monsters in sight. She rose to her feet with a bit of effort. Her internal balance was off and the woods were spinning but her vision was clearing up and she could walk. She checked herself, dozens of bruises, cuts, and a nasty gash on her forehead, but no broken bones at least. She stumbled to a large pine tree and rested her weight against it, catching her breath.
A pale white hand reached out from behind the tree and grabbed her, covering her mouth and pulled her back behind the tree.
She tried screaming, but just a faint whimper squeaked out. She reached to grab her attacker’s arm but fell forward instead, the hand against her mouth passing right through her like a rush of artic wind. Regaining her balance, she spun back to face her foe.
A boy, around thirteen, with ink-black hair, bleached skin, and phantom dark eyes stood before her in a black hospital gown. The boy raised his finger to his lips, signaling her to keep silent.
Sharon nodded in a slight petrified gesture.
A twig snapped nearby.
She peeked out from behind the tree and spotted one of the hooved wolves sniffing the ground where she fell. It was licking red stained snow with its hot leathery tongue, lapping up her blood.
A moment later and I’d be dead. She returned her gaze to him. You saved me.
Two more hooved wolves arrived and took up the search. An uneasy silence filled the cold air as they circled her crash site. Sharon hated how quiet they were, monsters devouring even sound. They knew she was close. Her scent was everywhere. No chance in hell I can wait them out. Not in this weather. I’d freeze to death first. Besides, it was just a matter of time before they found her and the boy. There were only so many trees to search. I need to make a run for it and soon.
A shrieking squawk shattered the silence like a clay jar. A white pheasant bird darted out of the bushes near the hooved wolves—spooked by their presence—and flew into the pink sky. The hooved wolves broke from their search and focused on the bird.
The boy saw his chance. He grabbed Sharon by the hand and sprinted off with her.
The hooved wolves turned and pursued.
The boy led her through a dense crop of trees. Their twisted branches clawed at Sharon like barbwire, ripping at her skin and snagging her clothes. He passed right through them, untouched. The branches sliced him in half one second and the next he emerged in one-piece. It was as if he was made of living white smoke.
Sharon received a face full of branches, knocking her down and sending her tumbling over a small cliff above a riverbank.
She landed hard onto ice. The ice shattered. She plunged into the freezing water.
Sharon splashed at a frantic pace, clinging to sheets of ice and breaking them apart with the force of her weight. She fought like a madwoman to keep her head above water, her vision distorted by the waves that crashed against her face. All she knew was that she had to make it to the opposite shore she entered from.
Up ahead she spotted a small, old reed boat frozen in place in the middle of the river. She swam over to it and pulled herself out of the water and onto the boat. She shot a desperate glance back to the riverbanks.
The hooved wolves paced around the edge, helpless to pursue her. They watched with hungry eyes as the reed boat broke free of the ice and took off with the currents of the river.
Sharon plopped back against the bottom of the reed boat, exhausted, wet, gasping for air, and shivering uncontrollably. She huddled herself, cradling her body to conserve her body heat.
The full moon hung in the pink sky, a hunter’s moon of bad omens, its red-tinted glow basking her in a halo of crimson. An evil eye fixed on her.
Am I dreaming or awake? Maybe both… Maybe I’m sleepwalking through a nightmare made real.
The crow descended to a perch on the head skiff of the boat.
“Come to gloat?” Sharon asked, her teeth chattering, her head dizzy, and her lips numb. “You planned this all out, didn’t you?”
The crow just ignored her as he preened himself.
“If I fall asleep you’re gonna invade my brain again, aren’t you? I won’t give you that pleasure.” She let a sneer break free, just to spite the crow. “So, is this what you do for fun? Trap little naive girls in Middle Earth? What, you got bored with eating stale french-fries off the freeway?”
The crow gave out a rude caw.
Sharon’s expression grew somber. “You’re some kind of ghost. I got that much. But whose ghost?”
The crow gave no answer, only a silent intelligent stare.
***
Two circular lenses from a pair of binoculars mirrored Sharon’s image back along with the shimmering sunlight.
“And who might you be, gorgeous?” asked a young man perched under the shadows of the treetops. His red painted lips curled into a Cheshire Cat leer as his red eyes studied her every gesture. A glowing red crystal sparkled in the sunlight as it hung from his silver chain necklace. The teenaged youth looked like he just stepped out of a hardcore metal concert, what with his black leather pants, red spiked hair, and gothic clown face paint.
The young man stepped off the top branch of the tallest tree on the cliff above the riverbanks. He did not fall but continued to walk on the air as if there was an invisible floor beneath his feet. The wind swirled around him and he levitated down, the tips of his toes connecting with the snow as gracefully as any ballerina.
A red-tinted astral projection flamed up from the nothingness in the air behind him, forming an image of a mysterious cloaked man. His face hidden, shrouded in the darkness under his hood.
The Cloaked Man’s voice boomed out, distorted like an antique radio. “Joy, someone new has arrived.”
Joy remained facing ahead, peering through his binoculars. “I know. I’m looking at her right now. Any idea who she is?”
The Cloaked Man gave no answer, withholding in his silence.
“Do you think she might complicate things? I mean she’s just a girl, around the same age as me when I became one of the enlightened. But it seems she came through the mirror alone. Which could mean—”
“It’s unlikely she’s like us,” said the Cloaked Man, cutting Joy short. “Or like her.” He paused for a moment to collect his thoughts. “Even so, I don’t want to take chances. Bring her to me.”
Joy adjusted his binoculars, zooming in to get a better view of Sharon. His smile widened, curling up his powdered white face. “Funny, she looks American. Morrie might have sent her to check up on me. If that’s the case, then the old fart is getting impatient... or desperate. Either way, I’ll find out.”
“Good, see that you do.” The Cloaked Man’s image faded, dying like a candle’s flame snuffed out of existence and returning back to the nothingness from which it came.
***
“No, maybe I’m wrong. Maybe you’re the Devil,” Sharon said, glaring back at the crow. “Maybe I’m in hell, punishment for abandoning my faith. Funny thing is I still don’t feel like repenting.”
The crow took off, flapping and cawing above her.
“What’s wrong?” She sat up and got her answer when she spotted the trees on the riverbanks moving at an alarming speed. No, I’m moving. There was a waterfall in the distance ahead and closing in. “Ah, hell...”
She dove her hands into the freezing water and paddled against the current. But after a few strokes she jerked her hands back, the pain too intense. A
nd even if the water wasn’t freezing, the effort was still hopeless. The reed boat was moving too fast and the cold had sapped most of her strength. All she could do was brace herself as the current sucked the reed boat over the edge.
Sharon tumbled into the rapids, her body thrashing around like a ragdoll, scraping against the rocks as she sunk to the depths of the riverbed. The air got knocked out of her lungs and ice water took its place.
The only things Sharon could see as she descended to the depths: dying sunlight piercing the violent crashing of waves and a distorted figure plunging into the water toward her.
***
To her utter amazement, Sharon found herself—dripping wet and blurry eyed—in the arms of a knight in shining armor. She squinted the knight’s image into focus. A golden face stared back. She tried to speak but instead coughed up the remaining water from her lungs.
The knight laid her down, drew a sword, and cut the rope around his waist. He’d tied a line to a tree, a safety rope used to pull their heavy weight from the water. Then, hearing a rustling in the woods, he spun around and took a fighting stance.
“What’s wrong?” asked Sharon.
The knight stood silent with a firm gaze ahead.
Sharon followed the knight’s line of sight into the woods.
Three hooved wolves stalked out, chattering and hissing. Hot drool dripped from their exposed fangs.
Sharon scrambled, searching anything that could be used as a weapon.
The largest hooved wolf charged and leaped for Sharon.
She found a large piece of drift wood and thrusted the wet sharp log forward in a weak, desperate attempt to protect herself.
The large hooved wolf let out a high-pitched yelp as the knight plunged his blade into its shoulder, scrapping bone but missing anything vital. It twisted midair and landed on its feet as well as any house cat. Another hooved wolf made a beeline toward him. The knight swung the sword back, striking the hooved wolf’s throat, cutting into flesh and bone. Blood sprayed, coating his armor and golden facemask.
The hooved wolf died within seconds, slumping down and pulling the sword with it. The knight tried yanking his sword out but the blade snagged, firmly stuck in bone. The third wolf charged at full speed and slammed its sharp antlers into his torso like a mad bull and crazed buck all in one, trying to gore the knight to death. He fell backward—losing grip of his sword. The hooved wolf pinned him to the ground, its snarling jaws searching for his throat. It got hold of a metal wrist gauntlet instead, leaving streaks of scrape marks from its teeth. The beast made another pass at the knight’s exposed throat. He wrapped arms around the hooved wolf’s neck and squeezed and twisted in a sudden violent jerk.
The sound of snapping bone echoed out into the woods.
The knight pushed the hooved wolf off him and it slid onto the snow, limp and gargling.
The gruesome sight of its fallen comrades overwhelmed the large hooved wolf’s hunger and nerve. It limped off into the woods, disappearing with the cold wind.
The knight got up, brushed off the snow and fur from his armor and green tunic, and stepped over to Sharon.
“Bothersome little devils, huh? You’re lucky I found you when I did. Ever since this endless winter rolled in the reekers have been a little too daring,” said the knight. “They usually don’t attack people in broad daylight. Ummm...” He gazed down at Sharon.
Sharon’s still had her log up, clinging it tightly in a death-grip as it rattled in her shaking hands.
“You can put that down now.”
Sharon broke from her trance-like stare, focused on her heroic savior, and smiled wide with a twitching left eye. “Maybe I’m still dreaming or maybe I’m stuck in a fairy tale. Either way, please tell me you’re my prince charming come to rescue me from this nightmare.”
The knight removed his golden facemask to reveal—not a man—but a gorgeous young woman underneath with pale gray eyes. No more than a couple years Sharon’s senior. Her long blonde hair fell as she removed her helmet and descended past her waist. “Sorry to disappoint you,” she said dryly, extending her hand to Sharon.
Sharon took her hand. “You’re a girl...”
“So, it would seem.” She helped Sharon to her feet.
All the blood rushed to Sharon’s head. Her world spun around her, blackening, and she collapsed into the knight’s arms.
“Hang on...”
The last words Sharon could make out before the ringing in her ears muted all other sounds and the darkness took her.
***
From atop a branch high up in the canopy the crow spied down, observing the knight carry Sharon off. Satisfied, he spread his wings and took to the air. He glided through the pink sky retracing his path back to the temple. Once he found the temple he circled, flew down to the highest balcony, and descended to a soundless perch on a black gauntlet. The gauntlet belonged to a cloaked man draped in blood-red crimson, his face shrouded by the shadows of his hood. A single shining red crystal rested on his chest, hanging from a silver chain necklace. The Cloaked Man observed the falling snow with red glowing eyes, burning with all the intensity of hell itself.
“You’ve done well,” the Cloaked Man said as he stroked the crow. “Now, at last, the final piece of the puzzle is within my grasp. And the next phase can begin.”
CHAPTER 9
On the Edge of Forever
1414 A.D.
Flames flickered from a campfire, popping and sizzling, licking the falling snow with glowing red tongues, and birthing darkness and rising toxic ash into the star infested night. Huts of dried mud and clay walls, of straw roofs and log pillars, spiraled out from the campfire. They formed the village of the Western Clans. Now an empty ghost town of muted voices and forgotten nameless souls. Off in the distance, a man withdrew from a hut and violently vomited all over the snow beneath his feet.
Eric hunched over in pain, wiping the leftover rancid smelling puke from his lips with the back of his sleeve. The overwhelming taste of stomach acid scorched his gums and turned his stomach sick once more. He fought back the urge to vomit again, quelling the muscle spasms of his gut with a tightening of his abdomen. He glanced back at the hut. The animal skin and fur door flap danced to the blizzard’s song, lifting aside and exposing the corpses within. Their terror ridden faces frozen in mid expression. Mouths gaping, eyes sunken, charcoal tongues protruding, and lips peeled back to reveal full sets of discolored teeth. These poor souls whose end had come in the dead of night, lay like ten-thousand-year-old mummies in the snow.
Eric’s knees buckled, tremors traveling through his hands and feet, his whole body trembling. “T-t-they’re all dead,” he said, his voice brim with shock and disbelief.
A shadow moved over Eric.
He gazed up. An enormous, black as roasted wood, Clydesdale horse trotted up to his side. Thunderous hooves kicked and shoveled up the snow. Wide nostrils snorted out puffs of hot white steam into the cold air. Yellow teeth gnashed against the metal bit fashioned over the powerful tongue, a symbol of the horse’s enslavement. His gaze moved up to its rider. An ominous figure looked down at Eric with all the suffocating indifference of a Roman god. Cold olive black eyes belonging to what appeared to be an eleven-year-old boy. And around that boy’s neck, a gold chain necklace with two glowing crystals, one blue and one red.
“Of course, didn’t I say there would be a price?” asked Able, his raven black hair and purple satin cape catching in the wind.
“Not like this,” said Eric. “You never said anything like this!”
“Ungrateful barbarian, you should be on your hands and knees thanking me. I just saved your life. Who else would have fished you out of that dungeon?”
“Saved me?” Eric rose from his knees. “You’ve damned me!”
Able smirked, growing amused by Eric’s theatrics. “Now, now, I never forced you to do anything. You performed the ritual all by your loathsome self.”
Eric spotted something in the corner of hi
s vision. He trudged over to the campfire, huddling above the dancing flames to steal their warmth. Gazing at the ash before the fire he fell to one knee, brushing aside the stray wood chips and smoldering hot ashes. He unearthed a doll made of straw held together with yarn knots at the ends of each limb. The doll was wrapped in a blue cloth that served as a dress and its head held two brown beads that took the place of eyes. Care and affection had been put into this toy, the love of a child.
Tears flowed down Eric’s face. “The Northern Clans were invading our lands. I had to fight.” The sounds of war filled his mind. Men yelling battle cries. Metal swords and shields clanging in opposition of one another. Arrows cutting the air and embedding themselves into soft exposed flesh. Grown men moaning and sobbing like children in pools of their own blood on the sharp ice. “Everything happened so fast... The arrow came out of nowhere... I must have blacked out... When I woke in that prison cell I...” The chorus of battle cries was overtaken by the unsettling scream of the old woman in the prison cell. Her scream overtaken by the monster’s blood-curdling shrill.
Eric pressed his hand against his stomach, the spot where the arrow struck just two days earlier, the blood dry and his wound healed. He gazed up with pleading eyes. “I didn’t have a choice, Able.”
The boy smiled down at him from atop his monstrous black horse, the same smile a parent would give to an overacting child. “Are you always this melodramatic?” He laughed, and when his laughter dried up his face tightened and grew somber and still. “Don’t worry, Westerner, the guilt will subside in time. Once you realize the truth. For an immortal, there is no absolution. No final judgment. For us, there is no God.”
In that moment, the gravity of eternity suddenly donned on Eric. He was never going to grow old, get sick, and die. While everyone else around him would. He should have felt relief then; the veil of ever looming death had been lifted from his being. He was free, like no man before him apart from this child. He should never again feel fear. But he did. No, worse than fear. Emptiness so vast and all-encompassing that it was crushing his soul with its weight, its burden, his burden, turning his core black and leaving only unquenchable void. He was standing on the edge of forever, about to take his first step, and in the face of forever all things lost meaning.
The Crow Behind the Mirror_Book One of the Mirror Wars Page 7