What does it matter? You know that I didn’t really intend to kill you. You won’t grant either!
I have been persuaded before.
Then grant one.
You must choose, Avery. …Oh. Oh, Avery, that’s a new wish there and not part of the deal. Your two original wishes, as I have already seen them. You must choose between them and not the amalgamation.
Me! The one for me!
But, Avery, you decided that with the intention to help the others with what I grant you. That’s not part of that wish. That wish is for you to live safely, with no wants or desires. To be settled in this wretched world. And you think that feeling this way will allow you to sacrifice for the others. I cannot grant that wish in good faith, because I know you won’t help them once you are made to feel safe with no wants or desires. You will be at a peace many of your species equate to indifference. Would you really settle for that?
I suppose I’ll learn to then, right. Just grant it and get out of my head.
Silence, if one ignored the birds and the stirrings of a gentle breeze. A silence that stayed until Avery released his grip and sat back. The forest sat back with him, the whole world sat on its collective laurels.
Avery wondered, but could not prove he was changed.
Upon returning to the village of survivors, he was asked again and again if he was successful. But he couldn’t’ be sure. The whole memory felt more like a daydream. Something he had lost himself in due to the prolonged ours of boredom, deprivation of sleep, and lack of real substance to eat.
“You were gone near a week, Avery,” his wife said.
“I’m not sure,” he said. Is that something indifferent?
“You must be hungry.”
He wasn’t. They insisted, so he ate what they brought him, hoping his mind would return. They pitied him, and the hopes they placed upon his shoulders. But they stopped asking him if his wish came true, and he never believed that it had, which was comforting enough. Life, as desolate as it was, was much easier when one did not believe in wishes.
THE END.
THE FORGOTTEN FEAR by Shane Porteous
Bave didn’t want any of it, he didn’t want to be there, where the dark road turned black. He didn’t want the smell of blood to be so thick in the air, he didn’t want the two dead riders and one dead horse to be behind him. But the riders had to die, men could be quite loud when they screamed and he didn’t want to be noticed before the time was right. He had allowed one of the horses to live, he could fill his stomach with a single stallion. He didn’t like killing horses, but its meat was fresh, its body strong, the horse was the healthiest creature he had seen in far too long. The wrath of winter would keep the body fresh for quite some time, enough time at least to allow him to do what he needed to do.
His stomach may have been empty but his head was full of thoughts, most of them terrible and towering. He noticed how the light of the full moon fell on everything before him, the tree leaves twinkled like stars, even the pebbles of the dark road seemed to shine like diamonds. Still it was far more ghostly than it was grand as he stood there in the dark like a demon. His main concern now was that he would be seen before he could act, his eyes glowed rather than shone, like two embers flickered free from a fire. He didn’t have to worry about mist moving from his mouth, he had long learned how to breathe in this blizzard filled barren without giving away his position.
He heard them long before he saw them, the footfall of more horses and the wail of a wagon. They came up the rode moving into the moonlight, grasped by its ghostly glow. There were two knights on horseback, wearing the same styled armor as the two men he had already killed. The wagon followed behind them, two more men sat perched upon it, one holding the reigns, the other holding a crossbow. Bave would have to deal with all four men in time and as the two knights halted their horses and the wagon did the same, he knew that time had come.
It had been a simple trap, but a terrific one at that. Horses, no matter how well trained wouldn’t have galloped into the giant tree that was now blocking their path. It laid like a log, snow covering most of it, save for the leaves that stood up like the green teeth of a giant’s jaw. Bave didn’t make his move just yet, he needed to wait for the warriors to dismount, he didn’t want to have to slay the stallions, just the men who rode them.
“Not another one,” one of the horsemen said as he slowly dismounted. “This must be what? The 10th fallen tree we’ve come across?” he asked the other rider who was a little slower to dismount.
“You would think the trees trip over out here wouldn’t you?” the second asked, removing a long handled axe from his saddlebag.
“So cold out here I wouldn’t be surprised if even the trees got frost bite,” the first said, shivering even with so much steel covering his body.
“All the better that we get this tree gutted and get moving again,” the second replied. The first rider grunted in agreement, as he too removed an axe from his saddlebags.
“Where’s Luxa and Tolis?” the second guard asked as he slowly looked around. Luxa and Tolis must have been the names of the riders Bave had butchered and fortunately the questioner still hadn’t looked in his direction.
“The tree probably fell after they had galloped through here,” the first replied. He was right of course, Bave had broken the tree from the ground after he had broken Luxa, Tolis and one of the horses.
“Probably,” the second replied. “But you think they would have doubled backed when they heard it fall.”
“We didn’t hear it fall either,” the first rider contended, Bave certainly knew how to be quiet.
“Yes but I am hoping they hadn’t heard it because they have traveled so far ahead without obstacle.”
“A good thing to hope for,” the first rider said before plowing his axe into the fallen tree.
As the second rider joined him in the task, Bave felt almost blessed that neither man nor the two on the wagon had smelt the blood. Men’s senses weren’t as strong as his own, yet it had been some time since he had dealt with their kind and wasn’t completely sure he had slain the others far enough away, until that moment.
He watched and waited as the two men began butchering the tree, ripping through it in a rhythm. When both had taken a long breath, Bave finally made his move. Like a bear barreling out of a cave he dove out of the darkness, his fists clenched and ready to crush. His fist found the side of the first rider’s helmet, his knuckles gnawing through it like teeth. The steel crumpled and he could hear bones break and blood boom, the sound was not all that different to an apple splattering on the ground after being dropped from a castle wall. The knight crumpled now like a castle struck by a catapult. Bave removed his hand from the knight’s destroyed head in time to grasp the handle of the oncoming axe of the second knight. The warrior’s reflexes reflecting his training. Using only the single grasping hand, Bave brought the knight towards him, butting his own head into the knight’s helmet. The point of his nose piercing through the helmet like a spear through seaweed. The second knight crumpled much like the first, freeing Bave’s face from the forging.
He then turned slightly keeping the axe in hand, as he raised the handle over his heart. He wielded the wood like a shield, saving himself from the sting of the crossbow. He looked to the two men perched on the wagon, as the crossbow wielder battled bewilderment to cock another bolt, the reign holder simply sat wide-eyed and worthless. Before he could call the horses into motion, Bave flung the axe, its sharp edge slicing into his throat. The impact was intense enough that the man’s corpse actually slid off the wagon, driving into the ground. This left only the crossbow wielder, whose weapon was still not ready.
Bave wasted no time, he no longer had the axe to shield himself with. It was only when Bave was upon him that the crossbow wielder realized so. Their eyes only met for a second before Bave had grabbed the man by the throat throwing him over his head with the ease one throws a pebble. Bave watched as the warrior soared through th
e air before striking the ground with an arrow’s velocity.
The throw had been strong and severe and yet the man still kept hold of his crossbow. Struggling to get to his knees for his armor’s steel had saved his body from being broken. The man, almost morbidly so was still too consumed with getting the bolt in place to notice Bave, until, for the second time tonight, Bave was upon him. The man raised his head just in time for Bave to bring his foot into his face, the force of which snapped the man’s neck like stale bread. Bave noticed that the man had finally managed to notch the bolt, though that would bring little comfort to his corpse.
Bave turned back to the wagon, what was within it had been his true target all along. With the four men dead, the air was quiet, the ghost light of the moon even more morose. The smell of blood was stronger now, strong enough that whoever was within the wagon could surely smell it. With a single hand, Bave tore the door of the wagon off like a bear claw through a deer, tossing it too far away for its landing to be seen. He didn’t watch it disappear, which was fortunately for him, for if he had he wouldn’t have seen the steel and the woman wielding it as she whirled out of the wagon.
Bave didn’t so much turn his body as rather tilt it, just enough to stop the steel from slicing his skin. The woman wielded the weapon with considerable skill, her training had been tremendous, but it was clear her experience was empty when dealing with a foe such as him.
After tilting to avoid half a dozen strikes, Bave grasped the blade, his many calluses catching the edge and stopping his skin from being sliced. She may have been skilled, but she couldn’t match his strength, no human possibly could. He tossed the sword out of both of their hands, where it landed he only heard but did not see. With no weapon to wield the woman stared, her eyes dark, but far from delicate. If in the eyes of the men, he had been a large hill than to her he was a small mountain. The tallest human he had ever seen only reached the bottom of his neck and she was much closer in height to the shortest human he had ever seen. She was of average height for a woman, but everything else about her was anything but average. The garments she wore were grand, the thick furs, supremely sown from the finest beasts money could find. Her hair was well washed the scent of the soap strong enough to be smelled over the bloodshed. He noticed, as all beings would notice, the gold in her hair, a single stripe with the delicacy of porcelain painted the strands on the right side of her scalp, the rest of her hair was a brilliant brown, almost the colour of bronze. It had been styled back, covering her ears completely, concealing them from the cold.
Even the most dedicated of explorers would be hard pressed to find two more different beings than Bave and this woman. His hair was green, like dark blades of grass that fell down his scalp as if wet. They didn’t cover his ears, which were like spearheads sticking up on either side of his head. While she was well covered in fine fur, he was almost naked, save for the black paddle like petals that fell from his waist and ended just before his knees. Her skin was the colour of cream, his the colour of a beige mushroom. His hands were long and bare, hers were covered in gloves that glowed like gold.
Her dark diamond like eyes searched his sternum, fat had forever been foreign to his perfect physique. Her eyes rose but his stayed still as she looked upon his toothpick like teeth. Until finally she looked into his eyes and as the mist began to move from her mouth with harder breaths, he couldn’t help but wonder if she was wishing that warmth whirled from his eyes, they were after all the colour of a campfire. She breathed harder now, moving the mist like a fortress of fog before his eyes.
He went to speak, only to see a flash of steel. The woman had gone for a knife, hidden somewhere in her garments, hoping the cloud of created mist would widen her chances of success. It did, but not by enough. As the blade blew through the air like a bird ascending, Bave trapped the blade in his teeth. He had risen his head ever so slightly to catch the cutter, but he lowered it in the way a wolf lurks in the shadows. It wasn’t so much fear that filled her eyes, more bewilderment that he had saved himself by biting onto the blade. He stared only for a second longer before spitting the steel out. The handle of the knife knocked her out of this world and into the realm of unconsciousness. He didn’t bother to catch her body as she fell to the ground, the snow was soft enough not to sting her. The handle of the knife had hit her hard, but not hard enough to draw blood. When she awoke she would ache, but at least she would eventually wake. Not any time soon though and that allowed Bave not to rush as he reached the wagon’s horses.
None of the stallions had steered away from him, in spite of his frightening appearance, most horses didn’t fear him. He released the two horses from the wagon, there was no point in them dragging such a weight any longer. Still they didn’t move, they needed to be motivated and Bave summoned such support. He tilted his head back and motioned a monstrous moan, a cry more chilling than winter could claim. His bellow boomed all throughout the barren and seemingly even the night shook in fear of him. The horses needed no further help, they galloped away as if ghosts were chasing them.
He could hear their footfall grow faint as he crouched before the woman. Her eyes were closed as if she was sleeping, the sight somehow peaceful in spite of the violence that had placed her there. He reached out with his hand, his long lurking fingers stretching upwards as he positioned his palm. From his hands, leaves lanced through his skin the growth-gathered dark leaves left his palm connecting to one another like flower’s petals. The reaping leaves roped around her wrists, neither cutting nor digging into her flesh, nevertheless they would force her hands to stay together.
When the lasso of leaves had done what they had been summoned to do, Bave stood up, showing no shock of his own powers. He walked towards the wagon without worry, knowing there was no one else inside. He peered inside and saw the true wealth of the wagon, its carriage consumed by fine silks, brilliant blankets and immense items, all things created for comfort and warmth, two feelings he hadn’t felt in so long he had almost forgotten the meaning of such words. What caught his eye, in the same way the first drop of sunlight at dawn catches one’s eye, was a book. Battered and brittle, its cover worn and withered. It was the carriage’s only collective that held little dollar value, its preciousness was of a personal kind. It was the only thing he claimed from the carriage before returning to the woman slinging her over his shoulder before claiming a piece of the tree the two knights had hacked.
From there he entered the darkness, seizing the dead stallion by the leg before continuing on. He carried the woman, the horse, the book and the log without strain, showing his supreme strength as he went deeper into the darkness. He didn’t feel brave walking through the black, he had long gotten use to it, he also knew there were much more dangerous things than darkness in this world. He kept walking until the moonlight no longer could maul him, yet the cold remained, it seemed to be sitting on his bare shoulder and it felt the heaviest of his effects. He could feel the ground ascend below him slowly into a slope yet he didn’t pause once. He knew this landscape, well, far too well for his own liking.
Bave kept going until he reached it, a pit, one of the many that could be found in the mountainous terrain. Long ago, he had once thought these pits were countless for there was so many of them, that was until he actually counted them. He had begun counting at the first he had seen, 2138 in total, this was number 447. He had chosen this chasm, because of its size, big enough to place the woman, himself, and a fire into, yet small enough to keep the warmth within it.
Leaving the dead horse outside of the pit he placed the woman down gently, he had already given her one bruise tonight, a second or third seemed needless. He shook the snow from the quarter log before lying it down in the center of the chasm. He then clicked his fingers over it fast enough to cause a friction-forged spark. He had to do it over a dozen times but the log eventually caught fire. Its light loomed across the inner layer of the pit, grabbing everything within its glow, creating a wall of warmth that fell across the woman. As
he looked up into the night sky Bave imagined that the collection of chasms looked like a barren beehive, this pit the last of the honey filled combs. He then looked at the woman, she hadn’t moved since the dagger’s handle had hit her. She wasn’t dead, he had planned it that way precisely, which meant he precisely knew when she would awake. Not for some time yet, long enough for him to halt his hunger.
He left the pit and claimed the horse’s corpse before moving to the 450th pit. There, using nothing more than his own sharp finger nails, he skinned the stallion and ate everything, from its entrails to its ears. The flesh was fantastic, a feast for the famine he had felt for seemingly forever. When he was done, barely a drop of blood could be seen on his body. He hadn’t eaten with manners, he had eaten like a monster, yet his sheer hunger didn’t allow such spillage, as little as possible would be wasted. His gut didn’t growl any more, but still made sounds, his stomach almost sang in happiness of not being hammered by hunger anymore. He found himself licking his fingers, even though there was little left to lick. With his mouth opened, the wind whirled between his teeth, summoning his stomach’s song into the air. But as his fingers found his mouth once more they found something within, something that wasn’t his teeth.
The sheer feel of it made him forget the stomach’s song and horse halted hunger. Between finger and thumb, he removed it from between his teeth, his salvia making it slick to touch. It was red, but not bloody, it was no ounce of meat. It was small and spherical, shining like a jewel outside his jaws. Light lurked rather than shone from it, the red ravaging all other thought from his mind. Within that light, he could things that were not quite memory, not quite reality, but something strange in between. He knew what it was and what he needed to use it for.
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