They knew I fled and were on my trail—- I sensed it. The deceitful council were in ceaseless pursuit, I thought, halted only by the death of age, but when their counterparts inherited the task, I’d outrun them too. Their pervasive influence could locate my whereabouts and end my existence almost anywhere on the continent, and I had to make them work hard for it. Nothing about it made sense however; if they wanted me dead, they should have killed me at birth like the others. Unironically, I was thankful. They gave me an excuse to flee and be free; the kingdom did not want the “Prince of Impotence”, anyways. How embarrassing it would be, however, if I died in that night, never to reap the benefits of my newfound opportunity, and provided what they (and my father perhaps) desired.


    I traveled a great distance from the gothic Kingdom of Sundur; a powerful nation perched upon a perilous cliff, beaten by the Ancient Sea that enclosed the continent; in proximity a collective of small towns, cities, and farms, situated upon grassy knolls, twisting dirt and paved passages, and earth toned plots, all of which governed by my father and his council. Close Southeast one of the largest growths in the world flared out and covered most of the Northern region; Saralene Forest was a natural border, like the ocean opposite, that secluded my home from neighboring and far away Kingdoms. The dense growth held massive blueish green pine trees so close together you couldn’t fit a calf through sideways. With roots the size of my arm intertwined with thickets that could hide an army, the floor was near impassable. It felt abandoned, quiet, haunted. Not even the animals settled there. It was rarely traveled, except by the most protected, or quick. I had already trodden the desecrated forest for over a hundred miles, and which meant I was neither. Luck spawned a dirt path to tread and I followed it blindly.


    Poor Hadie panted and whined as the grey sky dimmed. I peered up through the trees— a vague strand of light undulated behind a curtain of clouds like an innocuous tendril. We were almost there, but Hadie became clumsy and slowed significantly. He tripped and caught hold and tripped again, my chance of survival fading with every misstep and jerk. His head low, he came to a near halt and I begged him to continue. Hadie tilted and awkwardly I slipped from the saddle, landing tailbone first on thick roots that drew a shout. The guard of my Father’s sword dug into my ribs. Through pained eyes I watched as he shook and keeled over a deep thump. With desperate breathing he flailed trying to stand back on his hooves.


    After a minute, he settled on his pumping sides, breath shallow but rapid. A shriek echoed in the forest. I searched frantically past looming trunks at figures that escaped my vision. I petted him while I darted every direction. Then another screech rang out behind me, distant but nearing. With no more time to spare I unsheathed the sword, then took a final view of the valiant steed, doomed to death by my hand, his black coat glistening from sweat. I lined the sword with the bottom of his jaw, peered into his eyes, and a brief sense of sorrow overshadowed my urge to flee. Eyes closed, a lift, a heavy down swing, and I hacked into his neck once. Blood sprayed onto my black leather jacket and face. I stole a look at the eviscerated horse and hacked once more to remove its head. He was still.


    “Forgive me. I won’t let them steal your soul.”


    My hands shook as I removed two saddle bags and they struck the forest floor. I rifled through them and unloaded most of the contents in to my jacket pockets: a sack of precious jewels and jewelry, a silver Sol dial, my comm pad, a pack of colorful flint wheel lighters, an off-brand pouch of salted mixed nuts, and a golden seal of Sundur, used primarily for the stamping of royal documents. I stole a service light pistol from the King’s Barracks and that I tucked behind my waistband. Hooked to a d-ring was a portable oil lantern that wouldn’t unlatch immediately, but when it did, I rushed southeast down the path in hopes of a reprieve. Darkness came soon, and I had yet to see as much as a silhouette of a structure.


    When I found the rest point it was nearly dark. I waved my hand over the lantern. Its blinding light illuminated decaying pines and dying brush within ten meters, elicited hissing and cursing close behind that sent pins piercing up my spine. A potent smell of rot stung my nostrils and caused an involuntary wince. There was a clearing in the forest and a much wider dirt path; along it a grey two-story wooden edifice.


    I shouldered its door without budge. I set the lantern on the porch and turned back to the night. There were more Demons out now, and I could see their shadows against the stars and moonlight, along the edges of light. My mother, or a woman who named herself my mother, called for succor through the bedlam. I slammed a closed fist into the door. “Help! Is anyone there? Please, I’m human!” The Demons mocked me, sounded just like me. They obfuscated my plea and turned me into one of them; from behind and above my own voice emanated things I never said in ways I would.


    “I know someone is there, you can save me before the pitch!” I heard nothing. “Damn it, if you don’t open the door right now you’ll be persecuted!” It was no longer night, no more stars or moon. The black had taken the continent as its own and the perimeter of light that was my haven shrunk. When the last vestige of the Veil departed, the tip of its golden appendage waving goodbye in space, realms collided and through the rupture evil prospered, flourished. No longer could the true denizens of the world wander safely, and the war against humanity proceeded again.


    My back was against a wall, sword readied at hidden fiends, and chances of survival at the minimum. If the lantern lasted through the night, I would live, I thought, but these Demons were intelligent; they could tip it somehow or wound me through a shadowed crack my light couldn’t reach or ensure I go mad. Snarling and lamenting and hollering flanked me. Four— no, five bloodshot pairs of eyes reflected my light like stalking wolves. Madness begun to set, a sharp ache jolted my brain and I ducked shouting to acute pain.


    “Son of Barak, I’ve found you.” Echoed in my mind.


    The porch burst into view, illuminated by flood lights fastened along the edge of the roof. The handful of Demons were caught off guard by the sudden flash; I witnessed their horned pale bodies green or burgundy and fanged contorted muzzles retreat like roaches. The door cracked and I shoved it open, squeezing inside and nearly falling over. Two men deadbolted, barricaded, and sealed it shut behind me. I faced them with my sword out front.


    One man wore a white apron and black slacks; tall, bald, and muscular. He had his hands up and slowly shuffled to my left. The other looked older and was about the same height, around six feet, with short hair a mixture of browns and greys. He wore a white t-shirt, blue jeans and brown working boots; he approached me from the front carefully. I looked around and there were several others sitting round tables spectating as my back hit the edge of a bar.


    The older one tried to talk me down. “Don’t worry kid, we’re not going to harm you, we just saved you. You can put the sword away.”


    “Then tell your man to stop moving!”


    “John.”


    The bald one nodded and stopped. Behind the door unnatural noises loudened.


    “What took you so long to open the door?” I said.


    “Listen, we can talk. You’re freaking me out with that sword. Stow it, would ya?”


    “How do I know I can—”


    An arm wrapped under my chin and hauled me backward, lifting me off my feet and bending my spine over the bar. The other two rushed forward, their hands taking mine around the hilt. They pressed on my thumbs and relinquished my weapon.


    “We got the sword, let him go Roger!” the older one said as he gripped at his arms.


    But he didn’t. I nearly lost consciousness. He squeezed mercilessly and it felt like my face would pop. Frantically, I reached into my waistband and tugged on my light pistol until it released and fired down blindly. He hollered and let go and I plummeted behind the bar on to my shoulders with a grunt, spilling bottles of alcohol. My pistol readied, I kept visual as he limped off to the open end.


    “That man is plagued!” I said while I caught my breath. “He almost killed me!”


    “You fucking shot my foot!” He cried as he limped away.If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    “I wasn’t going to hurt anyone!”


    “Okay, okay! Just put the gun down!” Said the old one. I emerged, the spectators in the room affirmed, and I acquiesced. The air smelled of singed hairs and there was a shallow crescent-shaped burn hole in the floor. On the steps the man carefully removed Roger’s boot while others commented and groaned at the injury. John kept eyes on me.


    They whispered to each other, Roger groaned. Some turned to me as I exited bar well, clearly wary. It was understandable and pointless assigning blaming; just minutes ago they were secured from external horrors and in comes a terrified stranger.


    Sitting on a barstool, I set the pistol to safety and laid it carefully on the counter, muzzle pointing behind to the shelves of colorful and clear bottles displayed in a meticulous spectrum. John sat down too, at a table across from me, eyes still trained, but he leaned in the chair next to my sword that laid flat on the table.


    “You cooked two of his toes, but he gets to keep them.” He said as he approached and glanced at the pistol.


    “My name is Arch. What’s your name kid.” Arch said.


    “Anwar.”


    “Aright Anwar. Can we check you at least?”


    “I don’t have any other weapons.” I lifted my arms, prepared for a pat down.


    “Well that’s good news, but I meant the detward.”


    He nodded towards the front door. Engraved into the wood floor and directly above in the ceiling lied a familiar ward. Three interlocking circles filled them, and within three large spaces, three primordial signs. What bordered it was the language of the First Witnesses, done most likely by a high priest, and lethal. I had scrambled over it too quickly.


    “You aren’t the first to show up late. We won’t put you out. I just want the peace of mind.”


    “That won’t work, but I’ll stand on it.”


    I relaxed. It was a rest point, and within were travelers, I told myself. The tables were high and round, some bearing glasses and plate, and underneath them tall stools. Two restrooms positioned beneath the staircase were open and tiled and I could see as far inside as the corners that turned at a ninety-degree angle. There was a swinging door next to a deep sink in the bar and over the curved opening I could see pots and pans hanging from racks. Fluorescent lights hummed and wires mounted to the ceiling sprawled out and gathered into a metal box situated on the wall where the bar terminated, proving that this edifice ran on an old mode of power. The detection ward should have been enough to calm my nerves; the both cautious and surprised people within too.


    John was the cook, and Arch, the owner. I didn’t know what Roger was, but his unsettling behavior, although slightly justified, invoked an instinctive wariness. I stood on the ward.


    “Just wait a minute.” Arch said.


    Knowing nothing would happen, I complied, and nothing did happen. The spotlight was on me, even the outside quieted.


    Arch shooed me from the ward and stepped in himself. The engravings lit up at about thirty seconds, encapsulating him in a soft cone of opaque light, gradually brightening. He looked at me carefully, and beckoned me to step back on it. I did and nothing changed again.


    “Is he a possessed or somethin’? An elderly woman, dressed in a navy-blue suit and beige sunhat wrapped by a blue bow, asked from the corner.


    “Can’t be.” Arch said. “You knew this would happen. What’s wrong with you then?”


    “Born that way.”


    “That boy has a familiar name. Looks familiar too…” The woman said.


    “I get that a lot. I’m not a fanatic or possessed, just traveled a little too far for my own good. I’m looking to cross the forest into the South. I can trade for a night’s stay and a ride.”


    Arch pressed between his eyes in response.


    “The Lessers will keep us up all night now. Guess we’ll be on a full watch rotation tonight.” John said.


    “Mhmm.” Arch replied.


    “Oh Roger!” A worried woman, pale and dangerously thin, wearing a pink night gown, cried hysterically as she descended the steps. She held the railing tight and limped to his side, holding him like he had been long lost. They whispered to each other, although Roger seemed dismissive.


    “We’re not going to throw you out Anwar, but I can’t let you sleep here with weapons. Everyone else has to put them up and that includes you.” Arch said.


    I thought for a moment as I looked around. “Fine.” John held his hand out and I pointed to the bar, where my pistol lied. He waited.


    “The sheathe. Kinda need it.” John said.


    “Right.”


    After tentatively unbuckling my father’s sheathe, John thanked me and left to the back.


    “Where’re you coming from?” Arch said.


    “From the North.”


    “You’re not very talkative are you.”


    There were a few clicks and locks that occurred before John returned and handed me a key inside of a sealed thin plastic case.


    “Okay, so what room am I in?”


    “Can’t have everyone anxious over a guy that not only shot a guest and brought a team of Lessers to the Inn, but won’t light up the detward. We’ll confine you, just like we do the crazies, and keep an eye for the night.”


    “Confined” I said. “I gave up my weapons!”


    “Listen kid, you’ll be safe; it’s a free night’s stay and we’ll get you food, John is a great cook. You can stay up here while we get the basement spruced up with a bed. We’ll take care of your car too if it’s intact after tonight; there’s an underearth garage just up the path. Plus, if you’re not afflicted with anything…”


    It was my first time outside of the castle walls without an appointed guard or my father. I felt alone. Although they didn’t seem evil, I was in danger of manipulation and already lost protection. Finding out my bloodline would cause danger to us all, and one familiar eye upon my father’s sword would raise suspicion; they would send me back, I thought, or we were all dead together. The chaotic noise resumed and penetrated the walls, coming to a crescendo. I didn’t realize he was still talking.


    “Hello? You do have a vehicle, right?”


    “A vehicle?”


    A violent force impaled the Inn and in burst a hail of broken wood that shattered glass and damaged both the Inn and those closest to the stairs. I flinched and fell flat, gazing at gaping hole with mouth agape. Screams rang throughout. Arch hollered through the calamity. People fled frantically as I rose to my feet, the hairs of my skin lifted. About the edge of the breach peaked in an unmoving horned head so black that it appeared juxtaposed, and clamping onto the inside a dozen human, eviscerated hands. It said hello in an unnaturally low and distorted tone while it smoked from the light, its two yellow beady eyes shuddering and fixed upon me. After retrieving my lantern, I shuffled as far outside the wicked intruder reach as possible and slid on slippery hide. A scattering of fragmented wood from the entrance wall, tables, and chairs covered the floor; innards, dark flesh, splats of blood and bits painted the bar. Warmth whirled round from the breach. My heart sank. There was an animal leg lodged into shelving, a head half-eaten against a fallen chair, a quarter of body crushed the center of the bar, and a hoof within view.


    In a short hallway beside the bar was the basement, and past that was the kitchen. Shuffling frantically to the back I took hold of the handle, shaking it as panic ruled my body. I faced the black hole where monstrous clamor emanated and the darkness spiraled, subtly turning red the longer I stared.


    A guest crossed the opening of the hallway, his long and muddied hair draped over his face. He was topless and in ripped soiled jeans, head down and mumbling. As if strolling through a park or walking along a beach, the guest passed the gap without a glance, unlocked and opened the front door, and exited. Quickly I fled to the kitchen. The useless swinging door swung once and I secured. There was an unclean butcher knife out by the sink I acquired and knew was impractical but it provided ostensible security. Although well lit, to be safe I waved my lantern on. I sat on the floor where two counters met and shook uncontrollably. The darkness was the master of night, the oppressed light as the shadows in the day.


    The restless night left no room for recovery and garnered unpleasant experiences. I would drift off for a moment and hear “Hey” and awake to the brief sight of a blackened figure absconding. Again I fell asleep and a piece of flesh or a limb landed nearby, shocking me awake for another hour until I couldn’t stay awake any longer. Often I heard footfalls retreat from the hall out to the front, and fear would keep me alert. They toyed and toyed, allowed me to fall asleep but never stay that way. Without the artificial lighting, I would have died.


    “Wake up.”


    “Not a scratch.” John said.


    I gasped out of my stupor and looked up with dread. I sighed and my head fell. The lights were off, but daylight poured in from the front.