《Precipice》


 Prologue

    ¡°Sir, the target remains.¡±


    Thomson swore quietly to himself. He picked up the cigar that lay on the table in front of him. It was smooth in his fingers. He lit it up, the edge glowing bright orange in the dark of the war room. The president took a long pull, the tip glowing even brighter before exhaling slowly.


    ¡°Are you sure, General? We hit it with enough to win a small war.¡± A puff. A cloud of smoke. He wearily rubbed his eyes with his free hand. He hadn¡¯t slept much lately. There had been so much to do. Most of it revolving around the target.


    ¡°Yes Sir. Ground recon confirms. We¡¯re waiting on our planes to confirm, but the live video feed shows the target. The target is still airborne, over the Empire state building. Its¡­ Uh¡­ floating at an altitude of about one thousand feet. ¡°


    General Mitchell wiped the sweat from his brow. The war room was air conditioned. He wasn¡¯t sweating because of the heat though. He motioned the President out of his chair, and into the next room. Thomson pulled his shirt straight, picked up the report he had been reading and followed Mitchell. This room was even darker, the only light coming from the bank of monitors that occupied the entire far wall and the lamp placed on the table in the middle of the room. The table was wooden. Even in the faint light, Thomson could see circular coffee stains on it. A dozen or so soldiers were scurrying around carrying reports. The drone of radio chatter filled the air.


    Thomson took another puff as he walked towards the centre of the room. It was something he had learned in his campaign days, people always look to their leader in times of crisis. No matter how bad a situation was, the leader had to seem calm. Puffing a cigar helped both with this fa?ade as well as his nerves. He sat himself down at the head of the table. General Mitchell sat down in the chair to his right. Two vacant chairs remained at the table. They hadn¡¯t been able to contact the chiefs of the navy or the air force.


    ¡°Sir, that¡¯s the live feed. Centre monitor.¡± Said Mitchell


    Thomson swiveled his chair a bit and looked. The video was grainy, and it was shaking slightly. The shot was from quite a distance away, but the characteristic silhouette of the Empire State building was right in the middle of it. Standing alone. All the surrounding building had been reduced to rubble. Some of the destruction had been caused by the target, but most of it was his fault. The target had effortlessly diverted whatever had been thrown at him. Manhattan was devastated. The once famous New York skyline reduced to a single building. And floating above the building was a Man. The target.


    ¡°Can we get a closer look?¡± Thomson couldn¡¯t take his eyes off the monitor.


    Mitchell picked up the phone in front of him. Pressed one of the buttons on it and issued a set of orders. Almost immediately, the view shifted. It zoomed in on the Man. The video was shaking more now, but it was steady enough. His face was impassive, golden hair flapping wildly in the breeze. The man was clothed in a white suit, with a blue shirt showing through the jacket. A sphere, extending about five meters around him shone in the setting sun. It glistened like the surface of a lake. Nothing they had tried had broken through it. Thomson idly wondered how the breeze had gotten in. A voice intruded into his thoughts.


    ¡°Sir, what are your orders?¡± Mitchell was looking at him


    The chatter in the room died out. All conversation, face-to-face and through the radio had stopped. The only noise in the room was the beeping that all electronic equipment inevitably made.


    ¡°Are the reports accurate?¡± Thomson asked, picking up the blue folder he had carried in from the other room.


    ¡°Yes Sir. Ground reports indicate that most of the people near the target have taken to defending him. Often throwing themselves in front of our troops as they advanced. Our scientists report that they could be under mass hypnosis, or maybe even psychic control.¡±If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    Thomson had read about it all. What worried him even more was the footnote on page 3.


    ¡®We are unable to determine whether the effects are temporary, nor can we ascertain the range of this control.¡¯


    Meaning they didn¡¯t know if the target could control the whole nation, manipulate them, make them his slaves. Something had to be done to stop him. That had been the conclusion. Neatly typed up on page 5.


    ¡°Can we scramble another air strike?¡± Thomson already knew the answer, but he had to ask. Protocol.


    ¡°No Sir. All combat ready forces within strike range of the target have been neutralized. We will have strike capability only late tomorrow evening. By which time it may be too late.¡±


    ¡°Are our troops clear?¡±


    ¡°Yes sir. Only the hardened units remain.¡±


    ¡°And the civilians?¡± Thomson felt sick.


    ¡°Most evacuated, Sir. The ones left have¡­ turned on us.¡±Mitchell¡¯s voice was very quiet.


    Thomson looked around. All eyes were on him. The ash from his cigar was falling on his shirt. It was hot. He brushed it off, took the cigar from his lips. Their ground troops had been decimated. Their air support was a pile of mangled metal at the feet of the Empire State. And yet the target remained. Thomson swore to himself.


    Thomson looked over at Mitchell. The General had his head in his hands. There was no other alternative.


    ¡°General, I hereby authorize the deployment of Nuclear weapons against the target.¡±


    The General wiped his face. The room was silent again. No one wanted to believe what was happening. Mitchell looked around and said,


    ¡°You heard the President. Make ready for nuclear weapon deployment.¡± The room suddenly came to life again. Soldiers scurrying about, locating launchers, finding keys and entering passwords.


    A few minutes later, one of the soldiers came up to the center table. He said,


    ¡°Mr. President. We are ready to launch on your mark.¡±


    Thomson looked up. The man¡¯s eyes were red. He looked over at the monitor bank. The far left monitor showed the inside of a silo. Barely visible in the left edge of the picture was a thin white cylinder, which Thomson knew was the missile. He looked back at the center monitor. It still showed the Man, face impassive, hair flapping in the breeze.


    ¡°This is the President. Launch of Nuclear weapon authorized. Target¡­ New York.¡± His voice broke as he uttered the command that would condemn him for all eternity.


    A sudden burst of radio chatter as his orders were relayed. In the left monitor, the white cylinder began to rise, the camera getting obliterated in the fierce heat of its engine. The signal cut out. The monitor went black.


    One of the video operators entered a series of commands on his console, and the whole monitor bank redrew into a map of The United States. A red dot was following a curved dotted path into New York city. The missile, Thomson assumed. The center monitor still showed the Man, floating. The bottom right showed a timer headed ¡®ETA¡¯. It read one minute.


    When the timer hit 30 seconds, the operator did something on his console again, and a panoramic view of New York was put up. A lone building, surrounded by blocks of rubble. A man in a white suit floating over it, shimmering around him a sphere that looked like a lake¡¯s surface. The view panned to the left as a streak of white smoke appeared in the sky. It was headed straight for the Man. A flash of movement at the Right edge of the image caused the view to shift. The Man was higher now, the missile adjusted trajectory to match. Just as it was about to hit, the Man held out his hand. A burst of air exploded all around him. It knocked the missile straight up, before it just stopped. It hung motionless in the air. The blast had thrown rubble high into the air. Dust blocked the view. When it settled, they saw the Man. The missile hung harmlessly in front of him. He moved his hand to the left, and the missile followed it. He moved it back to the right, up and down and as if controlled by unseen strings, the missile obeyed his commands. The engine had died. Only his will seemed to be holding it up.


    The war room fell silent. Even the electronic drone seemed to have been muted. Not a soul was breathing. They all stared at the monitor in horror. Thomson tried to get to his feet, but he had no will left. All he could do was stare as the missile hung in the air before the target, obedient to his every command.


    ¡°Sir. It¡¯s still there. The nuke had no effect. I don¡¯t even think it hit.¡± A soldier was reporting over the radio. But no one heard him.


    The Man¡¯s face was bemused now. He spiraled upwards with the sphere tightening around him as he did, till it glistened like a second skin on him. The camera tracked him. Then, in a voice so loud it could be heard over the soldier¡¯s radio, he roared


    ¡°I am become Death. The destroyer of worlds!¡±


    The Man pulled back his arm and hurled the missile straight down. A flash of white filled the monitor. The picture died.

 Chapter 1

    It was a Sunday. Smith looked out his open window.  The sun was bright in the sky, fluffy white wisps of clouds covering a miniscule part of the azure sky. A breeze was blowing. The leafy trees lining the roads outside Smiths office were bending in their dance. The roads were quiet, a car passed every now and then. Smith could see the purple mountains far of in the distance, but far more immediate, were the neighboring skyscrapers. Towers of steel and glass, mirroring each other in an endless reflection. A few people were scurrying around holding sheets of paper or talking on their cell phones. Smith always felt a tinge of pride when he saw them. The pride that one has when he knows his work is more important. He turned back to his computer screen.


    The face of the monitor was covered in post-it notes, leaving just the screen itself exposed. Scribbled on most of them were calculations, but a few of them had more immediate remainders, such as to buy a new bottle of whiskey. Smith peeled that note off and tucked it in his shirt pocket. He would take care of it on his way home. He turned back to the screen. The calculations of the Spread Function filled it. It was missing just one little constant. He hit enter, and the calculation started running in the supercomputers in the basement. The screen went black. A thin bar of green appeared on the left edge. A progress bar. Smith had seen a lot of those in his six years working on the Spread Function, but if everything went as planned, this would be the last one. He took off his specs and rubbed his eyes. He was thirsty. He looked around the Office. It was almost deserted. A few of his colleagues were at their desks typing away. A few were on the phone. Smith got up and made his way to the water cooler.


    He had just poured himself a glass of water when he felt a hand on his back and a voice in his ear saying,


    ¡°So how¡¯s the calculation going?¡±


    Smith didn¡¯t need to turn around to recognize the silky voice of Amanda. He turned to her. Her face was very close. Smith could see deep into her brown eyes. He stepped back before he got caught staring. He ran a hand through his hair and said.


    ¡°It¡¯s almost done. The last calculation¡¯s going on. I think it might be done today. It¡¯s just a constant generation. The transition vector probabilities are-¡°


    He stopped talking as he saw Amanda¡¯s eyes wandering. She was the head of public relations, and not that into transition vector probabilities. He wondered why she was in on a Sunday. They stood in silence for a while. Smith sipped his water and asked,


    ¡°So what¡¯re you doing in on a Sunday?¡±


    Amanda turned towards him and smiled.


    ¡°I have some work to do as well. You scientist people seem to think you¡¯re the only ones that matter. We do work as well you know.¡±


    ¡°Of course. That¡¯s not what I meant. I¡¯m sorry-¡° Smith fumbled, but stopped when she started laughing.


    ¡°I¡¯m just kidding! Relax, Smith¡± She put a hand on his arm. Smith was very aware of the red nail polish she was wearing. He looked down into his cup. It was half empty. Not half full. His mouth was dryer than before. He found talking to women in general difficult. With Amanda it was even worse. He looked at his shoes. Suddenly he remembered something he had read a long time ago.


    ¡°Your shoes are very nice. Are they new?¡± A lame line, but all he could think of.


    Amanda laughed, looked down at her shoes,


    ¡°Thanks, but no they¡¯re not new. I¡¯ve had them for a while now.¡± Her hand was still on Smith¡¯s arm.


    Smith looked around. Everyone was still busy, typing or on the phone. Amanda saw him look away. She released his hand, pursing her lips as she said,


    ¡°I hope I¡¯m not boring you. I¡¯d better let you get back to work. Everyone is waiting for you after all,¡±


    She turned away. Smith cursed under his breath. Threw away the cup of water and said,


    ¡°No, of course not. I wasn¡¯t- I mean-¡° He didn¡¯t know what to say.


    Amanda just shrugged her shoulders and went back to her cabin. Smith stood there, cursing himself for a bit longer before he walked slowly back to his desk.


    He sat down. The progress bar had crossed halfway. Smith yawned and stretched his hands over his head. His shirt came un-tucked. He patted it down and looked at his monitor again. His eyes skimmed over the notes he had stuck on it. One of them caught his attention


    ¡®First birthday- 8<sup>th</sup> November.¡¯


    He looked at his watch. It was the 9<sup>th</sup>. Smith had missed his son¡¯s first birthday. He had been passed out drunk on his couch at home. Smith swore again. The Spread Function had cost him everything. His wife had left him, his son was growing up without him. His friends had stopped coming over years ago. All he had in his life was the Spread Function and his bottle of Jack Daniels. Smith and Jack were lifelong buddies. The guy at the shop didn¡¯t even ask Smith what he wanted anymore. He would wordlessly fetch two bottles of the whiskey and place them in front of him. Smith knew somewhere, somehow that was wrong, but he couldn¡¯t bring himself to care. He ran a hand over his face. His stubble was prickly. He would have to shave.


    A small pop-up appeared on the screen. One of those yellow triangles with an ¡®!¡¯in the middle that meant something was wrong. Paranoia gripped Smith. What if his calculations were off, what if the computer had hit a snag. He read it.


    ¡®Your antivirus is out of date. Update now.¡¯


    Smith let out an explosive breath.  He clicked ¡®later¡¯ and the message went away. He still vividly remembered the day a few months ago when his project leader Nayib had called him to his office.


    ¡°Well, well. If it isn¡¯t Smith.¡± Nayib was behind his desk, leaned back in his chair, hands behind his head. His pale belly was showing through as the buttons tried hard to hold his shirt together. His belt was lost under the folds of fat.


    Smith looked at him, and felt the nausea he always did. Brown beady eyes almost lost beneath shaggy eyebrows were staring at him. The pockmarked face and the small stubby nose in the middle completed the caricature that was Nayib. His double chin quivered as he spoke.Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.


    ¡°You should have been done with the Calculations a long time ago. It¡¯s been six years now. The machines been ready for a long time now. It¡¯s been gathering dust while we¡¯ve been waiting on your calibrations.¡± He bent down, opened a drawer on his desk and fetched a sandwich. He tore off the packaging with his teeth and took a greedy bite. A piece of chicken fell on his shirt. He picked it up, looked at it and put it into his mouth. A small oily patch had formed on his shirt front. He took a few more bites and with his mouth full, he said


    ¡°So what do you have to say for yourself?¡± Globs of food sprayed across the table. But thankfully the table was wide enough that Smith remained dry.


    ¡°But Sir, I¡¯m working as fast as I can. It has to be precise. The Spread Function controls everything. If it¡¯s off by even the slightest, the results will be catastrophic.¡±


    Nayib took another bite before saying,


    ¡°I don¡¯t care about that. You¡¯re holding the project back. Get the function by tomorrow or I¡¯m kicking your lazy ass off the project. Now get the hell out of my office.¡± He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and motioned Smith to leave. A backhanded flick.


    Smith went straight to his desk, rage building with every step. He picked up his book of calculations. Two hundred pages of dense algebra, matrices and vectors. He stormed back into Nayib¡¯s office, slamming the door behind him as he did.


    ¡°What the- GET OUT¡± Nayib had risen from his chair, his face turning purple with anger. Smith threw the book at him. It hit his belly before landing open on the table in front of him.


    ¡°If you can make any sense of any of that, then you won¡¯t have to kick me off. I¡¯ll leave on my own!¡± Smith managed to say through gritted teeth. He was breathing heavily. He wanted nothing more than to wring that fat neck.


    Nayib picked up the book, spluttering in rage. His expression turned to one of bewilderment as he leafed through a few pages. He threw the book back down. Mopped his brow with the wrapper of the sandwich he had just finished eating.


    ¡°Yes. Well. Yes. Carry on Smith. We can¡¯t wait forever.¡± He motioned for Smith to leave again. The same backhanded flick, but slower, more respectful this time.


    Smith picked his book up and turned to leave. As he opened the door, Amanda passed him. She flashed him a smile. That had cooled him down.


    Smith¡¯s reverie was broken by a ¡®Ting¡¯ as the calculation finished. Smith slid his chair closer and hit enter. The final constant. Smith could feel a huge weight lift off his shoulders. But mingled with that was a sense of loss, as if he had lost a close friend. A moment later, he remembered his other close friend, and felt better. Jack was good at making Smith feel happy.


    Smith picked up the phone on the table. He dialed Nayib¡¯s number. He picked up on the third ring. No greeting. No hello. Just the sound of chewing.


    ¡°Sir. It¡¯s Smith. I¡¯m done.¡±


    A few more seconds of chewing before,


    ¡°Are you sure?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°This is important. If you¡¯ve messed up I¡¯ll have your head, and I¡¯m not being pretty. I will chop off your head at the neck, boil it and eat it with ketchup. God help me I will if you¡¯re wrong.¡±


    Smith swallowed down the bile that had risen in his throat.


    ¡°I¡¯m sure.¡±


    ¡°So can we start testing tomorrow?¡±


    ¡°I think so.¡±


    Nayib hung up. No congratulations, not even a ¡®well done¡¯. Smith shrugged his shoulders and turned his computer off.


    He stood up and looked around. He spotted Amanda sitting at a desk in the far corner texting on her phone.


    ¡°Guys!¡± Smith said loudly.


    The conversations broke off as everyone turned to him. Amanda¡¯s thumbs flicked a few more times before she too looked up.


    ¡°I¡¯m done. The Spread Function is ready.¡±


    There was silence. Amanda started clapping. She was on her feet. The others slowly joined in. Smith looked at Amanda, a small grin forming on his face. She was beaming.  She stopped clapping and fished her phone out of her pocket. She looked at the screen for a second before looking back up at Smith and mouthing ¡®I¡¯m sorry¡¯ as she picked up.


    The applause died out as everyone went back to their own work.  Smith had no idea what that was. All he cared about was the Spread Function. He looked around, searching for Amanda. Coffee with her would just make the day even better. She was nowhere to be found. Smith guessed she had ducked outside to get better coverage on her phone.


    He picked his keys off the table and made his way to the exit. A few people patted him on the back as he passed them. He gave them all the same tight grin. He got into the lift. The elevator music started playing. Smith thought about tomorrow. The Project was finally complete. The first time he had met Nayib, he had laughed in his face when he heard his proposal. Impossible was an understatement to what they were trying to accomplish. But here he was, six years later. Riding the elevator down to the parking lot, his work completed. All that remained was to turn the machine on, input his calibrations and watch miracles happen. If everything went to plan, they would be on the cover of every single newspaper around the world the next day. He got off the elevator and made his way to his car.


    Smith drove the few miles home in silence. He had tried the radio, but there was nothing good on. The light traffic made his journey shorter than usual. He got to a red light. Stopped and drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. He heard a rustle in his pocket and remembered the note. He was out of whiskey. The light turned green. Smith took a left, and a few minutes later was parking his car. He got out, locked the door and turned around. The breeze was still blowing. It was cool on his face. Smith walked around his car and into the Off-license shop.


    The clerk looked up from his magazine as Smith walked in. He went into the shop and came back in a few seconds with a bottle of Jack in each hand. He wordlessly placed them in a bag and put the bag on the counter. Smith nodded his head once. A greeting and thanks all rolled up in one small motion. He pulled a few dirty notes out of his wallet and left them on the table. The clerk counted it and nodded back to Smith. Smith picked up the bag and left. He got back in and tried the radio again. Still nothing. He rolled down the window, leaving the air conditioning off. His small contribution for the environment.


    He turned into the parking lot of his apartment block. The security guard looked up as Smith drove in before returning to staring at his shoes. Smith got out, and a short elevator ride later was standing outside his apartment. Number 19. The 9 was hanging loose. He put the bag down, fumbled in his pocket for his keys and finally got the door open.


    He went straight to the kitchen. Stained pans and empty containers of take out were piled up all over the place. He opened a cupboard and pulled out a glass. Smelled it once. He ran under the tap. The water pooled up in one of the many unwashed pans. He would have to get everything cleaned. But that could be done tomorrow. He opened one of the bottles and took a long draught and poured some in his glass. With the glass in one hand and the bottle in the other he made his way to the ¡®living¡¯ room. He fell into his armchair, spilling a bit from his glass as he did. He sat up, licked it off his fingers and placed the bottle and the glass on the arms of the chair. He felt something poking him in the back. He reached around and picked up the remote.  He leaned back and felt the upholstery relieve the pressure off his back. He took a long sip from the glass and turned the TV on.


    He flipped through the channels aimlessly for a bit, sipping his glass every now and then. He finally settled on a reality show. A hyper-excited man in an obvious wig was yelling something at the screen. Some text came up at the bottom of the screen. Purple. It looked like Japanese. Smith was about to change the channel when suddenly the man¡¯s face was replaced by five girls in bikinis. Smith wondered what Amanda would look like in a bikini.


    Smith took another gulp, emptying his glass. He refilled it, and felt the alcohol starting to hit. He smiled to himself. He was imaging being on TV, collecting the Nobel Prize. He started composing a speech in his head, trying not to sound too boring. He could see Amanda smiling at him from the front row. But he gave up. Nayib would take all the credit. He would stand up, walk to the mike and slobber all over himself.


    The bottle was almost done. He took one final mouthful. The bitter taste of alcohol filled his mouth. The bikini show had ended. A cooking show was on. Smith was hungry. His stomach was burning. But he was too settled in to move. He turned the TV off and shifted a bit. The bottle dropped from his hand. He was asleep before it hit the ground.

 Chapter 2

    ¡°Tomatoes! Get your fresh tomatoes here! Only 5 pieces each!¡±


    The hawker¡¯s voice rose above the bustle of the crowd. Mirram pulled her shawl tighter around herself. She looked down. Esterian walked beside her, his left hand firmly in his mother¡¯s right. He could feel his mother¡¯s bracelet rub against the side of his hand. Silver, with a green stone set in it, she treasured it above anything else she had. He looked around, greedily drinking in the sights of the market.


    Mirram pulled him a bit closer as she made her way through the crowd. The sun beat down on them. She was sweating, but there was still more to buy. She looked at the various stalls. Keen eyed merchants were shouting themselves hoarse, trying to attract potential customers. The air was dusty. Mirram coughed once and kept moving forward.


    Esterian looked around. At four years old and two feet tall, there wasn¡¯t much he could see above the knees of the passing crowd. A few of them wore shoes. The majority were barefoot. Most of their pants were torn and mended. Multicolored patches on their knees. Of the stalls all he could see were the legs of the tables. They were broad and made from a dark wood. He could see some of the wares being sold. Juicy red tomatoes and ripe oranges made his mouth water and his stomach grumble. He tugged on his mother¡¯s sleeve.


    ¡°Mom, I¡¯m hungry.¡± He looked up into his mother¡¯s face.


    Mirram looked down. Adjusted the shawl around her face so that she could talk more freely.


    ¡°I know you are, my Este. And you¡¯ll have something to eat soon, I promise. Now hurry up, there¡¯s still a lot more that we have to do.¡±


    ¡°But I¡¯m HUNGRY!¡± Esterian¡¯s voice was louder. A high pitched tone of hunger and frustration. His legs were hurting. They had been walking since the early morning. Somewhere along the way he had picked up a pebble in his right shoe that was making walking even more unpleasant. It had finally gotten to him. Eyes watering, he started crying. Loud wails as he stopped walking and sat down on the dirt.


    People were starting to look. Mirram quickly covered her face with her shawl and looked downwards. She picked Esterian up off the ground. Patted his bottom to clear the dirt and held him to her shoulder.


    ¡°Shhh, my darling. I know today¡¯s been hard, but you have to be strong. Can you be strong for me? Can you be my big boy?¡±


    The crying died down. Esterian sniffed twice and pulled back his head. Mirram wiped away the unshed tears in his eyes. He nodded once to his mother. She set him back down.


    ¡°Perhaps I can help?¡±


    Mirram turned to the voice. It came from behind her.  The speaker was an old man. His hair was white and his face wrinkled. But his eyes were keen. His mouth was drawn into a relaxed smile. A dimple in his left cheek.


    ¡°No thank you.¡± Mirram quickly turned away.


    ¡°I¡¯ll take care of him. You¡¯re not the only traveler with children. I run a care service for them. I¡¯ll keep them fed and safe. Just give me some pieces when you come to collect him. He eats fruit?¡±


    Mirram turned back. The old man¡¯s smile was broader. He was pointing to a group of maybe six or seven other children, some older, other younger than Esterian who were sitting around eating from plates on the floor before them. One of them would say something and the sound of childish giggles would float over. Mirram looked down. Esterian was pulling hard on her hand. He wanted to go join them.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry. He¡¯ll be fine. I¡¯ll take good care of him.¡± Something in the man¡¯s voice and his face made Mirram trust him.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be back in another two hours or so. I can find you here?¡±


    ¡°Of course.¡±


    Mirram bent down.


    ¡°Esterian. Look at me.¡±


    Esterian tore his eyes off the other kids and looked at his mother.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to let you play with those kids over there. You have to be good and listen to this man, okay?¡±


    Esterian nodded. His eyes drifted back to the children.


    Mirram kissed him on the forehead, pulled him into a tight embrace and stood up straight.


    The old man nodded once to her before he put his arm around Esterian¡¯s shoulder.


    Mirram looked back at him, swallowing down the anxiety that rose within her as she saw her child being led away. She pulled the shawl around her face again, took a deep breath and hurried away.


    The old man led Esterian over to the other children.


    ¡°Children, I want you to say hello to Esterian. He¡¯s going to be with us for some time.¡±


    The children looked up from their plates. A chorus of ¡®Hello Esterian¡¯s. Esterian shuffled awkwardly, trying to hide behind the old man¡¯s leg. The old man smiled down at him and said,


    ¡°Make some friends, and I¡¯ll go get you something to eat.¡±


    He walked off towards a hut a few meters away. The other children went back to eating, but they stole curious glances at Esterian.This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    The old man returned and put a plate of fruit before Esterian. His stomach grumbled loudly. The children burst into laughter. Esterian looked down embarrassed but he started eating. The fresh fruit was cool in his mouth. The juice leaked out the corners and trickled onto his shirt. His mother would not be happy.


    ¡°So you¡¯re Esterian? I¡¯m Payl.¡±


    Esterian stopped eating to look at who had spoke. It was a child maybe two years older than him. His dirty blond hair spilled messily over his face. His mouth was drawn into a grin that showed several missing teeth.


    Esterian looked back down at his plate. He didn¡¯t know what to say.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry. First time here, everyone¡¯s quiet. Now if you finish eating, we can go and hear a story.¡±


    Esterian¡¯s eyes lit up. He loved stories. His mother would tell him one at night if he had been good the whole day. Lately, he hadn¡¯t heard many stories. Esterian hurriedly stuffed the rest of the fruit in his mouth. He chewed them, juice running in thick streams down the edges of his mouth. He swallowed. Looked up at Payl.


    ¡°Can we hear the story now?¡±


    Payl laughed and got to his feet. The others followed suit. Esterian clambered to his feet as well. He followed as the group walked towards the hut. The old man was sitting on a chair outside it, in the shade of a tree. The kids sat back down around his feet.


    ¡°So. You all want a story now eh?¡±


    ¡°YES!¡± They shouted in unison.


    ¡°Which one?¡±


    ¡°Tell us about the reckoning.¡± Said a little girl, hardly four, sitting at the edge of the group. Esterian had heard that word before, in a talk between two merchants earlier in the day. They were talking about how everything had been so different before the reckoning.


    ¡°No. Tell us about the Shadow of Heaven!¡± cried out a boy sitting to Esterian¡¯s left. The rest of the group nodded and shouted their agreement. Even the little girl at the edge.


    ¡°Hmmm. That¡¯s a big kid story. Are you all sure you want to hear it?¡± The old man paused. He looked around. The group had fallen quiet. They looked at him and nodded.


    ¡°Well. A long time ago, there lived in this very town a family. Dad, Mom and little Zere. Now Zere was about your age. And he was very naughty. One day he snuck out while his mother was busy in the kitchen and cut up all her pretty flowers. When she saw this, she was very sad and started crying. Now you know that you¡¯re never supposed to make your mother cry. Well, Zere was so naughty that instead of apologizing to her, he just laughed at her and went around playing. That evening when his father came home, his mother told his father what he had done. His father just said,


    ¡®If you¡¯re naughty one more time, I won¡¯t save you from the shadow when he comes at night!¡¯


    Zere didn¡¯t care. He rushed off after dinner, and taking his father¡¯s paint, drew all over his father¡¯s new shirt.¡±


    The old man looked around. Every child hung on his words. He smiled to himself before continuing,


    ¡°So Zere¡¯s father as punishment, took him to his room, put out his candle, closed his window and left him alone. Without a candle or the stars, Zere¡¯s room was totally dark. All Zere could hear was his own breath.


    He heard the sound of steps outside his room. Hard firm steps growing louder and louder as they came closer. Zere hid under his blankets. He was scared. So scared that when he tried to scream, no sound came out. The steps were just outside his door. Then they stopped.¡±


    The old man was enjoying himself immensely. He knew that he was at the center of the children¡¯s world at that moment. He was relishing the feeling.


    ¡°There was a loud creak as the door was pushed open. Zere looked out from within his blankets and saw a figure fill up the whole doorway. He was clothed in black. His armor seemed to be forged from the night itself. His face was covered under a black helm, with slits for eyes. Those slits glowed red. The Shadow stepped into the room.


    Zere jumped out of bed and ran to the far wall. He was still too scared to shout. He picked up some toys from the floor and threw them at the Shadow. They fell out of the air before they hit him. The shadow walked closed to Zere. He pulled a dark black blade from a scabbard on his waist. The blade glowed red in the dark. Zere crouched down against the wall, too scared to even try to run anymore. The Shadow came closer and closer and then BOO!¡±


    The entire group jumped as the old man finished the tale. They were breathing heavily. Esterian¡¯s heart was racing. His breath was coming in short gasps. He had felt he was there. The visions of a man in Black armor, with a blade darker than night itself, red slots with eyes had been too vivid to be imagination. The world around him had grown darker and darker as the story had proceeded till he felt it was night. Now though, the day went back to normal. The old man was laughing loudly. A few of the other kids were grinning sheepishly.


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter how many times you hear that story. You all still jump like babies at the end.¡± The old man was wiping tears of laughter from his eyes.


    ¡°You always say BOO at different times. So it¡¯s not fair!¡± Protested Payl.


    The old man just kept on laughing.


    Esterian looked around. He could still feel the red slit eyes on him. He looked around, desperate for his mother.


    ¡°Esterian!¡± Cried out a woman¡¯s voice.


    Esterian was on his feet in a flash. He ran to his mother and hugged her tight. Mirram adjusted the shawl and the bags she was carrying, and hugged him back. She pulled him away, kissed his forehead. The old man walked over to her.


    ¡°He was a very good boy. Ate all his lunch and made no trouble.¡±


    ¡°Thank you. I have no idea what I would have done if you hadn¡¯t helped.¡± Mirram reached into the purse in her pocket, took out a few pieces and handed them to the man. The man gave them a quick glance, nodded to himself, smiled to Mirram and walked back  to the other children.


    Mirram looked down at Esterian. He was oddly quiet. There seemed to be a tightness in his eyes.


    ¡°Is anything wrong, my Este?¡± she asked.


    Esterian just shook his head.


    ¡°Okay. We¡¯ll talk when we get back home. Come on now.¡±


    It was much later. Esterian was lying in bed. He was nestled in his blankets. His mother was sitting beside him, combing back his hair. Her arm bare. Esterian wondered what had happened to her bracelet.


    ¡°Did you have fun today, Este?¡±


    Esterian was silent. He looked at his mother. In a very quiet voice, he said,


    ¡°Mother, I know I¡¯m naughty sometimes, but you won¡¯t let the Shadow get me will you?¡±


    Mirram recoiled slightly at the name. Her face tensed, her arms twitched. But she drew a breath and said,


    ¡°The Shadow? What are you talking about?¡±


    ¡°You know, The Shadow. The big bad man that comes at night to catch naughty boys. You won¡¯t ;et the shadow take me will you?¡±


    Mirram leant forward and kissed Esterian. She patted his hair once more and said,


    ¡°My dear Este. The Shadow¡¯s just made up. There is no big bad man who catches naughty boys. And I¡¯ll keep you safe from anything. You¡¯re my little darling.¡±


    ¡°Can you check if he¡¯s hiding under my bed?¡± His voice was still quiet, but there was a bit more confidence in it.


    Mirram bent over the side of the bed.


    ¡°There¡¯s nothing here, Este. Now go to sleep.¡±


    She kissed him one final time and blew out the candle. Esterian turned away and closed his eyes. A few moments later, his breathing grew deeper and steadier. He was asleep.


    Mirram got up and closed the door behind her as she left. She walked downstairs and checked the door. It was locked. She checked all the windows. All of them were firmly latched. She walked back to the front of the house and pulled back the curtains on one of the windows. She stared hard and long into the night, just as she had done every night since her husband had been killed. She swept her eyes over the front garden, searching for those red slit eyes. That black armor that had seemed forged from night itself. She searched for the Shadow of Heaven. She searched for the man who had killed her husband.

 Chapter 3

    Smith was asleep. He was dreaming. But these dreams somehow were more than dreams. He could see, he could smell, he could touch, he could feel. He had had these dreams before, but never paid any attention to them. But this was different. The imposing fa?ade of the Empire state building loomed over him. He could barely see the top. It was lost in a hopeless sky. Slivers of grey shone through clouds of black. They weren¡¯t moving. The air was still. The smell of dust hung in the air. The smell of old and rot. As Smith looked up, it started snowing.


    The snow was hot. He caught a few flakes in his hand. Rather than melting into a tiny puddle, they crumbled. It wasn¡¯t snow. It was ash. The sky was weeping ash. Smith covered his eyes. The smell had changed as well. Now the acrid smell of burning was everywhere. Smith blinked once. In the instant before his eyes refocused, he could see pale outlines. Blurred images in the shapes of cars and people and trees. They existed only in the instant he blinked. The place all around him was white now. He looked down. The shirt he had on was ruined. It was covered in ash. He tried rubbing it off. He ended up with a black smudge on his left sleeve. He looked around. The absence of anything but vacant buildings was unsettling.


    Then Smith noticed the silence. It was an oppressive weight on his ears. There was no noise at all. It was like he was deaf. The ash made no sound as it fell. There was no wind to whistle in his ears, no people to talk and no cars to blare their horns. Smith could feel himself panicking. He felt the world was closing in on him. He tried to take a deep breath, but ended up coughing as the ash burned his throat. When he looked up after his coughing fit, the scene was different.


    Smith could hear something. He felt himself calm down. His heart stopped pounding, and his breathing slowed. It was a ringing. He couldn¡¯t place it. It seemed too urgent to be a telephone. He turned his head this way, then that trying to figure out where the noise was coming from. He turned around. The noise was coming from behind him. He was standing outside a door. It was red once upon a time, but the paint had peeled off. Whatever color did remain was muted in the dull light. The building the door led into was a two storey one. It had windows in the upper floor, but the drapes were drawn. He couldn¡¯t see in. Smith walked up to the door and tried the knob. It was locked. Smith remembered something he¡¯d read in one of his wife¡¯s magazines. It was called lucid dreaming.


    ¡®If you know you are dreaming, you can take control of the dream.¡¯


    He willed the door to be open. No luck. He was just about to try breaking down the door when he noticed a bunch of keys on the floor. He picked them up and tried one after another till finally the door opened.


    He stepped in. The smell of dust hit him. The air was heavy. The sunlight from the doorway cast surreal shadows on the ground. Smith could make out his, but there were others as well. Shadows that were cast by objects that weren¡¯t there. He blinked. Pale outlines of tables and chairs. Smith kept on blinking. Like an old movie he could see frames of a forgotten life. A maid was setting breakfast. A little girl was climbing down the stairs in front of him dressed in white pajamas and carrying a teddy bear. A man was sitting at the head of the table, coffee in front of him reading the newspaper. Smith couldn¡¯t make out the date on it. He could hear other noises coming from different rooms. One of clanging that he assumed was from the kitchen was coming from a door off to the left. The ringing he had followed was still audible. It was coming from upstairs, from where the little girl had come from. Smith stopped blinking. The family disappeared. But a lingering smell of coffee was in the air. The ringing was the only sound now. Smith headed over to the stairs.


    The stairs were huge. They were at least three meters wide at the base. They got narrower as they went up. Somewhere in the middle they split in two and the two sides curved up separately, one to the left and the other to the right. They were covered in red carpet. The banister was polished wood. It was cool to touch. Smith started walking up. The steps creaked under his feet. The ringing was coming  from the left side of the top floor. He followed the left branch of the staircase and found himself in a hallway. There were three doors. One right at the end, with the other two set into the side walls. The ringing was coming from the end room. Smith started blinking, but he couldn¡¯t see anything. A faint smell of soap was the only new thing Smith noticed. He opened the door to the end room and stepped inside.


    The ringing was from an alarm. The room was a bedroom. From the looks of it, the little girl¡¯s. The bed was slept in. The pink covers all over the place. The ash hadn¡¯t invaded this room yet. Everything was still clean. The carpeting was soft. The wallpaper was of fairies and flowers. There was a white table near the bed. The alarm was on it. Smith picked it up and looked at it. The date was wrong. It showed November 13<sup>th</sup>. He placed it back down. The drapes were drawn on the window. He went over to it and opened them. He could make out the Empire State far in the distance. Standing alone. Smith looked around the room. There were toys stacked in a corner. A wardrobe was placed up against a wall. It was filled with little girl clothes. He turned back to the door.


    A shadow stood in the doorway. Smith thought it was his but it reached out with one hand. Touched Smith on the cheek. The hand passed through his cheek. He could feel the touch on his tongue. The hand had no substance. Smith stood. Terrified. The shadow tilted his head up at the ceiling and started wailing. A haunting sound of loss and despair. It looked straight at Smith.This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it


    ¡°You caused this. It was you.¡± It said in a voice heavy with emotion.


    Smith stood dumbstruck. He was sweating despite the cold. The window was wide open now. Ash was blowing in. It started piling on everything around him, but it blew through the figure in front of him.


    ¡°It was you. YOU¡±. The figure¡¯s wailing grew louder. The ¡®YOU¡¯ seemed to resonate. Soon all Smith could here was the despairing, accusatory ¡®YOU¡¯. He closed his eyes and blindly ran through the figure out into the hallway. He ran down the stairs. As he ran, the stairs turned to ash. He reached the door. He turned the doorknob, but it too turned to ash in his hands. The front wall of the building disappeared in front of him. He could see outside. The whole city was just melting away. Towers falling. Roads crumbling. The world around him was literally falling apart.


    He started running. He didn¡¯t care where. In his mind he was screaming. He was trying to wake up, but he couldn¡¯t. Ash filled his lungs. He started coughing violently. He tried covering his mouth. Blood spattered onto his hands. The silence was pressing down on him again. He couldn¡¯t see. He couldn¡¯t smell. He couldn¡¯t touch. He couldn¡¯t feel. All he could do was run. Then the laughter started. It echoed around him.  The Laughter was all around him. Enveloping him. But it wasn¡¯t joyous or uplifting. It was sinister. It was mocking. It only made Smith even more afraid. As he ran with the sound of laughter in his ears, he noticed a speck of color in the distance. A red door. No wall around it. Just a door. Smith thought for but a moment before changing direction and heading right towards it.


    He reached the door. It stood alone. Nothing around it, nothing behind it. The laughter still echoed in his ears. He opened the door and stepped through it. The nothing behind the door became a room. The room was warm. The wooden floor was polished, the walls covered in dark red wallpaper. Ornate fixtures dotted the room. Lights were glowing in most of them. The far wall was entirely a window. White framework divided it into little squares of glass. Two leather armchairs were placed near the window. A small wooden table was placed in between them. There was a single glass on it. It was half filled with a deep golden liquid. A few cubes of ice were melting. Beads of condensation had formed on the glass. They were trickling down the sides, forming a circular pool at the base. As Smith watched, a hand picked the glass up. It disappeared from view for a few seconds, before being replaced on the table. A man¡¯s head was visible now. The man walked around the chair and stood in front of Smith.


    ¡°Hello Smith.¡± The man was around twenty-five. Taller than Smith, with long blond hair till his shoulder. His eyes sparkled blue in a perfect face. He was dressed in a white suit.


    ¡°Who are you? Where am I? WHEN am I?¡± Smith blurted out.


    The figure laughed. It was the same laugh as he had heard outside. The sinister mocking laugh that had so terrified Smith. The man looked straight at Smith.


    ¡°It was YOU¡± he said in that despair filled voice of the shadow. He chuckled again.


    ¡°That was you? Why? What did I do?¡±


    The man stopped laughing. He put his hand into his pocket and brought out a handkerchief. He handed it to Smith.


    ¡°Clean yourself and come sit¡±


    The man walked back to his chair and sat down. He motioned for Smith to join him. Smith looked at the table. There were two glasses now. Both filled with the deep golden liquid, with cubes of ice melting in them. But his had no condensation on it. The man saw Smith looking. With a smile he indicated Smith should drink. The drink was sweet, but more than that it was pure. Smith felt himself getting clean from within. A warmth rose inside him that pushed away his fears and doubts. He took another sip and felt himself sink into the soft cushions of the chair. He placed the glass back down and wiped his brow with the handkerchief. He turned to the man. He was watching Smith. Smith asked,


    ¡°Now will you tell me what is happening?¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°Why not?¡±


    ¡°Because it hasn¡¯t happened yet. And I don¡¯t want to ruin the surprise¡±. The man¡¯s face twisted into a grin.


    ¡°This is the future?¡± Smith asked.


    ¡°For a scientist, you¡¯re not very bright are you? Didn¡¯t you see the date on the alarm clock? I made sure the date was right. There¡¯s your when. And even though you¡¯ve never been to New York, you surely could recognize the Empire State. That¡¯s your where. As to who I am, I don¡¯t think you¡¯re ready for that just yet. But for now, I¡¯m in your head. This is a dream, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    Smith couldn¡¯t tell whether the question was rhetorical or not, but the man was looking carefully at him.


    ¡°Oh don¡¯t worry Smith. You won¡¯t have to see this. You¡¯ll be long dead before any of this happens.¡± The man chuckled.


    Smith swallowed. His heart was pounding again. Nothing the man was saying was making any sense. He looked at the door, and decided to make a break for it.


    ¡°I know what you¡¯re thinking Smith. I am inside your head after all. Go if you want. I won¡¯t stop you.¡± The laughter started again.


    Smith got up and walked to the door. His head was spinning. Just as he turned the knob, the man called out


    ¡°One last thing, Smith. Thank you. After all, it was you.¡±


    Smith opened the door and found himself in the street again. The door vanished behind him. The ash was falling even faster now. And it was hot. It burned his skin. Smith couldn¡¯t keep his eyes open. He closed them. The world was spinning. He could feel his knees give way as the earth opened up beneath him. He could feel the crumbling of ash against his legs as he fell. Smith screamed, and that¡¯s how he woke up. Screaming.


    Smith sat up. He was still in his chair. The TV was still on. A re-run of the bikini show. The empty bottle was still where it had dropped on the floor. He picked it up, and rubbed his eyes. It was morning, but Smith didn¡¯t feel rested at all. He sneezed once and put his hand in his pocket. Pulled out a handkerchief. It was covered in ash. He turned to look at the chair. Ash where his head had rested. He started screaming again.

 Chapter 4

    Esterian was used to moving. Every few years, sometimes after as short a period as a few months, his mother would come to him and tell him to pack. Esterian would pull some clothes together, take a final look at what had been his room for however long they had been there, then just leave. Being transient was one of the few constants in Esterian¡¯s life. He had never questioned his mother. He viewed it as perfectly normal that they should drop their lives and start anew.


    Esterian looked at his room one last time as he packed up his bags. It was his thirteenth birthday. He had expected to wake up to the smell of something special cooking in the kitchen. To run downstairs and hug his mother, get his hair messed up and get a kiss on his cheek. But instead he had been shaken roughly awake while it was still dark.


    ¡°Este, come we have to go. Now.¡± Mirram¡¯s voice had been tense.


    Sleep clouded Esterian¡¯s eyes and mind.


    ¡°Whaa-¡° he had mumbled.


    ¡°Get up and pack, Now!¡± Mirram had pulled his blankets off and rolled him out of bed.


    Esterian picked up his bags and headed downstairs. His mother was waiting for him near the front door. He yawned loudly and walked past her into the chill of early morning outside.


    Mirram looked over the house one last time, making sure she had only taken what was theirs. Satisfied, she nodded to herself and walked out, leaving the door unlocked. The house would remain so until the next family moved in. She drew some symbols on the ground outside the door. 2 sets of wavy lines indicating that fresh water was available. An arrow pointing to the East with the number 5 over it meaning the nearest town was 5 kilometers to the East.


    Esterian yawned again. He had slept poorly. In his dreams there had been this pit that seemed to want to consume him. In his dream it had chased him. Esterian¡¯s legs cramped as he thought about it. Even though it had been a dream, his legs felt like he had run for the hours he was asleep.


    The pit was nothing new to him. He had seen it in his dreams before. Always on the edge of his main dream, fleeting, a black flash, nothing more. Tonight however, it had been his main dream. A gaping abyss.


    ¡°All set?¡±


    His mother¡¯s voice tore Esterian from his thoughts. He nodded once and they set off.


    The morning was dark. And cold. Esterian¡¯s breath steamed in front of him as he trudged along the road. The road was cracked. In some places absent. Every few minutes his mother would pull her shawl tighter around herself and walk slightly off the road, searching for the directions other travelers would have left. She would come back to the road, grimly nod to Esterian and continue walking. Esterian followed silently, his mind still trying to make sense of the abyss.


    The sun had risen by the times Mirram decided it was time for a break. She found a shady tree off the road and motioned Esterian to follow. She had seen signs an hour or so before that they were at least thirty kilometers from the nearest town. That was a whole days worth of walking. Her feet were sore and her legs were cramping. Esterian¡¯s face had grown weary and exhausted.


    They sat down on the soft grass beneath the tree and Mirram took out some fruit from one of their bags.


    ¡°Happy birthday Este. I¡¯m sorry that we had to do this today of all days, but we had to.¡± She looked over at her son.


    Esterian merely shrugged. He was getting to that stage where showing emotion was blas¨¦. He looked away and busied himself with his apple.


    Mirram sighed and said, ¡°Try and get some sleep. We¡¯ll start walking again in the evening.¡±


    She took out two blankets from another one of their bags. Handed one to Esterian, spread the other and lay down.


    Esterian looked at the blanket. It was one of his favorites. Blue, covered with white stars. He finished his breakfast and lay down. He followed the lazy white wisps of cloud as they floated aimlessly across the sky. His eyes shut.


    Instantly a wave of fear hit Esterian. He could see a gaping hole in front of him. It was ringed by what seemed to be bloody teeth. They were speckled with spit and blood and dirt. He looked around. He was in nothingness. All he could see was what appeared to be a gaping mouth in front of him. He walked towards it. He could feel pebbles and gravel under his feet, but when he looked down, it was just black. He was walking on nothing. He clenched his teeth and kept walking towards the mouth.


    He reached it. The dirty white ¡®teeth¡¯ were shaking. It was as if the mouth had just finished chewing and was swallowing something. Esterian looked over the edge into it. He could see only black. He heard the voice.


    ¡°So¡­ My ¡®master¡¯ has finally decided to face me.¡± The voice was more felt than heard, its derision tangible. It seemed to rumble like thunder, except it came from below Esterian. His feet shook slightly.


    ¡°Who are you? What are you doing in my head¡± Esterian didn¡¯t know where to look. He ended up looking directly ahead.


    ¡°My head. How conceited. Can you actually stand there, look at me, acknowledge me, and still call it ¡®my¡¯ head. It¡¯s ¡®ours¡¯ little Esterian¡± The voice started chuckling. Esterian¡¯s feet were shaking violently now.This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.


    ¡°Ours? Who are you?¡± Esterian held on to one of the ¡®teeth¡¯ for support. It felt wet and slimy. But Esterian was more afraid of what would happen if he were to fall down that gaping hole than touching that tooth.


    ¡°I am your oldest friend. I¡¯ve been here since the day you were born, and I shall be here till the day you shall die. I am the shadow inside you. The darkness you see at the edge of your dreams. The one you fear to acknowledge, the one you convince yourself is merely a trick of your mind¡± The voice sounded self- loathing. As it everything it was saying was somehow sarcastic.


    Esterian turned away from the mouth. His mind was racing. He felt a sudden jerk and was knocked off his feet. When he got up, he was staring in to his own face. The gaping mouth had vanished. Instead was his face. Gray eyes staring down at him. A faint hint of a moustache. A small scar above his left eye from when he had fallen out of a tree.  The figure spoke:


    ¡°I need you to understand now. We are one. Not two sides of a coin, but the very same side. I am a part of you. And the longer you keep treating me as an illusion, the longer you deny to yourself my strength and  the longer our father will remain unavenged¡±


    ¡°Our father¡­¡± Esterian mumbled under his breath. He looked his image in the face.


    ¡°What do you want me to do? I don¡¯t understand.¡± Esterian was growing frustrated.


    ¡°Esterian, you are not as others. You bear the weight of a great destiny on your shoulders. In you, through me, is the power to change the world. There is much about yourself and your past that you do not know, and I can but hope that one day you shall learn those truths. The day is not far off when you will have to stand and fight for what you believe to be true, to fight to protect what you love, and when that day comes you must not be lacking. I need to you to accept me, to acknowledge me and to embrace me. I make you complete, Esterian. I can no longer be a shadow on the edge of your dream. I waited till I deemed you old enough and strong enough to bear the weight that I must place on your shoulders.¡±


    Esterian stood in silence for a second. He asked, ¡°Who are you?¡±


    ¡°I am your sword. Do you treat your sword as if it wanted to hurt you? It could. A sword¡¯s blade knows not whether it cuts friend or foe. It merely cuts. But you don¡¯t think of that when you swing it. You only concentrate on how to swing it, how to defeat your opponent. At the same time, you do not live as a slave to your sword. After its use, you clean it, and put it away. You do not spend your days worshipping it. That is what you must do. I am a sword. I am so much more, but ultimately, that is what I am, your sword.¡± The figure replied. It shimmered and recast itself into a blade of purest black.


    Esterian recoiled. His mind filling with thoughts of the Shadow. Black armor and red-slit eyes. The world in his mind suddenly grew even darker. It was hard to breath.


    ¡°The shadow of heaven is not what you think, Esterian. And that is not the Shadow¡¯s blade. It is yours.¡±


    Esterian swallowed and took a step forward. He tentatively extended one hand and grasped the hilt. As soon as he had, he felt a torrent of power flowing into him. He felt so alive. His skin tingled with excitement. He broke into laughter.


    ¡°I complete you, Este. I shall forever be here, lending you my strength.¡±


    The blade shimmered again and vanished. Esterian felt himself being shaken. He slowly opened his eyes and looked up into his mother''s face.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry my darling, but we have to start now if we¡¯re to find a new house by nightfall.¡±


    Esterian shook his head and sat upright. He could feel a faint trace of the power he had felt in his body. It lingered like a floral scent on the morning breeze, coyly hinting to what its true source was.


    ¡°Are you okay Este? You were mumbling a lot in your sleep¡± Mirram had turned away and was busy packing everything back up.


    ¡°Yes, mom. I¡¯m fine. Let¡¯s get moving.¡±


    They walked on. The Sun dipping ever lower to the west as they followed the road. They were silent. Mirram was busy looking for signs to point them in the right direction, Esterian trying to understand the blade in his mind. Finally, just as it was getting dark, Mirram spotted a promising candidate for a house a bit further down the road. She walked over to it and looked for the signs. Fresh water was available, and the nearest town was a mere two kilometers off to the east. A bit closer than what Mirram would have preferred, but better than the alternatives they had seen before. At least this one had a roof and was mostly intact. Surrounding the house was ample free land. Enough to grow another vegetable garden. A few trees dotted the surroundings; some of them even seemed to be fruit bearing. There were some ruined husks of houses all around. This must have been a colony long ago, but now only this one house was standing.


    Mirram walked to the front door. It was unlocked. The thick layer of dust in it seemed to indicate that this had been abandoned for quite some time. She tried pushing the door. Something was holding it closed. She pushed a bit more and felt it slowly give way. The scraping sound of metal on the floor as what seemed to be a chair being pushed back. She got the door wide enough ajar to squeeze through.


    The house was surprisingly clean. A thin layer of dust on the floor. The door being held shut by the chair had prevented the wind from blowing it open. The air had a faint smell to it though ,and was heavy. The only air circulation had been through the bottom of the front door, and so the air felt old. Mirram walked about, making sure everything else was okay. She opened up any windows she found, letting the cool night breeze. It was a single storey house, but there was more than enough space for the two of them. An ample kitchen, two bedrooms and two bathrooms. The signs outside the door had indicated fresh water was available. She tried one of the taps in the kitchen. A faint gurgling sound, was followed by some spluttering, then a stream of reddish brown water as the accumulated rust and dirt was washed away, and finally clean water. She turned the tap off.


    Esterian had followed her mother inside. He walked around the house, found a bedroom and was settling in. His feet were sore and he was tired. He wanted nothing more than to sleep. He kicked his shoes off. Pulled a blanket form his pack and lay back. He stared at the ceiling in his room. Beams crisscrossed it, dividing it into small squares. It was too dark for him to make out what colour the walls were, but they seemed to be a light shade. He heard footsteps outside his door.


    Mirram walked into her son¡¯s bedroom. She kissed him and said, ¡°I hope you like our new home Este. Sleep now. We¡¯ll unpack and move in properly tomorrow. Have a lovely year my dear¡±


    She kissed him again and left the room, closing the door behind her. Esterian heard her footsteps getting fainter before he heard a door open and shut as she too went to bed.


    Esterian searched in his mind for the blade. He could feel it. He started forming questions in his mind, but before he could ask them, he felt understanding, and his mind was filled with sleep. A faint whisper,


    Sleep Este. There is time for questions tomorrow.

 Chapter 5

    Smith wasn¡¯t feeling all that well. The dream, or whatever it was he had seen last night had really shaken him up. He could see the dark circles under his eyes as he looked in the mirror. His face could be considered handsome, but it was his grey eyes that he really liked. He used to think they were reflecting his inner self. Now they disgusted him. Any sight of grey brought back memories of what he had seen, and the laughter that he had heard. It haunted him. And then there was the face. Smith could see it everywhere. When he turned on the TV to catch the news, the anchor had that face. When he opened the door to get his mail, his neighbor in room 17 had cracked a joke and laughed. Smith just swore at him and hurried back inside.


    He washed his face in cold water again. The tenth time that morning. He was desperate to get all the ash off. His face was red and flushed from all the scrubbing he had done. He slowly wiped his face and looked into the mirror. His eyes were bloodshot. He reached for his bottle of Jack. He always kept one nearby. He took a deep drink. Felt the alcohol. He wiped his face, and headed to his room.


    He pulled on his nicest clothes, and the only pair of shoes he had. Today was the day after all, and a nightmare couldn¡¯t ruin that for him. He looked at himself in the mirror. He was reminded of his wedding day. How pretty his wife, well ex-wife now, had looked. How smart he had been, with the white rose pinned on his lapel. Smith took another drink. The memories faded, and Smith was in the present again. He tried to comb his hair, but it was pointless. It would never stay down anyway. He was forgetting something. He knew it. Something important. Something other than the Spread function. He took out his phone. Opened up the calendar. The date was November 10<sup>th</sup>. It had something to with the date, and his wife. All of a sudden, it struck him. It was her birthday. He had missed their son¡¯s, but he was not going to miss his wife¡¯s.


    Smith dialed his wife¡¯s number. No response. He tried her cell, no luck. He logged in and tried sending an e-mail or a greeting card but he stopped. Took a deep drink from the bottle placed on the table nearby. Well today, he would set everything right. 6 years he¡¯d been working day and night on this. He couldn¡¯t even remember the night he¡¯d gotten his wife pregnant, but she¡¯d told him, and he had said,


    ¡°Well that¡¯s great news honey. Now leave me alone. I¡¯m in the middle of calculating the Transition Vector Matrix¡±.


    She left him the day after. The divorce was easy, she just wanted out. Didn¡¯t care about the assets or alimony, just wanted to leave him. He¡¯d apologized. Cried over the phone, begged her to take him back, but she¡¯d refused. Her one concession was telling him where she lived, so he could come and see his kid. He had visited every week the first 2 months, before Nayib had lost all sense of humanity and he found himself up to the eyebrows in the Spread function. He hadn¡¯t visited her since. But he would today. As soon as the invention was working, and the press interview was over, he would head straight to her house, get down on one knee and propose to her all over again. He even thought of telling the whole world that he loved his wife on TV, if they interviewed him. They wouldn¡¯t, but he felt nice thinking about it. But that was later in the evening. He still had to get through the day. Amanda floated through his head, her seductive eyes and silky voice enticing him. He cleared her away. No. He had to set things right with his wife. He finished dressing and had some breakfast.


    He headed down the elevator and into his car. Turned the radio on. Some boy-band was singing about lost love. Smith found himself humming along as he drove. The weather was good. Smith had looked at the sky, drinking in its blue-ness for a full five minutes before he¡¯d turned onto the highway.


    Traffic was heavy. It was Monday, after all. He found himself stuck in a traffic jam, just as he turned into the main street. He glanced at his watch. 9.15 am. He would make it in time. The first trial was scheduled for 10. And he barely had 2 kilometers left to go. He turned the knob on the radio, searching for something else. The station he was on seemed to be doing a boy-band marathon, and Smith could only take so much teenage angst before he got irritated. He found some old classical rock. I could use a stairway to heaven he thought.


    The Sun was out abnormally early. It was as high as it would be at noon. The light reflected off the side view mirror right into Smiths eyes as he sat humming along to Stairway to Heaven. He looked ahead. Traffic was still at a standstill. He glanced at the mirror and adjusted it. The man was standing right beside the car.


    Smith couldn¡¯t react. He could feel a gnawing warmth in his middle as adrenaline started flowing. The man was looking right at him, in a White suit and Blue shirt. He had on a White hat, that covered most of his blond hair. He tilted his hat, and melted into the backseat of Smiths car.Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.


    ¡°Hello Smith. Fancy seeing you here¡±


    Smith was still in shock. He started wiping his brow. Have to get all the ash off. Have to get all the ash off, was the only thought in his head.


    ¡°Oh don¡¯t be silly. You don¡¯t have any ash left on you.¡± The man¡¯s voice was amused. He had a thin smile on his lips.


    ¡°Wha¡­ What¡­ what¡­¡± Smith stammered.


    ¡°What am I doing here? What day of the week is it? What¡¯s global warming? Well which one is it, Smith?¡±


    ¡°What..What are you doing here?¡± Smith finally managed to say.


    ¡°Well I guess you could say I¡¯m here to wish you luck. You are about to change the world after all. I mean, that doesn¡¯t happen all that often, at least not in this time. Oops. I think I said too much.¡± The man¡¯s grin was very wide now.


    ¡°But¡­ But you¡¯re not real. You were part of my dream¡±


    ¡°Who said you ever awoke?¡± The man was chuckling softly now


    Smiths head was spinning. He could feel the blood pound away in his temples. He shook his head, and said mostly to himself,


    ¡°You¡¯re not real. I know you¡¯re not, so you don¡¯t scare me.¡± He tried to sound defiant. He failed.


    ¡°On the contrary, I absolutely positively terrify you. Don¡¯t get me wrong, I¡¯m flattered and all that, but you don¡¯t have to be scared. Don¡¯t worry about your sanity either. It¡¯s still intact for the most part, though you really should lay off on the whiskey.¡±


    ¡°So if I¡¯m not mad, and you¡¯re not part of my imagination, what the bloody hell are you?¡± Smith could feel some fire now. The adrenaline was starting to kick in.


    ¡°As I said earlier, that¡¯s a surprise, and I don¡¯t want to ruin it. You¡¯ll know soon enough. Till then, all the best, and thank you in advance. I wouldn¡¯t make too many long term plans though. God has a funny way of laying waste to man¡¯s best laid plans.¡± The man laughed at his joke.


    Smith wasn¡¯t particularly amused. He reached for the man¡¯s collar, but the man just disappeared, leaving Smith looking at an empty backseat. The car behind him was blaring its horn. Smith was holding up traffic. He wiped his face one last time, put the car into drive and drove on. He turned the radio off. Focused all his attention on driving.


    Smith pulled into the parking lot. A nod to the guard and straight into the elevator. The same music was playing. Smith found himself getting unnaturally irritated at its cheerfulness. He stepped off onto his floor.


    Everyone was already there. People were running around with sheets of paper in their hands, ties flapping as they rushed by. Nayib was in deep discussion with a group of technicians. Smith was surprised to see him not eating anything. As he watched Nayib reached into his pocket and pulled out a chocolate bar. Bit the wrapper off savagely and crammed the whole thing in his mouth. The people he was talking to looked away politely. Bits of chocolate fell on his white shirt. Smith laughed to himself. He heard a voice in his ear and smelt floral perfume.


    ¡°Hey you.¡± Amanda pulled him around.


    She was dressed in a red suit. Not the flashy red, the elegant red. Her hair was done up in a bun, a few strands of which were loose already. She had tried to push them back, and now the bun was off-centre. She was wearing make-up, just enough that it looked natural. Her lips were done in blood red lipstick. Small white teeth showed through as she grinned at him. Smith felt his heart beat faster.


    ¡°Hello Amanda. Sorry I¡¯m late. Traffic was bad.¡± He remembered the man and shuddered.


    ¡°It¡¯s okay. There¡¯s still a lot to do before we can put in your values anyway. So it¡¯s fine.¡± She smiled at him.


    Smith desperately wanted to kiss those red lips, but he held himself back. He had a marriage to put back together, a son to be a father to. He looked down at his feet. Amanda was wearing the same ones she had on yesterday. Suddenly he felt her hand on his arm. His family vanished into those deep red lips. He turned to look at her.


    ¡°What are you thinking?¡±


    Smith desperately wanted to tell her, but he couldn¡¯t. He had to make something up.


    ¡°Your lips are very pretty!¡± He blurted out, regretting it immediately as he saw Amanda¡¯s expression change.


    Amanda pulled her hand back sharply. She looked like she had just been slapped in the face.


    ¡°Smith, I think you¡¯ve gotten the wrong idea. I¡¯ve work to do. Excuse me.¡± She started walking away.


    ¡°Amanda, I¡¯m sorry! Amanda-¡± He started after her.


    She just shook her head and started walking faster. A few more strands came loose from her bun. Smith swore and looked around. The office was dressed up. Streamers hung from the ceiling. A man in white was setting up a bar in the corner. Smith had seen a catering truck parked downstairs.


    He had nothing to do for a while yet. The machine still had to be set up and dry run before his calibrations had to be input. He headed over to the bar. The man setting it up looked at him as he approached.


    ¡°I¡¯m not technically supposed to give you anything right now, but you look like you need it. What can I get you?¡±


    Smith looked over the bottles. He hadn¡¯t had Vodka for a while.


    ¡°Give me a shot of your vodka.¡±


    ¡°Sure thing.¡± The man pulled out a small glass and poured some of the clear liquid in it and handed it over to Smith.


    Smith downed it at once, spluttering slightly as it went down his throat. He instantly felt the heat.


    ¡°Can I get another?¡± He looked back to the barman with the glass extended. He shook it once in a mute please.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think so. Why don¡¯t you meet me afterwards and I¡¯ll see what I can do then.¡±


    Smith placed the glass back down. He noticed Nayib in the middle of the office having a very animated discussion with someone. He couldn¡¯t see who as Nayib¡¯s bulk blocked his sight. Smith slouched into a chair in the corner, and tried to find Amanda. He couldn¡¯t. He felt himself longing for a drink. He looked over at the bar, shooting the barman the dirtiest look he could manage. The barman just shrugged and went back to wiping glasses.

 Chapter 6

    It was a Monday. Esterian woke up. He didn¡¯t know to what exactly.  He tried in vain to get back to sleep, putting the pillow over his head, but it was no use. He groaned and slowly sat up. He looked out the window. The sky was dull, the Sun barely risen. Way too early for someone to be up, he thought, especially on their birthday. He yawned and tried to remember how old he was. 18. He was technically a man now.


    Esterian stumbled out of bed. He made it to the bathroom and stood in front of the mirror. He didn¡¯t look much different. Technically, he was now an adult, but the same grey eyes looked back at him. The same almost-beard on his face. The same messy hair. He sighed. Maybe that was the whole point. It was just another day. He cleaned his teeth. Had a quick wash and changed into a solid blue shirt and pants


    He made his way downstairs. His mother was waiting for him at the base of the stairs.


    ¡°Happy birthday, dear¡± she said, with a smile on her face. Esterian looked into his mothers eyes.


    ¡°Thanks Mom¡±, he gave her a kiss.


    ¡°Breakfast?¡± she asked.


    He wasn¡¯t particularly hungry, but Esterian¡¯s mother always made something special for his birthday. Something apart from what they grew themselves. Last year it had been a precious piece of meat, cooked tender and juicy. Esterian wondered what it was this year.


    Five birthdays Esterian had celebrated in this house. On his sixteenth, he had asked his mother why they kept moving all the time. She had told him that she would tell him when he was older. Last birthday he had asked her how his father had died. Same answer. This year, he has a man. He would get an answer.


    ¡°Esterian?¡±


    His Mother¡¯s voice brought Esterian back to reality.


    ¡°Breakfast. Yes, please¡±. He followed her into the kitchen. He sat himself down at the table, and waited for his mother. Mirram walked over to the cupboard and pulled out a plate. Loaded it with some freshly cut vegetables and placed an egg on top.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry my dear, but I couldn¡¯t get any fresh meat. I hope this will do.¡± She stepped back, wringing her hands in front of her apron. Esterian looked down at the pale white egg. He picked up his fork, but instead of eating, he pushed the egg around his plate.


    ¡°What¡¯s wrong, dear?¡±


    ¡°Last year, I asked you about Father. The year before that I asked you what we¡¯re running from. You told me I needed to be older. Well, I¡¯m older now. I¡¯m 18. I¡¯m a man now. I want to know why we keep running. I want to know what happened to Father.¡±


    ¡°Why bring this up now, eat your breakfast. We¡¯ll talk about this later.¡± She diverted her eyes and busied herself wiping the table with the cloth she held in her hand, even though the table was spotless.


    ¡°NO.¡± The steel in Esterian¡¯s voice surprised even him. He¡¯d never openly opposed his mother before. Sure, He¡¯d argued with her, and fought with herm but he¡¯d never directly gone against something she¡¯d said. He watched as his mother slowly turned to face him. He expected a loud, passionate tongue-lashing, followed by the inevitable tears. He almost apologized, but something, he never felt before stopped him from doing so. Instead, he continued,


    ¡°I just feel there¡¯s something important that I need to know. Something connected with Father. So please, tell me what happened.¡±


    His mother stood and listened. A cloth in her hand, her eyes weary from being up so early in the morning, making the breakfast that stood untouched before Esterian, strands of hair slipping out of her bun. She closed her eyes. Rubbed them with her hands. When they opened, Esterian could see the tears. He felt horrible, but that same feeling came over him, and he just sat quiet.


    ¡°You are right. He was your father and you deserve to know what happened. Too long have I been hiding from you, and from what happened. It just seemed so much easier to go on. But I beg you Esterian, do not ask this of me. If you love me at all, don¡¯t make me relive what happened.¡±


    Tears started pouring from her eyes. She stood there, arms at her side, head bowed. The tears traced her cheeks before they fell onto the table.


    Esterian looked at his mother. He felt an enormous lump in his throat. All these years, she¡¯d looked after him, alone. Far away from anyone, in their little house. She¡¯d fed him, taught him, gave him everything he¡¯d ever asked for, and he had repaid all that by making her cry. Shame overpowered Esterian. He stood up, covered the distance to her in two steps, and hugged her tight. Her head rested on his shoulder. He could feel the wetness of her tears.


    ¡°I¡¯m so sorry, mother. It was too selfish of me to bring this up, I¡¯m sorry¡±, he whispered in her ear. He could feel her mother sobbing. After a few seconds she pulled away. She wiped away her tears, and cleared her throat. She looked at Esterian.


    ¡°I love you so much, my Esterian. You¡¯re all I have in this world, and no matter what happens, I won¡¯t lose you. I just won''t.¡±


    ¡°Mother, I¡¯m not going anywhere.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s what you say now. But the day will soon come, when you will be taken away from me, not by your wish, but by what you must become.¡±Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    ¡°You¡¯re not making much sense. What I must become? What do you mean? I¡¯m your son. When the time comes, I¡¯ll marry a girl, and we¡¯ll come and live with you. You will look after the both of us, help us raise our children, and hopefully cook something special for lots more of my birthdays¡±, he smiled at her.


    Esterian¡¯s mother tried to return the smile. But her eyes revealed how she really felt


    ¡°Yes, you are my son. But you are also your Father¡¯s. Your father was afraid for you, Esterian. Afraid of what might happen if they found you. Afraid they might kill you.¡±


    ¡°Now you¡¯re making even less sense. They? Who is ¡®They¡¯? And why would some people who have never even met me, want to kill me? It¡¯s dumb.¡±


    Esterian felt frustrated. Finally his mother was talking to him about his father, but instead of telling him how he died she was telling him about some ¡®they¡¯ who wanted to kill him.


    ¡°You think it¡¯s dumb? DUMB? They killed your father, and you think it¡¯s dumb they want to kill you?¡±She slapped him across the face.


    Esterian could feel the heat on his cheek. But even more, he could feel a rage he had never felt before.


    ¡°Father was murdered? By whom?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve said too much already. Eat your breakfast. It¡¯s getting cold.¡± She turned away.


    ¡°WHO KILLED MY FATHER?¡± Esterian yelled. His breath was coming in quick gasps. He couldn¡¯t think. All he could see was red. His mind was numb. The revelation that is father had been killed, had come as a complete shock. But he should have realized it. Why else would his mother have not told him. It was starting to make sense.


    His mother swiped at the plate on the table. It crashed to the ground. The egg made a crack as it shattered. Yellow yolk poured out, pooling on the floor. The salad just lay there. He could see that his mother was trying very hard to keep it in. Keep in the anger and the sorrow. She buried her face in her hands, and turned to him. She took one deep breath and another. She spoke in a quiet voice.


    ¡°Your father was killed. More important than who, is why. Your father was part of a team. A team of brave men and women, who wanted to give mankind a new beginning. For that, he was killed. There¡¯s so much about the world that I¡¯ve kept hidden from you Esterian. Not because I wanted to, but because your father made me promise I would. The world is a horrible place. Wars in the name of Gods, led by people claiming to be Gods. All your father wanted to do was to end it all. And for that, he was killed. By the Shadow of Heaven.


    ¡°The Shadow of Heaven? I thought he was just a myth. You told me he was made up. I still remember that night. You even looked under the bed for me.¡± Esterian was beginning to feel overwhelmed.


    ¡°No. The Shadow is very real, as is everything they say about him. His Sword is black. Blacker than the darkest night. His armor too. It looks like the night itself clothes him. And his face. Red eyes that seem to burn through you. Anything that gets close to him, just drops to the ground. Doesn¡¯t matter how heavy, or how fast, it just stops. Your father tried shooting him with his gun. All I could hear was the crack of the gun followed by a little sound as the bullet fell harmlessly to the floor at the Shadows feet. He didn¡¯t even move.¡± Esterian¡¯s mother shuddered, and continued.


    ¡°I saw him. Standing over your father¡¯s body. Saw him pull his sword clear. I can still remember the red of your father¡¯s blood. He turned towards me. Every bone in my body wanted to kill him, to take revenge, but¡­ I couldn¡¯t... All I could do was stand still¡± She looked off through the window, at the garden outside. Esterian knew she was picturing that night.


    ¡°He just turned and left. I searched for your father¡¯s body, but it was gone as well. I don¡¯t remember the next few months at all. My mind was blank. All I had to live for was you.¡±


    She drew near and hugged him. Reached up and kissed him on the cheek.


    ¡°My Esterian, I want to make you promise me that you won¡¯t go after the Shadow, but I won¡¯t. I can imagine what you must be feeling at this moment. All I want you to promise me is that if you do go after him, you will come back home to me.¡± Tears welled up in her eyes.


    Esterian stood speechless. His mind was still reeling from all he¡¯d heard. He nodded his head and embraced his mother again. He didn¡¯t want to admit it, but he was scared. More scared than he¡¯d ever been in his life. He rested his head on his mothers shoulder. Felt her hair in his face, and closed his eyes.


    Mirram pulled away. She wiped her eyes on her apron and turned to the mess on the floor.


    ¡°I¡¯m so sorry my Este. Your birthday breakfast is ruined.¡± She bent down and started wiping it with the cloth in her hands.


    ¡°It¡¯s alright Mom. Now, I need some air.¡± He turned and quietly left the room. His mind was reeling. The mythical Shadow was real? The shadow had murdered his father? Who was he? Questions raced around in his head, making no sense at all. He searched for the blade, but he knew it would not be there. The blade had disappeared a few nights after his thirteenth birthday. The voice had just stopped, and the lingering sense of power had vanished. But before it had departed, the blade had whispered to begin training. Esterian had asked what, but the voice had fallen silent by then.


    After that, every day he would spend at least an hour outdoors, exercising one way or another. Sometimes he jogged, sometimes he jumped and sometimes he tried lifting rocks. Other days, when his mom needed him to go to the market he would run the whole way there and back. He had rediscovered the blade this way. One day he had tried lifting a rock far too heavy for him. He remembered thinking, if only the rock weighed less. The blade had suddenly appeared from nowhere in his mind and infused his arms with strength. Esterian had lifted the rock single-handed after that. The same way, he had wanted to run faster, and he thought to himself, if only the distance was shorter. The blade had penetrated his legs and his stride lengthened to an impossibly long one.


    After years of practice, Esterian had mastered a few of the things the blade could help him do. He had tremendous strength, and was just as fast. All he had to do was imagine the blade reducing something, and it would. He didn¡¯t know how, or why, but he didn¡¯t really care.  He could jump higher than himself, once landing atop the roof. He had exhausted all his creativity in explaining that one to his Mother. Mirram still did not know about Esterian¡¯s prodigious talents. He was very careful to keep them hidden. He was afraid she would worry for his safety, or worse yet, think him a freak. His mother was all he had and he didn¡¯t want to alienate her.


    Esterian made it outdoors. He wondered what to do. The sun was out, and the day was just warming up. The sky was covered in pale grey clouds. Esterian was still thinking of his father. And the Shadow. He had been about a year old when his father had been killed. All he remembered about him was that his hands had been very strong. He could still sometimes feel them under his arms, as if he was being picked up. He shook his head to clear those thoughts away. What the blade had said was starting to make sense. He would need all his talents and more if he were to face the Shadow and survive. He started jogging slowly working up his speed into a sprint. The blade infused his legs with its strength and the world blurred around him.

 Chapter 7

    ¡°So what do you think? Can we get some of your Generals to come to the press conference?¡±


    Nayib asked. One hand held a chocolate bar, the other was waving up and down. His belly was shaking as he talked. Fenryr hated looking into those beady eyes, but Nayib was technically his ¡®boss¡¯. So he had no other option. He shifted from one foot to another.


    ¡°I told you already, I¡¯ve informed them but it¡¯s their prerogative to come or not.¡± Fenryr looked at his watch. He still had another half hour to go.


    ¡°Yes. But I need them here. The military applications of what we¡¯re doing are immense. IMMENSE!¡±


    The last word was shouted. Fenryr grimaced as he wiped some crumbs of chocolate off his suit.


    ¡°I¡¯m sure it is. I¡¯ll give them another call in the afternoon after the first test. Maybe a positive result will convince them to come down.¡±


    He wasn¡¯t paying attention to what Nayib was saying. His mind was running the fourth form. His wrists were making the minute adjustments that distinguished a master swordsman from the hack-and-slash kind. A fake! The enemy to Fenryr¡¯s left feinted once, he had to readjust. A minute twist of the wrist as he brought the sword back across his body. An imperceptible motion of the forearm as he thrust deep into his assailant¡¯s heart.


    ¡°So what do you think?¡± Nayib was looking into his face. Chocolate framing his mouth.


    ¡°Yes.. Uh.. great. Will you excuse me for a second?¡±


    Fenryr had no idea what he was talking about, and no intention on hanging around to find out. He shuffled sideways and made for the exit. On his way he noticed someone slouched in the corner. Someone he knew in passing. Smith was watching him, so he had no choice. Fenryr walked over.


    ¡°Hello Smith! How¡¯s the man of the hour feeling?¡±


    Fenryr looked over him, noticing how that may have sounded sarcastic. Smiths face was drawn. Eyes red, his shirt was coming untucked. There was a faint smell of alcohol coming from him.


    Smith looked up at Fenryr. He loomed over him. Easily six foot tall, he filled his suit in a way only a man who worked out could. His face was tanned and strong. His nose was wide. He had maybe a day¡¯s growth of beard on it. He didn¡¯t really know much about Fenryr. No one at the office really did. He was the liaison to some military. The rumors were it was a secret UN global army. Amanda had tried to find out for them, but had returned totally frustrated at the lack of answers. His eyes were a steely grey.


    ¡°Oh. Fenryr. Man of the hour, yeah right. I can¡¯t wait to get home.¡± Smith swallowed the  ¡®and drink¡¯.


    Smith spotted Amanda. She was in the middle of the office. She saw him looking them looked away. She was clearly still mad.


    ¡°So why are you called Fenryr? That can¡¯t be your real name.¡±


    Smith was making conversation. He was still looking in Amanda¡¯s directions. She was still oblivious.


    Fenryr chuckled. Rolled up his left sleeve. Smith saw the movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned to look.


    On his forearm was a tattoo of a wolf. A giant black beast with hair whipping in the wind. Its mouth was open in a menacing growl, fangs bared.


    ¡°This is why. It¡¯s a nickname I picked up in high school after I got this. That¡¯s Fenrir. He¡¯s a wolf in Norse mythology that kills the King of the Gods. My dad had a painting of him hanging over his bed. For some reason he was obsessed with killing Gods.¡±


    Fenryr shrugged his shoulders as if to indicate he had no idea what his father had been on about.


    ¡°I got this after he died. My way of honoring him.¡± He looked down at the tattoo, tracing a few of the lines. Smith could tell from the set of his face he was remembering his father.


    Fenryr looked up. He was a bit embarrassed that he had told Smith about something so personal. He stood there for a few more moments, letting the awkward silence extend. He saw Smith looking over at Amanda, a look of longing on his face. He grinned slightly and clapped a hand on Smiths shoulder.


    ¡°I have to go now. Some calls to make.¡±


    Smith waved him away, eyes still on Amanda. Fenryr drifted away.


    He found himself alone in the corridor outside. Once he shut the door, it was silent. There were a few boxes stacked up against the far wall. They looked abnormally white in the lighting. Fenryr looked over them. They were wires and nuts and bolt. Odd ends for the machine.  He walked past them, aimlessly wandering.


    He found himself outside the Gym. He looked down at his watch. He had a few minutes to kill. His hand itched to be wrapped around the hilt of a sword, but he wasn¡¯t carrying anything today. Instead he went inside, stripped off his suit and shirt. He stood for a minute feeling the scars that decorated his chest.


    There was one right over his heart. He had gotten that a few weeks after his father died. He was late coming home from school one day, and was so busy on the phone he hadn¡¯t realized he had taken a wrong turn. He found himself in the middle of a group of men. All older than him, all bigger. They started pushing him around, asking if he had a girlfriend, asking what his mother did.The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.


    The sorrow and rage pent up from his father¡¯s death and the insinuations about his mother who had died giving birth to him, chose that particular moment to manifest. He felled the first of them with a straight punch to the face. But by the time he had pulled his arm back, he was overwhelmed. He had blacked out after the first few kicks, waking up in the hospital a few days later. The doctors were still amazed the knife hadn¡¯t gone clean through his heart. They explained to him that the knife had somehow bent just before piercing it. The doctors didn¡¯t know how or why. One of the nurses was sure he had a guardian angel.


    Fenryr got his act together after that. He signed up for self defense classes and pretty soon was taking extended martial arts training.  He was excellent at it all, but was in another league all together when it came to swords. After getting the basics down, he quickly outstripped his teachers.


    Fenryr looked down at his hands. There was a nick on his left thumb which he¡¯d gotten the first day he had picked up a sword. He had charged headlong into his instructor. His master had sidestepped, and lightly ran the edge of his word over Fenryr¡¯s exposed thumb. Any deeper and he would have severed the thumb clean off. Fenryr had thrown his sword to the ground, sucked on the blood and asked his master,


    ¡°When someone¡¯s pointing a gun at me, how does it matter if I know how to hold a sword or not?


    The master came over and placed an arm around his shoulders and said something Fenryr had never forgotten.


    ¡°Sometimes my son, something that seems for nothing can often lead to everything¡±.


    Back then Fenryr hadn¡¯t paid attention. It seemed the typical gibberish every master told their students. But he had picked up the sword, placed his mask back on and resumed training. He hadn¡¯t looked back since.


    A noise brought him back to reality. It was his watch. He had set an alarm to know when he was needed back. He frowned at it and pressed a button to make it stop. He looked down. His shirt and jacket were lying in an untidy pile. He wanted to run the forms. To feel the thrill he had when he was slicing through the air. His favorite sound was the whistle his sword made. He picked up a metal rod that was up against the wall. It was maybe an inch thick. It had two palm sized patched placed roughly shoulder width apart. It was one of those bench press bars. The weights were piled up next to it.


    Fenryr held one end of it tightly in both hands. He twisted his hands to get a better grip. He felt the metal grinding into his palm. It was cold. He took his stance, rod held high at his side. He took a deep breath and started form 1. He flowed through the motions sweeping left and right, blocking and parrying. He feinted imaginary opponents, dodged their attacks and punished any openings. Form 1 slipped into form 2 as he became more aggressive. He advanced forward, rod swinging in wide arcs. Form 2 melted into form 3 as he leapt back. His feet were placed wide apart. He bent low to the ground. He transferred the sword to his right hand. His left was free, for balance and support. He was about to start form 3 when he heard clapping from the door.


    Amanda was standing at the door. Her face was flushed. Her lips were slightly parted. She was looking him up and down, taking great interest in the rippling muscles. A thin film of sweat had formed on his chest. He picked up a towel form the pile nearby and wiped himself down. He turned his back to her and put his shirt back on. All the while Amanda just watched.


    ¡°Don¡¯t get dressed on my account.¡± Her voice was light, and very close. Fenryr turned around to see her right behind him.


    ¡°Amanda? What are you doing here?¡± He put his jacket back on. Rolled his shoulders to get it in position.


    ¡°Nayib sent me to get you. We¡¯re waiting in the office. He had no idea where you were.¡± She placed a hand on his arm and drew close.


    Fenryr pulled away. He had overheard stories of her and didn¡¯t want to become part of her legend. He made a show of looking at his watch and said,


    ¡°I think Smith¡¯s looking for you. Maybe you should go talk to him¡±


    He felt the hand being pulled back. Amanda¡¯s expression changed in an instant. The coy, breathless expression she had vanished. Her eyes narrowed and her mouth clamped into a thin line.


    ¡°Is he. Thanks for telling me. Now you¡¯re expected. Hurry up and get to the office.¡± She turned and left the room. Fenryr saw a few strands of hair slipping from her bun.


    He smiled to himself and wiped the sweat from his face. He went to the vending machine and put in a few coins. Pressed one of the buttons and a metallic ¡®clang¡¯ later, he was sipping a coke.


    He headed out of the gym, closing the door behind him. The corridor was empty. He leaned against a wall and sipped his coke. It was very cold. And very refreshing. He felt eyes on him. He turned his head to the left where he had just come from. Empty. Then to the right. Empty again. Fenryr took another sip of his coke. He still couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that he was being watched. He looked back to the left. A man in a white suit with blond hair was staring at him.


    ¡°Well, Fenryr, how are you today?¡± The man asked. The stress on his name seemed to indicate that the man knew him somehow, but Fenryr had never seen him before.


    ¡°Who are you? How do you know me?¡± He was sure the corridor had been empty. He hadn¡¯t heard any doors opening or closing. His free hand went instinctively to his waist. Where had this man come from?


    The man reached out and pointed right at Fenryr¡¯s heart.


    ¡°How¡¯s the old wound? Your heart still OK?¡± The man¡¯s face twisted into a grin.


    Fenryr¡¯s hand instinctively went to his heart. He looked down. His fingers traced the outline of his scar through his shirt.


    ¡°How did you know that? WHO ARE YOU?¡± His free hand clenched into a fist. The one holding the coke flexed a little. Fenryr felt the metal give way and some of the cool liquid leak onto his hand.


    ¡°So curious. Everyone wants to know who I am. First Smith now you.¡± His voice trailed off. He was looking into Fenryr¡¯s eyes. His own were a piercing blue and set in a face that could only be described as beautiful.


    ¡°Smith? You know Smith? How?¡±


    ¡°Questions. Questions. That¡¯s all you humans are good for. You don¡¯t know me because we haven¡¯t met yet. I know you because we have. That answer your questions?¡± The man started laughing. A horrible mocking sound.


    Fenryr shook his head the man was making no sense. He dropped the coke. Reached out with his hand to grab the man by the collar. His hand passed right through the man. His white suit still immaculate.


    ¡°What the-¡° He spluttered.


    The man laughed again and drew close to Fenryr¡¯s face. His eyes were very close now. Their noses were almost touching.


    ¡°My dear Fenryr. We are going to have lots of fun together. You and me. Don¡¯t go and do anything stupid though.¡± The man vanished.


    Fenryr looked down. The coke had spilled out and was forming a puddle at his feet. He could see his reflection in the black surface. His shoes were huge, his face tiny. He picked the can up. Shook it. There was still some left. He gulped that down. Threw the empty can away. He started walking slowly back to the office. On the way, he heard the laughter again. Fenryr turned around. There was no one there. The corridor was empty. Except for him. And the laughter.

 Chapter 8

    Esterian woke up to a bright morning. He fumbled around for a bit, and finally managed to get out of his bed covers. His mother had left the curtains open in his room. The sunlight sort of glided in. The rays illuminated the dust that hung in the air. Esterian¡¯s mother would not be pleased. He got up from bed, and stepped over to the bathroom. He was well into 18 now, but still couldn¡¯t get his beard to grow any longer than an inch. I wonder what father looked like at my age, he thought to himself. He got cleaned up and headed downstairs. His mother was waiting for him, as usual, in the kitchen.


    ¡°Good morning dear!¡± She hugged him, and gave him a kiss on the cheek. Tousled his hair, and busied herself getting breakfast ready


    ¡°Good morning mother¡± Esterian slouched into a stool near the table. He still wasn¡¯t fully awake, everything was blurred and his mother¡¯s voice sounded unnecessarily loud.


    ¡°I need you to go into town today. Your clothes are falling to pieces. Take some of the tomatoes, sell them, and buy some clothes for yourself. If there¡¯s anything left over, get something nice¡± She placed a plate in front of him. The green lettuce and red tomatoes brightened up the white china.


    Esterian started munching away. The fresh lettuce crackled as he bit into it. The tomatoes were juicy. As he bit into one, a bit of the juice leaked out of the corners of his mouth, and into his shirt. His only white shirt. A stain was forming on his collar. Esterian looked at his mother. She was too busy cleaning the dished to notice. Esterian turned towards the door silently, got up and at the doorway, said,


    ¡°I need to go get dressed. I¡¯ll leave as soon as I¡¯m ready¡± And without another word, or waiting for his mothers reply, he raced up the stairs, stuffed the soiled shirt as far into his clothes pile as he could, and picked up the shirt that lay on top. It was blue, his favorite colour.


    He made his way back downstairs, kissed his mother on the forehead and picked up the bag of fresh tomatoes his mother had left on the table. He closed the front door behind him as he stepped out. The air was cool. The perpetually grey sky made sure that days were never hot, but they were usually warm. Today, the day was cool, the sky had lost its morning brightness and had dulled considerably. Maybe rains were on the way, thought Esterian as he buttoned up his shirt fully. He stepped onto the road, the pebbles already poking him through his soles. That was something else he needed, new shoes. Surely the cobbler in town would help him with that.


    The town was easily an hour¡¯s walk away. Esterian loved to walk, but not walk to something. There was always a feeling of compulsion when one¡¯s journey had a destination. In the evenings, when he would just walk outside, it was all about the walk, never about the where. Esterian hated it when he had to go somewhere. It detracted from the joy of just enjoying the breeze, and the smells and the sights that were all around. Instead, thoughts of the task to be performed, the errands to be run would always dominate his mind. As was the case today. He tried to clear his mind, but he couldn¡¯t. It was full of thoughts of how much he could sell the tomatoes for, and how much shoes would cost him. He set his shoulders, and walked on.


    Esterian hummed to himself as he walked on the road. It was muddy, and could barely be called a road, but it was the only clear cut way to town. On either side of the road were meadows, where crops alien to Esterian stood proud and tall. He had never seen them harvested. Maybe the land owner had passed away. Every few meters, in the distance he could see trees. Their green muted in the dull light, and even further behind them were mountains. They were tall, so tall the peaks were well into the cloud line, but if Esterian tried at it, he could see the peaks. The road itself terminated at the town. It just led there and stopped. Of course, calling a group of houses and a few shops a town might be overly generous, but it was called the town nevertheless. The road Esterian walked on was the least used of all. No travelers ever passed by his house, and along the way, there were solitary houses, but most were abandoned. His mother had forbidden him from walking the road towards the other side. He didn¡¯t really know why, but the vehemence in her voice as she had forbade him overcame even his most rebellious of moods.


    Esterian had walked for about half an hour. It lay nestled between two hills, one of which Esterian was now at the top of. He looked down at the town. The houses were laid out roughly around a central open space. That space was covered with brightly colored stalls, selling everything from produce to clothes. Three hundred people lived in the town. There wasn¡¯t any other name for it, other than the ¡®town¡¯. No one who lived there, ever expected to leave for a long time, and travelers would only pass through, staying at the inn for a few days. There was nothing in ¡®the town¡¯ for it to warrant a name. Surrounding the town were the ruins that dotted the countryside. A few pillars were still standing, a few poles still stood erect, but whatever building there were had been gutted. Everything useful taken and the barren husks left to face the elements. Creepers and moss had claimed the vast majority of them, giving the impression of small green hills surrounding the ¡®town¡¯ in the middle. Some mayor had once taken offence at the ¡®town¡¯s lack of a name and tried naming it after his wife. Esterian could still remember the laughter from the innkeeper who had told him the story the last time he had come.


    ¡°Well this ¡®ere mayor. Name of Jifar. A snort of a name, for a snort of a man, I always thought.¡± A loud guffaw followed that.


    ¡°I think we were all drunk but somehow, he got himself elected to mayor.¡± He took a sip of his beer, Esterian, of his apple juice.


    ¡°Well anyway, first thing he does, is call a meeting of all the townsfolk. Tells them he¡¯s got a wee problem. He don¡¯t think it¡¯s right the town don¡¯t have a name. So he says to them, in his little squeak of a voice, that he¡¯s gonna name it after his wife, Celicy. Think o¡¯ that, our place, called bloody Cecily.¡± Another snort of laughter. The innkeeper spilled a bit of his beer. He wiped it absently with his cloth, and after he¡¯d gotten his breath, he continued


    ¡°So me and my boys. We¡¯d all sobered by then , and his voice was starting to get on our nerves. So we walked up to him, bonked him on the head, and tied him up. We took him behind the inn, and beat him up for a bit. After the third broken rib, he kinda got the idea. The next day, with a black eye and a big white bandage around him, he goes back in front o¡¯ everyone and says he be retiring as mayor, to spend more time with his wife, And  the name Cecily was too pretty for the town.¡± The innkeeper was laughing so loud, he was shaking. A few of the inn regulars who had either heard of the story, or were one of the ¡®boys¡¯ joined in and soon everyone was laughing.


    ¡°We saw his wife. You couldn¡¯t pay me to marry that hag¡± Another round of guffaws. Esterian had left soon after. His drink free.


    So it was just the town. A small inconsequential dot somewhere in the middle of nowhere. Esterian reached the gate. Three roads met at this gate, so it was the busier of the gates. The guard looked at him, recognized him and let him in. That was another thing funny about the town. There were eight guards in the town. Who doubled as policemen, firemen, heavy lifters, and general all purpose people. They wore the only guns in the whole town, at their waists. They looked sleek and black. Weapons were rare, but ever rarer was the need for them, so no one really carried weapons of any kind. These guns were mostly for show. The townsfolk were gentle for the most part, and a few hits on the head with a log were usually enough to control even the worst drunk. These guns were to impress the travelers who showed up every once in a while. No one knew where the guns were from, or if they even worked. Bullets were a premium, so no one had ever bothered shooting one. They were mainly a deterrent. And it worked. Just the sight of the black ¡®deathwand¡¯ as some of youngsters called it, was enough to make anyone think twice of doing something they shouldn¡¯t.


    The guard saw him looking at his gun. He self consciously touched it, turned to him, and motioned for him to keep moving. Esterian hefted the bag of tomatoes and walked on into town. There were two main roads in town that lead to the central area. They were prime areas, and as such were neater than most of the other places. The houses that lined these roads were crammed close to each other. They all looked the same to Esterian, two-storied, with white paint, wooden highlights showing through, and two windows, as eyes in the upper storey. The door would be on the other side. A curious custom, one Esterian really didn¡¯t understand, but only shops opened onto the main road. He saw a few of those, a jeweler, and a cobbler. He made a note of where that was. He would need to visit.


    Esterian reached the central marketplace.  It was loud. The open area seems to make the sounds louder. As he had walked towards the market, he had barely heard it, but now it was so loud he could barely hear himself think. He stepped forward, and looked around him. There were almost as many vendors as there were shoppers. The one nearest to him on the left was selling vegetables. Esterian felt a thrill of pride when he saw that his tomatoes were far better than the ones that man was selling. He looked up into the vendors face. It was old, and lined. Unshaven, with beady eyes


    ¡°Want something?¡± he drawled


    ¡°No thanks, I¡¯m selling today¡± Esterian watched as hostility entered the man¡¯s eyes. Competition, was not appreciated.The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°What you be selling?¡± The man¡¯s eyes had narrowed, and his voice was more purposeful.


    ¡°I¡¯ve got some fresh tomatoes, picked only today morning¡± Esterian reached into his bag and lifted one out. Handed it over to the man. The man held it in one hand. Pressed it lightly. His eyes narrowed even more when he saw just how firm it was. His own were shriveled. He had no hope of selling any at all, if these were being sold nearby. He handed the tomato back to Esterian, and said,


    ¡°I¡¯ll give you 15 pieces for the lot¡±. He tried to appear aloof, disinterested.


    Esterian laughed out loud. The man thought he was a child. Esterian had been selling vegetables in the market for years, and he knew each one would fetch 10 pieces each. He looked at the man, and said


    ¡°You must think I¡¯m stupid. I could get 15 pieces for each one. You must be desperate to sell those pathetic excuses for tomatoes you have.¡± Esterian laughed again.


    The man¡¯s eyes widened in surprise. His fist tightened.


    ¡°You mock me boy?¡± He shouted. He reached from behind the counter and took hold of Esterian¡¯s shirt collar. People nearby were starting to look towards them. People were slowing. The nearby stall vendors were slowly making their way over to them.


    The man stepped out from behind the counter, and still holding Esterian¡¯s collar, swung his right fist Esterian was holding his bag in his left hand, leaving his right free. But there was no time. He hadn¡¯t expected a blow. Verbal abuse was a part of selling things in the market, but physical violence was new. He tensed, and closed his eyes in reflex. Suddenly though, he felt the blade rise within him. He opened his eyes, and he could see the fist coming at his face. But it was moving absurdly slowly. He put up his hand to block the blow. He had more than enough time. He could even have dodged the attack all together, but instead, he placed his open palm in the way, and tensed his hand. Again, he felt the blade permeate his hand and it felt solider than it should have. The world sped up again. There was a sickening crunch as the man¡¯s hand slammed into Esterian¡¯s palm. He didn¡¯t feel anything, but the man¡¯s fist was shattered. He could see the broken bones poking out from the skin. His hand was a bloody mess. Esterian was as surprised as the onlookers. The man collapsed on the ground.


    Esterian put down his hand, and tried to help the man up, apologizing as he did. The man pulled himself up, shot a look of pure venom at Esterian, which was quickly replaced by a spasm of pain. Cradling his hand, he ran from the market, muttering to himself, his wares forgotten. The people around took one last look at Esterian before they separated. Esterian took a position behind the now unused counter, cleaned it and set up his tomatoes. He settled back into his chair, and waited.


    It was later. Well into the day by the time Esterian had sold all his tomatoes. He counted up the money in his pocket. 150 pieces. Not too bad a collection. He should be able to get two shirts and a pair of shoes for that. Clothes were never expensive. Everyone had a few they had grown out of, that weren¡¯t in tatters, and shoes could be made out of the leftover scraps. He folded up his bag carefully, and slipped it into his pocket. His pants were fine. They were still wearable. The sun was at its highest, and the day was almost as bright as the morning had been. Esterian wasn¡¯t expected home till evening, so he had the whole day to himself. He started walking around the market.


    Everyone was trying to catch his eye. All the produce had been sold, so most of the stalls were empty. Only the clothing stalls were still open. The crowd had gradually gotten smaller and smaller, till there was barely a crowd at all. A few people wandered around, some wide-eyed like Esterian, others narrow eyed, looking for a bargain, and still more just wandering around to fill their day.


    Esterian approached a stall selling clothes. The shirts on display seemed to be his size. He looked at them more closely and saw that they were in decent shape. But definitely better than the ones he had on. He looked at the seller. A bored middle aged woman. With a wide face and graying hair, she was definitely not the prettiest sight in the world. Esterian looked at her and asked her,


    ¡°How much for the red shirt?¡± indicating with his finger


    The woman made a show of looking around for the shirt Esterian was indicating, even though there was only one red shirt. She looked at it, appraising it and looked at them, trying to judge how much money he had. If she quoted too high a price, she would lose a customer. Too cheap, and her husband would not be happy. She settled for a middle figure.


    ¡°50 pieces. And if you want one more, I¡¯ll give ya both for 90 pieces¡±


    Slightly expensive, but nothing exorbitant, thought Esterian as he handed over the money. He  picked out another green shirt, to go with his red one. The green one had some faded logo in front. It seemed much older than the red, but was in comparable shape. The logo read Bra-L something. He couldn¡¯t make it out. There was a blue circle, and a faded yellow in the logo. Some long forgotten thing, he thought to himself. He smiled at the woman, who did not return it and turned away.


    Esterian needed new shoes. He remembered where the cobblers shop was, so he headed there. It took him a few minutes, but soon he was inside the shop. The cobbler was an old man. White thinning hair, with spectacles perched precariously on long thin nose. He had blue eyes, that should have sparkled, but instead there was a resigned look to him. His eyes, and his shoulders. He looked up when Esterian entered, and there was a flash in his eyes, of recognition perhaps, but a shake of his head seemed to dismiss whatever thought had entered his mind.


    ¡°So what can I do for you?¡± He asked wryly.


    ¡°I¡¯d like some shoes made please¡± Esterian replied, taking off his and holding them up. Light shone through the holes in them.


    The old man chuckled to himself, and went away, returning with some leather and a tape. He busied himself measuring Esterian¡¯s feet, humming to himself as he did. He made notes on the leather with a chalk, and after a few more measurements, started cutting it. As he cut, he asked,


    ¡°So boy, what brings you to the town?¡±


    ¡°I needed some clothes, so I sold some of my mother¡¯s tomatoes. And now I thought I¡¯d look around. It¡¯s been a while since I was here.¡± The man looked at him closely for a second before he returned to cutting. After cutting the leather, the cobbler took a long needle, some thread and started piecing the shoes together. Once that was done, he handed them over to Esterian, and told him to try them on. They fitted perfectly. Esterian said as much, and asked how much he owed.


    ¡°Just give me your old shoes, and spend some time humoring an old man, and we¡¯ll call it even boy¡±


    Esterian was surprised, but he nodded and sat back down. The man was looking closely at Esterian, making him very self conscious. Finally he asked,


    ¡°What¡¯s your name, boy?¡±


    ¡°Esterian, sir. And what¡¯s yours, If I may ask?¡± Esterian¡¯s mother had drilled manners into him.


    ¡°The all call me Colt, so I guess that¡¯ll have to do. Where do you live, Esterian?¡±


    ¡°If you walk down the west road, for an hour or so, you¡¯ll get to my house. It¡¯s just me and mother. My father died a long time ago.¡± Esterian stopped speaking. There was something about this old man that made him want to open up and talk about his life. He wanted to tell him about his father¡¯s death, and the blade within him. Something he didn¡¯t even want to tell his mother. He looked around, trying to find something to change the topic too. His eyes settled on what were the most extravagant shoes he had ever seen. White, with what seemed to be a solid sole, and strings on the front. A black logo, almost like a large tick mark. Esterian had never seen shoes like that. The cobbler followed Esterian¡¯s gaze, to the shoes.


    ¡°Ah yes. My most prized possession. I found those on the side of the road a long time ago. They were brand new then, must be nearly 50 years ago. I¡¯ve never tried them on.¡±


    ¡°Did you¡­ I mean, can you make shoes like that?¡± Esterian asked, unable to tear his eyes away.


    ¡°No. The materials and the tools needed for that are long gone. Those shoes were made before the Reckoning. And will never be made again.¡±


    The Reckoning. There was something ominous about that word. Esterian remembered hearing it a long time ago. From his mother he thought. He had never asked her about it. He turned back to the cobbler, who seemed lost in memory as well.


    ¡°What that? I¡¯ve heard people mention it before, but no one ever explained it to me¡±


    The cobblers face was incredulous. He couldn¡¯t believe what he was hearing. He looked closely at Esterian, to judge if he really didn¡¯t know what the Reckoning was, or if he was just trying to pull his leg. Esterian¡¯s confused look cleared all suspicions. The old man took of his spectacles, ran a weary hand over his face. He put his spectacles back on and turned to Esterian.


    ¡°Well. I never expected to meet someone who doesn¡¯t know about the Reckoning. Your mother should have told you about it, but if she thought not to, it¡¯s not my place to say anything.¡± He held up a hand, to stop the protests that were just starting to pour from Esterian¡¯s mouth.


    ¡°It happened 50 years ago. And we¡¯re still paying for it. Now I think you should leave, my father has more customers.¡± A voice said from behind them. Esterian turned around to see a middle aged lady, not too unlike the woman he¡¯d met earlier in the market, standing with her arms crossed and a wary look on her face.


    Esterian looked around the shop, there wasn¡¯t anyone else there. He looked back to the lady, who made a motion with her head, whose meaning was quite clear. Esterian thanked the old man, inclined his head once in the direction of the lady and left the store, in his new shoes. He still had some money left over, and some time left to waste. He headed down the lane, back to the market. He thought to pick something up for his mother. He wandered around the market, looking for nothing in particular. The third stall he looked at had something. A delicate silver bracelet, with a bright green stone set in it. Green was his mother¡¯s favorite colour. He felt like he had seen it somewhere before. He couldn¡¯t take his eyes off it. He asked the vendor,


    ¡°How much for that bracelet?¡±


    ¡°80 pieces.¡± Came the reply, in a high pitched squeak of a voice.


    Esterian looked up, into the face of a middle aged man. The face seemed misshapen, as if he¡¯d been hit a few times and broken something.


    ¡°I¡¯ve only got 50 pieces.¡± Lied Esterian, taking most the money out of his pocket, leaving 10 pieces. Sometimes, when confronted with the sight of coins, sellers might drop their price. At least Esterian hoped that was the case.


    The man looked at the money in Esterian¡¯s hands then at Esterian himself, and said,


    ¡°Fine. Take it. May it bring more to whoever it¡¯s for than it did to my dear Cecily.¡± The man¡¯s voice trailed off towards the end, and tears formed in his eyes.


    Esterian faked a cough to hide his laughter as he realized who this was. He quickly handed the coins over and turned away. When he was sure he was far enough away, he burst out laughing; remembering that day in the inn when he¡¯d heard the story of Cecily and Jifar. He felt guilty. The man had just lost his wife, and here he was laughing about it. But thoughts of the inn reminded Esterian just how hungry he was. He knew where it was, so he set off to find it.

 Chapter 9

    A few minutes later, Esterian was comfortably seated at a table in the inn. It was late afternoon. The tables were emptying, and filling. Some had just finished lunch. Others were just arriving and settling in for a big night of drinking. Esterian had ordered some stew. He got up and went to the innkeeper. He was sitting in a chair behind the main table of the inn, dozing off slightly. His massive belly was quivering with every half snore. Esterian touched him lightly on the knee. He sat up with a jerk. Rubbed his eyes with his hand, yawned massively once and looked at Esterian.


    ¡°Ah me boy. It¡¯s been a while. What can I get ya?¡± He turned around, and picked up a glass from behind him. He looked at it, frowned for a second and wiped it a bit with the cloth hanging from his waist. Apparently satisfied, he nodded once, yawned again, and looked expectantly at Esterian.


    ¡°Can I have some beer?¡± Esterian asked hopefully. He was 18, and so he could, but his mother would kill him for it. But somewhere deep down, he just knew that he had to have beer. One of the trials of adulthood, he joked to himself.


    ¡°Ye look old enough. Okay. Yer stew¡¯s about ready too. That¡¯ll be 10 pieces all together me boy.¡± The man poured some beer and took up the bowl that had just been placed in front of him by one of his helpers. He tore off a decently large piece of bread from the loaf placed a little off to the side before handing everything to Esterian. Esterian emptied his purse, and placed the coins on the table in front of the man. He had just turned away when the innkeeper said,


    ¡°Care to join me, boy? I¡¯m bored, and nothing passes time faster than some talking.¡± He took up another glass, wiped it a bit, poured himself some beer and looked up at Esterian. Esterian shrugged and sat back down.


    ¡°Marge! Get me some stew. And make it hot this time!¡± he yelled out. A woman nearby, presumably Marge, rolled her eyes, and left to the kitchen. A few moments later, she reappeared with a steaming bowl of stew, and bending down, placed it in front of the innkeeper.


    ¡°That¡¯s me girl!¡± he said. Before Marge could straighten up planted a wet kiss on her cheek. Marge cringed a bit, smiled sweetly, curtsied rather sarcastically once, turned and left.


    ¡°Married 15 years we¡¯ve been. Don¡¯t make em like that anymore.¡± The innkeeper sighed. Both him and Esterian ate their soup in silence for a while. All of a sudden, Esterian said,


    ¡°I met Jifar. Seems his wife died a while back.¡±


    ¡°Ye. I heard. Was at the funeral too. They¡¯re blaming it on wolves. But no wolves I know have that big teeth. I dunno boy. Ye best be careful. Living alone with your mother is not all that safe.¡± He pushed his finished bowl away from him and sat back in his chair, with his beer in hand.


    ¡°How is yer mother? Haven¡¯t seen her in these parts for a long time now. Must be 4 or 5 years.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s doing okay. I guess once I could start coming into town, she just decided not to.¡± Thinking of his mother reminded Esterian of the conversation he¡¯d had with the cobbler about the Reckoning. Esterian, emboldened by the half glass of beer in him decided to chance it


    ¡°Sir, can you tell me what the Reckoning is? My mother won¡¯t and I can¡¯t seem to-¡°


    The innkeeper held up a hand to cut him off. His mood seemed changed. Some of the regulars at the inn who had been listening in on their conversation suddenly busied themselves with their soup.


    ¡°First off, my name be Mycal. Not much of a name, but that be mine.  And boy, there be no faster way to make a bother of yeself in town than to talk about the Reckoning. No good will come from it¡±


    Esterian swallowed some beer. Looked down at the table. Nodded his agreement. He started apologizing, but Mycal silenced that with a raised hand as well.


    ¡°There be no bad blood between us now boy. Ye wanted to know, and I won¡¯t fault ye for that. Now come, let¡¯s have another beer.¡± He poured Esterian one more.


    Esterian sipped the beer. He was starting to feel warm inside. His fingers were tingling slightly.


    ¡°We¡¯ve had trouble before cuz of the Reckoning, my boy. Rumors of a group dedicated to removin all traces of it mean trouble for lil folk like ye and me.¡± His face grew serious for a minute, before the familiar grin returned.


    ¡°Moza, Give us some music!¡± He yelled again, this time in the direction of a thin man standing off to the corner, with white wisps of hair, holding what seemed to be a board of wood with some strings drawn across it.


    ¡°And Marge! Get out here and give us a dance!¡± Marge reappeared in the room, with an exasperated look on her face, but Esterian could tell from her eyes, that this was something she looked forward to doing.


    Moza tugged once on his collar, trying to get some semblance of dignity and started plucking at those strings with his fingers. And to the resulting tune, Marge started dancing. She spun around, kicked her legs in the air, dropped to her feet, stood up again, and soon everyone in the inn was clapping their hands, keeping the beat. She spun faster and faster, before throwing out her hands, clapping them sharply above her head before collapsing to the floor. Moza played a bit longer before he too stopped. The applause was deafening, and more than a few glasses were tipped over. Mycal was beaming, from pride at his wife¡¯s performance, from glee at the all the beers that would be reordered. Marge stood up, wiped her brow, bowed once to the crowd and went back to the kitchen. Moza bowed a few times, before a tomato hurled at his face indicated that his moment of glory was over. He retreated back to his corner, and slouched again.


    Esterian¡¯s stew was over, his beer drunk. He was feeling a bit tipsy, and the inn was very welcoming. He was in no rush to get home, so he sat back in his chair, and put his feet up. Mycal was already nodding off in the chair opposite him. The door slammed open.


    Everyone turned to look. Standing in the doorway were two men. They were both easily six feet tall, and while one was fair, the other was dark. Both their heads were shaven, and they wore identical uniforms. White with gold trim, and in the center of their shirts, was emblazoned, a golden phoenix.


    ¡°Who is the master of this establishment¡±? Asked the fair man, looking around. His nose was crinkled, from the aroma of the beer perhaps. The dark man was just standing there, doing nothing.


    Mycal slowly stood up. His massive bulk making that no easy task. Marge had come running from the kitchen as soon as she heard the door slam. She helped her husband to his feet.


    ¡°That would be me, good Sir. Mycal¡¯s me name, and this is me humble inn¡± He bowed low.


    ¡°Yes. Humble indeed. We require food, and drink. As soldiers of the Holy One, I need not tell you that these are not requests, but rather commands. We require them immediately, as well as rations for two days of travel. I assume there will be no problem?¡± He slowly moved his hand to the silver sword hilt at his waist. The blade hidden inside the scabbard. Esterian hadn¡¯t noticed that till now. He looked over at the dark skinned man. His face was impassive, and at his waist was a silver dagger.


    ¡°Of course Sir. I will make arrangements right away. Marge, our finest beer and stew. Hurry woman!¡± he yelled to the woman who was right next to him. Marge flinched from that bellow, turned and hurried away. The fair soldier was smirking. He took a step inside and sat down at the table near Esterian¡¯s. Everyone in the room still had their eyes on him. The dark soldier was still at the doorway.


    Mycal sat back down and wiped his brow. Took a long draught from his beer, and seemed relieved only when the fair man started eating his stew. Marge went over to the dark soldier, but he waved it away. She went back to the kitchen to prepare the rations.


    ¡°Mycal, who¡¯s the Holy One?¡± Esterian whispered. Something told him the soldiers would not take too kindly to someone not knowing their leader.Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.


    ¡°Where did ye grow up boy? Under a rock? How can ye not know about the Holy One?¡± Mycal looked surprised.


    Esterian felt like a child. His mother had never told him anything. And as a child, he¡¯d always been excluded from the big discussions at town. The only reason he¡¯d been allowed inside the inn last time was because it was raining and even then, Mycal had been careful to only talk to him about Jifar.


    The beer was getting to Esterian¡¯s head. Not bothering to whisper this time, he asked again


    ¡°I don¡¯t know who the Holy One is. Will you tell me or not?¡±


    Silence in the inn.  Broken by a whistle of air and a gasp as the fair soldier drew his sword and placed the blade at Esterian¡¯s throat. The blade shone with a faint white light. It radiated around him. Esterian felt a something soft flow into him. The dark soldier was still at the doorway, but his expression had changed into one of slight interest.


    Esterian felt the blade rise within him, but it seemed to hold back, waiting to see what would happen.


    ¡°Boy. What you have said constitutes treason, punishable by death, and it is my absolute pleasure to carry that sentence out.¡± He drew the sword back.


    The blade was still waiting. Esterian began to think it had abandoned him. He was suddenly sober. The alcohol had run its course. Now he was free to fully appreciate the scene. He was standing, with the fair man, about his height holding a blade in his right hand, ready to strike him down. Mycal had risen as well, terror in his eyes. Marge had just entered the main room, with the rations in one hand. They dropped to the floor when she saw what was happening. The dark man still stood, leaned up against the doorframe, hand on hilt, bemused expression on his face.


    Mycal lunged to the ground, clasping the fair man¡¯s feet.


    ¡°Please, Sir. He is my sister¡¯s boy. She only passed away yesterday. The boy was never right in the head. Can¡¯t even remember what he had for breakfast. And in his grief, he¡¯s had too much to drink. Forgive him Sir, I beg you!¡± He was bowed down at the man¡¯s feet. The tense situation had shocked the drawl out of his voice, and he spoke perfectly. With his left hand, gestured for Esterian to bow as well. Esterian fell to his knees. The blade still held back.


    ¡°Forgive me Sir. What my uncle says is true. I don¡¯t know what came over me. Spare my life, Please.¡± He too bowed down. Marge picked up the fallen rations and came over. She too fell to her knees, and held up the rations as an offering.


    The fair man seemed mollified. He sheathed his sword, and stepped back.


    ¡°Boy, I spare you today. But next time, I shall not spar you for anything. Of that you have my word. Come let us go.¡± The last part was addressed to the dark man. He chuckled once softly, picked up the rations and the two of them left.


    It was only after the two of them had left, did Mycal, Marge and Esterian rise to their feet. Esterian stammered an apology, while Mycal was busy consoling Marge who was in tears. The others in the inn looked at them a bit more and returned to their drinks. A few minutes later, the conversations had resumed, and the inn was noisy again. The events of before almost forgotten.


    ¡°Boy, ye gotta think. I know ye don¡¯t know anything, but don¡¯t make it that obvious. Ye almost got yeself killed. And for what? One drink too many? I think ye should leave. It¡¯s getting late. And yer mothers all alone.¡± His drawl had returned. With one arm around his wife¡¯s shoulders, he pointed to the door with the other.


    Esterian apologized again and left the inn. He had walked for a few minutes, and had just turned down an alley that would take him to the main gate when he heard voices behind him.


    ¡°That¡¯s him. That¡¯s the boy.¡±


    Esterian turned around to see a group of four men. One of them, the speaker had his hand in a bandage. It was dim, almost night, but Esterian could make out who it was. The man whose hand he had accidently broken in the morning. They must have been searching for him, and had probably picked him up outside the inn. They had waited to get to a secluded spot before they moved in. Esterian groaned. Today was not a good day.


    The men fanned out. Till they formed a rough semicircle. With Esterian at the center.


    ¡°You attacked me first. All I did was defend myself.¡± Esterian said warily, as he looked around. All the men were easily twice his weight, though they were all a few inches shorter than him. Reach was a good thing, but not as good as numbers.


    The speaker chuckled.


    ¡°You think I care? My hand¡¯s broken. I won¡¯t be happy till both your hands, and both your legs are broken too.¡± He took a step forward, and laughed.


    ¡°Boys, to work!¡±


    The four men were grinning menacingly now. They held no weapons, but fists were good enough to break bones. They were circling Esterian, keeping him off balance. Esterian looked from one to another, trying to judge when and where the first strike would come. Suddenly the man to the leaders left gave a cry and rushed forward. At the same time, the man from the extreme right charged as well. Esterian felt the blade. Again, when he opened his eyes, time seemed to be moving slower. He could see the two men running towards him. He could see their fists curling, and their clothes moving as they ran. He could see the fat on their faces shake, their eyes close, the spit flying from their mouth. The blade gave life to his feet, he dodged both attacks and ran behind the leader. Both men crashed, and collapsed on the floor. Time was still slow. The leader was looking around, to see where Esterian was, but before he could see, Esterian jumped right, and landed behind the fourth man. The blade made his fist stronger, like before, and he drove it into the man¡¯s kidney. Before the man collapsed, Esterian followed it up with an elbow smash to the side of the head. Esterian saw the man¡¯s eyes roll up, and he too fell to the ground. Esterian took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Time went back to normal.


    He could see the three men lying on the ground. The first two were groggy. Each of them had been built like a stone wall. They were both reeling, trying to get up, but not managing, falling to their feet every time they tried. The third man was a mess. Blood was leaking from his nose, and Esterian was pretty sure he¡¯d broken a few ribs with his punch to the back. The leader, the storekeeper, the man with the bandaged hand was staring at Esterian, disbelief on his face. In an instant, he pulled a gun from his pocket and shot Esterian.


    He could see the bullet coming towards him. He put his hands up, but before he could move, the bullet just fell to the ground. Two inches from his out stretched hands, the bullet just stopped, mid-flight and fell. As it did, Esterian felt a slight poke in his skin, where the bullet should have hit. He looked down, but his skin was unscratched. The man shot two, three more times. All with the same result. The bullets just fell to the ground, accompanied by a poke that Esterian could feel, and dim metallic thuds as the bullets hit the ground. The gunshots were loud and would attract attention. The man looked at Esterian like he had seen the devil. The men on the ground were looking at him the same way. Their faces were white, not just with pain, but with fear as well. The two who were still conscious picked up the third man, blood still pouring from his nose, and holding him up, ran off. The leader, still looking as if at a ghost, took one final look before he too turned and ran off. Esterian turned and ran the other direction. Only when he was out of breath did he stop.


    He looked down at his hand. It seemed normal, but it had stopped bullets. He may never have seen one fired, but he knew what they could do. The stories he¡¯d read had had bullets in them. Bullets should kill. They should have torn through his heart, and out his back, and Esterian should have bled to death slowly as the man with the broken hand had laughed over his body. Instead, he was fine. The bullets had fallen out of mid-air, and the man with the broken hand had ran. It didn¡¯t make sense. He had never heard of bullets being stopped.


    Oh but you have, said a voice from the back of his head.  Esterian frowned, trying to remember. With a chill running down his spine, he remembered. The Shadow of Heaven. He can stop bullets. His mother had told him that anything thrown at him just drops to the ground. Doesn¡¯t matter how fast, or how heavy. It just drops. His head was spinning. Did that mean he was like the Shadow? Was he supposed to be a killer? A man feared for bringing death? Questions were running amok in his head, but no answers. He got one. A thought flashed through his mind. A voice he had almost forgotten.


    I told you, Este. I am forever here for you, and I shall forever lend you my strength. Trivial things like stopping bullets I can do with ease. There is much more I can do.


    Esterian¡¯s head hurt. The blade had talked to him after years just to dismiss stopping bullets as trivial. He was tired, and scared and late. He pushed all thoughts from his mind, and started walking to the main gate, and home. But somewhere, in the back of his mind, he could feel the blade sporting a self-satisfied smirk, chuckling softly to itself.


    The dark man had been hiding in the shadows of one of the buildings. He had followed Esterian from the inn. Even he didn¡¯t know why. He had felt something when his partner had drawn his blade. The child had reminded him of someone he had met a long time ago. Someone distinctly unpleasant. Even thought the feeling had been only for a moment, he had followed the child. His partner was amusing himself with a lady in a house nearby anyway. The dark man walked over to the spot of the brawl on quiet feet. He had waited for the crowd that had formed after the shots had been fired to disperse before he had moved in. In that time, he had lost sight of the boy. Thankfully, the crowd had just milled around, looking at each other, gasping at the pool of blood on the floor, and had left, leaving the bullets on the ground.


    The dark man picked one up. It was almost weightless. It still surprised him how something so small and insignificant could end a life. It didn¡¯t even seem fired. The tip was still curved, the shape retained. But the blackening and the groove marks on the sides were evidence enough that it had.


    The dark man picked up all the bullets and put them in his pocket. What an interesting young man, he thought to himself as he started walking back to his partner. The bullets clicked together in his pocket. He put his hand in to stifle the noise. He started whistling to himself as he walked. The Holy One would be pleased. After all, he had found the first powerful Godless One in years. The dark man allowed himself a moment to think of the rewards. Maybe he would get his wings. No that was too much. Still, he was happy. He started whistling a new tune. Maybe his partner¡¯s ¡®friend¡¯ had a sister.

 Chapter 10

    Fenryr walked into the office. It was quieter now. Nayib had made his way to the front of the office, where he stood on a slightly elevated platform. Behind him a screen was pulled down. A technician was busy setting up a projector. He was connecting it to a computer. Nayib was pacing up and down, breathing heavily. He kept on wiping his brow with a handkerchief from his pocket. Fenryr saw Smith still in the corner. He seemed to be asleep. But his face was twitching and he kept wiping his face with his hands, as if trying to scrub something off. Amanda was near Nayib, talking to two people. They seemed to be reporters. One of them held a camera at his side. The other had a notepad open and was taking notes. Amanda felt his eyes on her and looked over at him. Her eyes tightened and she quickly looked away. Fenryr shook his head and started walking to the front.


    An area of the office had been cleared. Rows of white chairs had been placed, facing the podium. Most of them were already taken. Fenryr sat down in the end chair on one of the middle rows. The chair next to him was vacant. Further down the row he could make out a middle aged man. His hair was thinning. His specs were very close to falling off his nose. He looked at Fenryr and smiled. Fenryr smiled back.


    Nayib walked over to the mike. He tapped it once. The screech from the speakers caused everyone in the audience to wince. It woke Smith up. He pulled himself up, tried to tuck his shirt in, patted down his hair and walked over to the chairs. Most of the chairs were occupied now. The screech had made those who were still milling around to sit down. He saw Amanda sitting on the front row. He started walking towards her. She saw him and quickly gestured for a man holding a notepad to sit down next to her. The man smiled once than sat down. She quickly started talking to him. Smith frowned. There was a free chair next to Fenryr. He slouched over and sat down next to him. Fenryr looked at him. A tight smile and a nod of the head. He turned his attention back to the platform where Nayib was busy organizing papers on the lectern.


    Nayib looked down at the technician. He was still fiddling with the projector. He looked at the crowd. Felt a thrill when he saw Amanda smiling up at him from the front row flanked by the press. He felt a niggle of irritation as he saw Smith slouched in a chair, shirt rumpled, hair unkempt. Felt a surge of envy as he saw Fenryr sitting next to Smith, arms folded across his chest looking up at him.


    ¡°Hello and welcome!¡± He said. The mike was off. Only the front row heard him. He swore loudly, turned it on and tried again.


    ¡°Hello and Welcome!¡± Applause this time. Nayib waited for it to die out before continuing.


    ¡°As most of you know, 6 years of hard work are finally going to bear fruit today! A special welcome to the press, you are in for a treat. Let¡¯s give them a hand!¡±


    A smattering of confused applause started. It died out very quickly. The press people shifted in their chairs. Nayib was playing for time. He couldn¡¯t start the presentation without the projector. He was thinking whether to ask Amanda to sing when the technician gave him a thumbs-up. He turned around and saw the logo of the company put up behind him. A white seashell on a blue background. His design. He turned back to the crowd.


    ¡°Ah. Good. We can start. Any questions can be asked after the presentation. The Genesis Project started 6 years ago with a startling discovery. While conducting routine deep sea explorations in the Atlantic Ocean, one of our teams stumbled across this¡±


    He pressed a button on the remote placed on the lectern. A picture of a tablet roughly the size and shape of a notebook appeared on the screen. It seemed very old, and there was some writing on it. The press people started writing. The rest of the crowd had all seen it before.


    ¡°This tablet is completely unique. It¡¯s made of a material that we have not been able to identify. All forms of dating have failed, leading us to the conclusion that this tablet may be older than any known civilization¡±


    ¡°Beneath the tablet was this.¡± Nayib pressed the button again. The picture changed. Now it was a photo taken underwater. Silt obscured the view a bit, but it was clear. Beneath the sand was what seemed to be a painting. Only a small portion was revealed, but the shape of a man was clearly visible.


    ¡°Two weeks of careful excavation and this is what we found¡±


    The picture changed again. The entire floor of the photo was covered in a massive fresco. A diver was laying down on it to give it a sense of scope. It was easily twenty meters wide and at least 50 meters long. It must have been even bigger because the edges were broken. The painting continued on past them. The image itself was unclear in the murky light.


    The press was sitting bolt straight now. Many were frantically scribbling away. A few of them were on the phone. Flash bulbs were going off. Nayib smiled. This was going very well.


    ¡°Digital reconstruction of the image took a while, but this is what we came up with.¡±


    Nayib pressed the button before stepping back. He took out a chocolate bar and started eating it. Any form of excitement always made him hungry.


    Many of the people in the audience sat up straighter. Very few had seen the restored image. It was strictly ¡®need to know¡¯ because of its content. Smith had seen it, but he hadn¡¯t expected Nayib to reveal it now. He had thought it would be the regular ¡®Welcome, we¡¯ll talk more after the test¡¯. Instead he was laying everything in the open. He looked to his side. Fenryr was still impassive, arms crossed in front of his chest. His wrists were moving slightly. Smith wondered what he was doing. He turned back to the picture.


    The image seemed to be a historical record. It started abruptly at the top left edge. Half of the first image was lost, but the next one was clear. A man who looked like the chief was standing on an elevated platform. He wore what looked like a feathered headdress. He held the tablet in his hands and it was raised above his head. At his feet were what looked like men in loincloths bowing.


    The next image showed a line connecting the man¡¯s head to the tablet. The man¡¯s eyes were wide open. The bowing men had their hands placed over the heads as if waiting for something to fall into them.


    In the next image the tablet was shining. Lines were drawn extending from it in all directions. It looked like the sun. The man holding it had bowed his head low.Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.


    The final image of the first line was half lost. In what could be seen, one of the men bowing down had what seemed to be fruit in his hands. A line linked the fruit to something just out of the picture. It was clear though that it was the tablet.


    The next line of images was larger than the first and took up the rest of the image. There were two panels that seemed to be intact for the most part. The first showed what seemed to be the same headdress man holding the tablet above his head. He was standing on what seemed to a tower set on a wall. There were what seemed to be soldiers holding spears outside the wall. A line linked the tablet to the headdress. Another set of lines extended out from the tablet to the soldiers.


    The last panel was disturbing. The left side was almost identical to the first. A man in the headdress holding the tablet over his head, standing in the tower. The army on the right side had been decapitated. Soldiers stood, holding spears but their heads were shown at their feet. Looks of horrific pain were etched into their faces. The face of the man in the headdress was left blank.


    Nayib stuffed the empty wrapper in his pocket and held up his hand. The chatter died down. The reporters had stopped writing. They were staring at the image awe-struck.


    ¡°As you can see, this is probably the most important archaeological discovery of the century. You may wonder why we didn¡¯t make this public. We wanted to try and find the headdress that seems to be so important before we did. Unfortunately we were unable to locate it.¡±


    A series of groans went up from the audience. Smith leaned to the side a bit. He saw Amanda sitting forward in her chair, hanging on Nayib¡¯s every word. He was surprised she hadn¡¯t been told. For some reason it made him feel better. He sat back in his chair. Fenryr was still impassive. He had been one of the first to see the restored image. His Superiors had been very interested with the second set of panels, but news of the missing headdress had meant a loss of interest. They had asked him to stay on just in case.


    Nayib was getting into his stride now. He loved being the center of attention of a crowd. Almost as much as he loved eating.


    ¡°I wanted to save this for after the test, but I thought it might make a better impression now. What we did next was try to figure out what the headdress did. From the images it seemed to control the tablet. Though it wasn¡¯t clear what the tablet itself was doing. Careful analysis of the tablet revealed something very interesting though. What that was I will share after the test¡± He grinned. The faces of some of the reporters fell. They seemed irritated. Like the commercial break just before the climax of a good movie.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry. All shall be revealed!¡± Nayib imitated the voice of a famous TV magician. A small number of people laughed. Neither Fenryr nor Smith were among them.


    ¡°So I¡¯m going to have to request the press and non-essential staff to remain here while I and the core group head down to run the test.¡± Nayib turned the projector off and stepped away from the lectern. All the reporters started talking at once. They were standing up. Flash bulbs were going off again. Nayib pointed to the one next to Amanda. The others quieted down.


    ¡°What  test? What are you testing?¡± He held a pen. His notepad was ready.


    Nayib face twisted into a grin. It stretched his double chin out further. Smith was disgusted by it.


    ¡°That is a surprise. Wait. Be patient.¡± Nayib held up his hand to silence the reporters who had started shouting again. The one who had asked the question had settled back in his seat frustrated.


    ¡°I can understand how curious you all are. But just wait. If the test goes off well, trust me, you will have the news item of the century. Maybe of all time.¡± He winked.


    Nayib knew how to keep a crowd in suspense. Smith had to give him that. Nayib turned to walk off the podium. He looked over at Smith. Irritation in his eyes as he waved him over to join him.


    Smith got up. Fenryr stood up as well. Both of them walked over to Nayib. A few others joined them. They formed a rough circle with Nayib at the centre. Smith didn¡¯t recognize any of them. None of them acknowledged him. There were a few handshakes exchanged amongst them though. Fenryr stood slightly apart from them. His wrists had stopped moving. Nayib looked over the group once and nodded his head as if satisfied. He said,


    ¡°So you are the guys I need. The machine is ready in the basement. We¡¯ve cleared it with the electricity board, and with Smith having finally calculated the Spread function, we should be ready to test.¡± The stress on finally had made it very clear who Nayib held responsible for not being able to test earlier. A few of the group looked over at Smith.


    ¡°I should tell you that I¡¯ve only verified the simulations. Without practical tests, I can¡¯t be sure that my calculations are perfect.¡± Smith felt the eyes of the whole group on him. A few of them were shaking their heads. Nayib¡¯s face was turning red.


    ¡°Do the simulations work?¡±


    ¡°Yes but-¡°


    Nayib cut him off. He turned to the rest of the group and said,


    ¡°The simulations work. That¡¯s good enough for me. Let¡¯s make history! Oh, and should anything go wrong, you know who to blame.¡± A slight smattering of laughter, as if the group was not sure whether he had been serious or joking.


    The eyes turned back to Smith. He just shrugged. From behind Nayib he saw Amanda drifting over to join them. She laid her hand on Nayib¡¯s back. He turned around. Smith looked away. The rest of the group started talking among them. Fenryr¡¯s wrists started twitching again. The reporters looked disgruntled in their chairs. The ¡®non-essential¡¯ staff looked angry. A few of them were having heated discussions. They kept throwing dirty looks at Nayib. They saw Smith looking at them and frowned at him. He smiled back.


    ¡°Please, you have to let me come¡± Amanda was pleading to Nayib.


    ¡°I can¡¯t. Why would the head of PR need to be at the first test? If I let you, I would have to let everyone come.¡± He shook his head. The fat on his face wobbled. His beady eyes were looking well below Amanda¡¯s neck.


    ¡°I¡¯ll do anything. I want to be there!¡± Amanda laid her hand on Nayib¡¯s arm. It was soft and fleshy. She had gotten very far with that simple gesture. It seemed to ignite the wildest fantasies in a man¡¯s mind.


    Nayib looked down at her hand. It was tanned. Red nail polish matched her lipstick. He looked at her face. Her eyes were pleading. Mouth pursed.


    ¡°No. I can¡¯t. I¡¯m sorry¡± He looked down. Her feet were in High heels. He could see sheer stockings disappearing under her skirt.


    Amanda slid her hand further up Nayib¡¯s arm. It was at his elbow now.


    ¡°Are you sure?¡± A small smile was forming on her face.


    Nayib started sweating. His last chocolate bar was in his left pocket. But to get to it he would have to move the arm Amanda¡¯s hand was on, and it felt horrible to even think of that. Sweat was forming on his brow. He looked into her eyes.


    He made a big show of wrestling with the decision. Truth was he had made up his mind as soon as she had asked the first time.


    ¡°Fine. You win. You can come.¡± He smiled.


    Amanda faked a squeal of excitement. She planted a ¡®spontaneous¡¯ kiss on Nayib¡¯s cheek. Nayib took the very real spasm of disgust that passed over her face as one of excitement. He blushed, and took out the chocolate bar from his pocket. Tore the cover off.


    Amanda looked over at Smith. He was trying to look aloof but she could see the tightness around his eyes. She had been desperate to find a way to get into the test, going as far as trying to seduce Smith. She shuddered. His gaff earlier had made things very easy. Fenryr on the other hand was a different case all together. She would start working on him next. The image of him from the gym made her heart beat faster.


    The group started moving from the room. A few of those left behind applauded. A few booed. The reporters were busy writing their articles. Smith looked longingly at the bar. It was open. The bartender was pouring someone a drink. Amanda walked next to Nayib, whispering in his ear. Nayib¡¯s grin was getting wider and wider. Fenryr walked behind them all. The eighth form was running in his head. But he couldn¡¯t concentrate. He winced as an opponent¡¯s blade ripped his side open. He shook his head to clear away all thoughts of the forms. A voice echoed in the silence of his mind.


    ¡°My dear Fenryr. We are going to have lots of fun together. You and me.¡±

 Chapter 11

    ¡°Sire, one of our scouts has returned. He says he has news of the utmost importance.¡±


    The Holy one looked at the speaker. One of his many aides. His legs were shaking ever so slightly. Being the focus of the Holy One¡¯s gaze could do that. The man was sweating profusely. Stains were forming on his red livery.


    The Holy One yawned and sat a bit straighter in his throne. He pulled his white suit straight, and flicked some lint off the front of it. His face was bored.


    ¡°Send him in.¡± He commanded, making a slight gesture with his hand. Immediately from the side of the room another servant clothed in Red rushed to him with a goblet of clear liquid. The Holy One took a deep swallow as he watched his aide bow to him and hurry out of the throne room.


    The Holy One looked around himself. He needed none of it, but it was all so magnificent. The high vaulted ceiling. Columns of white marble rising from the polished granite floor, flaring into canopy of marble branches. Hanging from them, lanterns that basked the room in a warm light. The white walls covered with beautiful murals, depicting the Holy One in various moods and temperaments. The multitude of aides, all dressed in red standing along the wall, heads bowed, waiting for an order. They would happily throw their lives away for the Holy One.


    There was a sound as a door opened somewhere at the far end of the throne room. The Holy One watched as the sweating aide led two other. The aide was talking fast in a hushed voice, clearly instructing them of proper etiquette. The two were dressed in the white of the military. The golden phoenix on their fronts indicating their legion. They were nodding to the aide¡¯s words.


    The trio stopped a fair distance from the Holy One. The aide bowed deeply and walked fast off to the left and stood against the wall. The other two fell to their knees, and touched their foreheads to the granite floor. They stood up, heads bowed, waiting to be commanded.


    ¡°Speak.¡± The Holy One said in a bored voice. He looked to another of his aides lining the wall. The aide bowed once and hurried out of the room.


    ¡°Oh mighty one! Our lives are your gift. We exist but to serve you. Being in your presence is the crown jewel of our lives. Your glory-¡° the dark man on the left spoke in a toneless voice, as if reciting from memory.


    ¡°Enough. Do not waste my time with unnecessary pleasantries. Get to the point.¡± The Holy One interrupted.


    The man began to stammer an apology. A cold look from the Holy One silenced him. He swallowed again and said,


    ¡°Sire. We were tasked to scout for potential servants in the beyond the hills to the North. Two days ago, we came upon a small town. There couldn¡¯t have been more than a thousand residents. We stopped to eat and restock our rations when someone caught our attention. A boy, Sire. No more than nineteen years old. We followed him and he was attacked in an alley way by a group of men. We do not know why, but there seemed to be a previous grudge. He moved faster than any normal man could, incapacitating three of them within the blinking of an eye. The fourth drew a gun Sire, and shot the boy. The bullets fell out of the air as they approached him. They did not hit him. I have the bullets here, if you would care to inspect them.¡±


    The man bowed and put his hand in his pocket. The Holy One signaled and an aide darted forward. He took the bullets the scout offered him and brought them to the Holy One. The bullets were still perfectly shaped. The only evidence of them being fired was the groove marks along their side. The Holy One turned back to the men.


    ¡°So where is he? Bring him before me.¡±


    The two men looked at each other. They bent low to the ground. The dark one said,


    ¡°Forgive us Sire, but we were unable to capture him.¡±


    ¡°And why is that? Surely no matter how powerful, an immature Godless one is no match for two of my scouts?¡± The voice came from behind them.


    General Nevadrian strode into the room. A red liveried aide on his heels. His bright golden armor glinting in the light of the lanterns that hung from above. His wings were folded, hanging close to his back. The feathers ruffling slightly in the air of his passing. At his waist, a sword whose blade seemed to be made of light itself. It shone with a fierce intensity.


    ¡°Ah. Sir, I wasn¡¯t exactly following him.¡± Said the other man in a quiet voice.


    ¡°Where were you?¡± Nevadrian¡¯s mouth clamped into a thin line. His eyebrows furrowed.


    ¡°He was amusing himself, weren¡¯t you?¡± The Holy One chuckled.


    ¡°Forgive me Sire! Please, I beg of you!¡± The man bent even lower to the ground. The dark man looked away. He knew what was going to happen.


    A whoosh of air as Nevadrian leapt forward. A rasp of metal as his sword flew out of its sheath, a muted gasp followed by a thud as the man¡¯s head hit the floor. Another louder thud as his body followed suit. The dark man winced as blood splashed on him. He shuffled to the left slightly to escape the pool that was forming.


    ¡°Why must you always make a mess, Nevadrian?¡± The Holy One asked, exasperated. He motioned with his head. A team of servants rushed forward to clean the sticky puddle off the floor.


    ¡°I live but to serve you, Sire¡± Nevadrian intoned, bowing deeply.


    ¡°As you were. You. Continue your report¡± He barked to the dark man.


    The dark man bowed again and said,


    ¡°The town Sire. It is a few days journey away. If you send a detachment of the guard with me, I shall return with the Godless one.¡± Thoughts of rewards and wings had been replaced by self preservation.


    ¡°Nevadrian, send some men with him. If this one is as he says, it may be fruitful to study him.¡±


    Nevadrian bowed low, and pulled the dark man to his feet. Holding him by the scruff of his neck, he marched the man out in front of him, his armored boots clapping loudly on the granite floor.


    The Holy One slouched back in his throne. It had been a while since anything of excitement had happened. The pool of blood had been cleaned up, the body taken away. The faint smell of iron still hung in the air though. The Holy One closed his eyes. He was greatly looking forward to meeting this boy.


    ****


    Mycal stared at the wooden bowl in front of him. The stew his wife had made was still hot. Steam rose from it in little wisps. He picked up his spoon and began eating. The day had just begun. His inn was empty. His wife was busying herself cleaning the tables. A quick splash of water, an even quicker wipe with her rag and she would move on, her feet rustling on the straw that littered the floor.This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    Mycal took another mouthful. A fresh crop had been harvested. He would need to break out at least two kegs of beer today. He dreaded the heavy lift. Last time he had tried to move two kegs, he had landed flat on his back, one keg lying across his chest, the other breaking open just behind his head. IT had taken him almost a week to get the beer smell out of his thinning grey hair.


    Mycal finished his soup and stood up. His wife looked to him and flashed him a quick smile. Mycal waddled over and planted a wet kiss on her. She acted like she was repulsed, but Mycal knew how much his wife loved those sloppy kisses of his. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and trudged into the kitchen. He threw his bowl in the wash basin. He heard the door being opened. A quick glance out of the window told him whoever it was early. It was barely light. He turned back to the door, when he heard his wife scream.


    Mycal rushed out, moving as fast as his legs could carry his frame. Along the way he picked up a metal frying pan. The black stained metal looked tiny in relation to its wielders massive frame. He barged open the door, and poured into the common room, pan raised. He felt massive arms club him from both sides. The pan dropped from his fingers. He heard the clang as it hit the ground. Through darkening eyes he saw figures in white pulling his wife by the hair outside. She was screaming, but he could barely hear her. The world grew darker and quieter. Mycal was dimly aware of more blows rain down on him. He heard a sharp crack come from somewhere on his side followed by a jolt of pain. The world grew dark and his eyes closed.


    When he came to, the first thing he realized was it was bright. He winced as light pierced his eyes. His head felt heavy, like it was filled with lead. He noticed that his arms were bound, and he was kneeling down in a row. He painfully looked to the side. To his left, he could make out the slight frame of Jifar. It looked like he had been crying. His eyes were red, his nose looked even more out of shape than usual. Mycal turned to his right. He cried out when he saw his wife, lying in the dirt. Her face looked swollen and bloody like she had been beaten. Her clothing looked torn. She was taking shallow, rasping breaths.


    Mycal looked around him. He could tell that he was in the centre of the market. The brightly colored pavilions had been torn down. The wooden tables where hawkers would sell their wares had been broken into pieces of wood that lay by the side. A few of them looked like they had blood on them. He could see the townsfolk standing, arms bound, faces downcast, watched closely by men in white. The front of their uniforms emblazoned by a golden phoenix.           Their faces set in expressions of contempt as they looked at the crowd of people they were controlling.


    ¡°Ah. Finally, you¡¯re awake. I was about to send for a bucket of water.¡± Said a voice from behind Mycal. He felt strong arms lift him up slightly and turn him around, before they threw him to the ground. Tasting blood and dirt, he got back to his knees, his large bulk not aiding him. He saw a massive figure armored in Gold standing before him. He could only see up to his waist. It hurt too much for him to lift his head any higher A blade that seemed forged from light itself hung at his waist. From his shadow, it looked like he had a pair of wings on his back. Mycal¡¯s head sagged onto his chest. He cried out as he felt it being pulled back. He opened his eyes to see the massive golden man looking down at him through pale red eyes.


    ¡°They tell me you¡¯re the innkeeper. Is that right?¡± His voice was low, his tone condescending. But there was a subtle hint of menace behind it. Mycal took a breath, and answered,


    ¡°Aye. I be the innkeeper. What can I do fer ye?¡± He felt a sharp blow on his face that knocked him to the side. He crashed to the ground and spat out blood and a tooth. He slowly pulled himself back up.


    ¡°I do not care for your accent. Address my properly.¡± The golden man was grinning now.


    ¡°Yes, My lord. What can I do for you?¡±


    ¡°Much better. Now I¡¯m looking for a young man. Maybe around eighteen or nineteen? My man here tells me you¡¯re his uncle or some such? I believe you saved him from being executed for some offence he committed?¡±


    Mycal thought hard. They were talking about Esterian.


    ¡°My memory¡¯s pretty groggy. I can¡¯t remember clearly.¡±


    The golden man¡¯s expression changed. He looked at Jifar who was still crying.


    ¡°Let¡¯s see if this clears your memory a bit.¡± His wings flapped once, the force of it knocking Mycal backwards against the man who held his head back. Dust flew up in his face, stinging his eyes. The man darted forward. Mycal heard a rasping gurgle followed by screams from the townsfolk. He felt another gust of air, this time from behind him and the golden man was back to his original position. His white sword had a faint trickle of blood running down it. It dripped off the tip and fell to the ground.


    ¡°That man was crying too much anyway.¡± The golden man grinned again.


    Mycal¡¯s mind was racing. He just had to give Esterian up, and this would all end. But from somewhere deep in his mind, came the thought, Don¡¯t be so na?ve. There¡¯s no chance you¡¯re getting out of this alive. Mycal shook his head. The gauntleted fist of the man behind him cutting into his scalp. Mycal winced and said,


    ¡°There was such a boy in my inn. Maybe a week ago. I had never seen him before, but he reminded me of my nephew. I swear that¡¯s all I know.¡±


    The golden man looked upwards and sighed. He motioned with his hand. Mycal heard footsteps behind him, and he heard his wife screaming again. Mycal struggled against his captor, but a sharp blow to the back of his head ended his efforts. His head rocked forward, only to be pulled back again. He saw his wife, lying on the floor in front of him. The golden man bent down and picked her up by the neck. Mycal could hear her choking.


    ¡°Please, please! Not her. I¡¯ll tell you what you want to know. Just don¡¯t hurt my Marge.¡±


    The golden man threw Marge back to the floor. She put her hands around her throat and sucked in air.


    ¡°Go on. I¡¯m listening.¡± The golden man was looking at him.


    ¡°His name¡¯s Esterian. He¡¯s a good lad. He lives a bit to the West of here. Just follow the road West. You can¡¯t miss their house. Now please. Let us go!¡±


    The golden man stood up straight. He nodded to himself, and called out to his soldiers,


    ¡°Get ready to move. We leave as soon as we¡¯re done.¡±


    He bent back down to Mycal and whispered


    ¡°Thank you, Mycal. Because you were such a big help, I¡¯ll let your wife die quickly.¡±


    Mycal yelled out. Bestial rage overcoming him. He thrashed his arms behind him, desperate to break free. The golden man merely chuckled again and picked up Marge. Marge started screaming again. Her screams mingled with those coming from behind him.


    ¡°No please, I beg you. AARRGGHHHH!!¡± Mycal yelled.


    The golden man flexed his hands once. A sickening crunch as Marge¡¯s neck broke. He threw her lifeless body to the ground. A voice from behind Mycal called out,


    ¡°Sir. What do we do with the rest of them?¡±


    ¡°They are of no further use to us. Kill them all. Burn everything down. Turn this one around. I want him to see.¡±


    Mycal felt himself being turned around. The lifeless body of his wife was the only thing he could see. He stopped fighting. He watched, detached as the soldiers threw balls of white light at the people. Their screams were oddly muted to Mycal¡¯s ears. He saw his friends exploding in flashes of light. They tried to run, but the balls were just too fast for them Some fell protecting their children. Others tried to fight back. They fell to the soldiers blades. Explosions all around him. Mycal could feel the earth shake from the might of some of the blasts. He couldn¡¯t hear any more. All he could see was grey. He felt another blast near him. He was no longer being held up. He crashed to the ground.


    A flash as he sees his father, face scarred looking down at him. He feels his mother¡¯s hands on him. He can smell freshly baked bread. Another flash and he¡¯s outside, playing in the grass. He sees a girl with long black hair sitting quietly a little distance off. He walks up to her, taps her on the shoulder and introduces himself. The girl smiles at him, a smile made only cuter by the missing front teeth. Flash. He¡¯s indoors now. He can hear bells. He looks down. He¡¯s dressed well, a rose pinned to his chest. He feels a warmth in his left hand. He looks to see Marge in white standing beside him. Another flash. This time he¡¯s sitting in the inn, after closing time. He pats his belly. Marge comes to him, looks him in the eye and says I love you. He feels a small pain in his heart. The inn grows darker. All he can hear is Marge¡¯s voice telling him she loves him. Then quiet.


    Nevadrian looked down at the corpse of the innkeeper. He hadn¡¯t even flinched when he was run through. Nevadrian was disappointed. He liked it when they screamed in pain. He looked around. Most of the townsfolk were dead. A few survivors were being hunted down by his men. The town was burning. The acrid smell of burning wood and flesh made Nevadrian wrinkle his nose. He spat on the ground. The Holy One would be expecting news soon. He looked at the innkeeper¡¯s body one last time, before flaring his wings. One flap, and another and he was airborne. He could leave and capture Esterian all by himself, but he was feeling happy. He wanted to see the fear in his eyes when a whole battalion of White clad soldiers broke down his door and dragged him screaming outside. Nevadrian hung in the air. The thought made his mouth water. He yelled,


    ¡°Hurry up! We leave immediately.¡±

 Chapter 12

    The Basement was poorly lit. That was the first thing Smith noticed as he entered it. He hadn¡¯t been down here much. No reason to. Nayib was panting. The Elevator didn¡¯t go all the way down. They had to climb down a flight of stairs. It had taken a lot out of him. Amanda had an arm around his shoulder. He had his hands on his knees and was taking deep breaths. Fenryr had swept into the room last and had scanned the whole room. Not that there was much to see other than the machine.


    The machine stood in the middle of the room. It reached to the ceiling. It gleamed even in the poor light. Status indicators were everywhere. Green pinpricks dotted all over it. There were a few people in white overcoats holding clipboards. They seemed to be have been recording various readings. The light from the hallway outside the Basement had announced the groups arrival, and everyone had turned to them. One of the technicians walked forward. He was a thin balding man. His hair was in wisps that seemed glued to his head. He leered through thick round spectacles. Smith could pick out pieces of food stuck to his face. Nayib took a few more deep breaths and he stepped forward. Shook hands with the man before turning around.


    ¡°This is Dr. Adhur. Manfred Adhur. He¡¯s been in charge of getting the machine ready. Dr. Adhur, these are the brains behind it.¡±


    He drew close and shook hands with everyone. His palm was moist in Smiths hand. He lingered on Amanda, taking an extraordinarily long time to shake her hand. She squirmed. He didn¡¯t approach Fenryr for a handshake. After greeting the rest he stepped back. In a voice that sounded like gravel he said,


    ¡°Nice to meet you all. As Nayib said, I¡¯m Dr. Adhur, but you can call me Manfred.¡± He snorted. Then he did something that sounded like wheezing. It was only from the smile on his face that Smith could make out that that had been a laugh.


    ¡°This is the beast. That¡¯s what we call it. The beast.¡± He paused as if the name was impressive enough to merit applause. The silence caused him to cough lightly. He continued,


    ¡°Well, as you can see, this is per your specifications. We were done with this a good while back, but every refinement to the equations you geniuses came up with caused us to have to move some things around. It¡¯s been hectic. I haven¡¯t gone home in over two weeks. My cats are probably starting to miss me.¡± Another snort-laugh. Smith looked at his feet. Fenryr launched into form two.


    ¡°Yes. So follow me and I¡¯ll show you the beast¡± He turned away and swept his arm out indicating them to follow. Nayib stepped to the front. Amanda close by his side. The group formed up behind him. Smith found himself walking next to Fenryr.


    Up close the machine was even more impressive. It towered over them. It emitted a slight hum. Lights were blinking everywhere. LCD screens hung from it, each one showing different parameters. At the heart of it was a window. Smith peered into it. The tablet lay there, with two wires connected to it. One was red, the other black.


    He placed a hand on the surface of the machine. It was cool. He saw large tubes running all around it. Mist was rising from them. They had the universal symbol for danger on them. A yellow triangle with a black skull inside. Liquid Nitrogen. Smith felt a hand on his back. He turned to see Fenryr looking at him.


    ¡°I think we should go over there.¡±


    He pointed to where the group was walking into what seemed to be the control room. It was on the far side of the room from the door. The machine had blocked it earlier. The technicians had gone back to noting down readings. Smith nodded and followed Fenryr inside.


    The control room small. There was barely enough room for all of them inside. The wall facing the machine had windows set in it. There were chairs pulled up. Nayib was sitting in one of them. Overflowing, Smith thought to himself. Amanda was seated next to him. Her hand was on his knee. Manfred was standing at the back, near what looked like a bank of filing cabinets. Except there were keyboards and screens mounted on the wall. He saw Smith looking at them.


    ¡°This is the Super computer that controls the machine. The tablet goes through so many state transitions that it¡¯s impossible for a human to cope up. What did you do?¡± He meant it politely, but his voice made it sound condescending.


    The sudden conversation had caused everyone to turn and look. Everyone except for Fenryr. He was leaning against the door. Nayib answered.


    ¡°Ah. Dr. Adhur, meet Smith. He¡¯s the man who figured out the Spread Function. You know, the thing that¡¯s been holding us up for so long.¡± He smirked at Smith. Smith felt bile rise in his throat. He swallowed it and smiled at Manfred.


    ¡°Pleasure to meet you Manfred. Now if you could show me where, I¡¯ll enter the Spread function and we can get this party started.¡±


    Manfred muttered under his breath. Smith managed to catch the words ¡®arrogant¡¯ and ¡®genius¡¯, but the rest was drowned out. The rest of the group had gone back to looking out the windows at the machine. Manfred led Smith to a keyboard placed at a terminal on the wall away from the door. He entered a few commands, and the screen redrew into a schematic of the machine. He typed some more and the schematic rotated and zoomed in on the tablet at the heart.


    An animated representation of what Smith assumed was the particle field was shown in blue. It formed a sphere all around the tablet. Manfred hit Enter and a small black bar popped up beneath the image. A green cursor blinked expectantly at its left edge.


    ¡°So this is where you can put the evaluation of the function in. The computers will process that and display the new field pattern on your screen. The changes don¡¯t get implemented right away. Nayib was very clear that we had to provide you a ten second buffer window, in case you mess up.¡± He smiled apologetically. Smith rolled his eyes. He said,


    ¡°So that¡¯s it right? Anything else I need to know?¡± He turned back to the screen. Typed his name and hit Enter. The screen went black for a second. A warning buzz sounded and the message ¡®Invalid input¡¯ came up on screen. The buzz had caused everyone to look at him again. Smith didn¡¯t like people looking at him. He hit Enter and the message disappeared. Manfred looked relieved. He was sweating even though the room was cold.


    ¡°So can we get started?¡± Nayib asked the room.


    ¡°I know this might seem silly, but what does the machine do exactly?¡± Amanda asked.


    Manfred snorted again. He quickly stifled it when he saw Nayib glaring at him. Amanda looked embarrassed.


    ¡°There¡¯s quite a bit more to this than what I told the people upstairs. Remember I told you that all attempts at dating the tablet had failed? Well that wasn¡¯t exactly true.¡±This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    Amanda was listening intently. The rest of the group already knew everything. They were getting impatient. A few of them got up and started wandering around looking at the various terminals. Manfred was busy as well. Making sure no one touched anything. Fenryr was still leaning against the wall. His wrists were moving again.


    Nayib sat closer to Amanda and continued,


    ¡°We dated the fresco using normal carbon dating to around fifteen thousand years ago. But we had to use a revolutionary new technique called Pazhaya technique to date the tablet. It does something with the quantum strings or something. It¡¯s results are the most accurate. But when we tried to date the tablet, It came up with an age greater than that of the Earth.¡± Nayib paused for dramatic effect. Amanda inhaled deeply. She asked,


    ¡°What? How is that possible? It has writing on it. You don¡¯t mean-¡° Her expression turned to shock as she realized the implications.


    ¡°We don¡¯t know for sure. But its origins are hardly the most interesting aspect of the tablet.¡±


    ¡°What does it do?¡±


    ¡°Exactly. What does it do. Smith, do you want to explain?¡± Nayib looked at Smith. Smith heard his name and turned around. His blank expression caused Nayib to swear under his breath and say,


    ¡°I asked if you would explain to Amanda what the tablet does.¡± The group stopped walking around and looked towards Smith. They had a vague idea of what the machine did, but no one was exactly sure. Even Fenryr had walked forward. Smith groaned inwardly. Amanda was trying hard not to meet his eyes. She had settled for staring at his navel.


    ¡°Well. The tablet, as you call it is without a doubt the most interesting thing I¡¯ve ever come across. I only believe it exists because I have seen it and touched it. As Nayib mentioned earlier upstairs, the tablet is made out of a material we have never seen before.¡±


    He walked over to one of the monitors. Pressed a few buttons before he pulled out a stylus. He started drawing on the screen. Everyone crowded closer to get a better look. He wrote down an equation. It started with a ¡®E¡¯ and ended in a ¡®z¡¯ That¡¯s all Fenryr could make out. There were a few square root signs and some Greek letters thrown in there was well.


    ¡°This is the solution of the Absolute Equation for a normal element. Doesn¡¯t matter which. All elements we know reduce to this. It comes from one of the higher order solutions.¡±


    The blank look on Amanda¡¯s face and the fake look of understanding on Nayib¡¯s  caused him to erase it.


    ¡°Let¡¯s just say that the material of the tablet does not conform to this solution at all. Instead it does something totally different. It obeys the energy solution.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t understand.¡± Amanda was looking at Smiths neck.


    ¡°The tablet is energy.¡± Smith wrote the word ¡®ENERGY¡¯ in capitals on the screen. Drew an ¡®=¡¯ sign and wrote ¡®TABLET¡¯ after it.


    ¡°I¡¯m no scientist, but isn¡¯t energy like electricity and heat or whatever? Isn¡¯t it supposed to be untouchable and invisible and all that?¡±


    ¡°Yes Amanda. Technically you are right. But that¡¯s beside the point. All our theories are just that. Theories. We assumed energy was all that because all the examples we had up till now supported those generalizations. But according to the Math, that tablet is Energy. Hence it is Energy.¡± He underlined what he had written earlier.


    The room was silent. Everyone was hanging on Smiths every word. Fenryr¡¯s hand had stopped twitching. There was a look of extreme concentration in his eyes. He asked Smith,


    ¡°What if the Math is wrong? The Equation maybe?¡±


    Smith burst out laughing. A look of anger flashed across Fenryr¡¯s face. Smith held up a hand in apology.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I didn¡¯t mean to laugh. It¡¯s just that your question was so silly. The Absolute Equation explains everything. It links all the forces. Gravity and Quantum theory. It is the Theory of Everything. It is the single most tested and evaluated expression ever. Let me just say that I¡¯m more sure that the Equation is accurate than I am the Sun will rise tomorrow.¡± He nodded once to Fenryr. Fenryr nodded back. His face returned to its usual impassiveness.


    ¡°So if the Math is right, and it is, then that tablet is Energy. Energy can be of many forms. As Amanda pointed out, Heat, Electricity, whatever. A rolling stone has Kinetic energy. A fruit hanging from a tree has Potential energy. But there is one thing that all energy has. A parameter we evaluate from the Absolute Equation Solution. The Intrinsic Frequency. All energy is characterized by it. Every form of energy has a distinct Intrinsic Frequency. All Electrical energy has the same IF as we call it. Same goes for all the other forms. Following me so far?¡±


    A series of nods. Amanda¡¯s was slow, but her face seemed to indicate that she understood well enough. Nayib wasn¡¯t paying attention. He was working on a chocolate bar Manfred had handed him a while earlier.


    ¡°Well here¡¯s where it gets interesting. The IF for the tablet keeps changing. Every time we measure it, it changes. So that¡¯s what I was working on. Predicting the IF for the tablet. Enter the Spread Function.¡±


    Smith erased the screen again. Started writing down the Spread Function Expression but gave up midway. No one really cared about it anyway.


    ¡°So yeah. The Spread Function. The Spread Function predicts the instances when the IF of the tablet approaches the IF of a usable form of energy. At that instant, a carefully calibrated input can modify the next IF value the tablet takes. This input could be anything. But owing to the extremely short duration of time the prediction is valid, the only thing fast enough to make the change is human thought.¡±


    Looks of confusion. Only Nayib and Smith had known that before right now. Even Manfred and the technicians working on the machine had been kept in the dark about that detail. That was what had taken Smith so long on the Spread Function. How to convert human thoughts into a usable input for controlling the IF.


    ¡°I believe that the headdress seen in the fresco somehow resonated with the tablet, and with the IF of human neural energy. Basically, the Spread Function mimics that effect. It ¡®tunes¡¯ the tablet to take input from Human Neural Energy.¡± He paused.


    The smarter ones in the group had picked up what the implications were. If they could control the tablet by their thoughts, the possibilities were miraculous to say the least. All they had to do was think ¡®Electricity¡¯ and the tablet would generate it. The world¡¯s energy problems were solved. Amanda hadn¡¯t caught on yet. She was still wrapping her head around the whole IF thing. Fenryr had his cell phone out. He was trying his Commanding Officer, but there was no signal down in the basement. He shoved it back in his pocket. Nayib had finished his chocolate and was licking his fingers. Manfred was dumbstruck. His mouth was opening and closing like a fish¡¯s. Smith just smiled and continued talking.


    ¡°But that wasn¡¯t enough for us. In the fresco, the tablet seemed to be able to generate matter out of thin air. We wanted to duplicate that effect. The third part of the Spread Function does that. That was the thing I was working on till yesterday. The Matter-Energy Equivalence Transform. MEET for short¡±


    Nayib¡¯s mouth watered at the mention of meat. He looked at his watch. It was barely 11. Nowhere near lunch time.


    ¡°Correct me if I¡¯m wrong, but doesn¡¯t conservation of energy apply? I mean the matter can hardly come out of nowhere. Where does it come from?¡± Fenryr interrupted. He was looking intently at Smith.


    Smith was surprised. He had taken Fenryr to be the dumb soldier type. But here he was asking a valid question. He paused, formulating a reply.


    ¡°Yes, Fenryr. You are right. We believe, and this is an untested assumption that within the tablet itself, the required energy for the transformation is generated.¡±


    He could tell Fenryr wasn¡¯t satisfied with the answer, but it was the best one Smith had. He turned away and looked at Amanda. Her eyes were glazed over. Several of the others looked equally overwhelmed.


    ¡°In a nutshell, this device materializes your thoughts.¡± He concluded.


    Nayib looked at him. That was a lovely way to describe what the machine did. Far simpler than what he had in mind. He would use that explanation at the post-test press conference. He smiled to himself. Maybe Smith wasn¡¯t so useless after all.


    ***


    Somewhere deep in the Atlantic Ocean, buried beneath tons of sand and silt was a small piece of the fresco. It hadn¡¯t seen the light of day in millennia. Its left edge was jagged, and the panel on it was only half complete. If someone had found it, they would have marveled at how perfectly it fit with the right edge of the larger fresco.


    The painting on it had dulled with age. The image barely visible. A tablet held high above the head of a man wearing a headdress. The man¡¯s face melting. His eyes white with pain. His body turning to ash from the feet up. Men in loincloths bowing down to the one who had made the ultimate sacrifice for the good of their tribe.

 Chapter 13

    ¡°Esterian, help me with the laundry. Can you come down here please? You¡¯ve been holed up in your room ever since you got back from town. What happened?¡± Mirram called from the backyard. She paused to tie back her hair and went back to hanging clothes to dry. It was sunny out. The morning was warm. Mirram could hear the faint sounds of a bird singing. The smell of wild flowers hung in the air, teasing her with its subtlety. She stretched another shirt on the clothesline. Looked over at the house. There was no answer. No sound of feet coming down the stairs. She sighed. Something had happened in town.


    She remembered Esterian¡¯s face from when he had come home. Drawn, ashen, brows furrowed in thought. She had asked him what had happened, but he had just gone up to his room. The only times after that she saw him was at meal times, that too for a few minutes. Anytime she brought the trip to town up, his face would immediately darken and he would just get up and leave. Mirram had surrendered herself to waiting for Esterian to come forward on his own terms.


    Esterian heard his mother call. She had called him every hour for the past four days, trying to get him to come down out of his room and feel the Sun, or help with the laundry, or clear the garden of weeds. He hadn¡¯t answered her. He rolled onto his side. His mattress was soft but his sheets were crumpled. They lay in a messy ball off to one side. His pillow was had a head shaped burrow in it. Four days he had lain there, staring at the ceiling. He would run his fingers over his chest, trying to feel the wounds that should have been there. He could see them, or rather how they should have been.


    Deep red with blood flowing from them. He felt like he could feel the bullet passing through his body and out of his back. He could see himself fall, rivulets of blood blossoming on his shirt. For some reason, he fell in slow motion. His hair flapping in the breeze. He fell onto one knee, hand clutching his chest. He looks down at his hands. They are stained red with his blood. He dimly looks up at the man who did this to him. The gaunt face of the grocer is there, one of his hands bandaged in white, obviously broken. The other holding a black object whose tip is smoking. Esterian can see his vision going black, as he falls on his front. He looks down from above at his lifeless body as his blood pools beneath him. That, was what should have happened. Instead he lay in bed, not a scratch on him. Instead of devastating impacts that tore through him, all he had felt were the faintest of pokes, a soft caress on his skin where the bullets should have landed. He could hear the clink they made as they fell to the ground abnormally amplified.


    He rolled back onto his back. He had tried calling out to the blade within him, but it wasn¡¯t answering him. All he had in his mind was a black pit. He searched again, looking deep within himself. Faint memories flitted across his mind. Random thoughts, combining together to generate new, even randomer thoughts. He looked around himself. Everywhere he looked, it was dark and empty but at the same time alive and vibrant. The darkness of his mind vibrated, it moved towards him, and he could see himself, his mother, even the Shadow. They came together. As he watched, he saw what must have happened the day his father was killed. The Shadow stealthily creeps behind his father. His father turns around, only to look into the red slit eyes that burn in the dark night. He scrambles for the black gun that rests at his waist. He falls back as he fires it, the crack it makes oddly muted as Esterian watches but the sound as the bullet harmlessly hits the floor drowns out his mother¡¯s hysterical screams. A flash of red as his neck is severed. A scream as his mother walks into the room. His mother rushes out to check on him and make sure he¡¯s okay. He sees himself being lifted to her chest. He starts crying, furious at being awoken from sleep. Mirram rushes back to where his father had been killed. A trail of blood that vanishes at the window. He sees Mirram collapse to her knees before she too starts crying.


    Esterian snapped his eyes open. His imagination was getting more and more vivid. He could almost smell blood. He sat up. Almost time for lunch. He got up and washed his face. He walked down the stairs. The front door was still open, Mirram was still outside hanging up the laundry. Esterian walked out to join her.


    ¡°Ah. Finally. I thought I¡¯d have to roll you out of bed!¡± Mirram laughed as she pulled her son into an embrace.


    ¡°I¡¯m almost done here. I¡¯ll fix you something to eat after. Give me a hand, will you?¡± She nodded her head at the basket of clothes still waiting to be hung up.


    ¡°Of course.¡± Esterian walked over to the basket and pulled out a shirt. He paused. It was the shirt he was wearing that day in town. Almost immediately he felt the phantom impacts of bullets, the imagined pain as they rip through his body. With a cry he threw it back in the basket. Almost immediately he felt his mother¡¯s hand on his shoulder.


    ¡°What¡¯s the matter, my Este? Aren¡¯t you feeling well?¡± her voice filled with concern as she looked at him.


    Esterian pulled away. He shook his head and said,


    ¡°It¡¯s.. It¡¯s nothing. I¡¯m sorry mom, but I think I want to go inside.¡± He turned and walked inside without waiting for an answer.


    Mirram watched her son walk into the house, head bowed, something obviously eating him up from within. She followed him in. Made her way to the kitchen. The tomatoes and other vegetables for lunch had already been picked and cleaned. She picked up her knife and started slicing them. She heard a faint noise behind her as Esterian sat down in one of the stools in the kitchen. He was looking off into the distance, his eyes unfocused, his mind somewhere far away. She wondered why his hands were tracing small circles in his chest.


    ¡°So, tell me. What¡¯s wrong, Este?¡± Mirram sat down opposite Esterian, her resolution to let him come to her breaking down.


    Esterian felt a fury rise within him. How could she possibly help. He gritted his teeth together, his free fist clenching beneath the table. With a grating voice, he said,


    ¡°I told you, I¡¯m FINE.¡± The last part was loud. Mirram leaned back as she felt the force behind her son¡¯s words. But he was all she had. She had to get to the bottom of it.


    ¡°I know you¡¯re lying, Este. Tell me what happened. Please.¡± She reached forward and put a hand on her sons arm.


    Esterian looked down at his mother¡¯s arm. His vision was turning red. He started to breathe heavily. He was fast losing the battle to keep his temper in check. He looked up at his mother¡¯s face. The worry lines clashing horribly with the thin smile she wore. A smile that was an attempt at winning his heart, only served to anger him further. With a savage cry he pulled his arm free and swiped the plate with his lunch on it to the ground. The plate shattered as it hit the floor. Esterian jumped to his feet. His vision clouded red. He was breathing through his mouth. Unable to think or hear, he shouted,


    ¡°FOR THE LAST TIME. I AM FINE. LEAVE ME ALONE.¡± He turned his back on her and stormed away.


    Mirram was sitting exactly where she had been, too shocked by her son¡¯s outburst to move. She felt her throat tighten and her nose tingle. She felt tears well up in her eyes and tasted salt as they rolled down her cheeks and into her mouth. She heard the front door slam. Esterian had left the house. She only hoped he would be back before dark. She sniffed once and knelt down to clean the floor. She heard the kitchen door open. Odd, she thought. Esterian had just left. She looked up, and saw a metal boot fast approach her face. She cried out once as the world turned black.


    Esterian felt his anger subside as soon as he left the kitchen. He felt remorse over come him. His mother had always been there for him, taking care of him since he could remember, and he was treating her like this. He had to make up for it. He still hadn¡¯t given her the bracelet he had bought in town. He had wanted to surprise her for her birthday. Afraid she might find it in his room, he had hidden it behind one of the pots in the backyard, a place where he knew his mother wouldn¡¯t find it. He hurried out the back door and to the bracelets hiding spot. He pulled the bracelet out and wiped it on his pants. There was still some dirt caught up in the mechanism. He would wash it first and give it to her. He had just stood up when he heard a sharp cry from the kitchen. He thrust the bracelet deep into his pocket and walked back indoors. He stepped into the main room. The kitchen door was on the right. It was closed. So were the other two doors. The front door, and the door to his mother¡¯s bedroom. The stairs snaked up the wall to Esterian¡¯s left. He stepped forward slowly.This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.


    ¡°Mom? Are you okay? MOM?¡± he called out, his heart beating faster every second she didn¡¯t answer. Suddenly he was aware of footsteps in the house. The doors burst open at once and men in white uniforms walked in. Esterian looked to the kitchen door. Behind the first two men were two more, and between them, hanging limp was his mother. Instantly the blade took over him. He felt the power flow through him. A quick step and he was behind the men guarding his mother. He pulled back his hand to deliver a massive blow, much stronger than the one that had felled the man back in that alley in town. He wanted to hurt these people. He threw his fist forward, the blade making it both unnaturally strong and unnaturally fast. The blow would tear the man¡¯s head off.


    Esterian felt his body jerk forward as the blow missed. He was dimly aware of the man grinning as he dodged, he felt a shattering blow in his ribs as the man¡¯s elbow crashed into them as Esterian rushed past, pulled by the momentum of his own blow. The blade left him and he sprawled in a heap on the floor, gasping and coughing up blood. His side hurt badly. He felt the white clothed soldiers come closer. They formed a ring around him, their faces openly mocking as they looked down at the boy collapsed on the floor. A gap formed as they pushed his still unconscious mother into the centre of the ring as well. Esterian felt a stab of fury as he saw her manhandled, but an even sharper stab of pain from his side made him wince and cough.


    ¡°So this is what we came out here for? This child couldn¡¯t beat one of my most junior soldiers. Surely this isn¡¯t the person I came to capture?¡± Said a cold voice from the doorway. Esterian looked up, but winced as bright sunlight glinted off golden armor. Esterian spat out some more blood. Looked back at the man who had spoken.


    He was a giant. His massive frame filled the doorway. His hard face was filled with suppressed rage. At his waist hung a brilliantly white blade, one that seemed forged from light itself. Esterian was taken aback as he saw the beautiful white wings that lay folded on the man¡¯s back. The man bowed his head to fit into the doorway. Esterian felt another jolt of surprise as he recognized the dark man he had been talking to. The same man who had been watching him back in Mycal¡¯s inn. Surely this wouldn¡¯t be about that small incident.


    Nevadrian looked at the covering scout. He had been less than impressed with the man. He lacked the soul of a warrior, preferring to hide in the shadows or cower in submission when stronger men than him addressed him. He bit back his urge to kill the man outright. The Holy One had been very insistent about that point. For some reason he had wanted both the boy and the scout alive.


    Nevadrian looked over at the boy. He was huddled over his mother¡¯s body, trying to wake her up. He felt bile rise in his throat as he drank in the pathetic scene. He walked over to the men ringing the boy. A gap opened up so that he could pass.


    Esterian felt his mother¡¯s neck. He could detect a faint fluttering pulse. She was breathing, but raggedly. From here he could see that her nose was broken. Blood poured from her nostrils. Her mouth was open and sucking in air. He shook her once, calling out her name. No response. Before he could try again, he felt the ring of men break. Esterian looked over and saw the massive frame of the golden man. From so near, he realized that massive had been an understatement. He felt arms pull him away from his mother and push him onto his knees. A blow to his waist made the pain in his side burn white hot for an instant as he doubled over. When he looked back up, the Golden man was bending down at him, his face a play of barely concealed emotions.


    ¡°Are you Esterian?¡± The man¡¯s voice was deep. It rumbled and shook the air as he spoke.


    ¡°Yes. Who are you? What do you want?¡± He said, doubling over again as he felt the giant¡¯s fist in his chest. It had happened before Esterian could even see it. The air rushed out of him and he sprawled on the floor. Almost instantly, the strong arms were back and they pulled him back to his knees. One of them held onto his hair preventing him from looking anywhere but up into the golden giant¡¯s face.


    ¡°I believe I am the one asking the questions here. My scout reports that a few days ago, in town you stopped bullets that were shot at you. Is this true?¡±


    Esterian felt fear rise inside him. Instinctively he felt the bullets rip through him, the phantom pain somehow made real by the pain in his side. He was aware of the man, the look on his face as the bullets had dropped harmlessly to the ground. He had looked like he had seen a ghost. How had the scout seen him though? Esterian thought of lying, but there would be no point. They would either beat it out of him or his mother. Esterian swallowed down the blood in his mouth and said,


    ¡°Yes. That was me.¡± He had wanted to ask ¡®What¡¯s it to you?¡¯ but the memory of them mans invisibly fast fist was too fresh in his mind for him to want to chance it.


    ¡°Are you sure? Because by what I see, you don¡¯t seem to be very powerful at all.¡± The man¡¯s face split into a grin. The men encircling him broke into mocking laughter. Esterian looked deep inside him, desperate for the blade to come to his aid. He found empty silence.


    ¡°Maybe you need some incentive to prove yourself? So be it.¡± The golden man rose to his full height. He stepped over to Mirram who was just coming to. Esterian struggled against the arms holding him back, but it was useless. Mirram cried out once as the golden man lifted her by the neck and held her up to his face. Her feet hung a good ways off the ground. They beat frantically as Mirram desperately tried to break free.


    Esterian struggled again. He forced the blade into his fists, but instantly he felt something flow into him from the man holding him back. A stream, something liquid, something intangible. He felt as if he were drinking, but even as he drank his fill, the liquid was being forced into him. He felt his body strain to hold so much in. He felt like he would explode. With a final thrust of concentration he frantically released the blade, relief washing over him as the flow of liquid stopped.


    ¡°Ah. So the boy does have some power after all. Not much, but not bad. Any last words before I break your mother¡¯s neck?¡±


    Esterian cried out as he struggled against his captors hands. His mother turned her head to face him. He could see the effort it took her. The skin on her neck grew taut as she pulled against the vice-like grip of the giant¡¯s fist. Tears were streaming down her cheeks. She mouthed ¡®I love you, my Este¡¯ then the light left her eyes as the giants fist clamped tighter. He turned to Esterian, a grin on his face as he threw Mirram¡¯s lifeless body aside.


    ¡°Now¡­ You are coming with me.¡±


    Esterian. Esterian. I will lend you my strength. Do not begrudge me for not aiding you sooner. For you to become who you were meant to be, this had to happen. Wield me now, and we shall slay the ones who killed our Mother. Wield me Esterian! And together we shall strike down our foes.


    The blade roared in Esterian¡¯s head. He felt a massive barrier open in his mind. He grasped the hilt of the blade. He felt the thrill of power he hadn¡¯t since his thirteenth birthday. It was intoxicating. He laughed to himself. Nevadrian looked over at the boy, his expression turning to surprise as he felt the power radiate from him.


    Esterian felt the blade permeate his entire being. He had never felt this much power. He felt the man holding him down pour the liquid into him. This time though, his thirst was unquenchable. The flow was a tiny trickle into a gaping abyss. Esterian leapt to his feet, effortlessly throwing the man off. The white clothed men who encircled him all stepped back as they saw Esterian rise. They took another step back as they saw the black nimbus that enveloped the boy. Nevadrian drew his blade. The dark man screamed and ran outside.


    Esterian¡¯s feet moved impossibly fast as he darted behind the white clothed men. This time his massive blows connected. He drove his powerful fists in to the men from behind, hitting skulls and spines alike, feeling crunches as bones broke. He moved at lightning speed, downing another before the first had even hit the ground. They were powerless to stop him. Like marionettes with their strings cut, they collapsed to the floor.


    Nevadrian watched the boy tear through the ranks of his men. He was taken aback by the power and force behind the boys blows. What would the boy be capable of once he got his sword he wondered. Nevadrian looked down at his own gleaming white blade. He felt the flow from him to it. He grinned as he looked at Esterian finish off the last of his troops. He would have a true duel for the first time in years.


    Esterian dropped the last of the men. He was panting slightly. The pain in his side suddenly reappeared. He was aware of how heavy his limbs felt. It was all he could do to lift his hands to wipe the blood from his face. He looked down at his hands. They were shaking slightly. His knuckles looked raw. The blade was still there in his mind, enticing him with the power he would have once he took a hold of it again. His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of laughing.


    ¡°Guess I was wrong about you after all, boy. This will be very interesting.¡± The giant chuckled to himself.


    Esterian reached for the blade again.


    We cannot face this opponent and hope to survive. We must flee. The voice resounded in his head.


    Flee? I will not Flee. I will avenge my mother! He shouted back.


    We will avenge our Mother. Just not this day. We must leave now.


    Esterian tied to protest with the voice in his head but there was no use. It was silent again. He turned back to face the Giant in front of him. He was licking his lips in anticipation of a duel.


    ¡°Sorry. But not today.¡± Esterian called out as he turned around. He was aware of the man flaring his wings and flapping them. He was aware of the cry that came from his mouth as the giant raced forward, blinded by fury. He was aware of the silver bracelet in his pocket that had been meant for his mother. He took a final glance at his mother¡¯s body before the world turned black. He felt a tug like someone was pulling him forward through the darkness. After a few moments, the world lit up again, and he crashed into the ground. He lay there unable to move as exhaustion claimed him. He tried to stand, but collapsed and fell into sleep.

 Chapter 14

    Smith was sitting in one of the chairs facing the window. After he had completed his explanation, there had been very little talk. Fenryr had retreated back to the door. He had his arms crossed in front of him. His head was bowed in deep thought. Nayib was getting impatient. He had to finish the test before he could go back upstairs and eat something. He paced the room up and down. Amanda was sitting in a corner, a wild look in her eyes. Manfred was muttering to himself as he went through diagnostic checks again and again. The rest of the group milled around. There was some conversation between them, but most were locked in mental conflicts. On one hand this would solve all of mankind¡¯s problems. On the other, it gave its wielder control over everything. It would require a very great man to be trusted with that power. They all knew Nayib was not that man. Many doubted the existence of such a man.


    Manfred walked over to Nayib. Whispered in his ear. Nayib¡¯s face lit up and he turned to the group. Clapped his hands to get everyone¡¯s attention. Amanda looked up from her corner. He smiled to her and said,


    ¡°Okay. Dr. Adhur tells me we¡¯re ready to go. He¡¯s finished the diagnostics and everything seems to be alright. So follow me to the observation windows. Smith, take up your position.¡± He walked over to the middle window and sat down. Shot a dirty look at someone who sat down next to him who got up hurriedly and found another chair. Nayib waved Amanda over. She sat down next to him. He placed his hand on her knee. She didn¡¯t seem to notice. Fenryr was still leaning against the door. Smith got up slowly and walked over to his terminal. Input some commands and the schematic screen came up. A few commands more and the black input window with the green cursor popped up beneath it. Manfred had put on safety goggles and had walked over to the machine. He was watching one of the LCD screens.


    A few seconds later he looked at the control room and flashed a thumbs-up. Nayib turned to Smith.


    ¡°Well, let¡¯s get started.¡± He turned to look at Amanda. She was focused on the machine. Smith input the basic Spread function equation for energy generation. He turned to the group and said,


    ¡°The field is calibrated to take input from within this room. So all of you need to think the same thing. Since we¡¯re trying for energy, let¡¯s think Electricity. I¡¯ve adapted the Spread Function so that it takes only the major thought in your mind. As long as you¡¯re thinking mainly of Electricity we should be alright. So don¡¯t worry if something else flashes across your mind.¡± He turned back to the terminal. Input the final constant and hit Enter.


    The field pattern on his screen changed. It was multi-lobed now and seemed to pulse slightly. The computer finished its calculations. The 10 second ¡®buffer¡¯ timer started running on his screen. He frowned at it and said,


    ¡°Okay guys! Start thinking electricity!¡± He stole a quick glance away from the screen. Everyone had their eyes closed. Their faces were scrunched up in concentrated thought.


    The timer hit zero. The field pattern locked and the machine started humming louder. A whirring sound started coming from it. The tablet started to light up. It was extremely bright in the dim light of the basement. The other technicians had all been cleared out earlier. Only Manfred remained along with the machine. He had his arm over his eyes to shield them from the glow. The light got brighter and brighter. Everyone in the room opened their eyes as they felt the light. They closed them as soon as they opened them though. Smith could see the light out of the corner of his left eye. He ignored it and stared at his monitor.  Suddenly the light died out. The whirring died down and the mild hum returned.


    Nayib rubbed his eyes and looked around. He had expected to see great arcs of Electricity coming from the machine. Sparks flying, maybe the lights getting shorted out. Instead he had gotten a flash of light and a loud whirr. He looked over at Smith.


    ¡°Is that it? Where¡¯s all the electricity?¡±  Amanda had pushed his hand off her knee. She was staring at the machine.


    Smith walked over to the supercomputer. He typed something and pumped his fist in the air with a quick shout of exclamation.


    ¡°YES! We did it! The meter picked up generation of ten milliWatts of electricity!¡± He turned around a wide smile on his face. It died when he saw the expressions on the others faces. They ranged from incredulity to open frustration.


    ¡°10 milliWatts. 10 MILLIWATTS?! ARE YOU KIDDING ME? THAT¡¯S ENOUGH TO RUN A BULB FOR WHAT? HALF A SECOND?¡± Nayib was out of his seat. He was breathing heavily. Amanda had drawn back at his anger. The raised voice had caused Fenryr to reach for something at his waist. There was nothing there. He settled for walking over to Smith.


    ¡°Calm down. Smith. Congratulations. Now can we make the machine viable?¡± He patted Smith on the back and held out his hand


    Smith looked up at him. He felt grateful. He nodded his head once and shook the hand Fenryr had extended. He turned to Nayib.


    ¡°I told you. I only have simulations. I had no idea the energy conversion would be this lossy. Maybe the matter conversion will be better. After all, there is a built in amplification.¡± He went back to the monitor and input the Spread function again. This time he included the MEET.


    No one had noticed Manfred near the machine. He was bent down. He had felt a sharp pain in his left foot. The little toe nail was missing. Blood had leaked onto his sock. He took both shoes off. The floor was cold. He looked back to his monitor.


    Smith finished inputting the new Spread function. He turned around and said,


    ¡°So. We need a matter target now. Any ideas?¡±


    ¡°GOLD!¡± Nayib called out. The others nodded in agreement. Smith sighed. He modified the equation to support gold. Fenryr had taken a free chair near the window. He was watching the machine. He noted with some surprise that Manfred had his socks and shoes off.


    Smith input the function and ran it. The computer formulated the new field. The blue was replaced by red in Smiths display. The intensity of the lines had increased. They crowded in Smiths display, making his whole screen Red. This had never happened in any of the simulations before. He was getting worried. The timer had run down to 3 seconds. He closed his eyes and thought about glittering gold.


    The beast whirred again. The light was brighter this time. It was hot and oppressive. It felt heavy, crushing Smith from the outside. He heard some gasps coming from behind him as others felt the same. A scream came from near the machine. It sounded like Manfred. Smith couldn¡¯t move. The weight was too much. As fast as it had come, the weight disappeared. Smith fell to his knees. He heard the sounds of people falling from their chairs. There were sounds of throwing up. The smell of vomit hit Smith in the face. He looked out the window. Fenryr was crouched near Manfred who seemed in bad shape. Nayib was sprawled on the ground, his head resting in a puddle of vomit. He was passed out. Amanda was curled up in a ball rocking on the floor. Smith got up. His muscles screamed at him. They burnt. He felt his way along the wall and made it out of the door. He stumbled on unsteady feet to Fenryr.


    Manfred was unconscious, or so Smith hoped. Fenryr checked for a pulse. He pulled back his hands as if burnt. He nodded to indicate he had felt a pulse, but his fingers were blistering. Smith felt the heat rise from Manfred¡¯s body. It felt like the light all over again. He rocked back on his heels and sat down on the floor. Manfred was breathing. Very gently. His face and arm were red. His skin was blistering in places. His lips were chaffed. There seemed to be some sort of froth coming from his mouth. Smith looked away. Fenryr tried to take Manfred¡¯s Glasses off, but they were too hot. He blew on his fingers and asked Smith,If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    ¡°Are you okay? I heard the scream and ran here. Is everyone else OK?¡± He was massaging his shoulders.


    Smith nodded.


    ¡°Yes I think so. Some of them are out cold. A few threw up, but no one as badly hurt as Manfred. Do you think he¡¯ll make it?¡±


    Fenryr looked back at Manfred¡¯s body. The breathing was louder now, more heavy.


    ¡°Maybe. I can¡¯t tell. His body was subjected to lethal temperature. That¡¯s for sure. Hopefully not for long enough to have caused serious damage. We should get him to the Control room.¡± He picked him up at the shoulders. Smith grabbed his legs. They had to pull hard to get him off the ground. The heat had melted his coat. It was stuck to the floor. Manfred cried out once just as they got him free. They shuffled over to the control room and placed him by the door.


    Most of the others were on their feet. Nayib was wiping away the vomit on his face with a kerchief. He looked at Smith as they entered.


    ¡°How did the test go? Did we make Gold?¡± He glanced over at Manfred, but said nothing.


    ¡°Manfred is badly hurt. We should get him to a Doctor.¡±


    ¡°I asked whether we made Gold.¡± Nayib¡¯s voice was of steel. His eyebrows had narrowed. His beady eyes gleamed black.


    Smith glared back. But he knew Nayib was not going to back down. He went over to the monitor.


    ¡°Yes. We made a gram of gold. It¡¯s lying on the tablet. Now we HAVE to get him to a doctor.¡± He went back to Manfred. Only Fenryr was near him. The others were standing well back. Amanda was crouched in a corner.


    ¡°Is he alive?¡± Nayib asked.


    ¡°Yes but barely. We have to-¡° Nayib cut him off.


    ¡°Then we continue with the test. He looks fine. We can finish up with the test and after that get him to the Hospital¡± His jaw set. The beady eyes were fixed on Smith.


    Fenryr got up from where he was crouched near Manfred.


    ¡°Nayib. Don¡¯t be stupid. This man could die. We have to get him aid.¡± He advanced towards Nayib. Stood right in front of him. He towered over him. Nayib had to look up to talk to him.


    ¡°No. And that is final. Smith get over to the terminal now.¡± He pushed Fenryr away. The mass behind the push sent Fenryr flying. He crashed into the window. Nayib rushed over to the door. He pulled it shut and input a code on the screen near the door. The door locked. A red light gleamed over it.


    ¡°You all think I¡¯m a slob that just eats and sleeps don¡¯t you? Well let me tell you this. I am Project Manager, and I will be obeyed. Now Smith, the faster you finish up the test, the faster your friend Manfred can get treated. And Fenryr I wouldn¡¯t if I were you. Only I know the combination to the door. You could very well beat it out of me, but not before it¡¯s too late for Manfred.¡±


    Fenryr had gotten up and was walking forward with clenched fists. A look of fury on his face. Nayib¡¯s words stopped him dead. His fists relaxed. His expression did not.


    Nayib patted his hair down. He was sweating. That brief exertion had winded him. He breathed heavily and waddled over to Smith. Smith was wearing a face of utter contempt. Nayib ignored him and stood in front of the terminal. He looked over at Smith and said,


    ¡°Come here. Put your function in. This time maximize everything. I want a viable result. Till we get one, we¡¯re going to sit here, and Manfred is going to die.¡± There was a crazed look in his eyes that convinced Smith that Nayib was deadly serious about letting Manfred die. He came over and input the Function. Modified it a bit and said to Nayib,


    ¡°I¡¯ve never simulated this Equation before. I have no idea what might happen. The amount of Gold you get might very well increase, but there could be effects that we cannot predict. I strongly advise you to not do this Nayib. For once, think! Did you see what the low level did to Manfred? It melted him. MELTED! And you want me to INCREASE the power!¡± Smith grabbed Nayib by the shoulders.


    ¡°Open the door! The test is a success. You made Gold! You can have all the credit! Just let us get him to a Doctor!¡±


    Nayib pushed him back. In a high voice he said,


    ¡°NO! IT¡¯S NOT GOOD ENOUGH. THE VALUE OF THE GOLD I GENERATED IS LESS THAT THE ELECTRICITY NEEDED FOR IT! DON¡¯T YOU SEE? UNLESS THIS IS VIABLE, THEY¡¯LL HAVE MY HEAD¡± A gleam of fear in his eyes. His eyes darted this way and that. He started muttering under his breath. He grasped onto Smith¡¯s arm. He was slobbering all over his sleeve. Smith turned away in disgust.


    ¡°On your head be it.¡± He muttered under his breath.


    The simulated image came up on the screen. The red lines condensed together as they had before, but they vanished. An error message came up.


    ¡®Unable to simulate. Do you wish to proceed?¡¯ Smith hovered over the ¡®NO¡¯ button. Nayib shoved him out of the way. He hit YES. Nayib scowled at the others in the room. They closed their eyes, focusing on Gold. Nayib had an expression of concentration twisting his face. His lips were moving in a silent prayer. Tears leaked out of his eyes.


    The hum of the machine died down. The lights on it dimmed. The machine seemed dead. Nayib opened his eyes and looked around in confusion. An Explosion of light! It knocked them to the ground. Smith felt tremors through the floor. The racks of computers were falling down. Fenryr had fallen hard on his side. He was clutching his ribs in pain. Amanda had knocked herself out. A thin stream of blood streaked down her forehead. The rest of the group were strewn across the floor. Nayib had fallen on his arm. His massive bulk had broken it. Smith could see white bone sticking out of his forearm.


    The whole world seemed to be shaking. Smith dragged himself up and looked at the screen. It was cracked. He could barely make out the display. Another blast of light! The windows shattered. Glass flew into the room. Screams as it cut into exposed faces. Smith fell back down to the floor. He covered his head with his hands. The noise was deafening. He couldn¡¯t stay on his knees. He was knocked onto his back. The glass on the floor ground into his palms. They started bleeding. Then he felt the burning. His feet were on fire! He looked down. As he watched in horror, his feet turned to ash. He started screaming. His voice was lost amongst all the other screams. He looked around, pain clouding his vision. It was blurry and a tinge of red obscured everything. He watched as faces melted. The skin peeling off. The blood vaporized. Moans as limbs vanished and dissolved into ash. The man nearest to him was cradling the stump of his left hand. His screams became shriller as the hand supporting the stump slowly dissolved as well. His screams cut off suddenly. His chest had turned to ash. His dead eyes locked in their final pain.


    The fire was at Smiths knee¡¯s now. He was losing consciousness. He pulled himself up onto his elbows. He peered through the shattered window. The machine was glowing a brilliant white. As he watched, the light condensed into a thin figure. It looked like a white gash. A slit of pure light. The light flashed again. Smith screamed as the light burned his eyes.


    His brain was shutting down. The pain had overwhelmed it. The world was turning dark. The fire was up to his chest now. A final image of his wife flashed through his mind. He said in a voice no one heard


    ¡°What have I done.¡± Silence as the darkness consumed him.


    Fenryr watched as Smith melted into ash. He felt a sharp pain in his side. He looked at Nayib. His belly had dissolved. He was mouthing something desperately, but Fenryr couldn¡¯t hear it. The tremors jolted him onto his broken ribs. He winced in pain. Amanda had been knocked out. Her mouth was open in a scream, but the light had left her eyes. She lay with her head at an impossible angle. Her neck disappearing into a pile of ash. Another jolt. Amanda¡¯s head crashed to the floor. Fenryr watched it melt in to the pile that was already there. All around him was ash. A red mist hung in the air. The ash was in his throat. He started coughing violently. He started throwing up when he realized what the ash was.


    He slowly got to his feet. The tremors had died down. He clutched his ribs with one hand. Another was placed on the wall for support. The control room had been ruined. The computers lay everywhere. The exposed wires were sparking. And ankle deep was the ash. The charred remains of his colleagues.


    The blasts had knocked the door off its hinges. Next to the door was another pile of ashes. A single glass lens lay on them. Manfred. Fenryr stumbled outside. He fell to the ground. Pain lanced through his side. He winced as he stood up again. The sudden silence hit him. A glimmer of light from the machine played at the corner of his eye. He turned around. His neck hurt badly.


    A gash of white light was at the heart of the machine. As Fenryr watched, it changed shape. A silhouette of a man formed in the middle of it. The white light forming a nimbus around the black shadow. The light suddenly collapsed into the shadow. A flash of light! Fenryr fell heavily to the floor again. He looked up from where he lay. A naked man was standing where the light had been. The machine behind him seemed dead. The man had his back to Fenryr.


    Fenryr pulled himself up into a sitting position. He rested his back against the wall. He was breathing heavily. And coughing up blood as the ash choked his throat. The sound of his coughing caused the man to turn around. His face was hidden in the darkness of the basement. There was total silence now. The man¡¯s feet sounded loud as he stepped towards Fenryr. Fenryr had no way to fight him off. He was sure his lung was punctured. His vision was blackening out. His side burned.


    The man drew close to Fenryr. Bent down. Fenryr still couldn¡¯t see his face. His neck could no longer support his head¡¯s weight. His chin dropped and rested against his chest. He felt the man grab his hair and pull his head up. He opened his eyes. Shock as he saw blue eyes set in a perfect face. A white suit was wrapping itself around the man.


    ¡°Hello, Fenryr¡±. The man started laughing. A horrible mocking sound. Fenryr felt oblivion claim him as his eyes closed. The laughter was the last thing he heard.

 Chapter 15

    Esterian¡¯s eyes opened slowly. The bright light made him shut them almost immediately. He slowly sat up, running a hand gingerly over his side. He poked and prodded his ribs, wincing as some of them hurt badly. He slowly opened his eyes again, adjusting to the bright light. His mind was still asleep. He had no idea where he was or how he had gotten there. He felt something in his pocket. He put his hand in and pulled out a silver bracelet. A brilliant green stone was set in it. He stared at it dumbly, trying to understand what it was and why it was there. Then it came to him.


    Flashes of what had happened. A golden giant towers over him, white wings flaring, wielding a blade made from light. Behind him Esterian can dimly see the lifeless body of his mother. Another flash. This time he¡¯s outside, helping his mother hang up the clothes to dry. He watches as he pulls out the shirt he wore to town on that fateful day. He sees himself throw it back in to the pile and hurry back indoors. Flash. He¡¯s in town, the gaunt faced man with a bandaged hand shoots him with the gun. As always, Esterian feels the bullets pass through him, imagines the pain he should have felt, but instead of collapsing lifeless he stands strong, the bullets falling to the ground. Suddenly the image starts to spin, pulling into itself. He felt a massive push as he snapped back to reality.


    Esterian looked around himself. He was sitting on the side of a pile of rubble. Big grey rocks, some of them with metal protruding from the ends. All around him look devastated buildings. Broken glass lay on the floor, covered in a thick layer of dust. In a few places the dust seemed disturbed. Esterian could make out what seemed to be footprints. They seemed old, even they were starting to become buried under a new layer of dust. The buildings looked like something had torn through them. Most of them were missing a wall or two. Esterian could see into them. The interiors looked burnt, blackened walls and floors nauseated him. The sky was clear above him, almost cloudless. He got to his feet and slowly trekked his way to the top of the rubble pile. He lost his footing a few times, almost sliding down once, but eventually he made it there.


    All around him were devastated buildings. The roads that ran between them were torn up, large cracks running through them. In a few places the Earth seemed to have buckled under some enormous pressure. Pieces of road rose up and above the surroundings. They stood like tables, purposeless. He could see husks of metal, torn and twisted. Most of them had rusted through completely. A small gap between the buildings displayed what seemed to be the remnants of a park. The grass was overgrown, but there were patches where it had been charred. He could make out the collapsed forms of swings. He saw with some surprise that one of the swings had landed on top of a nearby building. With a jolt he realized he was looking at what remained of a city. A city that had been utterly and totally destroyed.


    Esterian tried to identify some familiar sight, something that would tell him where he was. But in his heart he knew it was useless. He tried talking to the blade. It was silent as usual. He cursed under his breath. He turned away, looking for a safe path down the rubble pile. He took one step. Just as he took his next, he heard a sound and felt something slam into the ground. A sleek black arrow, it had missed his foot by mere centimeters. Esterian looked up in alarm, trying to find where it had come from. At the base of the pile, shrouded in black stood a menacing figure. It held a bow, arrow ready to fire and even from this far away Esterian could see that this time the arrow would not miss. The figure¡¯s face was hidden under a shawl. With a pang he remembered that his mother used to wear her shawl in the same way. Esterian put both hands up and slowly started down the pile. The figure kept the arrow right on him, adjusting its aim as Esterian climbed down.


    The figure retreated as Esterian made it to the bottom of the pile. Esterian still held his hand over his head. He stepped onto the ground, and heard a crack as a piece of glass shattered beneath his foot. The figure looked down at his feet, losing concentration for a second. That was enough for Esterian. He felt the blade infuse his feet. Instantly he was behind the figure. He knocked the bow out of the figure¡¯s hands, noting that they were surprisingly small.  Still moving unnaturally fast, he placed a hand around the figure¡¯s neck.


    The figure threw its hands up in surrender. Esterian felt the figure breathing heavily. A faint floral smell toyed with him. He said,


    ¡°Who are you? Where am I? Why were you trying to kill me?¡±


    The figure was silent for a moment before it said,


    ¡°Release me and I¡¯ll answer your questions.¡± Its voice was soft and light. Esterian realized the figure was a girl. He felt his cheeks turn red. He loosened his grip on her neck and pushed her away. The figure calmly walked over to her bow. She picked it up from where Esterian had knocked it away. She inspected it for damage. Nodded to herself, apparently satisfied that it was still wieldable. She patted some dust away from it and placed it in the quiver on her back. She slowly began to unwrap the shawl from around her face.Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.


    Esterian¡¯s breath caught as he stared at the girl. As the shawl loosened, strands of brown hair tumbled loose. They cascaded over a face so fair it seemed to shine with an inner light. Her eyes were shockingly green beneath her thin dark eyebrows. Her nose was straight, too short to be called aquiline but too long and too perfect to be termed a button. Her mouth was framed by lips that were chaffed from being nibbled on constantly. Her ears were pinned back and from them hung small loops of silver. Her neck was slender, arising from a body that Esterian could not look at because he was too entranced by her face. There was a sparkle in her face. A something about it that made Esterian¡¯s heart race. He felt a tightness about his chest. Suddenly he realized that he wasn¡¯t breathing. He let out an explosive breath and went back to staring into that perfect face.


    ¡°Are you going to stare at me all day?¡± Her voice seemed amused. As she spoke, a faint smile formed on her face. A dimple formed in her left cheek. Her eyes glittered.


    Esterian hurriedly looked down. His shoes, still newly made, were scuffed and dirty. He settled for addressing her navel.


    ¡°Ah. Yes. What¡¯s your name? Where are we?¡±


    The girl shuffled on her feet. She looked uneasy. Esterian looked up. The smile had died from her perfect face.


    ¡°My name is Adriana. We¡¯re about fifty kilometers away from the nearest nexus city. It¡¯s called London. I suggest you get there quickly. Follow the broken road north. You can¡¯t miss it.¡±


    She turned away, wrapping the shawl back around her face.


    Esterian had never heard of London. He had heard of a Nexus City somewhere. He tried to place where exactly. It was in town. Someone in the inn had been talking about how the Nexus City had fallen or collapsed or something. He couldn¡¯t remember. He heard a sound. Adriana was turning away. She started walking forwards, her long cloak billowing slightly in the wind.


    ¡°Please, wait. I don¡¯t know where I am. Or what London is. Can you help me, please?¡± He reached forward and placed a hand on her shoulder. As soon as he did, Adriana snapped around. She brought her knee up into his chest. Esterian cried out as his injured ribs were jarred from the impact. He felt the air rush out of him.


    ¡°Don¡¯t touch me. Next time, I use my bow.¡± Adriana¡¯s pace quickened as she walked away. Esterian looked up from where he lay. He watched as she vanished behind a pile of rubble and was lost to sight. He winced as pain jolted his chest again, before collapsing on the ground.


    Adriana hurried forward. She still felt the boy¡¯s hand on her shoulder. Still felt its oppressive weight. She shuddered. She would never let anyone touch her. She made her way past another pile of rubble as she headed homewards. It would be dark soon. She still hadn¡¯t caught anything for dinner. Unless she found something fast, she and her father were looking at yet another hungry night.


    She climbed up and over a fallen slab of concrete. Her father had told her as much about the reckoning as he knew. But no matter how many times she saw it, it still made her sad. The ruins of a once great civilization. It had taken them six thousand years to develop. They had obliterated themselves in six months. They hadn¡¯t done it alone though. The ¡®Gods¡¯ had played a part. As usual whenever she thought of the ¡®Gods¡¯, she felt a little quiver in her stomach, the remnants of a fear, a terror that had been suppressed a long time ago, but one that was still an integral part of her being.


    She spotted movement just at the edge of her vision. She turned to see the hind legs of some animal run into the gap between two buildings. Her father had warned her not to stray from the main roads, but she was hungry, and the boy had made her mad. She didn¡¯t know why, but his brown face kept drifting through her mind. She saw his dark eyes and black eyes. A faded scar above his left eye, probably from a childhood accident. She wandered forward into the alley, lost in reconstructing the boy¡¯s face in her mind, which was why she was unaware of the figures behind the windows of the buildings lining the alley.


    From the windows, arose hoarse screams. Adriana looked up in alarm as figures in brown popped up at almost every single window. They were dark, with matted beards that covered their faces. They were screaming at each other in a language she couldn¡¯t understand. Adriana immediately drew her bow and set an arrow to it. She shifted her aim from one brown figure to another, unaware of the man creeping up silently. She felt an oppressive odor behind her, the smell of decay and rotting vegetation. She turned to see one of the figures looming over her, club raised, ready to strike. With a shout she fell backwards, loosing the arrow into the man¡¯s chest. The man clutched at the arrow embedded just beneath his heart. He stared as the blood blossomed on his chest, before, with a bemused expression, he fell to the ground, still silent, still staring at the arrow in his chest in wonder.


    As soon as the first man fell, the cries died down. A new beat started, this time by the brown figures clapping their feet on the ground. A menacing beat that scared Adriana. She drew another arrow, but whoever she aimed at just dropped out of sight beneath the window, reappearing only when she aimed at another. She could hear steps from within the buildings as the figures began climbing down the stairs. The way was blocked in front of her. She could make out some figures walking down the alley towards her. She turned around. Another set of figures blocked off the way backwards as well. She was trapped.


    The figures spilt into the alley, lining up against the walls. She was boxed in. There were so many of them. Grimly, she calculated how many shots she could get off before they would take her. The answer was not good. She would not go down without a fight. She closed her eyes, imagining her father. He would struggle without her. The face of the boy crept in. She shook her head angrily trying to clear that face away, but again and again it appeared, smiling at her. She wished she had had the chance to know him better. When she opened her eyes, the brown figures started their shouting again. Adriana took aim at the man right in front of her. She let her arrow fly.