《Grey Skies》


 Midnight Stroll

    It was dark.


    Like every sensible non-morning person, my shutters were fully drawn to block the view. I pulled the cord and the silver moonlight flooded the room. It was so clear tonight, that it drowned out the dim lamp posts as if it was a giant spotlight.


    With trembling hands, I shrugged off my pajamas. Changing into an outfit I liked to call a Night Stroll. A comfy hoodie with sufficiently large pockets, long baggy pants, and shoes which were softer than usual. Was I really going to do this?


    It didn''t take long for me to mutter a sarcastic yes. What other option did I have? I was running out of time, failing to meet minimal expectations. If I didn''t try anything, my future would be ruined.


    My hands shook at the thought. Something resembling anger surged through my spine. Spite. So much spite, causing aches all over my body. What infuriated me most was seeing all that I did, all that I''ve fought for and bled for. In the end? Pointless. Forced into vanity by the worst scum in the world.


    The window was flung open as I stuck my head outside. Going outside at this time was illegal, according to the national curfew. The wind pushed my hair back as I stuck my head forward.


    It was a long drop. Around 6 stories. It was going to be fun for once, no more worrying. I jumped to my hypothetical doom. Feet first, of course.


    The sound of a violin climbing in pitch played in my head. Do, as the wind tugged at my clothes. Ray, as I felt myself falling quicker. Mi, as I heard the air scream past me. Fa, as I got dizzy from the momentum. On So, I took a step.


    The ground pulsed as all that momentum dispersed on my step. The music came to an ear screeching stop and I nearly hurled from how terrible it felt. All that buildup, all that work, wasted. Red ran down the side of my mouth as I dragged my self over to a trash can and spat some bloody spittle. It tasted like corroded metal.


    I was a great Prophet. What did that matter now, when I couldn''t even finish such a simple prophecy? The backlash of being a false prophet hurt me in a way which felt crippling, as if I couldn''t breath, as if I could barely see. Because what was once there was now gone. I hated my weakness.If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    The pole of a street sign caught my stumbling form, my coughs dying down to a soft growl. There was time to bemoan my fate later, I had to make the most of this night. I set up this excursion in two months, I didn''t have the time to spare to set up another large scale prophecy.


    My slow steps were typical of any average person walking down the streets at such a late time. It was ill advised to attract attention, for crooks had the choice to rob you blind, or drag you away to do who knows what.


    Somewhere, the sound of soft jazz played to the tune of a brisk walk. I looked back at the direction of the nearest bar, seeing that they were porting the recorded songs from this evening to the sound speakers.


    Posh people with their entourages were riding several carriages in a row, trusting deeply in the propaganda that was being spread by the cults. Those who kept in line would be able to buy into fame and fortune, after all.


    I stepped aside as their slaves carried around the luggage on pull carts. Heavier than anything I could bear with my frail body. I saw even the aged and young struggle in futility.


    One child in particular would die if I simply let this continue, so once again I weaved a familiar prophecy.


    "Child, abandoned,


    Amidst the storm.


    As the burden grows heavier,


    day, by day.


    You will find a tenacity,


    Akin to mine.


    And freedom will be granted,


    To those who try escaping cataclysm."


    This should be enough, and I knew for a fact that this prophecy was vague and personal enough, that no regular sanctioned prophet could draw a bead on the recipient. It even had a mysterious expiry date, due to the word child being implemented. At a certain age, and certain condition, they would not be protected anymore.


    That''s how prophecy should be in the first place. Guiding, not defining. My master would have reviled the current state of conduct, almost every fateweaver now possessed. By no means were most fateweavers even up to "par".


    It wasn''t long before I marched into the back region of the cemetery, where I knew there was a gap in the fence, and breaking in wouldn''t alert the gravekeeper. My hammer was jammed between a set of bars, working hard in making a gap wide enough to squeeze through. The metal here was weaker than the rest of the fence, but I couldn''t afford to snap it off. Didn''t want to be traced after I hiked it out of here.


    As the slight creak faded, my boots scruffed on the grass, the wind tumbling through the trees with a rustle. The moonlight shone through the clouds and landed on one particular grave.


    "Here lies Hisphona Prahno." Poppies grew in rows upon rows.


    Perfect.

 Graverobber?

    I grabbed a small spade and started digging.


    It took barely 30 centimeters down before I struck something. The ground gave way as the coffin was revealed to have been placed diagonally in the dirt, with the top of the coffin closest to the surface.


    I didn''t want to stay any longer than necessary. I saw nails driven into the coffin and wrenched them out with the back of a hammer.


    Inside was a... person?


    Their eyes were open, staring into the distance as they occasionally twitched. It was like they were looking at multiple things. They seemed unnaturally faded, as if they were made of washed out paper.


    Blue eyes shuddered close as they scoffed softly. Grinning, they simply looked down. On their neck was a colorless vial hanging from a large ring, interwoven with a silk scarf tied around their neck.


    I hesitated for a second. Then I uncapped the liquid and met their eye. They nodded. I gritted my teeth as I tilted their head back and slowly poured the liquid down.


    They forced themselves to choke it down. I patted his back and massaged his throat, making sure they didn''t suffocate.


    Those previous movements of his left deep rough cuts in his skin, as if he was encased in stone. I pushed him back into the coffin and saw a wretched bloody smile, neck and eyes.


    I didn''t let it faze me. This was merciful, no matter how cruel it seemed, or how much pain there was. It was kinder than most would care to do. As they closed their eyes, their body started cracking, splitting apart as it crumbled to dust.


    I quickly stepped back to not breath in anything. With curiosity, I narrowed my eyes. What?


    A name was inscribed on a tiny stone disk the size of a fist. Sisyphus. I froze, remembering his myth.


    Eternally bound to push a rock uphill, for escaping death''s clutches, twice. Did he somehow escape death for a third time? And if he did... how?


    I grabbed the stone, and a small glow washed over me. I watched as it turned the most brilliant shade of gold, and melted against my skin. It flowed down my arm, melding into a small bracer.


    Solaris Stone was engraved on the shining surface, which still felt like cold, rough rock. The sound of something slicing through the air caught my ear and I barely managed to hook the blade away with my spade.


    A ragged figure snarled at me, grabbing my arm and pulling me closer. I stepped far too close and slammed my palm into his nose. Blood trickled down as his eyes watered in pain. It wasn''t hard to smack his dagger to the ground before kicking it away.


    Naturally, I followed up with a knee to the stomach, before popping their ears with a double clap. They were so dizzy that I only needed to tip him over edge of the grave and slammed the lid over his flailing body. I stood on the lid as I nailed him in.Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    I waited. I wanted to see if this person was worth sparing. They screamed and yelled in malice and anger. Barely audible over the dirt after I buried him. It seemed foolhardy to show mercy.


    Just before I left, a strange sting traveled up my legs and I found myself unable to walk away.


    A knight of the Cristoph was in front of me. Their sword was pointed towards my chest, as their fury was evident. I was the typical reckless and criminal graverobber in this situation.


    "Wait." I raised the bracer to my head. My eyes burned in pain as I saw the future. Just a glimpse. The sword was driven through my chest.


    What presence it had, as my vision were always clear but barely in view. Like looking at something through the corner of my eye. It was imprecise as well, as I often saw meaningless senseless visions which made no sense.


    I instinctively used my hand to grab the sword before she moved. "I am no robber, nor crook. My crime is fulfilling the wishes of the dead, by breaking the laws of the living. But, to the one who passed away, they only feel gratitude. I swear this on my life."


    "Young... pastor. You have wronged the state of Archalia, you should be sent to prison." She muttered, her sword hummed to her intent.


    "But. There are such few righteous folk these days. Even as a servant of the church, I have seen many ignore the wishes of the dead."


    She stared at the coffin and nodded. The knight could feel the soul which left in peace. "I will overlook this. Please leave the area, I will take the crook you restrained away."


    I wordlessly nodded. It was only when a blast of fire swept towards us that I acted. I spun forwards, shoving us behind a tombstone as a shield. Which freak decided to play hardball?


    "Come out, ye false prophet and meet your end at the hands of Clarence Theodore!" A man dressed in drab robes called out.


    This damned bastard wasn''t going to make things easy for me. I used my newfound liberty to exersize my power.


    His flames grew wilder, and more ferocious, nearly crushing and scorching the skin off our backs. Frankly, the heat was starting to get to my head. A few black threads lighting as I patted the smoldering ash off.


    Better a light cooking, than a scorching shot stuck to the skin. One was light but suffocating, the other would have burned all the way through.


    When he finally cornered us, The Knight of Cristoph stood at guard.


    "Go. I''ll hold him off."


    I smiled.


    Like cruel fate, akin to my fate, I poisoned his gift. The flames exploded in his face, killing the inquisitor. A man no better than a heartless butcher.


    The knight had eyes wide with fear, mortification on her lips. Her sword dipped as all fight gave away. The loss of control was a terrifying sight.


    I asked the dead to take care of one of their own. Skeletal arms took care of the rest, as they ripped open the earth and clawed in the corpse. The remains buried in the field.


    "Amateur" I spat.


    The Oracles probably guessed that I would try something. My poor wards were not enough to dispel scrutiny, but the fact I succeeded determined their stance towards me. Just another victim to the slaughter.


    It was time for me to disappear. My death was already being faked as I pondered. I wasn''t ready for a poisonous slugfest with those ancient bats. The knight turned towards me, and I felt the flat of her blade slam into the back of my neck.


    It bounced off my collar as I felt dizzy as hell. Electricity jolted onto the blade and she was paralyzed, unable to move.


    "Sorry. I still have things to do. If the church sends an envoy, play things up, make me the villain. Mention the inquistitor''s foolishness and make me the common crook. This will be enough to spare your life. If you don''t, you''re signing a death warrant for both of us, and I don''t owe you that much."


    I walked away, Solaris stone burning against my arm. It was imperative that I made it as far away from this place as possible. Otherwise, my curse would find a way to break the protection of even this artifact.


    After all. This curse of mine was of my own unwilling creation. A life for a life was fair in the eyes of the gods.