Keith Edward English's Blog, page 3

A snippet from Game of Gods: Talking of Home

Micale stirred in his cot to Phalax’s left, squinting his eyes as shafts of light spearing from the cracked shutters struck his face. Phalax placed the pad of paper and charcoal pencils he’d been drawing with for the past thirty minutes on the floor next to his chair. A single rose was etched onto the page, one he had replicated many times. “Morning, Micale.”

“Is it now?” Micale grumbled in response. “Already?”

“Eh, it is a little early. But you slept all night long.”

“Can’t I sleep for a week?”

“Some people call that death. I don’t think that would fit you well.”

“Obviously not. At least not with these wizards. My back is sore as all hell thanks to them.”

“Oh, come on. You can’t blame them.”

“No. But it feels better to be a little angry at someone rather than just in pain. Well, now I’m really up thanks to your blathering.” Micale grinned as he pushed himself up to a sitting position. His smile turned into a frown as pain seared his back though. 

“Want any help?”

“No. I can do this. Just hurts like a son of a bitch. Anything to eat here?”

“Not anything good.”

“Hey, I heard that,” Vesik called from his station before the cauldron.

“Deer stew was good the first, second, third, and all the other times, Vesik,” Micale griped. “Now, it’s just okay.”

“Well, I caught several of them and we aren’t going to let them go to waste.”

Phalax scoffed then said, “You mean you stole several of them.”

“In this city that’s what hunting actually means. Now shut the hell up and come get some deer stew.”

Both men smiled then made their way over to Vesik, one of them much slower and more painfully than the other.

They took their meals, thanked Vesik, then went to sit outside, trying to keep from waking the others. Phalax asked, “Are you feeling up to trying anything today?”

Micale swallowed the stew in his mouth then asked, “What do you mean?”

“Some training or just a light workout. You said that you would teach me some stuff one day before we killed Zeraskyr.”

“Honestly, I’ve never taught anyone anything before. But I’ll try. Not sure where we can do it at though. We don’t have much room inside and we’ll attract far too much attention out here.”

“Let’s talk with Edmund when he gets up.”

The two ate until their bowls were empty, talking about home.

“It’s nice to hear of home,” came Vesik’s voice, drawing the men’s eyes to an open window that now sprouted his head.

They were surprised by his sudden remark, but not so much so that they couldn’t respond. “Do you miss it?” Micale asked.

“Damn right I do. My parents are still there. My wife too. And I had friends; three real crazy sons of bitches. I miss all of them. And my daughter. She’s not there, but she must be twenty now. Maybe a little older.”

Phalax was thoroughly interested in Vesik’s story. “How did it all happen, Vesik?”

Vesik folded his arms on the sill and rested his chin on them, staring out into the street. “I’ll give you the short version for now. I wanted to be powerful, more than anything. Something agreed to give it to me if I only gave up my daughter. One of them took her and turned me into a monster. I left Zepzier because I had to. The air became poison to me.

“I used my power to summon a demon from its realm. That was Zeraskyr, the one you two killed. He turned on me and, through my shortsightedness, killed me. Or so he thought. Edmund pulled the same trick on me as he did to you, Micale. Right before I died, I returned to my human form and he stole me. I did die then, but Edmund brought me back inside this.” He leaned back and ran his hands over his chest.

“This is a construct. I am not human. I’m a thing that was built with the soul and mind of a human trapped inside. But I feel pretty human, I think. It’s been a long while since I was one, so it’s a little hazy.” Vesik straightened, turning his eyes on Phalax and Micale. “Zeraskyr used my power, consumed it, and became strong enough to do all the things he did. So, I was the start of everything on Zepzier. Pretty damn insane, huh?”

Phalax shrugged then said, “It’s not the craziest crock of shit I’ve heard in the past few days.”

The three chuckled to one another. Phalax was glad to now understand how it all began. He imagined all the little details Vesik left out and hoped they’d come to light someday soon.

The door behind Phalax and Micale opened and Edmund ambled out, stretching and yawning. At his arrival, Vesik slapped the sill and announced, “One bowl of deer stew coming up.”

“Deer stew again…” Edmund groaned.

“Yes, dammit!” Vesik’s voice resounded from within.

Another grumbling voice from inside the house asked Vesik to kindly shut the hell up.

Phalax noticed that Edmund looked as though he’d aged by years in the past few days. Once the old man was done waking, which was a process that seemed to resemble a corpse coming back to life after several weeks and shaking off its stiffness, Phalax asked, “Edmund, is there a place Micale and I can train?”

“There is somewhere I can take you. We have to go by normal means. Teleporting opens a vein that the others can sense and track. It’ll be an hour ride.”

Micale shook his head then said, “I can’t ride a horse, Edmund. That would kill my back even more.”

“Have you seen any horses around here yet?” Both men thought for a moment, shared a glance, then shook their heads. “We aren’t taking a horse. You’ll see.”

Edmund walked back inside and called out, “We’re taking a small trip. These boys and I.” His thumbs hooked over his shoulders, pointed at Phalax and Micale. “We have room for one more. Who wants to come?”

Several voices called, “Me,” in unison. Then, they began bickering.

“After you all left me in that damn castle I better be allowed to go. You owe me that,” said Marlene.

“You’re here aren’t you? Besides, you’ve been on this planet longer than I have. What if I want to see it a little more?” said Daeson.

“To be polite, it sucks. This place isn’t much to look at. I’ve been making your food for the past five days. Don’t I get a break?” said Vesik.

Edmund waved his hands and said, “Shut up! You’re all a bunch of kids! Now, Vesik, you can’t go. I need you here in case anything happens while we’re away. You can move them if need be. Daeson, Marlene, one of you can sit on each other’s lap. Come on.”

“Oh, come on, Edmund. Mountain man doesn’t need to come too. Besides, he’d crush me to death!”

Daeson replied, “Mountain man? I thought you were actually clever, Marlene. And it’d be you sitting on my lap.”

“Like hell it would. I’d rather sit on Phalax’s lap then yours.”

Phalax’s face twisted in surprise and his eyes widened. He walked to the door and said, “I’d be honored, but that might be a little uncomfortable.”

“Oh, shut up. I said I’d rather, but I sure as hell am not actually going to.”

“We’re pulling straws!” Edmund hollered. He turned and walked outside, down the steps carefully, then to a tuft of long, dead grass near the street. He pulled two straws and grasped them in his fist. He went back inside and thrust his arm out before the two. They eyed each other, then snatched a straw each.

Daeson threw his straw down and snarled, “Fuck!”

Marlene stuck her tongue out at him and laughed.

Edmund snapped then said, “Marlene, let’s go.”

She began getting ready, continuing her taunting all the while.

Micale nudged Phalax and, with wide eyes asked, “Why the hell would you tell her not to sit on your lap? I think that’d turn out to be a damn comfortable ride.”

Phalax turned to put his back to the house then whispered, “Have you seen her? It’s been quite a while for me, Micale, and she looks damn good. It would get real uncomfortable real fast.”

Micale nodded his head one big, slow time and smiled. “Good thinking. Funny, but still good.”

The group prepared to leave then set out, Micale wearing his armor. As they left, Marlene called over her shoulder, “Feel free to kiss it as I walk away, Daeson. I won’t even be mad that you’re staring at it.” She pointed to her backside and smiled at Daeson, who played his part and stared plenty hard until she was out of the house.

A snippet from Game of Gods: Phalax’s Family

The wizard surfing the skies and raining death down upon the streets looked over his shoulder then signaled the others to move that way. Phalax began, along with the others, managing two feeble steps before he was frozen in place by horror.

Strength fled from him the instant he looked into his son’s eyes. Holris was terrified, pleading for his father to save him. A creature from the depths of hell stood several yards to his side, lanky arms nearly scratching the street with curved, dagger-length claws. This was the thing that had killed Holris, then murdered Felicia, his wife.

The knowledge that they were both dead did nothing to usurp him from his stupor. He still wanted nothing more than to save his boy and hold him again, to sniff his hair and rub his back, feel his tiny, fragile frame as he hugged him tightly. All his surroundings melted away as he lifted his foot to step forward. His foot came back down to the street and his knee ceased to do its job. He buckled and he staggered to a kneeling position, completely numb to the shock of striking the stone beneath him.

“Help me, dad!” Holris pleaded.

Steel peeled away from Phalax, exposing his flesh to the merciless weapons of those around him. If there were any threats, he didn’t notice them, nor did he care. He wanted his son to see his father, not a monster of steel.

“I can’t, Holris,” Phalax whispered weakly, his voice trembling. He tried to force himself up, but he couldn’t. There was no chance at action, there was only this moment, and existing was all Phalax could manage. “I love –”

He’d wanted to say that to his son at least once more ever since he’d been murdered. But the demon that had stolen Holris from this life impeded Phalax yet again. Glaring eyes, a sickening yellow glowing as though a furnace burned deep within, met Phalax’s own gaze. The infernal creature suddenly appeared behind Holris, a wicked grin rimmed by strands of thin, black hair belying its intent. It raised a clawed hand, talons flexing in anticipation of the kill.

Steel lost all meaning. All that mattered was that Phalax now had a chance to save Holris. He reacted before he knew what he was doing, springing from his knee in a burst of desperation. He heard nothing, nor could he tell if he was screaming in defiance of what was soon to come.

The gap closed. The strike came. Holris cried out in fear as shadows of his approaching death fell over him.

Phalax took to the air in a massive leap that carried him over Holris. His hands reached out, seeking purchase on the demon’s descending arm and neck. The grey flesh of the creature fell into his palms, then flitted away.

Empty street looked up at Phalax as he dove toward it. The demon had suddenly disappeared, as had Holris. There was little time to do more than simply understand that they had gone before Phalax slammed into the street. He pulled his arms in to hide his face just before impact.

Rock cracked against bone and scraped flesh. Phalax careened to the side as a raised stone caught the side of his elbow, forcing his slide to swing wide. He rolled across the street for a sickening moment before grinding to a halt. The whole ordeal left him dizzy and dazed, but he fought through it like a giant smashing its body against a mountain, regardless of which one would break first.

The ground continued to spin as Phalax stood, but he managed to wobble to his feet and spin toward where Holris should have been. The boy wasn’t there, nor was the demon, but Phalax couldn’t shake the notion that they were indeed somewhere. They had to be. He staggered to the side as a bout of nausea caught him. He threw his arm out wide to right himself and felt wrong in doing so.

Confusion claimed him when he stared down upon his arm, causing him to forget everything else, even Holris for a moment. From elbow to wrist was not a straight line, rather it bent awkwardly to create a wide V shape. The vertigo that spun the world around must certainly be affecting him still. He moved his arm closer to his head though, and it straightened not at all. He spun it around slowly, inspecting it, and screamed in pain and horror as it suddenly flopped over, his hand dangling with fingers pointed to the ground despite his arm’s horizontal position.

Steel poured from the disc in his chest and pooled at his arm, awaiting further command. Phalax gingerly pulled his arm closer to his body, his breathing now terribly rapid. His teeth rattling against one another, grunts escaping his throat, he gripped his lame arm and began to slowly spin his arm back around, guiding the useless part back to a straighter position. Bone clicked and slid along bone, catching edges. Phalax nearly fainted from the surreal sensation.

“Daddy!” Holris shrieked, a sound that drove nails through Phalax’s spine, numbing his body. He pulled his arm back in place with a final yank that emitted a loud crunch as bones ground against one another. Then, the steel shot forth and wrapped it in an immaculate embrace. Metal three inches thick ensured that the limb would stay in place.

Phalax turned to see his son surrounded by three demons, all of them with smiles plastered to their grey, lanky faces. One lifted its arm then plunged its claws deep into Holris’ stomach. Ice bloomed beneath Phalax’s chest and spread to his stomach and arms. He hadn’t been there to see them hurt. He’d only found them soon enough to say goodbye to Felicia, Holris already dead in her arms.

Felicia appeared from the air as if she’d been there the whole time, swinging a sword. The tip of it crashed into the skull of the demon spearing Holris. She pulled it straight through its head with amazing strength, fueled by her need to protect her son.

As Felicia burst away from the sweeping claws of the others and Holris fell to the stone, Phalax dashed in. They disappeared before he could reach them, just like before, the sword that had manifested from his hand passing through air.

Micale was a dozen feet away from where his family had just disappeared. “Where are they!” Phalax screamed at him.

Micale was yelling something, his arm outstretched, but Phalax heard none of it. He only turned to follow the man’s pointed finger, hoping to find Holris and Felicia in time to save them. He could take his son to Edmund and the wizard would heal him like he’d done for Eula. He could slay the remaining demons before they gutted Felicia too.

The demons weren’t there. Instead, a man made up of earth filled Phalax’s vision. He dismissed the creature, its body of clay, stone, and vines poised with a blade of obsidian lacking any meaning to him at all. He looked away, seeking Holris, and found them just as fire speared him in the ribs and somehow cut through his flesh to sear his insides.

Holris lay on the floor, panting heavily, tears falling from his eyes as he tried to understand the madness. Felicia ducked beneath the sweep of a demon’s claws then bolted at the other, running it through before it could bring its lanky arms to bear. She left the sword embedded in the creature and ran to scoop up Holris.

Agony tore at Phalax’s focus, causing lines and jagged shapes to fill his sight. He was suddenly falling, free of whatever had held him in place. Bronze flashed past him and he heard Micale through a blanket that dulled every sound to a murmur of wind. The beats of a drum sounded in his head, suddenly snuffing all other sounds. It crashed against his temples in a rhythm of two hard slams followed by a short pause.

Holris and Phalax locked eyes for a moment, tears falling from both of them. Felicia fought on, bouncing off a wall that didn’t exist. She stood between Holris and the final demon as it bore down on her. She had nowhere to go but forward. And she did. Straight into the stabbing claws of the demon.

In silence, Phalax watched his wife cry out as the claws dug deep into her abdomen. Despite the pain, she continued forward, into the demon. She drove it back with unexpected power until it tripped over something unseen and careened backward. Its claws left her body and she visibly gasped. Without a wasted moment, not even to inspect her own wound, she twisted and dove to Holris.

Felicia lifted him, blood spilling from her wound to splatter to the street. The boy cried out in pain and Phalax found his will to push through his paralysis. He needed to get to them before they left, or before the other demon did. He could still save them.

Steel covered him in moments, shapeless other than for his form. He was wrapped in it like a second skin and somehow, the metal lifted him. He cast his gaze down to see that several spears of silver extended from his chest and pushed against the street to lift him.

Micale was suddenly before him, screaming something into his face, blocking his vision of his family as Felicia stumbled past the demon. A sweeping rod of steel forced Micale away, tossing him several feet into the air. Phalax wasn’t sure where it came from, or how he managed anything at this moment. Nor did it matter.

The spears of silver moved like the legs of a spider, carrying his numb body closer to his family. Felicia had made her way past the demon, ran down their hallway, turned into their room, then slammed the door shut and ran to the corner where she lay Holris down, the boy still breathing barely. Despite none of the house being visible, Phalax could still see it all and it hurt his heart to think of it. The demon rose to its feet by stabbing at the invisible wall and pulling.

Phalax’s will became incarnate as the legs of steel moved him along quicker. He came upon the demon and a bestial need to slaughter it consumed him, igniting a fire unlike anything he’d ever felt before. Vitality flooded back into him as the drum song in his head picked up in speed and intensity.

The steel spikes melted away, depositing him onto his feet. He took one hard step toward the demon as it rose and the steel from his face peeled away. He opened his mouth and a thunderous shout escaped it, shattering the stone behind the demon, rattling the ground and Phalax’s insides. Dust and stone burst from the street like an erupting volcano. The demon, though, was completely unfazed.

It moved through Phalax as though he himself were just a figment of some imagination and plodded along with its gangly legs and rocking arms. Phalax darted for Felicia and Holris, intent on standing guard before him. He’d do something to save them. He had to. Something would work against the demon that had already killed them and he’d bring them back.

Felicia held Holris in her lap with one hand and a vase in the other. Phalax stopped before them and knelt down, intent on grabbing her thigh. His hands passed through her, though and he came within inches of her nose. Suddenly, she looked at him and whispered with frightening intensity, “Phalax! Run!”

His family disappeared, and in their wake was left a band of chaotic creatures made up of elements and animals. They came on in a wave that seemed unending, and Phalax was too disturbed to do anything other than stand and wait as they crashed into him. He hit the stone hard, but his steel kept him mostly protected.

Weapons, claws, and heels slammed against his prone form like a waterfall. He was moved with each pounding strike, until he lay on his back. All the while he took dozens, hundreds of ceaseless shots, he did nothing but imagine his family. He saw their faces, their agonized faces, and died inside all over again. Rage built in him, like it had when first he’d discovered his ability to generate deadly force with his scream.

He looked up through tiny eye slits as lightning, fire, steel, and waves of energy cut through the endless sea of enemies. With each one that fell, another two replaced it, trampling Phalax. He’d grown far too sick of the continuous ruination of his life by these gods. Beyond the trampling horde was Holris and Felicia, suspended in air as he had seen them in death, the latter holding the former, their eyes lightless and their heads listing to the sides.

Something snapped in Phalax, and he felt himself open up to a different feeling as though a wall of ice had kept a flood behind it and then had suddenly cracked open. The power of it all was funneled directly into his mind and his vision went hazy with the pressure building. He screamed to abate it, his raw emotion becoming a tool with limitless capabilities. Steel covered his vision for a moment, a liquid that shot from him in waves that sparkled in the sunlight. Then, he was looking up through a network of steel spines that crossed and split apart in infinite directions.

Phalax was slowly raised up onto his feet by steel spikes that pushed against the street. Liquid steel swam all across his body, anchoring the hundreds of stalks of metal to him. The drums in his head hadn’t quieted, but had slowed considerably. The spears raising him brought him higher, until his feet dangled at the heads of all those around him.

A field of corpses greeted him. Veins of steel spread out from him like a tree possessing thousands of thin branches, embedded in the skulls of perhaps a hundred. Lightning danced along his skin, fire raged beneath, and ice flooded his insides. The power he possessed craved an outlet.

The branches of silver morphed into blades then sliced through the skulls of those they held. They suddenly spun around Phalax in a whirlwind of death for a brief moment, the sensation of each creature being cut to pieces registering with him. He felt as each creature’s skin was split, its muscle fibers rent, and bones snapped in two. There wasn’t a single one for whom he didn’t individually and intimately relish in their destruction.

Phalax noticed that Micale stood amongst them all, somehow untouched by the steel and still unharmed as the blades spun around him. Micale’s armor which normally left parts of his arms, legs, neck and head uncovered seemed to now cover all of him. Quickly Phalax realized that it wasn’t his bronze armor that colored him so, but the crimson life of all the bodies he’d shredded.

The power left, lowering Phalax to a street now painted in blood. His feet touched down on the stones but were void of steel, as was the rest of his body. His heels crunched on bones, squished flesh, and slid on organs, slowly depositing him onto his knees. From there, he pitched forward into the gore.

The drums slowed even further, until, finally, two beats rang, so terribly far apart. Darkness closed in, painted within it an afterimage of Holris and Felicia, only this time, they were smiling. Had Phalax been able to, he would have smiled back. As it was, he merely accepted the blackness, slipping into its icy grip with resignation.

Phalax vs. Jayko

Oh, this is a fun one. Phalax, beloved protagonist from Thoughts of Steel against Jayko, demented antagonist from my DZ stories Death Blooms. Enjoy.

Dying a second time was only slightly different than the first. Of course, when Jayko’s soul and mind had become unmoored from his body then, he had immediately filled a new vessel, making his acquaintance with death quite brief, but still no less terrifying. This time, he felt the whirling chaos of fear and confusion clouding his every thought, ripping away his voice, stealing what little control he had over Aerimon’s body, casting him into an abyss. Just as it had before. Only now, it was lasting far longer.

He attempted to scream; nothing came of his efforts. His mind ran rampant through his memories, touching on each one momentarily, mashing many together, shredding others, perverting them to create a gross spectacle of his life. He saw himself suckling his mother’s nipple as a babe, then was suddenly twenty seven years of age. He watched as he dismantled a man strapped to a wall by all manner of leather straps and chains, then took the man’s place as another began to carve into him. He revolted as he made love to Helena, only for Aerimon to appear and guide her mouth toward his manhood, which she joyously accepted. 

Death was a cruel master.

Something snagged him from the vortex of grotesquerie, a fisherman’s net he, swimming through the river of the damned, had been lucky enough to become ensnared in. It pulled him from the current, then dumped him onto cold hard ground. He flopped from his knees to his side, the smooth, cold stone beneath him battering his skull. A verdant, dark green glow crept across the black ground and walls, a light too weak to battle the darkness, or too inclined to accept the latter as a welcome companion.

Jayko groaned as he adjusted to this life after death, recalling the final moments of his pseudo-life as he survived as a parasite upon Aerimon. Somehow Aerimon had expelled Jayko, and the latter only hoped that the former had died an agonizing death in doing so. Before that, though–

“Rise, my hand,” came a savage voice. Each word escaped the fire blasted throat of a mountain, it seemed. Hissing and rumbling, the words continued, “You have served well.”

“Saren!” Jayko rejoiced as he dragged himself to his knees. Before him, half submerged in a pool of water glowing with that rich green light and bubbling as though a flame burned hot beneath the surface, was Saren. The god sported gouges all across his body that seeped the same green fluorescence. His face was twisted in perpetual agony, eyes like green suns opening on to his pain, his face drawn in a soundless scream. His human body, riddled with wounds, gave way to a bald head rimmed by a crown of spikes lodged deep into his skull.

“Prove to me your worth and you will be reborn. Take my power, and kill the steel one.”

The water below the god churned fiercely and became a whirlpool that rose up. It snatched Jayko as he rose to his feet but he felt no liquid. Just the heat of power filling his being.

Then, all was quiet, and he was standing in the light of the sun on a cool day, the breeze playing across his face and bare arms. This, was not Makdiar, or Dargon. He was upon a world entirely new.

“You’re standing on my broccoli.” Jayko spun to find the source of the irate voice. As he pivoted, the plant beneath his heel crunched and snapped, the large head coming free of the rest of the plant.

A man stood before him, a sliver of steel snaking from beneath the sleeve of his shirt and to his hand where it formed a serrated knife. A head of broccoli was grasped in his hand, a few more lying in a basket near his foot. The knuckles of his hand were white with barely controlled anger. A goatee sprouted from his chin, roughly a knuckle in length, while above full lips sat a wide-bridged nose, grey-blue eyes set deep to either side, dark brown bangs fell before his prominent brow.

“My name is Jayko. Saren told me to kill you,” Jayko said as though he were speaking about the weather.

“Then Saren is an idiot god. And I can promise you this won’t end well for either of you.”

Steel erupted from beneath the man’s shirt, flooding up his arms, neck, and down his legs. Liquid metal coalesced, took shape, and hardened in an immaculate display. Before Jayko there now stood a monster of steel, wearing the metal as a second skin, blades extending from his hands gleaming brilliantly in the sunlight.

“Impressive. But none of that will make a difference.” Jayko reached out with the power Saren had bestowed upon him, claws of magic closing on Phalax’s heart to stop it in a cold, crushing embrace. Unlike before, Jayko felt not an iota of the negative effects casting magic normally brought. His potential had been unleashed so he could inflict suffering upon others without enduring any himself. He smiled as he waited for the man before him to flounder and die.

The claws of his spell grasped nothing but emptiness. Jayko found that his magic failed to target the man as he slipped away from it as though he were a wet fish plucked from the sea by Jayko’s bare hands.

Jayko smiled wickedly as he realized this would be far more difficult, and thus far more painful for both sides, than he believed. He was glad for it. Just then, a young girl strode from the backdoor of the house behind the steel beast. She, stopped cold when her eyes came upon Jayko.

“Your pain will be great,” he said, looking at the girl, speaking to them both.

The man realized his daughter, or so Jayko assumed, was in danger a moment before Jayko turned his torturous power on her. He reached out to grind her heart to a painful halt, knowing the man before him didn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of reaching him in time.

***

Phalax’s stomach leapt into his throat when Jayko averted his eyes and hissed, “Your pain will be great.”

Before he even turned, he knew his stepdaughter would be standing at the backdoor of their home. Sure enough, she was there, eyes wide with terror staring at Jayko. The amulet Phalax wore beneath his steel armor, given to him by Edmund, shielded him from being the direct target of Jayko’s spells, but his stepdaughter wouldn’t be so lucky. Whatever malicious spell he was seconds away from casting would sink its teeth into her, likely killing her instantly.

Phalax thought of the love he had for her, of their special relationship and how it had healed him, of how desperately and fiercely he would fight to protect her, fueling his power.

He turned back to Jayko, growling as the blades in his hands melted. He tossed the globs of steel one after the other and they left his hands with the speed or an arrow. Moments before impact, they solidified into razor sharp spikes that sliced into the flesh of his neck and chest, lodging deep in bone.

“Get inside!” Phalax screamed at his stepdaughter as he burst forward. Jayko staggered backward, eyes wide in surprise as blood gushed from his wounds. With a thought, the spikes of steel ripped free of Jayko and shot back to meld into Phalax’s armor as blades sprouted from his hands again.

Phalax thrust his blades at Jayko’s stomach. A knuckle length separated the tip of the blades from flesh when time seemed to reverse. An aura of dark purple, crackling energy exploded from Jayko and crashed into Phalax with the force of a wave. He kept his feet beneath him, sliding backward across the soil, extreme pressure making his entire body ache all over.

Jayko was then standing before Phalax whole once more, not a scratch or scar to commemorate the wounds that were there mere moments ago. Where before Jayko had been a lithe man with a pale complexion and parted hair that fell to either side of his eyes, now he was a beast of a man.

As the dust settled from the blast of energy he’d conjured, Jayko’s transformation became clear. His hair had vanished, replaced by a net of thorns that writhed atop his skull, drawing a horrendous amount of blood that incessantly dripped from his brow and jaw. The whites of his eyes were now replaced by a deep, verdant green luminescence that nearly masked the black spheres nested within completely. Fangs stuck out from beneath his lips in neat perfection.

Phalax had dealt with worse before, or so he told himself. He’d slayed demons, gods even. Certainly Jayko couldn’t be worse than that.

Jayko screeched then burst forward, faster than Phalax had expected. The latter was caught off guard and could manage nothing more than to interpose the shield he’d conjured in that brief moment between him and Jayko. The latter crashed into with horrendous force, battering it away with a clawed hand. Phalax recovered quickly, ducking beneath a swipe of Jayko’s hand as he did so, black talons raking the air above his head.

As Phalax slid out of Jayko’s range, he thrust his sword at the beast’s midsection. The blade lengthened to a spear and the tip plunged deep into Jayko’s side. Suddenly, Phalax found his weapon being pulled deeper into his enemy’s body. He pulled against it, found it futile, then cut the spear in two with a thought, allowing his steel to be devoured by Jayko’s body. Blood gushed from the wound as the steel penetrated deeper, eliciting a roar from Jayko. Then, it disappeared within his body along with the wound.

“That won’t work!” Jayko screeched, his voice a hissed yell that slithered through the air and sent pinpricks down Phalax’s spine.

“Then I’ll cut your fucking head off!” Phalax seethed.

The shield fixed to his hand suddenly seemed to melt into a liquid state of its own accord. Quickly, Phalax realized it was rusting and falling to pieces, no more capable at protecting him than paper mache diced into fine pieces then scattered across the wind.

Jayko slashed the air with his claws and a black specter in their very shape reached out and caught Phalax across his chest as he stood dumbfounded at the destruction of his invincible armor. Lightning arced through his torso as the dark blades sliced through his armor and body as though they were nothing more than air, replaced by the very heart of winter itself. Phalax staggered backward, expecting to find his chest ripped open and his insides spilling to the dirt where his cabbage sat, albeit in a trampled mess.

Instead, he found nothing but his armored torso, understanding then that the blades had been incorporeal, stealing his soul rather than his life blood. He glanced at his arm, now bare up to the elbow, and willed steel to cover it, horror striking through him as the blade he held shortened to compensate.

His supply of steel was not inexhaustible.

Phalax looked back to Jayko as the latter growled and shot forward again. He tried to spin to the side, ready to impale Jayko before he took another strike from his physical or ghostly claws but found himself rooted in place. The supreme cold that frosted his insides numbed his mind slightly, and his body couldn’t understand what the other asked of it. He stood inert other than his shaking, watching in terror as Jayko advanced, his claws ready to run Phalax through.

The imminent future played in Phalax’s mind. He felt Jayko’s claws rot his armor then pierce his stomach and infect him, breaking him down with one fell swoop until he perished. Then he saw the demon, or whatever it was, tear through his house, gouging the walls with his claws as he went, turning his new home into a replica of his first before slaughtering his family.

Already, he’d lived through the destruction of one family. He wouldn’t let that happen again. Ever. He’d found a new power in his love, and he intended to use it.

As Jayko cleared the final three steps to him, a maelstrom seemed to build in Phalax’s throat, nearly splitting it open a dozen times. He held the power in check right behind his teeth, growling from the effort. Two steps. His eyes felt as though they’d burst from his head from the pressure building. His teeth vibrated, surely going to shatter any moment. One step. His entire body trembled. His throat felt seared raw from fire.

Jayko pulled back his arm and thrust it toward Phalax’s stomach. Phalax opened his mouth and power poured from between his teeth, a roar that shook mountains and sent ripples across the oceans ripping from his throat. Jayko’s maniacal face folded in, bones shattering and compressing, brain spilling from the cracks in his skull, as he took flight and careened backward through the air several hundred feet.

Phalax staggered forward finally as Jayko came to a halt, a massive gouge in the earth that had ruined his garden and cratered the ground a hundred feet out at his toes. He breathed deeply, his breath leaving him as though from a bellows. He felt the steel inside Jayko’s body quiver as he reached out to it, still held prisoner. Jayko stood up as Phalax realized he must still be alive, his body, again, whole.

“Shit,” Phalax cursed as Jayko roared and burst forward, his feet a yard above the ground.

As Jayko closed, an idea came to Phalax. He waited until the very last moment and ducked beneath Jayko’s claws, cleaving him nearly in two with a massive sword. Before he finished cutting the man in half, however, he commanded the steel to sever and it did, Jayko’s body quickly absorbing it.

Ice cut into Phalax’s back, nearly shattering his ribs, stopping his heart for a few moments. Before he fell, he imagined the faces of his loved ones, and banished the paralysis that came as Jayko’s ghostly claws cut through him. He rolled to the side, the air behind him vibrated as Jayko sped through it.

Phalax surged to his feet as Jayko changed direction and attempted another pass. He faked to the side then leapt upward, a bar of steel extending from his foot propelling him to a height far higher than he could normally achieve. The bar dissolved as a half-moon shaped blade sprouted from his other heel. He kicked forward and the blade carved through Jayko’s skull, again breaking off and sinking into Jayko’s body.

“The pain is everything my god wants!” Jayko screamed as his head knit itself back together, thorns continuing their mad dance.

“Then he’ll be godsdamned ecstatic today.”

Steel flowed to Phalax’s palms as fast as he could feed it and he cast each handful at Jayko, four in quick succession turning into spikes and sinking into Jayko’s torso. Blood flowed, the steel sank deep then disappeared, Jayko let out a moan of pain that quickly turned into a twisted outburst of obscene pleasure.

Phalax broke into a sprint, his armor melting. The weightless steel pooled at his hands, transforming into a massive spear, its head nearly as thick as Phalax was around, six feet long. Jayko opened his eyes from his enraptured moment of bliss as the tip of the weapon struck his midsection. Immediately, it was sucked in deeper while Phalax pushed with all his might. Jayko screamed in agony until it disappeared completely, a final wisp of steel snaking from the disk in Phalax’s chest and to the butt of the spear as it left his hands.

Unarmored and without a single weapon, Phalax backpedaled as Jayko recovered. The massive hole in his torso closed with a sickening series of pops and tearing muscle. He staggered forward once he was healed once again, then looked up at Phalax with a pleased grin.

“You don’t have a weapon, and I’m going to make this hurt. A lot.”

“You’re right, I don’t. You have it. And I’m going to make this hurt. A whole hell of a lot.”

Phalax reached out to his steel with his mind as it sat within Jayko. He commanded it to shift and transform, and it obeyed. Dozens of thin blades suddenly exploded from all over Jayko’s body, neck, and head. Then, they spun with dazzling speed. Jayko’s eyes widened right before they were sliced to ribbons. His entire body erupted into a hundred pieces and tumbled into a sick pile of gore.

“Edmund, I need you here this instant,” he thought.

“God, that’s one hell of a bloody mess, Phalax,” came the old man’s voice. Although he didn’t look it, Edmund was several hundred years old, and, having seen him as a much older version of himself, Phalax couldn’t help but imagine him as an old geezer. “Hope you don’t plan on eating those carrots after this. Or maybe they’ll grow really well and be delicious. You’ll have to let me know.”

“I’ll feed them to the dog. You can ask him. Now, can we do something about this? I’m not sure if he’s dead.”

“Oh, he’s certainly dead. Done getting up and trying to take you with him? No. Is this no longer fun for you?”

“He outstayed his welcome when he tried to kill my daughter. How do we get rid of him?”

“Like so,” Edmund said as though it were common knowledge as he snapped his fingers. The many pieces of Jayko’s body suddenly arced up then swirled through the air in a gorey vortex of grace and horror. Blue flames erupted from the sky, spinning into the shape of a sphere and devoured the pieces of Jayko, leaving a pool of steel slowly writhing across the blood-covered ground and carrot leaves.

As Phalax called the steel back to him, it responding by swimming across the earth to him then snaking up his legs and across his torso and to the disk in his chest, Edmund said, “You know, I didn’t really need to snap. It’s just more fun that way.”

“You really should have met Arlukent,” Phalax retorted, smiling. “Thanks, Edmund.”

“My pleasure. Now, off to hunting the gods across the cosmos. Wanna come along?”

“Maybe later. I’ve still got some work to do in the garden.”

Edmund surveyed the mess and asked, “What garden?”

Phalax raised an eyebrow and lightly frowned. Edmund sighed, then disappeared, restoring the garden and wiping the earth of the blood that just a moment ago painted the ground. Well, most of it. A patch of crimson remained around a single carrot, and Phalax chuckled.

“Phalax,” came his wife’s shaky voice, her daughter held tightly to her thighs.

He darted through the fence and to them, embracing them both.

“All is well. I’ll never let anything hurt either of you, ever.” As he said this and stroked their heads, he knew he’d need to go back out into the cosmos again and proceed to hunt down the gods with Edmund. For now, though, he would enjoy his home, his garden, and, most of all, the love from his family.

The Source

I wrote this following a dream. All I can remember from the dream is that I was standing atop a platform in space and there were three rings floating in the darkness right at the end of the station. One of these rings was sheathed in flame. Thus, the inspiration for the beginning of this story. What followed afterward, is simply of product of my mind without the influence of my dreams. The game Dead Space may have influenced me a bit as well, if I’m being honest.

I’ve always hated the cliche of aliens. Why were they so odd-looking and physically weak in all the movies and shows I saw growing up? Well, I decided to change that cliche and carve out my own idea of an alien. They’re fearsome creatures better than us in every single aspect.

I also wanted to twist the idea of them descending on our world from above for various reasons that have been overplayed time and time again in media. The creatures in The Source merely “arrive” to survive. The Source, as you will learn if you read the story, is an artifact created by a species on the verge of extinction. Its final dying breath is this artifact and once it awakens, it afflicts those around it with madness as it morphs their minds (and eventually their bodies) into something different. It is the progenitor of a long dead alien species.

William Donahue utilized his awesome editing skills to make this novella what it is, and the cover art is something I licensed from shutterstock, created by Tithi Luadthong.

I hope you check it out on Smashwords and that you dig it. I will write the next part and publish it for free also if I get enough interest from readers. So, if you want more of the story, drop me a comment, an email, a message on FB, or just tell me in person. I’d love to hear from all of you.

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As the Earth withers and dies, humanity discovers an alien artifact capable of generating massive amounts of breathable atmosphere, allowing them to migrate to three normally uninhabitable planets similar to their dying home. The Source is placed on a station far off the worlds where its gift can be directed to the three planets. Without cause, the gate to New World I begins to malfunction, threatening a massive evacuation and the possibility of a complete shutdown of all the gates. The engineers aboard the station find that the Source is not a mere machine. It lives just as they do, and it requires sustenance to continue living, to begin propagating an alien species long extinct. For the Source to live, however, people must die. Will the very thing that saved humanity ultimately be its demise?

I am…

…Lulled into wakefulness by the gentle song of the seagulls, their chorus ringing out over the din of the waves softly caressing the cliff side far below. My eyes slowly crack open and gaze upon the weak sun rays beginning to leap over the horizon, painting the clouds a brilliant orange against a pink backdrop.

Haste eludes me at first, as it always does. I melt into my routine as a bar of iron might in a smith’s furnace. I roll from the straw mat beneath me, escaping its cold, hard embrace. I rise, my bones aching and muscles straining, then walk to the edge of the cliff I reside upon in this place. An overhang protects me from the elements above, but it is still a lonely place where I exist with my thoughts and nothing else.

Warmth from the sunrays gracing my brow begins to chip away at the lethargy slowing me, and I stretch in response, forcing my body into a full working order, forgetting the pains that ail me. As I do so, I gaze out longingly at the monolithic statues of stone that stab upward toward the sky all around the ocean below. Some sit atop mountains, others rest at their bases, and still more emerge triumphantly from the water. Robes and armor, scarred by battles long past, wrap their forms while in their hands they clutch blades and staves. They are the rulers of this realm, and I strive to one day join their ranks.

I turn away from the sunrise and move back into my shallow cave, a home of stone with little else to occupy it other than a tin cup and my sleeping mat. I glide to the cup, lift it from its resting place, then sit upon the ground near the wall of my cave. Large rocks with sharp angles reside here, nestled against the corner. Within several of the brown stones which number at least a score, there are streaks of gray, harder material: metal fused into the rock. One such rock draws me to it, its sharpened edge a talon of gray.

The tin cup I hold is void of a handle and all other decorations. It is merely a cylinder closed at one end and open on the other, comfortably fitting in my palm. It is, however, misshapen, to me at least. I have a plan for its direction, although not for its purpose. The process will devour my time, I know, and there may be no reward once it is complete. Regardless, something compels me to begin and only to rest once it is finished. Surely this same drive burned within the hearts of the rulers.

I raise the cup into the air fluidly and bring it down on the gray rock. The ping of noise it raises echoes through my small chamber and out over the rolling sea, perhaps resounding strong enough for others upon other shores to hear it. I fall into a rhythm, methodically striking the edge of the rock with controlled vigor, a pace I am sure that I can maintain for the better part of the day before sleep calls me away again. My mind becomes numb as I work, and the world melts away until there is only this cup and the plan for its transformation.

***

…Plagued by my need to mold creation. As I make, I also destroy. Love is lost. Time is squandered. Pain gathers.

I recall those I see in my dreams when I sleep. As my eyes close, I am taken away to be with them. But there is never enough time before I am called back to this place to shape something in the hopes that it becomes a work of beauty.

The tin cup in my hand, now riveted with dents from the days I’ve worked on it, lands upon the sharp edge of the rock again. A new sound escapes the stressed cup and agitated stone. Several flakes of rock and metal flitter down to collect in the small pile near my knee. I spin the cup around and behold a large crack, running from bottom to top. I gaze upon my progress with admiration, although I know it has only just begun.

I rotate the cup in my hand then resume my work. Weeks pass. The brilliant blue of day and the plump puffs of cloud that stagger through the sky blend with the dark, swirling wonder of night. Infrequently, I glance at the statues off in the distance. Noise of laughter and camaraderie sweep over the cliff above and plummet down past me, urging me to join in the life happening away from my shelter. I ignore it, and the city that lies inland, just as I’ve always done in this place, although it is enough to stall me for a moment, slowing my work.

Another fissure opens along the cup, and another still until there are ultimately five cracks along the cup. I grip two of the sides with my fingers and begin prying them apart. My effort is such that I am confident in my ability to maintain the strain for hours. Slowly, the cup yields to my pressure without snapping.

Four tin petals lay flat against the stone, the final one still erect. I push the bloom against the stone with one hand and work on the final petal. As I pull and push, I lift myself above the tin construct in an attempt at a better point of leverage, and my hand slips. The jagged metal of the cup’s final petal scores my flesh, rending skin and hungrily slicing the muscle beneath. Blood immediately spills from the gashes, spattering the tin and stone.

The lacerations to my hand have damaged my finger nearest my thumb the worst. Pink flesh stares back at me within the large opening, angry red blood spilling in a torrent and down my arm. I stagger to my straw mat and rip long strands from it to tie off my finger. The bleeding slows, but I know I’ll be unable to work on my creation for some time now, and fear wells in me. Immediately, I feel worthless, and ponder tossing the tin cup over the cliff and into the surf below to then retire to the city and forget this part of myself completely.

Somehow, I stave off the urge to abandon my work, and drift, with great difficulty, into the clutches of sleep.

***

…wracked by immense pain. In the week that has passed since my hand was sliced open, infection has grown and festered. I maintained my work nonetheless, blocking out the agony as best as I can.

The infection, however, is spreading rapidly. I forego my work finally and, in defeat, leave my dwelling for the city. The trek across the smooth, wind-blasted stone is short and I stumble beyond the squat shacks at the perimeter of the town before nightfall. The people here know me, and I’m greeted by kindness and compassion. In the days that come, they heal me, lift me up, listen to my tale about the tin cup’s transformation earnestly.

Soon, I begin to slip into a worthless state of self. I need to create to feel important and this time without that is beginning to suffocate me. I attempt to slip away after giving my thanks to those who have helped me. Some condone my decision while others seem disinterested and a small few urge me to give up on my aspirations.

I ponder the latter option for a moment and immediately understand that to accept that would be to begin down the path of self-destruction. I leave the city for my dwelling, my hand bandaged, the large gash finally covered with dried blood.

When I reach the winding path down to my cave, I am filled with renewed vigor and hurry to find the tin cup sitting in its spot, waiting to be molded. I set to working despite the darkness of night. Under star shine and with the moon as my witness, I continue to hammer the tin cup into the shape my mind’s eye imagines.

Finally, after an uncertain length of days and nights, I finish my design, and hold in my scarred hand a star of metal. It reflects the dying sunlight brilliantly, its folded edges jagged on one side but smooth on the other. That night, I ascend to the highest point along my cliff then begin the arduous ritual necessary to place my creation before the eyes of others. It comes to an end and I, dripping in sweat and uncertainty, cast my star up into the heavens. It reaches heights far below the stars the rulers have placed im the sky, then stops, the trail of twinkling light marking its ascent fading from sight.

For days to come I gaze upon it lovingly and with disdain at the same time, for I feel pride at having completed my work, yet I know I could have designed it better. Still, I am happy. Then, one morning only a few days after I’ve cast my creation into the sky, I awaken to find a new shape of metal sitting upon the rock within my dwelling. I study its contours and imagine for hours, then, I begin to create.

Ricky vs. the Black Knight

Normally, around this time, I’d have a short story for you to gobble up with your viewing spheres. Well, I don’t. Instead, I give you part of the final battle in One Last Vigil (and I’m only allowing you to have a little bit, which forces you to buy the book if you want the rest). Goodness comes both before and after this scene. If you enjoy it, go here.

***

“You don’t fucking know what I’ve been through. You don’t know who you’re fucking with,” I whispered between my teeth. He entered the room and continued his sprint, never slowing even once. I roared with righteous fury, “I’ll fucking kill you!”

He shrieked in response and bounded up the stairs. Then, he was upon me.

Fire came for my head, arcing down in a path to split me in two. I interposed my shield and dropped to one knee. The sword slammed off of my shield, pitching me forward. I rode the momentum and drove my blade into the knight’s stomach. Metal screeched as it split. The knight slammed his knee into my chest before I could pull my blade free.

I took flight, spinning around to crash down on my stomach atop the orange slices that were once the sphere. My armor saved me from most damage, but the pressure from the strike still left me gasping for breath. I wasn’t allowed the time to find it though. The knight was coming for me.

I bolted to my feet and turned to dash away. I jumped and heard the blade slice the air right behind my head. I came down at the bottom of the stairs and somersaulted. I turned and the knight was sailing for me. I pivoted to the side as his sword plunged down at me. The blade rent stone and sunk down into it. I slashed at him and cut a large swath of metal from his arm then danced away.

His arm worked awkwardly now and he barely managed to pull his blade from the stone. He sprinted for me again with his blade held high. I raised my shield to block and set my base on my heels. The strike from the blade never came. Instead, the knight collided with me, his head slamming into my chest. Before I folded, a horn pierced my armor and stabbed through my flesh. The impact drove me back but the knight stayed with me. I screamed until I hit the wall and white flashed before me.

The knight wrenched his head back and I felt the horn leave my body, tearing skin and raking against bone. Blood dripped from the tip of the spike of metal. I banished the daze afflicting me and went on the offensive. I swung for his head and he leaned away. I swung again and he dipped to the side. I stabbed at him over and over and he backed away. He swung at me and I used my immaculate shield to preserve my life. He kicked at me and I sidestepped to only take a glancing blow that spun me to the side.

“Come on!” I screamed as I faked high then cut low. My golden blade slashed the black metal of his leg and he fell to one knee.

I didn’t even see the blade coming until fire was in my eyes. A great force slammed into my head, my helm ripped from its perch to clatter away into the shadows, and a sharp ring took up residence between my ears. I was rocked to the side, stumbling until I fell, my sword on the floor in front of the knight. I couldn’t fight the daze this time. I tasted blood though, and that helped bring me back a little. I turned my head in time to see the knight hitching after me. Blood spilled into one of my eyes and I lost sight of him. I used one hand to wipe away the blood and when I could see again, he was over me, his blade held high.

2 Years Ago

Ricardo Cota Jr. passed away August 30, 2014. I still sit and think about him often. Once the day has gone, and I’ve put in my 8 to 12 hours working, I get a moment to soak in the fact that he is gone, which is still a hard thing to swallow. I keep hoping he’ll just appear somehow and we’ll continue on as though not a single misstep occurred. Normally, when August 30th or his birthday rolls around, I spend some time alone, drinking a beer with an open one set out for him, the wristband with his name engraved on it sitting around the bottle of his beer. This time, I didn’t. Instead, my therapy was the release of One Last Vigil, something so very personal to me and at the same time meant for every single person who has been affected by cancer or another terminal illness in any way.

Well. One Last Vigil is out. The entire process took 2 years, but I feel this is the perfect time for it to be released. Check out the links below, the Kindle link will give you free access all the way to the middle of chapter two.

While Amazon is still working through the process of connecting the two formats as the same title, you can follow these links to get to the book.

Paperback – $11.99

Kindle – $2.99

A sincere thank you to any and all who support One Last Vigil in any way.

Playing with a Lizard

The main character from One Last Vigil has some fun with a plump reptile in this short, humorous excerpt from chapter 2.

***

     As I walked along the path, my bamboo cane supporting my hitching gait, I chanced across several things that didn’t scurry from me like the trees and grass did. A large reptile was once left in the wake of stampeding vegetation. It had been turned on its side and was quite fat. It struggled to get its feet beneath itself and I couldn’t help but laugh at its dire situation. 

     I stopped and crouched down. “Why haven’t the trees and grass gotten to you yet? You must not be all that tasty, huh?”

     The reptile had since rolled over. It was roughly eight feet long from flickering tongue to jerking tail. It wore green along most of its body, red streaks that ran along its spine, ribs, and from the corners of its eyes breaking up the monotony of emerald. It hissed at me then charged. Well, marched really. Did I mention how fat it really was? 

     I danced to the side, the trees crashing into one another as they fled from the aura my stardust radiated. The reptile stomped by me and I laughed at it. If it hadn’t been so overweight and clunky in its movements, its snapping jaws certainly would have caught me; I still moved awkwardly and relied on the bamboo staff heavily. 

     I took the shawl from my shoulders and waved it before the reptile, stabbing my staff at the air before its face in feigned attempts to skewer my foe. “The gladiator takes the stage with his fearsome enemy. He is rare in form though, and will certainly outwit this monster.” 

     As if cued by my monologue, it charged again. I shuffled backward and it closed. I slammed my staff into the ground just feet from its snout and it stopped with a rumbling hiss, tongue flicking at the air. “That should do you in!” 

     But it didn’t. The beast slowly walked at an angle, as if it meant to pass right by me, but then it lunged for me. I kept my distance but only barely.  “Ah, the beast is more cunning than the warrior believed. But can it deal with this!” 

     I whipped my shawl at it, snapping the fabric on its stuffed side. Before I could pull it back, the creature surprised me with a burst of agility as it struck out and snapped its maw closed on the shawl. We played tug of war for a moment but then the reptile wrenched its head to the side and ripped a corner of the fabric from the whole. 

     I stood there, immobilized for a moment. Finally, as the reptile stood there smugly, chewing on the fabric victoriously, I said, “You ass! Well, then.” I bowed slightly then turned and continued on my path.

***

Want more? Here’s chapter 1.

Arlukent and Chaetor go to a Bar

These two characters fun to work with, especially when they’re together. They create their own humor by simply being who they are, I just put the words down on the page. Here, they go out for a night on the town together, and you may see some similarities to our beautiful port city.

Remember, to leave me comments with ideas for future stories that fit these guidelines.

***

Bilious clouds, pregnant with the promise of rain, slid past the moon above, stealing the dim, bluish glow that reigned over the night. At such times, Arlukent and Chaetor were forced to view the world by way of the street lights that lined the thin driveways winding through the apartment complex they resided at.

“He’s right around the corner,” Arlukent mumbled, his eyes transfixed on the phone cradled in his palm.

Chaetor paused the game he’d been playing on his own mobile device, releasing his tongue from the hold of his teeth, pulling it back into his mouth, and setting aside his quest to blast space aliens from the cosmos with vibrantly colored rays. He cast about for the signs of the approaching car and soon noticed two beams of light. Following was the front of a black sedan that reflected the surrounding lights with the intensity of a fresh polish. The lights washed over Arlukent and Chaetor sneered. “You seriously had to wear that ratty robe? We’re going to a bar, old man.”

“You can’t see it now, but I’ve disguised myself with magic. See?” The elderly man before him suddenly vanished, a man in his early thirties replacing him. Arlukent now possessed a chiseled jaw, young but roguish eyes, a thin nose, short, dark hair styled into an sweep of small spikes, and stubble that covered the lower half of his face. “The illusion doesn’t work on dullards, in case you were wondering.”

With that last word, the Arlukent Chaetor knew returned, wearing a devious grin. “Oh, I’m the dullard? Got it. Bet that illusion doesn’t help the soldier downstairs stand at attention, old man.” The emphasis he placed on that last bit dripped from his tongue.

Arlukent chuckled and swatted at the air. “It doesn’t work on you because I want you to be able to pick me out while we’re there. Just in case you go and blunder the night and I have to save it. I do not, however, retract my statement about the lack of your wit.” The old wizard waved a hand at the black car as it pulled up and swiftly threw open the door then ducked inside.

Chaetor’s retort was left without a target so he merely exhaled into the night and shook his head at the visage of the beaming old man staring through the car window. “I’m the idiot. He’s the idiot,” he grumbled as he walked around the car.

A single rain drop splashed atop Chaetor’s head, right between the part in his shoulder-length black hair, as he opened the car door and lowered himself within. Arlukent had surely already given the Uber driver their destination as the car lurched into motion as soon he slammed his door shut.

The apartment complex the two lived in fell away, and Chaetor suddenly lit upon a thought. “You’re someone famous?”

Arlukent leaned over as though he’d realized Chaetor was there for the first time and whispered, “We’re both idiots, at times.”

“What?” Chaetor asked, confused beyond all understanding but ready and willing to accept the verbal challenge that was soon to ensue. “Oh.” He remembered the words he’d whispered before getting into the car and realized Arlukent had somehow heard him. Of course he had. Espor, the god of knowledge, blessed him with wizardly ability and amazing foresight.

Chaetor shook his head intensely to dislodge the roots of an argument growing in him and grasped onto his initial statement. “The illusion you’re wearing, it’s of someone famous. He was in a movie recently. Dead Lake? No. River? Dead River?” Chaetor’s mumbling grew louder with each failed guess.

“Deadpool?” The Uber driver announced. “You talking about Deadpool? Awesome movie, bro!”

“Thanks! Yeah, that’s who you’re being? You’re going to have the entire bar ripping each other to pieces to get a hold on you!”

Arlukent smiled wryly. “I have ways to keep them off me, but it’ll make for one hell of an interesting night. And no, I can’t change your appearance, as much as I’d like to.”

Time flowed inexplicably fast as the two bickered, the driver throwing them odd looks whenever they referenced their gods or a curse commonplace to Zepzier. A thrill shot through Chaetor as the car came to a stop and the driver called, “Here! Now, who’s paying?”

Arlukent was already out of the door, leaving Chaetor staring at the mass of people standing outside the bar beneath a sign that read “Flannigan’s”. Chaetor grumbled about specific aging body parts of Arlukent’s and how he prayed they’d simply fall off at some inopportune moment as he pulled out some cash.

The booming bass of the music within the building shook the ground, igniting a smile of anticipation within Chaetor. There were just so many opportunities within. So many gorgeous, blushing women for him to wow. He’d discovered persuading a woman to bed much more difficult in this time and place when compared to his days upon the stage travelling Baronfall. All the more reason to try harder, he’d surmised while making his strongest efforts .

A long line of those waiting to be let into the bar halted Chaetor, but only for a moment. He suddenly noticed Arlukent only a few steps from the bouncer standing within the open gate of the tall brick wall circling the entrance to act as an outside patio and the side of the building.

Chaetor hustled after the old man, humming in fear of being too slow to tag along. Eyes gawked and jaws nearly slammed into cement as those amassed outside stared at the big movie star whose identity Arlukent had pilfered for the night. This wasn’t the first time he’d used this particular bit of wizardry, albeit never with such a well-known public figure, and yet he’d never utilized it to entice a woman. Wasted talent, Chaetor had remarked. Wasted on the old and ethical.

Just as the bouncer slid aside from the entrance, mouth agape, Chaetor caught up and slapped a hand on Arlukent’s shoulder. The brutish man sporting a long orange beard clacked his teeth together, cleared his throat, then asked, “This guy with you?” Already he was reaching out to seize Chaetor’s collar.

Arlukent raised a hand, cast a thoughtful look over his shoulder, shrugged and said, “He’s alright.”

The two shuffled past awestruck bystanders like so much cattle amongst their owners, and Chaetor disengaged from the fake actor before the waves of people came to suffocate him too. If need be, he’d stumble back into Arlukent and use his stolen fame to lull a woman to him.

The bar, which was a moment before packed, emptied all at once but for a few patrons too shocked to move. Chaetor slipped past scantly clad women and muscle bound men to the side of the U-shaped bar. The bartender took some convincing, but after a few snaps and finally a flick on the collar bone, Chaetor earned his glass of whiskey and leached a squat bottle of brandy that was barely within reach. The theft was barely a challenge as every eye was turned Arlukent’s way. The beaming idiot of an old man came through smiling and waving, chattering with whomever came close enough and laughing boisterously. As he walked the people before him split apart as though he and they were magnets of the same charge. Magic.

Chaetor spent the first ten minutes working on his alcohol. By then, the numbers in the bar had nearly doubled. As sudden as they had crowded him, the people turned from Arlukent as though he’d just become invisible. Chaetor quickly spotted him and dashed over to the table he lounged at. “All done for the night?”

“Just taking a break, my good boy. Letting you a moment to have the fun. Besides, that is tiresome, if not enjoyable.” Arlukent raised a hand and a glass of wine sparked into existence between his fingers, smoke wafting up to the ceiling. Red lipstick marked his cheeks and neck.

“You’ve got a little something…”

“I know. Isn’t it marvelous?”

“Could be if you’d use those tricks right. Hold this.” Chaetor slipped his halfway empty bottle of brandy onto the tabletop before the wizard then turned and ducked away into the massive crowd. Across the room, the floor vibrated with the music and the dancing feet of those brave enough to display their graceful talents, or lack thereof, for all to see.

Alcohol dimming his senses but drawing him closer to the music and it’s rhythm, Chaetor dove into the middle of the dance floor. Half an hour went by and he’d retrieved several phone numbers, a peck on the cheek, and a dozen scowls from the battlefield. He spun free of the gyrating mass of dancers and leaned against the bar, sweat beading on his forehead. Once he’d procured a beer, he moved along to a scene nearly as enticing as a woman.

A board of varying green and red felt covered shapes comprising a circle as a whole drew him. A few women watched as nearly a dozen men competed with one another. It took a moment for Chaetor to understand the nature of the game. Winner retained his throne, defending it with each newcomer, while the loser slammed a bottle or shot glass.

Chaetor sipped his ale, sure that he wouldn’t be forced to ingest it all at once due to a loss at this game. A dart sailed through the empty space between pinball machines and a low wall that cordoned off pool tables and thunked as it hit the board. It wavered in place for a moment before  standing fast and resulting in a score of fifty-one. Cheers erupted and squeals of pleasure squeaked from the women watching in anticipation.

Chaetor took it all in and found his targets; the blonde haired gentleman with gauged ears and the short, albeit curvy lady with tattooed arms and full lips. Her auburn eyes caught his and he winked at her, causing a smile to spread across her fair-skinned face.

Still looking at the girl, he taunted, “You’ve better than that, I hope,” turning on the blonde man as he did so. The competitor who’d lost skulked away after lifting his shot glass to the sky above his lips and draining it.

“Wait your turn, buddy,” he replied, turning from Chaetor as though he didn’t exist.

“If you really need to hold the title for another minute or so, go ahead. I’ll be waiting for when you want an actual challenge.” Those assembled bristled but remained in place otherwise. They knew they’re turn wouldn’t come until later as the holder of the title spun around with a frown plastered to his face.

“You talk big shit. Better be able to back it up.”

“Always do. Always can. Come on, now.”

Chaetor sidled up next to his competitor making sure to stand near the attractive woman leaning against the wall next to him. He imagined pressing her up against the wall in a different manner and nearly forgot what he was doing. The blonde man sighted, one eye closed, practiced several mock throws, then let fly. Forty-five.

Hushed praise rippled throughout the ranks of those watching. Chaetor swaggered up to his place behind the marking line at his feet. He grabbed a dart from the shelf near his hip, placed it between the fingers and thumb of his right hand, stared into his competitor’s eyes, and flicked his wrist. The dart sped from his hand and struck loudly. By the way the color drained from blonde man’s face, he knew he’d done well. He turned to the board and beheld a sixty. Exactly what he’d aimed for.

“Twenty dollars,” the blonde man blurted as he whipped a bill out from a pocket and slapped it down on the table before Chaetor could reply.

“Done!” Chaetor pulled a matching bill from his pocket and smacked it atop the first. Onlookers cleared the board and Chaetor made the first throw, this time staring at the board. Accuracy was more important this time. Forty.

The blonde man stepped up, concentration etched into the creases of his forehead and throbbing vein in his temple. He let fly. Fifty.

The hoot of victory that escaped him had Chaetor rubbing his ear. He snatched the cash and pocketed it with a grin wide enough to show off his metal capped molars.

“Again,” Chaetor said.

“For what?”

“A dance.”

“What? I’m not dancing with you, man. I think I saw a guy over there who might-”

“With her.” He turned and looked at the woman he’d zeroed in on.

She blushed, at first with anger and embarrassment. Then, her surrounding friends urged her on and Chaetor added, “Only if you want to, of course.”

Timidly, she nodded and a smile lifted her pinkish cheeks. The others hollered with approval and the blonde man took his stance. He put his all into that throw, adjusting his feet several times to strike the perfect pose, licking his lips incessantly, cocking his head into a better vantage point. The dart leapt from his fingers, sliced through the air, then stuck smack in the middle of the board for a double bull. Fifty.

Despite there still being room for Chaetor to best his opponent, hitting the bull’s-eye promoted a cacophony of shouts, hoots, and squeals to rip through the bar, drawing most of the eyes in the establishment.

Chaetor prided himself on winning in style, and winning often. He stepped up to place his toe on the line along the floor, tipped his bottle up and finished his ale in several large gulps, slammed it down, grabbed a dart, then took five steps back. Sighs of disbelief echoed. He sighted his target, looked away from it and into the eyes of the pretty lady he’d be dancing with in a moment, then tossed the dart.

A relative silence captured this side of the bar, besides the music bumping throughout the entire building. Chaetor strode to the side of girl he fancied and draped an arm over her then spun and began walking away. Her eyes remained fixed on the dart as it hit the board with an audible thwack then wobbled in place for a moment.

She whipped her head around, staring into Chaetor’s eyes with wonderment, her mouth a perfect O-shape. “How did you…” She trailed off, words escaping her.

“A dance first, if you don’t mind? I’ll reveal my secret afterward.”

In short order, Chaetor discovered her name to be Tricia, a slender, short woman with a mouth like that of a brutish tavern thug. They danced, writhing against one another, twisting and flowing together, for the better part of half an hour.

Chaetor extricated the two from the dance floor by spinning a woman from their path and sending her stumbling into a male who wasn’t at all upset about the intrusion. They leaned against the bar, Chaetor’s eyes lingering on Arlukent as he chattered with a few smiling faces. Obviously he was nothing more than a dashing young fellow with his current disguise.

Chaetor waved over the bartender and ordered a drink for himself and Patricia.”It’s Trina,” she called over the din.

“What?”

“My middle name. It’s Trina. I prefer my friends to call me that.”

Chaetor was about to comment on their newfound friendship when a hard pressure landed atop his shoulder. He rolled with the blow immediately and the blonde man stumbled into him as he slipped drunkenly forward. Chaetor palmed him in the jaw and shoved him away roughly, sending him careening into the perimeter of dancers.

“How’d you do it!” he demanded as he pushed off the wall of people, tipping forward as he did so. “How’d you beat me like that, and know it?” His words slurred thickly as though the syllables were getting stuck behind his teeth and he had to force them out.

Chaetor shrugged and said, “I’m just that godsdamn good.”

Chaetor expected anger, but not an immediate fight. The blonde man lurched forward and threw a haymaker with his right hand. Chaetor slipped beneath it but noticed the drunkard’s fist come within a few inches of Trina’s face. She staggered away and cried out in fear.

Without another conscious thought, Chaetor reached under his shirt and pulled a knife from its sheath near the small of his back. The blade left his hand like a bolt of lightning, albeit not in the direction he’d intended. The sharpened steel knife shot from his fingertips and up to the ceiling, digging into the rafters. A collective cry of alarm came from the assembled people.

Chaetor cast his eyes around and found Arlukent training a reprimanding gaze on him, shaking his head. Chaetor was about to get into a pissing match with the old man when he was reminded of his assailant, who was either too drunk or too dumb to run from a man who’d just revealed a weapon. White light flashed before his face as his head snapped back. The darkness that threatened to close in abated, however, and Chaetor felt his rear slam down hard onto the wood floor.

He was conscious enough to roll over his shoulder and spring to his feet, shame burning in him as blood began to leak from his nose. Then, the bouncers came.

Chaetor turned one last glance toward Trina, who seemed equal parts crestfallen and disappointed, then began to make his exit. The blonde man rushed forward with his arms outstretched to grab Chaetor around the waist. Chaetor stepped his right leg back but his foot sprung off the floorboards as though it were a trampoline and then his knee slammed into the blonde man’s face.

Chaetor’s opponent collapsed, an unconscious heap, as the large bouncer with the red beard came to grab him in a massive hug. He dropped to his left knee and pushed off his right foot to slip around and behind the man. Another was there to seize him and he faked right then leapt up and left. His feet came down on the bar top and he took a single bounding step, knocking over glasses and bottles, then flipped off and to the ground.

Neon green letters lit his objective and he sprinted for the exit, sliding and twisting around and past bar goers. The cool of night graced his cheeks and he was out the gate and sprinting toward the parking lot packed with cars. Arlukent was walking leisurely along the sidewalk.

“Use a flying spell or something, old man. We gotta get the fuck out of here!”

“What for? We’re invisible.”

Chaetor slowed down to a brisk walk then spun and trotted backward. The bouncers were running in his direction, but they bypassed Arlukent, nearly slamming into him, as if he didn’t exist at all. He stopped and smiled, sure that they’d run right past him in their attempt to apprehend him.

Chaetor lifted both hands in an obscene gesture at the bouncers, flashing them a toothy smile he knew they couldn’t see. “Oh yeah, you little shit!” growled the smaller, quicker one.

“Shit!” Chaetor called then shot a scornful look at Arlukent.

He burst to the side to avoid the sweeping arm of the bouncer then found himself dodging cars. Arlukent watched the mad race through the stuffed parking lot and called, “Did I say both of us? I meant just me! Just too much an idiot to say the right thing sometimes I guess!”

A dark skinned fellow who had been recording the incident with Chaetor and the bouncers on his phone jumped in surprise, as Arlukent truly was invisible. “Oh, you’re fine, my good man.”

“What the…” responded the videographer as a trio of women walked past him toward the bar.

The women screwed up their faces into scowls and were a moment from laying into the man before Arlukent hollered, “Godsdammit!” after running into a thick spider web he hadn’t seen.

Both the man and the group of women yelped in surprise and took off in opposite directions like an arrow from a bow. Arlukent wiped the silky strands from his face and couldn’t quell a smile and chuckle. He shrugged and continued on his way, watching Chaetor leap across the hood of a car as the bouncers attempted to trap him between them.

“You, my friend, look the idiot,” Arlukent whispered. He looked off toward the cloud-filled sky as it began to pour rain. “What a joyous night.”

One Last Vigil Prologue and Chapter 1

I wrote this in the four months immediately following the passing away of my godbrother, Ricardo Cota Jr. He was afflicted with lymphoma cancer and eventually was taken by the complications that arose as a result. This was my therapy, but it became something I enjoy quite a bit and I firmly believe it serves as a good metaphor for the journey one with a terminal illness at a young age undertakes.

Look forward to seeing this available at the end of August 2016.

The back matter:

A vigil awaits those who escape the light

     Awakening from a strange dream, one man finds himself lost within a rampant forest. His memory is fragmented and he isn’t sure which pieces explain who he is and what he’s done in life, his own known name a mystery to him.

     Soon, he finds that he is not on Earth at all, but in a savage place. The very flora uproots itself and terrible beasts lurk within the belly of the land and behind the thick blanket of trees, all contending to take his life.

     He seeks understanding to mend his broken mind but finds that keeping from the clutches of destruction is a near impossible thing. In a world designed with his end in mind, perhaps death is his angel.

Acceptance is the way back

 

One Last Vigil

By Keith Edward English

For Ricardo Cota Jr.

 

A great and wonderful light encompassed me. I folded into it until I was as infinitesimal as a grain of sand at the ocean floor. In the same moment, I expanded and dissolved until I was unable to separate myself from the luminescence.

Warmth covered and filled me.

Serenity captured me.

But only for a brief instant.

The light changed from something that consumed me to something of shape, gently pushing me free of its embrace so I could exist on my own. It was a spirit in the form of a man, his face lost in the brightness. No longer was I ethereal and abstract, for I now saw through my eyes that the spirit gripped my pale arm in its golden, shimmering fingers. He pulled and slid forward through this place of absolute darkness.

The comfort still held me, so I didn’t resist. Nothing else mattered beyond this feeling of calm. We grew closer to something. I couldn’t see it, but I felt it. It wanted us, asked that we come for it happily.

A disk of light exploded off in the darkness, motes and rays escaping the portal and swimming through the black. With its arrival there came a bolt of ice that struck through me then vanished. Despite the comfort the tunnel instilled in me, filling me with warmth once more, the surge of frost was enough to stall me. Part of me wanted to become lost in its embrace while something else within railed against its pull, vying that I turn and flee.

The spirit of light was no longer leading me for I was struggling against him with such intensity that we had come to a stop. I only wanted a moment of stillness to comprehend the beautiful terror that was the tunnel of light, but the spirit continued to resist me. My will bent as I tried to hold my ground and it was as though I was being ripped in half. I screamed out silently, urging my sense of self to stay intact.

Panic set in me like claws of lightning shredding all down my body. He was pulling both of us toward the light now, and I realized it was a final escape of sorts, an exit I’d never be able to traverse again once I had passed through. I made another attempt to burst away while keeping him with me, keeping myself intact. I felt my grip falter and was torn in two, leaving me reeling in pain and confusion.

The light was suddenly gone. I was no longer there, but I was no longer anywhere. The warmth left, but it wasn’t replaced by cold. The serenity left, but it wasn’t replaced by chaos. Everything was just gone.

 

Chapter 1

 

I was falling through a black void. My body spun and twisted. I reached for a hold, but only found empty space. I wanted the blackness to leave, to see something, anything. I wanted to scream, but no noise would come from my mouth.

Where was I?

Who was I?

It all ended as colors blossomed before me.

I stood, surrounded by a forest, breathing terribly fast. My hands shook and my knees were so weak that I was certain I’d spill to the ground at any moment. My brief trip through the blackness and escape from the light was just as real as the air I sucked in. It had been something miraculous, but left me with a hole near my heart. I was hollow inside, an integral part of me lost.

Dancing lights drew my eyes upward. The spirit was there. I was connected to him and wished for our union once again only to find myself powerless. He floated between branches thick with leaves until I lost him, feet sliding out of view behind branches thick with leaves. I reached out to the light streaming from between the gaps in the foliage but he continued to escape me until he disappeared altogether.

Once he was gone I felt better. The ties that had connected us were severed and numbed. The hole in my being closed, if only to heal the exterior enough so that I’d no longer notice the absence of something I loved so dearly.

Something moved to my right. My eyes flicked that way and I saw movement in the long grass there. Nothing stalking along the forest floor revealed itself, however. All that was before and around me was an abundance of plant life.

Grass reached up to my waist, trees clad in bark ranging from deep brown to white crowded me, flowers of all colors and all shapes stretched to the sky, vines of varying thickness draped from the canopy. There was this and much more, making it so thick that I felt a sudden sense of claustrophobia.

Fragmented memories came to my mind and I winced as I tried to piece them together. Names were dredged up from deep within: Yosemite, Mendocino, Sequoia. Each one was accompanied by pictures although not a single one seemed more suited to a name than another. It was a scramble of shapes that just wouldn’t create a whole picture regardless of how desperately I wanted them to.

This place seemed as though it had just too much in it. Like a hundred forests had been dumped on top of each other, then a hundred jungles on top of that.

The branches of a tree suddenly jerked. Certainly there was a creature there, perched on the limb, ready to pounce. I stared long and hard, searching for another movement, a paw, an eye partially hidden behind leaves. Nothing.

Only scant holes in the canopy overhead provided glimpses of a clear blue sky, points of light blazing in the aqua-colored spread. Had I been here before? I couldn’t recall how I ended up in this place. I could barely remember a thing that made sense. There were so many jumbled thoughts and pictures in my mind’s eye that I couldn’t trust a single one.

“My name,” I suddenly whispered. “My name is …” My brow furrowed as I sorted through hundreds without a single one feeling as though it belonged to me. “What is my name? Who am I?”

Why was I this way? How did I possess pieces of a life lived before without a full picture of my past? It made such little sense. My heart began to thump against my chest and my hands grew clammy. Loneliness set in me and I whispered, “Hello? Someone.”

Silence reigned in reply. I held my arms up and saw peach-colored limbs and hands I didn’t recognize. Had they been mine, I wouldn’t have been so perplexed by them. At least that’s what I told myself. I felt my chest and stomach, found a frame emaciated and fragile. An odd shirt clung to my torso, seamed at an angle from the V-neck and down to my right hip, a lively blue color, like the sky. The pants covering my legs were a rough material, thick and black. A sash of braided, red rope spun through loops along my pants and cinched them tight to me. Boots of brown leather protected my feet. I still didn’t recognize any of it.

All at once the forest swayed, but there hadn’t been any wind. I had seen the grass near my feet leap to the side as if a gust had suddenly galloped by. I looked up and saw that the whole forest had lurched one way and was now relaxing. Had it been another creature moving through the brush that I just mistook as branches and grass being moved by wind?

All that was around me seemed to be leaning toward me, as if I was a magnet for foliage. What was this place?

The grass suddenly uprooted itself, green giving way to thin tendrils of white root, and I reeled back a step. Trees followed suit, ripping their long, thick roots from the ground, and vines dropped to the ground and writhed like snakes. I was stuck in place, dazzled by the animated forest.

 

Fear dulled to curiosity, compelling me to understand this place. I shuffled half a step forward and the world lurched after me. Grass tangled my feet. Vines wrapped up my legs to twist around my arms and neck. Trees crowded in and smothered me. A branch smashed into my forehead, causing a sunburst of white to cloud my vision. The light fled as quickly as it had blossomed and pain replaced it. I cried out in desperation as the forest began suffocating me.

I found a will to live, spun into the fabric of my soul, and began fighting back. I thrashed until my arms and legs ripped through vines and grass. The trees continued closing in, their trunks nearly touching, walling me into a deathly embrace. I ripped at my attackers, defying their onslaught with my own. Vines twisted up my neck and prodded my face, nearly shattering my teeth and gouging my eyes. Branches stretched for me but I tore my head to the side. I gripped the vines assaulting me in two hands then ripped them in half, thick tendrils going limp and falling to the ground, dead.

A branch hit me in the back and pressed me up against the rigid bark of a tree. I felt things crawling up my back, taking away my freedom, seeking an end to my life. I pushed off the tree but found the branch still held me fast. I spun in a tight circle, ripping grass and vines as I did. I reached up and grabbed two separate branches of the tree I was against and pulled. The foliage resisted, trying to keep me in this place to kill me. With a final surge and cry of defiance, I broke free and lifted myself up into the tree.

Before I could find my footing on the branches, it moved as though the earth beneath it had begun to rip open. I slipped to the ground, expecting to find a net of suffocating foliage. But the earth there was barren, the soil loosened from the grass uprooting itself. I hit the earth and rolled to my feet, the ground shaking and vibrating as trees pounded behind me and other things slid or twisted after me. I ran and found myself coming upon more trees and foliage.

It was too late to stop or to try to find another exit; every direction held the same thing as far as I could tell. I hollered as the trees before me ripped free of the ground, their branches swaying to meet me. A branch pulled back in anticipation of smashing into me. I ran toward it then leapt as it arced for me. It cut through the air just beneath my feet and I found myself coming down. Only, the ground was not flat. I was falling down onto a steep hillside populated by brush and other vegetation that seemed to reach up for me in anticipation of imprisoning me.

I crashed down onto grass that tried to keep me. I ripped free of it and began tumbling down the hill, bouncing and rolling. I slammed into a tree and my descent stopped for a brief moment. In that space of stillness, I felt a dozen bones in my back burst and dig their way into muscle and grind against one another. The mind-numbing pain consumed me and I forgot that I was spilling down the steep hill.

I suddenly realized that I had stopped rolling as something crawled over my face. Vegetation covered me as I lay still, immobile at the bottom of the hill. I couldn’t turn my head. I could barely breathe. Nothing responded to my urges, not even a finger. The hill was too high for me to glimpse its top and I had fallen down the entire thing in what felt like just a few seconds.

No longer could I see, as grass had covered my head completely. Blackness began to settle in as I lost the ability to breathe. I couldn’t feel much but knew that more and more weight was covering my body, engulfing me. I would die here then, not knowing who I was or why I was here or what I had done in life or what the hell here was.

A sound I understood came for me, broke through the blanket of vegetation. The grass wrapped around my body loosened its grip and fled. I began to breathe again, albeit as though a lump of cotton filled my throat. The blackness faded somewhat. I could see through the little vegetation still covering me and saw flickering shadows. An orange light blazed before my eyes, setting my scalp to tingling.

A man held a flame in his hand somehow. He spewed it at the foliage and it retreated, charred and smoking, leaving a wide swath of unpopulated dirt. I saw a face behind the fire, one with pink, purple, and red rings around two eyes that were perfect circles of black. I saw a nose with two wide nostrils that pointed straight out of the face, holes into the head. I saw a grin that undulated like a moving worm, several large, sharp teeth pointing either up or down. I saw large cheek bones, a wrinkled forehead, a round head.

Then, the pain in my back suddenly flared and everything turned black again.

 

***

 

Awakening this time was disorienting, much in the same way it had been previously. There was one significant difference to separate the two events, however. I pushed through the darkness and beheld color. I found a brown canvas over me, sticks that held it aloft, small windows to the sky above through little tears in the fabric.

But mostly, I found pain. A deplorably massive bounty of it.

I wanted to move, but knew that I wouldn’t be able to. I had broken my back falling down that mountain, I recalled.

My legs responded though, knees bending and feet rotating. I immediately stopped because of the pain it brought, gasping aloud with spittle flying from between my lips with each pained exhale.

I lay there for a long while, tears streaming from my eyes, breathing raggedly, hoping that the pain would leave. Apparently my thoughts had some sort of power because the pain did in fact dull and then vanish. I ground my teeth together until I was sure they’d shatter, then rolled to my right side.

My back audibly popped as bones shifted. Terrible agony shredded down my spine and I nearly went into the black again. I couldn’t stem my outburst this time and wailed, despite the waves of fresh pain each brought.

As before though, with enough time and enough wishing, the numbness set in and my screams turned to sobs. I could better handle those. Despite my limited mobility, my spine was certainly shattered. Perhaps I’d walk again if I didn’t expire here beneath a ramshackle tent first.

The sound of someone approaching came from behind me, and a bit down on my lip hard to keep my mouth shut and feign sleep. I didn’t dare move, I didn’t need any more pain. The shuffling feet came close and I heard a voice.

“Should have tied you down. Rolling around like that, moving the bones around. I may be good, but damn … making my life that much harder. This will wake you up for sure.”

Something stabbed me in the back and each individual vertebrae exploded as though tiny grenades had been placed beneath each one then all simultaneously set off. I convulsed. I suddenly couldn’t move anymore but I was still able to scream, and scream I did, like a banshee in a microphone streaking out of the depths of hell. Something held me fast.

I heard the voice again, this time only barely though, “Better that you’re asleep.”

The same thing that had rearranged my spine poked me in the head. Compared to the agony in my back, it felt like a butterfly’s kiss but then it seemed to lance through my skull and into my brain. A loud zap sounded.

 

***

 

When I woke up next, I was momentarily afflicted by amnesia. I shook my head as though mixing up the stuff inside would put it back into a working order. The horrific event that had befallen me snapped back and I remembered the spirit of light, rolling down the hill, the bolt of lightning through my head that put me under. “Who the fuck did I piss off to deserve this?” I whispered.

I was now inside a house, or a hut, dried bamboo walls leaning toward me. It was hot inside, the source a small blaze burning in a cage of hardened clay or old metal a half dozen feet away.

Sweat leaked from my pores, spilling down my temples and pooling on the hard dirt floor beneath me. The discomfort prompted me to sit up and a small twinge of pain made me gasp and freeze. I reached back with one hand and ran my fingers gingerly across my back. I felt scars and even thought that my spine felt odd, like the vertebrae didn’t match up exactly right.

I made to stand, and was halfway to my feet when a man appeared at the door, startling me back to the ground. I hissed as I hit the earth and he raised his hands as if to calm me. His face was so very odd, the same face I had seen when he had saved me from an early grave.

He spoke, although his wavering, fanged mouth didn’t move. “Don’t go and screw up that back again. I don’t look forward to fixing it no more.”

I didn’t know when I had last spoken loudly. It must have been eons ago. My throat felt like it had been used as a furnace when I said, “You fixed my back? It was broken, wasn’t it?” Oh yeah, that hurt. I swallowed what little spit I had to wet my throat.

“Shattered to pieces. That’s the kind of shit that happens to people who roll down big hills.”

“How did you fix it? And what is wrong with your face?”

I sat up and felt my back again. Those bones weren’t right.

“Nothing is wrong with it. See.” He grabbed his face and peeled it away. Only then did I realize that he had been wearing a decorative mask. “And I didn’t do too much. I put the bones back where they should have been, then stitched you back up.”

His skin was dark, long grey hair twisting from his scalp and brow. His eyes were set deep in his head and riddled with red veins, wizened pools that spoke of countless years of experience. A scraggly beard sprouted from his face adding to him an air of wildness.

“Are there others here who helped performed the surgery to fix me? I’m not sure how I ended up on top of that hill in the forest, or even where here is. Maybe they know, or you even? I just … something is wrong with me.”

“Just me and I don’t know nothing. You made one hell of a ruckus and I came to check it out. Found you floundering for air beneath the forest. Figured I’d help you out.”

Thoughts, unbidden flooded my mind. I saw white halls lit by florescent lights, clear and sterile. My vision slid through them until I was tucked away in a room with a bed and little else that stood out beside some brightly colored cards on a stand and flowers on the sill of the window. There was a man lying in the bed in obvious disrepair, but then there were others coming and going. I wasn’t sure which one I was, nor was I allowed the time to comprehend it all. The images flitted away and I was silent for a moment, staring at the strange dark man before me, frustrated at my inability to understand what my memories meant.

“Is this a hospital?” I raised my arms and inspected them. “I don’t see any IVs or nurses. How did you keep me alive this whole time? I broke my back and it’s healed now; that must have taken weeks. I’ve been asleep for that long!”

A blank stare greeted me. “What are you blathering about? Bunch of nonsense.”

“I have these memories. Some of this feels familiar. I’m just trying to make connections. To make this make sense to me somehow. To figure who the hell I am and what I’m doing here.”

The man waved his hand and said, “Come on. You’re making me feel senile.” He ducked out of the hut, dismissing my investigation. Apparently he knew that I hadn’t started getting up yet since he yelled, “Come on!”

I scrambled up to my feet, using the rickety bamboo walls as support. I took a step and found that my back pinched, causing me to hitch the side, nearly tripping me. Certainly there’d be a surgeon to explain this all to me, and others to rehabilitate me further. Somehow I was sure I had dealt with a situation similar to this, and the next steps in the process I already knew. Broken memories lay at the edge of my mind, stuck in a brainfog that I couldn’t pierce no matter how hard I tried, providing me with only enough information to get by. I stumbled from the hut and ended up outside in a terribly bright place.

I shielded my eyes and squinted at what I thought was the black man. His voice came from my side though and I realized I was staring at a tree. I shambled away from it in horror, sure that it was going to try taking my head off.

“Bright, bright, bright. All those stars out and the suns being so big. Can’t see a damn thing sometimes. Here.” Hands stopped me and he said, “Stop your dancing. It can’t get you here.”

A shawl covered me, draping from my head and blocking most of the light. The scratchy fabric smelled musty and old, as though it had been tossed into the corner of a closet and left to stand guard over the dust bunnies and mites that passed through for a century. I was able to make so many connections without recalling with clarity my experiences in life. Some malady certainly ailed me. I only hoped that something would provide me with a cure soon.

The light spearing into my eyes dimmed enough so that I could find the man who’d save me and asked, “So what is this place?”

The black man, now behind his mask, said, “Kid, I’m not sure what you’re talking about. Again, I just saved you, that’s it. How about you try to ask questions that make sense?”

“I don’t know how to! I have these broken memories that don’t tell me who I am. I was just in that forest all of a sudden. There was a light that I was going toward but then it left. The trees and grass attacked me. I rolled down the hill. Then you found me. I don’t know my name, how old I am, where I was before, and I don’t understand why! That’s why I can’t make any sense; none of this makes any sense to me.”

He was silent for a while, the mask staring at me somehow making me feel as though I was insane. Finally, he said, “Well, crazier things have happened I guess. Maybe you aren’t even from here. Your clothes look normal, though. To me at least. I’ve been here longer than I can remember.”

How could he be so uninterested in my not having a memory? Of me just appearing in that terrible forest?

“What do I do?”

“How am I supposed to know that?”

I sure as hell didn’t know. Someone should have known. Why not this man? Why not me?

“You fixed my back. How?”

“You really don’t know anything about this place? You must have hit one of those trees a lot harder than I thought.”

“No. I’m telling you, I remember all that. I was in the forest, no idea who I was or how I got there.”

“This world used to be a little different. The trees and grass and bushes didn’t attack everything like they do now. I was young then. Anyhow, there used to be something called night. We don’t have that anymore. Night is when the skies get dark and –”

“I know what night is. The Earth spins and is half in the sun and the other half under the moon. I got it. Is this Earth?”

Again, he was silent, just staring at me, accusations in his thoughts, I think. “Stop interrupting with that nonsense. I don’t know what Earth is.”

Maps of a globe formed in my head, half complete. Text slithered across the green and blue flashes in my head, nothing sticking or ringing any bells. I nearly screamed out in frustration.

He continued, “Anyway, one of the suns is always out. There’s a bunch of stars up there too that shine real bright. And … Yeah.” He popped his shoulders up, signifying that there was nothing more to say.

Earth I felt a connection with. That name had unlocked a fragment. It was obvious that I was not there but rather on a completely separate planet.

“Don’t you have more to tell me? You still haven’t explained how you healed me.”

“Oh right. With this.” He turned, marched toward the hut, then scooped a metal rod from the ground. Now that my eyes had adjusted and I could see a little farther without having to squint, I saw that we were on a flat of land without any vegetation. Dirt, red and sometimes in clumps, extended in all directions for at least fifty feet. Beyond that though, that living forest stood, crowding the edges of the empty patch, creating an almost impenetrable wall.

He pointed the rod to the sky and a blue jet came from its top. The blue stream was odd. It didn’t look like fire, but what else could it be? There must be a fuel source inside that combusted and caused blue fire to come from it. Indifferently, he slid his hand through it and seemed fine. The blue stopped. Then he walked to edge of the clearing.

The trees and grass seemed to lean toward him, but they wouldn’t cross over to the clearing. He pointed the rod at the trees and fire leapt from it. It wasn’t the smooth, blue jet, but instead a wide gout of crackling, orange fire. The vegetation scurried away, a loud racket coming from the ripping and shuffling roots.

The flame was a cone only five feet wide, but the clearing it created was twenty feet around.

He turned back to me as if all my questions should now be answered. He held the rod out toward me to show it off.

“That fixed my back?”

“It restores the order of things.”

“What does that mean?”

“Exactly what I said. That’s all I know about it. It just does that. It fixed your back. It pushes the things that try to kill us away.”

“Why won’t the trees come after us? They make a perfect circle around here.” The trees and grass had begun inching back to their place.

“This is sacred ground. That’s why your back healed so quickly and the gash on your forehead isn’t there any longer. The rod put everything back. You wouldn’t be standing so soon, or maybe even at all, if not for this place. It isn’t done quite yet, but even if you leave now it will continue to heal until your back is good as new.”

“Sacred to who?”

“God.”

I knew that word. Visions of crosses and men with comforting, albeit sad, smiles came to mind.

“If you were me, what would you do?” I felt lost and scared, partially because I feared the answer that would come from him.

“You don’t belong here, kid. I’ve done all I can to help. I believe you’d do best to go to God. I’ll give you this stick.” I expected the rod, but he scooped a piece of bamboo from the ground and handed that to me. It was sturdy and I could lean on it. “And this.” He fumbled with a pouch at his hip and came back with an orange flake.

The material was thin and papery. I took it gently for fear that even the slightest pinch would crumble it. “Thank you, I guess. So, what do I do with this?”

“Eat it. It’s a piece of a star.”

I began to retort but stopped when I realized that I would probably be asking questions that would only irritate him. I popped the flake into my mouth and it fizzled on my tongue. I swallowed it and a small explosion happened inside me. The flake combusted within me causing a flash of heat to extend from my throat and to the tips of my limbs instantly. The heat disappeared and everything around me wavered as if the air before my eyes rippled as it might on a scorching day.

“What does this do exactly?” I asked.

“To others, you’ll feel warm to the touch. To the forest, it’ll be like you lit yourself on fire. For whatever reason, the stardust tricks it into leaving us alone, but only for a time.”

Remnants of what it meant to show gratitude for what one received was the only blockade between me nodding silently and begging him for more. Hell, had he been holding a chunk of this stuff I can’t say I wouldn’t have tried to take it by force. It wasn’t just me in this mess though. Perhaps there would be others who would need his help and the stardust he offered. I simply dipped my head in acknowledgement.

“You should go. There are things out there that might help. People and whatnot that could help you figure out who you are. Follow the path. It’ll take you for a long journey. At its end is God.”

“What path?” I asked.

But the man used his rod to jab my side, causing me to hop away and stumble a few steps. The bamboo kept me up and I eventually found my balance. I heard roots tearing and stomping. I looked around and saw that I was standing amidst the forest, now receded to thirty feet from me. I looked down and saw a path of old stones, about as wide as my foot lengthwise.

“I don’t know what I’m doing. Or where I’m going.”

“I told you that already. If you reach the end of the path, you’ll meet a friend of mine. She’ll help. If you make it that far, God will be within reach. It’ll be up to you what to do from there. I don’t see another option for you.”

“So I’m just supposed to leave?”

“Well staying here isn’t going to do you any good. We can pussyfoot around all you want and you still won’t have a wink of an idea who you are. I believe everything you’re saying. You don’t seem like a nut. Maybe you are from some other place. You have a journey to go on. Better start now. Especially since that stardust won’t last forever.”

I looked to the flora around me. It wasn’t getting any closer at this moment. The thought that it would start inching in on me was terrifying. I had to get through this journey before that happened.

“Before I go, what is your name?”

The black man removed his mask and said, “Morissette. Once that stardust runs out, you better find yourself some fire. And don’t think that’s the only thing you have to worry about. You’re going to run into a lot of shit after this.”

I thanked Morissette. That kind of blunt truth was welcome. I understood that and it gave me a clear goal. I turned and began my journey along this terribly narrow path.