by J. Sselxuyt
I nod that is it, and he spouts the prophecy flawlessly:
“When the air calms down,
And rain slows on Water’s door.
Comes the time for all to wail.
A deadly new enemy to abhor.
“A Generator comes forth,
To save all or completely fail.
A foe that’s timeless,
Even on our life's long scale.
“Colors swirl to hide our nemesis,
All destruction, he strives to make.
Only the blind can resist his will,
Unless his choice is a mistake.
“A blade to kill, and a blade to save,
A talisman to forge the path between.
To kill and save, or save and kill,
One path to both, yet choices lean.
“A pillar made, a pillar killed,
A pillar formed, all by his hand,
The powerful and Earth will quake,
When before him, they stand.
“Our hero’s life shall meet its end,
Unless he strikes the deadly beast.
His friends shall fall or rise,
Until all his efforts have ceased.”
I shiver as the words pour forth from him in his baritone voice, somehow sounding direr.
“How did you know that?” Becky asks, and I realize that the women hadn’t told it to him.
“I’ve known that prophecy for a long time. I never thought I’d see it come to pass though.” His eyes scan the room before coming back to rest on me. “I’ve long known about what you call the Shadow World and its denizens.”
“And what side do you stand on?” I ask, trying to regain some control over the situation.
“I share in some of the understandings of both the Daughters and the Knights, but don’t believe in their philosophy or execution,” he answers after a moment’s thought. I realize that that was no real answer, but before I can ask for more clarification, he asks, “You mentioned some other people that I don’t see here. Angela and Arethusa?” The question comes off as off-handed, but something tells me it is anything but.
I mentally curse myself for mentioning them in my anger, but I don’t intend to tell him anything more than I have to. There’s something about him that rubs me wrong, and despite his easy attitude, I don’t trust him. At least Lisa and Becky aren’t swooning over him like last time. A quick glance at Brooke and Ondine show that they’re slightly wary as well, and I realize they haven’t spoken since I got here.
“Oh, Angela is shopping I think, and Areth is—“ Lisa pipes up, answering before I can stop her, but I’m able to cut her off.
“Areth is on an errand for me,” I complete Lisa’s sentence, not giving away anything.
Reverend Chilton frowns at my statement, and for some reason I get the feeling he just became very angry.
“So, she, or rather they aren’t with you right now?” His voice is calm, but I get the impression he is more interested in Areth than Angela. Something nags the back of my mind about that, but as usual, I can’t seem to figure out what while in the moment.
“They’re free spirits,” I tell him. “I don’t control their movements.”
“Free spirit?” White hot rage enters his tone, and I can almost feel heat pouring forth from his nearly blazing eyes. All pretense of calm is lost as he glares at me, walking over and standing above me. “How?! How can she be a free spirit?”
Something seems to click into place, but before I can finish putting two and two together, the door opens up, and Areth flutters in.
“Lyden, I talked with Gaia,” she starts, ignorant of the mood in the room. “She said she would like to talk to you, and will send someone to escort us safely to her in about a month.” She stops as she finally realizes something isn’t right, and I see the color drain from her golden tinged face as she stares at Reverend Michael Chilton. Her wings give out, and she plummets to the floor, landing in a heap. She stares horror struck at the religious man, and it takes her a few seconds before she can find her voice.
“Marchosias. . . .” The name is barely above a whisper, but in the silence of the room, it’s heard easily. “No!”
Areth apparently finds some reserve of strength as she gets up, and flees towards the door.
Reverend Chilton is faster however as his body blurs and a winged wolf with a serpent for a tail catches the fairy’s legs in his yellowish teeth.
The demon shakes his head, flinging the hapless fairy back at me, her golden form striking me in the chest before she lands in my lap.
I stare in terror at the wolf shaped demon as he glares at me. His eyes are still brown, and his tail hisses at us.
“It would seem that I underestimated you, Generator. A mistake I won’t make twice.” The wolf shakes his head, sending ripples through his fur and flapping his wings. “I don’t dare kill you because of the prophecy, but I dearly want to. What should I do with you?”
“L-let us go and pretend this never happened?” I stutter, trying to sound brave, but my voice comes out just above a squeak.
“Oh-ho! Even now you still have some backbone. No, I’m afraid I can’t set such precedence. You will both have to be punished for this, but how to do it?”
He paces back and forth in a very wolf-like manor as he deliberates.
I glance at the other women in the room, and see that they’re just as terrified as I am, though Brooke and Ondine are hiding it better than Becky, who is in tears.
“Leave the other women out of it,” I say, glad that this time my voice has some more strength behind it. “They had nothing to do with me deceiving you.”
“Hmm, you’re right,” the demon murmurs, his voice dangerously calm and I think he may be reasonable. “Unfortunately, you’ve just shown me how important they are to you, and I really want your punishment to mean something.” The winged wolf stops pacing, turns to smile at me, and that look on a wolf’s features terrifies me all over again. “In fact, I’m going to include everyone who means anything to you.” He begins to laugh. Let me tell you, if a wolf with a griffon’s wings, and a snake for a tail laughs at you, give up all hope because life is about to become a lot more terrifying. “You were worried about the Daughters of Respite getting you, and I think I might just help you out. I’m going to send you where no one can reach you. I can’t kill you, but I can still get my revenge.”
Marchosias howls, making the pictures on the walls rattle, and even the floorboards creak as the howl continues. My heart beats so fast, I’m afraid it’s going to burst. It doesn’t help when the walls tear themselves apart, pictures begin to fly about the room in a wind only they can feel, and even the floor drops away in pieces. The chair I’m sitting on drops out from beneath me, and I can feel Areth’s tiny hands gripping my shirt as we get spun about. I see the other four women tumbling around me, and I realize that Marchosias is the center of the maelstrom. In the distance I can barely make out other forms, caught up in the demon’s storm. The wolf-like beast continues to howl, and Arethusa is flung away from me, swallowed into the maelstrom.
Brooke, Lisa, Becky, and Ondine grow smaller as they’re sent away from me. Growing dizzy I feel a different darkness begin to consume me, and despite my best efforts, I pass out as my mind is stripped away.
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Chapter 18
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A Land of Fantasy: Part 1
My eyes are slow to open, my head feeling full of cotton. Groggily I look up, seeing a partly cloudy sky above me. I find that I’m lying in a field of what appears to be wheat.
“How did I get here?” I mumble, sitting up and holding my head in my hands. The last few moments refuse to come to me as though they’re being filtered through a haze. Did I piss someone off? Why do I feel as if I’d been so afraid? Ugh, I can’t seem to focus.
Gaining my feet, I check over myself, verifying my armor and sword are in place.
Wait. . . . Armor and a sword? Why doesn’t that seem right. . .? Pain lances through my skull, and I decide to worry about that at another time. I know it’s important, but I can’t seem to care enough. I must have gotten really drunk last night at the tavern, I decide. But then, how did I end up out here in the middle of nowhere?
The joints of my supple jerkin, made of thick brown leather, seem to be in order. My blade, Muramasa, feels tight in his sheath. Gently, I pull up on the hilt, clearing only a small portion of the chrome-like slightly curved blade. There is no mistaking the bloodthirsty feel of the edge, and I immediately shove him back home.
Shaking myself to get rid of the rotten feeling, I wish I could just leave the blade behind. Every time I’ve tried, however, I find it attached to my hip a little while later. The katana only stays off me when he knows I intend to put him back on later. Why is it so easy to remember some things, but not others? I remember having this cursed blade for years, but I can’t seem to recall last night.
Shielding my eyes against the midday sun, I look off into the distance. Every direction looks the same, until I spot a small shack to the east.
Whatever happened to me seems to still be affecting me as I trip over my own sword a few times before I can keep my feet under me. By the time I reach the shack however, I’m walking as if I’ve always had the sword on my hip. I still can’t remember my past, other than that my sword is dangerous, and that I’m a wanderer. Well, all swords are dangerous, and right now I’m wondering where the hell I am.
Of course I’ve always had a sword on my hip. Why does everything seem so odd as though my entire life is somehow skewed?
“What can I do for you, Stranger?” a gray haired man asks, coming around the side of the shack, an axe in his hands. He looks very tired, bags thick under his eyes, and a slump to his shoulders that bespeaks many weary years of life.
“Thomas?” I ask, thinking the man looks familiar, but the moment is gone before I can grasp it.
“Eh?” he looks at me in confusion. “How’d you know my name?” He hefts the axe again, a little more menacingly. I know he’s no match for Muramasa and me, but I don’t feel like feeding my sword.
“Sorry,” I tell the wary man, raising my hands in front of me to show I mean no harm. “Just something that crossed my mind.” My stomach growls, and I have no idea how long it’s been since last I ate. “Say, you wouldn’t have any work I could do for you in return for a bit of food, do you?”
He squints as he looks sharply at me, trying to decide if I’m a threat to him or not. I am, of course, but I try to act as if I’m not.
Finally he grunts before giving me an answer. “You look like a nice strong lad. I don’t know why, but I feel as though I can trust you.” He moves the axe to his shoulder, and I can see that it’s rather dull. Kind of like the old man, I think, but don’t know where that thought came from. “I’ve got some wheat that needs to be culled, and since the Lord of Light saw fit to give me a rebellious daughter instead of a hardy son, I could use your help.” He eyes Muramasa on my hip, and I can already see the wheels turning.
“I’m afraid my blade isn’t fit for cutting wheat, but if you have a scythe I could borrow, I’ll see what I can do with that,” I tell him before he can ask. He wouldn’t like the consequences if I pulled my blade out. For that matter, I wouldn’t like the consequences!
He grunts again and nods his head to the back of the shack. Heading back, I find a rusted scythe, and sigh. This is going to be a lot of work.
The farmer has to teach me how to properly use the blade, but I catch on quickly enough and get lost in the work.
“Ho!” Thomas yells, thankfully pulling me from my thoughts. I’d been daydreaming about a strange orange carriage, winged women, and odd-looking houses. “Come, sit.” He shows me a plate of food. I drop the scythe where I’m at, rushing to him.
It’s probably poisoned, a voice says in my head, but I ignore it. Muramasa is always paranoid.
The food is simple fair, roots soaked in a simple broth, but as famished as I am I devour it quickly.
“You do good work,” Thomas says as he surveys his field. “Would you consider staying on? I don’t have much, but I get by, and I can promise you’ll never go hungry.”
I laugh lightly, patting the hilt of Muramasa. The older man tenses at the gesture, but relaxes when I speak. “I’m afraid I have a different destiny,” I tell him. “Maybe when I’m done with that, I’ll come back. There are worse ways to retire, than with a good honest job.”
“A destiny, huh?” he asks me. “I don’t put much stock in those.”
Kill him! Kill him now! I thump the hilt, willing Muramasa to shut up.
“Normally I’d agree with you,” I say, laughing to cover the action with the blade, “but I feel as if I have little choice.”
“Thomas!” someone yells in a panic. We both stand to look in the direction the voice had come from. I realize my right hand is tightly wrapped around Muramasa’s hilt and make a conscious effort to loosen my fingers. “Your daughter’s been kidnapped!”
The old farmer begins to curse in earnest, spitting on the ground before turning to the young boy that comes running up to us. “Who took her, Isaak?”
For some weird reason, I can’t seem to make out any features on the boy’s face. It’s not that he doesn’t have one, just that I can’t seem to see it.
“I don’t know, Thomas,” the young faceless boy states, trying to catch his breath. “He must have been some lord, though, because he was dressed all fancy, and had a couple guards. He took your daughter from the inn and rode off with her on a large black stallion.”
The older man looks sharply at the boy. “Go home Isaak. Thank you for telling me.” He turns the boy around and gives him a gentle shove.
“Are you going to go get her, Thomas? I know she can be annoying sometimes, but she always treated me well enough.” There is genuine interest in the boys tone before he leaves.
“Go home, Isaak,” the farmer repeats firmly, and the boy takes off running.
“I don’t suppose you know how to use that blade on your hip, stranger?” he asks me, looking off in the direction the boy had come from.
“Well enough, I suppose,” I tell him, and he only grunts in response. I truly hope I don’t have occasion to use the cursed blade.
He goes into his small shack, and returns a few moments later with a well-polished breastplate. A short sword sits comfortably on his hip. He looks at me self-consciously. “Don’t know why I kept these. Couldn’t part with them after the war, I guess. Too many memories.”
“Lead on,” I tell him, not truly interested in his past. “Did you let your wife know we were going?” I’m not sure why I asked that, but it seems appropriate now.
He gives me a calculating stare before answering. “You think if I had a wife, my daughter would act the way she does? No, my old lady died years ago.” He clams up, and doesn’t say another word the entire trip into town.
I’m tempted to point out that I have no idea what his daughter is like, but decide the comment isn’t worth the time.
The town, if it can be called that, is nothing more than a group of ramshackle buildings, huddling together for safety.
Thomas stops in front of a building that stands bigger than the rest. On a pole is a wooden board with two images on it. The first is of someone sleeping in a bed, stylized ‘z’s floating over his head. The second image portrays the same man in bed, but this time there is a well-endowed woman riding him, a drink in her hand.
“Your daughter was at a brothel?” I ask, wondering what type of woman we’re going to save.
“It’s not what you think, young man,” he tells me irritably. “She just likes to visit.”
Uh-huh, I think, but keep the thought to myself.
“Listen, Stranger, me and the innkeeper kind of have a history, and it ain’t so great. You mind going in and seeing what you can find out?” The way he says that, tells me he’s
a bit embarrassed about whatever their past is.
Walking through the door, I’m hit in the face with the scents of heavy drink and unwashed bodies.
“What can I do you for, Traveler?” a solicitous voice says behind me. Spinning, ready for an attack, I have to consciously relax when I see a woman in a low-cut blouse to emphasize her décolletage, and long curly blonde hair. From her demeanor, I know she’s no threat, despite what my blade tries to tell me. As with the young boy, I can’t seem to make out her face. I know this should bother me, but my head starts to hurt again. I drop it for now.
“I’ve got this one, Mara,” another voice pipes in. This time I can see the woman’s face, though that’s not the most startling aspect to her. She’s wearing tight black leather, which matches the shade of her black hair perfectly. Stiletto shoes give her some added height, and in her right hand is a coiled whip.
“Yes, Mistress,” Mara bows to the other woman, and scuttles away.
“I’m just looking for the innkeeper,” I tell the other women, slightly afraid of her.
She laughs almost wickedly before answering, “You’re in luck then, for you’ve found her.” She taps the coiled whip against her left hand as she ponders me. “You look like you can handle quite a bit.” Her brown eyes regard me hungrily. She even licks her lips.
“Um, thanks,” I reply hesitantly, “but I need to find where they took the farmer’s daughter.” Since Thomas had said he had some sort of history with this woman, I’m trying to be careful and not drop his name. Although, now that I think on it as small as this town is, she likely knows whose daughter I’m talking about anyway.
Her eyebrows knit together in scorn as she says, “You mean Thomas’s little chit? Ha! She could make a fortune working for me, but all she does is tease my customer’s, never really giving in to their demands. I guess my girls get some benefit from her being here, turning on our patrons, and allowing my girls to charge a little more. Her father can’t satisfy, though. Ha! He tried and tried, and I’ll give him points for stamina, but in the end . . . nothing.” Her dark eyes examine me again, taking in my leather armor and sword, and I see the hunger enter her eyes again. “Maybe you can satisfy me? If so, you’ll be the second.”