 
The Hour Glass Dagger

By Jeremy Marr

Copyright 2011 Jeremy Marr

Smashwords Edition

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### TOP

BEGINNING - PRELUDE

CHAPTER 1 – BRYSTAL SILVERHAND

CHAPTER 2 – KESSELIAN RUINS

CHAPTER 3 – ONEWHOMUSTREMEMBER

CHAPTER 4 – BRENDON-KYLE

CHAPTER 5 – SONG OF THE GODS

CHAPTER 6 – AS IT WERE WRITTEN

CHAPTER 7 – WHAT'S LEFT TO REMEMBER

CHAPTER 8 – TRUTH OF IT ALL

CHAPTER 9 – OBLIGATIONS TO MEET

CHAPTER 10 – PLEDGE UNBROKEN

CHAPTER 11 – NOT A WASTE

CHAPTER 12 – SOMETHING OLD – SOMETHING NEW

CHAPTER 13 – BREAKING THE CYCLE

CHAPTER 14 – GUILTY OR NO

CHAPTER 15 – STOLEN PROPERTY

CHAPTER 16 – WITHIN THE COLD

CHAPTER 17 – TIME IS NOW

CHAPTER 18 – A CHANGE OF PLANS

CHAPTER 19 – DEATH'S HAROLD COMETH

CHAPTER 20 – RIDING ON THE STORM CLOUDS

CHAPTER 21 – ONE DWARF AMONG MANY

CHAPTER 22 – HOUR GLASS DAGGER

CHAPTER 23 – THE COMING OF THE STORM

CHAPTER 24 – THE COMMANDER OF THE GUARD

CHAPTER 25 – THE HIGH MILITARY COMMANDER WHO?

CHAPTER 26 – THE HAND OF DARKNESS

### PRELUDE

The gusting breeze off Leversa's Basin was unusually warm for this time of year, and with it brought the smell of life from beyond the North gate. In that direction, just outside the gate, was the Harbor District, where the lowest of social classes worked, lived, ate and stank. It was a different world and a completely different life outside the viewing range of the noble born. Out of sight, out of mind was the general thought of the whole area by those nobles, even though the same nobles would not be living the life of luxury without those on the other side of the fence. Moreover, on a sweltering day like today, it was all but impossible to forget the water front district existed, as the smell of rotting fish, garbage and human sewerage wafted in the air. Just another way to remind the world of the inhabitants that worked their entire lives away for the ease of those of blood who lived on the hill.

It was a long and rough journey for the two who now stood within the North District, close to the Harbor Gate, amid the mediocre, lesser tier of society. Passing through the Harbor District was perhaps the roughest part of all in the pair's journey. From the pier where their large, slow moving trading barge moored, to the gate they had just passed was nothing more then the outcasts of a society that had grown to big for its own good. The rich got richer, and the poor just multiplied as the poor so often did. The looks on the faces the two saw as they walked up the docks, past the tax collectors watching the unloading of the barges, through the small market place where rotting fruit and stale bread were the staples of diet, and up to the North Gate itself, were sour and tired. More then a few showed an interest in them, as if marking them as outsiders who were, in turn, fair game when the lights went down on this side of town.

The pair of gate guards eyed them up and down, assessing the coin they might have before allowing them through the gate to where true civilization began. The buildings on the other side of the gate were actually made of stone, with rough-cut lumber for the roofs. It was a whole other world, far better than in the shantytown of the harbor, where some buildings did not have all the walls, or even a roof to block the weather. Past the gates brought the lucky who could enter to an area a few steps above dirt poor, but was still nowhere near as opulent as the Tower Section where the rich and old noble blood dwelt. Those estates rose upon a hill in majestic beauty, blocked by yet another gate, with meaner guards. The guards there would not waste a moment of time thinking about using a cudgel on the lesser man not worthy by looks or coin who may try to mingle with the lords.

After passing through the first gate, the pair had a few rude words thrown at them for being in the way, and a couple of shoves from some the merchant guards that kept an ever watchful gaze on the crowds as they milled in front of the shops lining the thoroughfare. The farther the two traveled up the main street, the more civilized the population became as a whole. It was as if the farther from the bottom of the barrel it was, the sweeter the ale tasted. They finally spotted their destination, the Bladed Hammer Inn and Tavern.

As they finished their long trek and prepared to enter the establishment, they both took off the traveling hats they wore. The taller one took off his cloak as well. He could pass for nothing else other then elfin. Elongated and pointed ears stuck up off his head like the long bow strapped to his back. His golden hair was twisted into one long braid and flowed down his tan and brown leather armor. He pointed at the sign and slapped the shoulder of the man who journeyed with him. This man was human, standing six feet tall with large shoulders separated by a muscled chest. With his cloak on, he could have been one of any hundred humans on this street alone, except for the beard he wore proudly. It started even with his ears and stretched down to his chin, growing along his jaw line. Fine gray hairs mixed in with the light red and blonde that made it up, ending just before they touched his chest. Two braids were woven into it, one on each side of his chin. The rest of his checks and upper lip had been shaved as bare as his scalp. The look was a unique style, not duplicated by any other he had seen in his lifetime.

The human nodded to the elf and said "Stronl, I thank you for the guide, my friend. Though I am quite sure I would have been able to find it, as I said in Ferlaymin, the company you gave was a welcome relief from the solitary traveling I have done of late." The man, Jeremiah, reached up, stroked his beard at the chin, and thought about the three-week trek with the goal of finding Brystal Silverhand to deliver a message for his master. Weeks of travel and he now found himself at the end of his journey, and that end happened to be within three days travel of his original departure location. He smiled as he gazed up at the Bladed Hammer, knowing in days he would be back within not only his home in the Sinisin Swamp, but also back within the caring embrace of his master, the Swamp Priestess.

Her beauty was the stuff legends were made of. Large hazel eyes that saw all, soft and creamy skin, a voice that so matched her looks...

"It really was not any trouble at all, Jeremiah," Stronl said, unaware he was interrupting Jeremiah's thoughts. "I am glad you got to see a little more of the world than you can view from the swamp. And as I mentioned when we departed Ferlaymin, I also have business with Silverhand." A smile encroached upon his face.

"He just doesn't know it yet, and he certainly is not going to like it," Stronl finished in his head.

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The water sprayed over the bow of the ' _Sinta-Tarson_ ' as it tacked its course South and East, straight in line with the hot, stormy breeze that bellowed sails and carried the craft forward at a swift pace. Though the boat had been made for speed, as most thieves' boats are, it just barely kept ahead of the black storm clouds that pursued. Almost as if it, or what was carried within it, was being hunted.

The sailors onboard were a flurry of activity with the orders that the Captain's mate bellowed into the wind. Though most of crew could not make out the words, they had been through similar drills more then once, and they knew what needed to be done. Bodies ran this way and that way, tightening down lines, rolling up sails and lowering others. There were only three figures on deck not moving. They were standing as still as death, gazing in the direction they travelled. Ahead, off to the starboard side, the first view of the large water-port city of Bek'noni came into focus.

"Even from here I can taste the rot and hatred of that place," muttered one of the three unmoving silhouettes in High Elfin tongue. His name was Cintell and he spoke to his two younger companions as he leaned on his ornate staff. Other then not following the Captain's first mate's orders, their drab, tan and brown clothing that were better suited for the woodlands then on a ship at sea, their height and demeanor had set them apart from the crew in a way that unsettled the sailors. The three disturbed the gang to such a degree that the ship's hands had ignored the three passengers altogether from the on start of their journey in the elfin city known as Ferlaymin. From first glance back there, the men decided they preferred to rub elbows with their own kind, tattered clothes or not.

The outcast three stuck together throughout the long trip, never leaving the bow. Though Cintell carried only his staff, the other two carried long, thin swords at their hips, daggers at their belts, and bows with quivers over their backs. All three were graceful enough on deck, even with the bad waters the boat sailed through, to where the sailors never thought of trying to toss them overboard as they may have been known to do for any booty they may have been able to collect.

Cintell spoke again, "This storm is not natural, even the wind is hot with evil and a taint of deceit that could sway lesser souls. Let us hope that we can get to Brystal Silverhand before things get out of control. I can feel him there," he continued while pointing his staff towards Bek'noni. "And the others we seek are not far from him. Pray to Everon that we arrive in time. There will be blood shed this night, and we must do what we can to keep Brystal from loosing any of his. Timing will be tight. For that reason, I hereby give you the right and the permission to do what you must to protect Silverhand.

This night has a chance of seeing all lost." Cintell lowered his staff and leaned back upon it. He then said in a voice low enough that his wards almost did not hear. "I fear this day as I have not feared another in six hundred years."

#################

### CHAPTER ONE

### BRYSTAL SILVERHAND

The pair started walking up the stairs in front of them. 'The Bladed Hammer' was the name on the sign being suspended on a metal rod hanging out above the door. The brass work ringing the oval sign was polished and reflected the weak summer evening light with pride. It danced back and forth with the push of the warm, gentle breeze blowing off Leversa's Basin; the large body of fresh water Bek'noni was built next to.

The inside of the tavern was finished with golden-oak planked walls that had been rubbed down until they shone. There was a vibrant smell in the air that instantly grabbed the nose and took it on a trip around the world; in the same time span it took to inhale the first lung full. It consisted of a variety food, mixed with the smell of thick ale and sweet wine. A large redwood bar, empty of people, stood on the opposite wall to the door, giving a barkeeper a clear view of customers entering the establishment. Two large lanterns hung on the wall behind the bar, one to the left where the cash box and kegs were, and one in the middle of the bar. They provided more than enough light to make one feel their dealings here were not being shortchanged by a sticky finger.

"Outta way," could be heard from serving girls as they bustled in and out of the kitchen via a swinging door located to the left of the bar. They carried meats, cheeses, bread and stew out and if there was room on the tray, there was always a quick trip to the bar for a refill for someone. If there was no room, a second trip was made. Spirits were always needed and most certainly always appreciated and, most of the time, always paid for. Beyond the kitchen door to the left, the establishment opened up into a huge common room. There were lanterns scattered around, suspended on chains hanging down from the ceiling. There was a fireplace centered on each wall, though only two were in use. The entire right wall, with no fire burning, was left darker than the rest. Even a respectable bar needs a place where people could talk in private. Far down this wall, near the far corner, was the staircase leading up to where sleeping quarters could be found. Dozens of large round tables and benches were scattered around the room with a few smaller ones with chairs dotted in where space would allow.

One of the two men watched as a girl came rushing out of the kitchen door and veered over to the bar. A movement to one of the men's right caught his attention. The bar keeper, at the far right side of the bar, stepped out of the only patch of shadow to be had. He was just out of sight enough that newcomers' eyes would be drawn to the common room before to him. His short and stocky torso was covered with a green pullover shirt embroidered with the taverns name on the ends of the sleeves and around the neck. The hands that stuck out, small to match the body they belonged to, were calloused with decades of hard work before being retired to pouring ale and wiping down a bar. His head was kind of coned shaped, angling back, and was bald of hair except for the giant, white tuffs sticking a fingers length out of his enormously large, pointed ears.

"Do the two of you need a room, or just here for a pint or three?" the keep asked over his shoulder, while making his way to the left side of the bar. When he got to the keg rack, he started pouring a large mug with dark, thick, and frothy ale from one of the many large wooden kegs. He finished the pour just as the serving girl reached the bar and placed her half-full tray upon it. Setting the mug down on the tray, the barkeep sent the woman away with what was probably meant to be a smile - two thin lips parted around sharp, uneven teeth, stained yellow and brown. It was the kind of smile that would have made a rabid wolf turn around and run for its' life. The barkeep once again settled his attention on the newcomers.

"No room needed," the elf said as he and his human companion made their way up to the bar. The man who spoke adjusted the backpack hanging over his shoulder, and then stuck two fingers in the air before pointing them to the keg with the thick, dark liquid in it.

"Right away," the keep said as he grabbed two pint-sized tin cups from under the bar. "Da name's Kneesbane," the keep continued. "I'm at your service."

The one who stuck his fingers in the air produced a large gold coin from behind his belt and laid it on the counter. Eyeing it, the keep put the pint cups away and produced two even larger mugs. As he walked back to the keg wall from the serving station, the two men realized he was walking on a platform raised off the floor about thigh high to an average human. Short indeed. The keep walked back to the bar, set the mugs down in front of the pair, and glanced up at the newcomers. Right away, it became clear he was no greenhorn barkeep. His face took on a kind of wisdom only years of service gave a man. He certainly seemed used to feeling men out to see if they meant trouble, or if they were just here to mind their own business over a pint. The two felt as though he was looking clean into their souls and then looking at what was behind even that. Kneesbane scooped up the gold piece while saying, "If you hurry, you won't miss the show we have here tonight. He's the best I've seen, I'll tell you." He went over to the cash box and came back with a smaller gold piece, one silver, and two copper coins that he pushed across the counter top. The moneyman picked up the coppers and dropped them in a tip jar, which earned him an "I'm-gonna-eat-you" wide smile from Kneesbane. The silver he picked up and slipped back behind his belt. The small gold he pushed back and said, "Two eats as well."

"We have a great lamb stew tonight that comes with a loaf of fresh baked bread and cheese, if it pleases you," the keep said. "Also comes with two more mugs." Seeing the nod given him, he pulled back the gold and told the two he would have the stews brought out to the common room in just a moment or two.

Picking up their mugs, the pair walked into the sitting room. All eyes throughout the large area were settling on one man who was starting to sit down near the center fireplace on a fold-up, three-legged stool he had elegantly produced from a large canvas bag on the wooden floor by his feet. The two found chairs and an open table deep within a patch of shadows midway down the right wall. It gave them a view of the entertainer, and as they gazed at the one becoming the center of attention, the elf leaned over and whispered into the human's ear. It seemed the taller man started to study the one on the three legged stool a little more intently.

Of middle height and weight, the tavern's entertainer was wearing fine woolen pants tucked into brown, tanned boots. A white shirt could be seen under his heavy gray wool cloak pinned at the collar with a gold clasp. He gazed slowly and purposely into every eye he could catch. Smiling and nodding his head, he smoothly "pulled" a tin cup out of the air and set it down on the table to the side of him. It looked good... this man was a professional. The man then reached out fast as though catching a fly. When he opened his hand, there was a large silver piece in it where none had been before. He dropped the coin into the cup, just to show what the cup's purpose was, before he began to speak.

"Even'nun ladies and gentlemen, if 'un you'ze doonn't," he said with a thick accent. His voice was smooth and carried well. "Scoundrels an' Skallywagon'rs if 'un you'ze dooze," he drawled out, while tipping his head and producing a wicked grin and a wink towards no one in general. A few of the nicer dressed women gasped loudly, which set many of the men folk around to grinning. A few copper pieces plunked into the cup. This was certainly a professional, and one who was in his element. "My name is Brystal Silverhand, the finest glee-man and bard around."

Someone from the crowd shot out, "If you are the finest, why are you not performing up on the hill for the higher bloods?" His question made others brave enough to shout out other comments like it.

Brystal took an exaggerated breath in, and said, "I like to associate with those that WORK for what they have, not those who TAKE what they want because not only did birth give them the so called right to do so, but also because they are too lazy to work for it at all."

If any nobles were in the crowd, he very may have been brought up on some form of charge or another, but the higher blood were smart enough to stay up on the hill after the sun started setting. His comment also awarded him with applause from the tavern's occupants, saying what everyone else wanted to, but feared.

A bearishly large man entered the room through the kitchen door and came strolling through the crowd toward Brystal. Long, thick, and black hair, with touches of gray highlighting his temples, cascaded down the back of his neck and overflowed past his hulking shoulders. Nothing about this man cried small or weak, including the impressive black beard growing over his massive chest. Wiping his hands on his stained apron, he parted the standing crowd, which showed up late and found no seats available, with shear girth alone. In very short time, he came to stand by the now sitting gleeman.

"Tis nice ta see you again, Brystal Silverhand," he said. "Come ta tell another tale, have ya? My lasses still talk obout the last one ya told when last ya graced the establishment. T'ould sure be nice ta get them talking 'bout som'tin else o'dder than that." The big man smiled and patted the sitting ones shoulder. "Hearing things from ya is worth the ale ye charge, and hearing it from them... well now, that's not even worth the ale I drink meself to drown their chattering out," he bellowed while laughing. His laugh, a kind of deep in the belly rumble that shook his middle, was heartfelt and cheerful. The very sort of laugh that was a vicious, contagious virus that spread through the common room like a wildfire in a pine forest. He was still laughing when he waved over to Kneesbane while nodding his head.

A moment later, a bar maid, balancing a tray on one hip, made first a stop to one table on the right wall and dropped off two large bowls of steaming stew with a plate piled high of bread, butter, and cubed white cheese. Then she made her way up to stand next to the large man, who was the taverns owner. She lifted a tall dented tin stein of thick, black ale off her tray and started to hand it to the sitting man. The owner grabbed it just as it was being wrapped up in a pair of eagerly awaiting hands and asked,

"Now, how do I know ya really are who ya say ya are, though?" He wrinkled his face up in mock confusion and added, "Da last time ya were here, ya had a'nudda cloak 'bout ya shoulders." His thick sausage fingers combed through his beard as he looked up, raising one bushy eyebrow as a frown curled on his mouth.

When the sitting man grinned and started to stand, the owner backed up a pace with wide, excited eyes. The common room erupted with questions like, "What's he doing?" and "Is this part of the show?" Many moved their chairs back a hair or two, with looks of unease painted on their faces as they gazed at one another.

Brystal unpinned the broche holding on the thick, woolen cloak upon his shoulders and placed it in the serving girl's palm. He cupped her hand so she was fisting it, as though she held a large gem. He then grabbed the cloak by the neck and, with over exaggerated movements, twirled it by its collar from his backside to his front and let it dangle there for a breath or two until all ripples and movement were gone from the fabric. Then he lifted it over his head and with a rush of downward speed, snapped it like a launderer would a bed sheet freshly taken off the drying line at folding time. Both lit fireplaces seemed to flare up at that same instant and a loud "snap" was heard from one end of the common room to the other. Multi-colored confetti suddenly floated down in front of the man holding the cloak. No, not confetti; confetti did not glow. Moreover, the way the multi-colored objects moved, made them appear to be heavier then colored paper as they descended down. Some colors were tumbling towards the ground faster and farther than others were. Then, time seemed to stand still. The glowing objects were no longer settling to the ground, but now were being somehow suspended in mid-air, horizontally from several feet off the wooden floor, to just below the man's outstretched arms.

One fellow in the crowd looked very queasy, like he may sick up. He looked from his ale to the thing floating in mid-air and back to his ale before slowly pushing his drink to the center of the table. For the second or two the balls of light were held suspended, it was unclear as to what they were to most of the crowd, even to those sitting right up where the action was. With an even more exaggerated motion, Silverhand lifted his arms and the whole conglomeration whipped up and flipped over him, coming to rest once again upon his shoulders.

It took a few moments before the crowd realized that his gray, woolen cloak was no longer gray or woolen. Thousands of colored, tiny, glass beads, grouped in bunches, all merged seamlessly with each other and reflected the light radiating out of the fireplace behind him. This was no ordinary multi-colored bard cloak, just as this was no ordinary bard. He reached his hand out to the serving girl and she opened her hand. If the crowd was confused about the cloak change, then they were completely flabbergasted by what was in the girl's outstretched hand, as she herself was. Gone was the golden broche, replaced by a red, palm sized, flat disk as thick as a thumbnail was long. The man picked it up out of her hand and held it with his index finger and thumb in front of his face, as if he was holding up a little window. It must have been stained glass, being that it was translucent and things behind it were easily, though with an overpowering red tint. He frowned. The man did not look happy while glaring at it... something seemed wrong to him.

Brystal reached to the side of him, took a white rag from the serving tray, and wiped the side of the disk closest to his face. He smiled a little at this and nodded his head. He then moved the rag to the other side of the disk and made a few circular motions and held the red disks... wait, no, he held the now blue disk in front of him. He really seemed impressed with the thing he held, as his large smile indicated. He turned to the firelight and held the disk up again towards it. For those looking through the disk, it was astonishing to see the fire looking like it was burning blue flames, but not as astonishing as when he brought the disk to the front of him again and it was now orange! He then changed the way he held the disk. Placing his thumb and index fingertip to the middle of the circle, he spun it like a wagon wheel rolling down the street. Every heartbeat or two, the disk changed colors. Red. Gold. Blue. Orange. Green. Purple. Like the cloak, never the same color for long, and never the same color often. He threw the disk up in the air and quickly spun around in a full circle. When he faced the crowd again, he lifted his hand to catch the disk, but it never came down. He kept looking up at the ceiling until someone saw the disk and started laughing hysterically while pointing to the man and his color-changing cloak. More and more fell in beside the laughing man, all pointing and cheering until the whole room was beside themselves, clutching sore sides and stomachs and slapping their knees. It was at this time the gleeman acted hurt, as though the whole mass of people were laughing at him and not with him. That lasted only until he "looked" down to see what everyone was pointing at. The color-changing disk had somehow fastened itself to the multi-colored cloak where it should have been from the start. Looking pleased with himself, the man made a grand show of bowing with the cloak and returned to his chair once again.

Once the crowd calmed down, the burly owner, being the last to wipe the tears streaming down his face, reached down to the table next to him and picked up the now half empty mug of ale. He looked down at the liquid and started laughing all over again, spilling half of what was left of the ale down the front of his already stained apron. "Guess we know what happened ta the rest of ya drink, Silverhand," he was finally able to get out between bouts of laughter. "I tried ta putting it down quick like, when I started rum'blin in ma bully." He lifted the mug to his lips and, in one gulp, drained it of any liquid remaining. Still giggling, he set the empty mug down on the serving tray and whispered something into the server's ear. She nodded her head and darted off in the direction of the bar, lost in the crowd packing tightly around the bard and his table.

"I'll not only get ya a refill on the ale that 'twas lost, but here," he said digging under his apron into his pants. He pulled out a small gold coin, thought for a second, laughed again while shaking his head, and dropped the coin into the tin cup on the table. "I think that'll give me people som'tin ta talk 'bout for a long, long time. This," he gestured towards the floor around him and on his apron, "is som'tin I don't think I'll grow bored of easily!" More laughing erupted and more copper coins, mixed with a silver piece or two, flew into the cup from the crowd. Brystal Silverhand let the crowd carry on laughing and talking with one another as he watched the grizzly bear make his way back into the kitchen where he now spent much of his day.

"Ahhh, Mikel Bourque, best of friends for over twenty years," Silverhand thought. "The Gods be willing, maybe we can add another twenty to that tally," he finished, almost aloud. "There I go again," he argued with himself, "if I keep that up, I'll be waking up one morning as a monk."

He did believe in the Gods and knew they did exist at one time. His life has been long, as any in his position, and he was still debating the multiple 'what if' questions. What if the Gods still played an active role in the world? Or, what if they could have eventually faded away, or what if they moved on to another world a little friendlier? He, at one time, had thought they were not involved any longer at all. Not once in his lifetime had he heard from his God, not even one 'thank you' for all the work he had done in His name, and all the work that was yet to be done. Then again, after he had found that cursed book, and oh, how he hoped the book was not right, or that maybe he was not accurate with the translations, all the doubts he thought before had changed.

His ale arrived via a different serving girl, and he helped himself to a long pull off the mug. The future used to fascinate him. All the unknown variables in life, and the unknown equations for that matter, not being played until its' time; prophecy was an addiction to him. Whenever a new page or manuscript had resurfaced, he used to grow giddy and almost child-like with awe and wonder. Now the future scared him. "Damn book," he mumbled under his breath. Thinking back, over two years ago, he wondered where his life would be now if he had never made that trip to the Verrainin Ruins within the Sinisin Swamp. If he had never gone there, he never would have found it. He would never have worked to translate it. He would never have learned that is was possible to find writing as accurate as those were. True prophecies, as well as the Gods, really did exist. It was like holding on a double-bladed dagger. His was a true book of prophecy there was no doubt. It began with scriptures of him finding the book, with enough detail to leave no trace of uncertainty about the writer's prophetic gift. Brystal's mind pulled the book out of his mental storage and read, again, the beginning:

\-----------------------------

Who I am is not important. You must know that two, for my knowledge and for the power that such knowledge holds, are now seeking after me. Neither will be able to use my words, but each has one of their own who can, and will. One, to gain wisdom and knowledge found in the words. The other will care not for the wisdom or the knowledge, but seeks the power the words possess.

These words are writ on me to give strength and power only to one. In the end, which one that will be only time will know. The words will make the difference between life and death for all but those already dead. Allow there to be no doubt as to which side I lay my head. May good prevail. That was why I was written on. It was my choice to make. I feared that not having the words would damn the living just as well as if the wrong one finds them.

I have been blessed with the knowledge that the first one to find me has no desire to plunder the world into darkness. I only pray that his might will protect me from the other looking. Know you, the other will never stop searching.

I have scythed your name from the void, and with the help from several Gods, I was able to see your face in my dreams. THEY have let me glimpse you from afar in both time and distance. I know you, and you must not fail. You have been known by many names, but when the words are found, you will answer to Silverhand.

I see in your heart, as well as I see the broach you wear, given by your mother. The broach will ensure you safe passage to where you will find me, and the words that may change all. From then, until I am used, my safety is your responsibility

You shall be drawn with the thirst for knowledge that has never been quenched, to this house where I lay in hiding. It will be so very cold; the night will be, when to me you come. You will be alone, and you will stumble into my humble abode. You will discover that which you will wish you never did, and you will be glad to have done so.

I am not meant for you, whose mother was a whore, and whose father is not known. I am not meant for you, whose temper has destroyed the good in the past. For you, the words will remain simple words upon my skin.

Read these pages, and keep them in your heart. Destroy me if you need to, if that is how you must protect me from the evil that is Coming. I beg you, do not let the words die, though. The other will not stop searching until I am found by him, and if I am alive, I fear the worst. Beware the danger of words, and those who would know them. Realize that all that is writ will aid a vision to come true. I have seen both. Light and dark matter not except if you are on the opposite side of the user.

Read you true, and guard the knowledge. Let your heart guide you. Most important, leave your temper locked away.

Read, remember and guard what you learn. Your life, as well as the lives of all, depends on all three.

Treerot Perdemshium

\-----------------------------------------

The words proved the Gods were still around, for sure. They are always in the background, always in connection with their lands, if not their fellow Gods.

"Damn them all," Brystal added to himself, throwing all the prophets, the book and the Gods in one large, black cauldron for the cooking. "If they were all cooked, though, then we would not have this chance to save our future," he thought.

"Alright then," he argued with himself, "they can all still stay in the pot. We just won't light the fire."

Thinking about the book made him think about the group of people who set out to help him translate the words written in it. The Wisdom Seekers, as they called themselves, consisted of eight people, if you could consider trolls, gnomes and grass runners "people". Brystal deemed this handful intelligent enough to help with the needed translations, and trustworthy enough to guard what knowledge they uncovered with their lives. Even still, he had only given each one small and random fractions of the text at a time, for his conscious told him even these elite could be swayed with unmoral impulses with the impending doom written within the pages of the book.

They made him think about tonight and his reason for being here. They were not going to like what he did, what he had to do for the larger good. Time was slipping away like the grains of sand in an hourglass, and he had to stop that sand from flowing down.

"Or at least slow it down a little to give us more time," he thought. It did not matter though. He still did what he did regardless of what the Wisdom Seekers may or may not have thought, or would think. He knew at their meeting later that night that he was going to be in the same cauldron, splashing around with the Gods and their prophets.

"No sense worrying about what can't be undone," he thought. They were going to be angry, and that was that. "Think about it later," he told himself and pulled another heavy hit of ale into his mouth. He swallowed. "Time to earn the title," he finished in his head. Setting the mug down on the table, he stood.

"As I said earlier," Silverhand nodded. "Good evening." His thick accent was gone, replaced by a more normal voice that pulled all eyes back to him smoothly. "You, sir," he said. He pointed to a man sitting down at a table to his left, "Why are you here?" The man looked unsettled at being put on the spot, as though this were some kind of trick question. "Good ale at a fair price," was his reply. Silverhand, looking pleased, scratched at his chin. "What about you?" he asked the woman sitting next to the questioned man. Her reply came quicker and with laughter, "'Cuz he's holding our coin."

Brystal went around the room, randomly, in this manor. Once the people realized it was part of the show, they become bolder, some even raising their hands to be picked. All kinds of answers came out from cheap ale, good food and fine company, to the location of the tavern, boredom, and unwinding after a hard days work. The more answers he got, the more excited he became. Silverhand started adding his own comments to those of the crowd like, "Yes! Yes!" and "You don't say!" or "Good for you!" This continued for a spell until answers started dwindling. It was then he stood up straight and his face became a stone mask void of any expression.

"Wrong," Brystal said. Odd, how one little word, spoken in just above a whisper, could change the mood of an entire audience. No one remained willing to speak. Most started looking around the room with guilty expressions carved in their faces. Some even looked as though they were trying to crawl back inside of themselves to avoid having anyone look at them. "Why _ARE_ you here?" he asked again. "From the beginning of our time on this land we were given a task to do, a job that has all been but forgotten." A few in the crowd started taking off their hats as if it were Sunday and the common room was their church. Some of the men towards the back stood to walk out in protest to a Sunday morning sermon on a Saturday night. "I'm not a man of any one God," Brystal Silverhand lied to the crowd. He did have his one God above Gods, but that was not for these people's knowledge. That one statement made the four men sit back down, if for no other reason than to finish the ale or wine left at their seats. He took a twelve-string guitar out of his bag and sat back down. "I guess I was just looking for a way to introduce you all to the oldest song I know," he said. "It's said to be as old as the Gods themselves," added he, while plucking the strings to check the sound. "I don't know who wrote it, and I don't think anyone really does." He set the guitar on the bench next to him and bent back down to his canvas bag. He pulled two pieces of birch log out next and set them on the wooden floor in front of his feet. Each piece was about two hands round and stood up to almost his knees. They had a charcoal black material pulled tightly across the top with shiny black strapping running a weave from top to bottom to top again, over and over. There were extra pieces of strapping attached to the bottom, which were left dangling. Two arm length rods, thumb thick, came out of the bag next. There was more of the shiny black strapping attached to one end of each and on the other end was what looked to a round ball of crystal. These he set on the bench next to the guitar. Brystal then picked up his ale and drank another long swallow.

"I've been doing too much of this lately too," he thought to himself looking at the ale. "You can't drink enough to forget the past, or the future, you know."

"Oh ya?" he thought again and gulped the remaining ale down sourly. Setting down the empty mug on the table, he realized he felt better. "See? I told myself more ale is what I need. Now let's do something."

He reached down to the logs while saying aloud, "Quite the invention I've got here." He took the loose strapping on the bottom of the birch pieces and placed the toe of each boot against the bases. "They were given to me by the Clan Chief of one of the Zopolie tribes far to the west," he added. Using the strapping, he tied his ankles to the base of the drums. "No self-respected tale-teller should be without 'em. The design, as you can see, is simple, but the sound is truly excellent." He moved his feet back and forth experimentally, and the drums moved back and forth with them. He then tied the strapping of the rods to each thigh, right above the knees. The rod extended past his bent knees and the crystal spheres hung over the black drum tops. "See?" he asked, as he pivoted his feet up and down with his toes. The crystals came up and then, "BOOM" down on the drumheads. "By moving my feet in and out and back to front it changes the noise of the drum."

Boom - Boom - BOOm –BOOM – BOOM – Boom

He lifted the twelve-string off the table and added the sound of the guitar to the drums. They both seemed to melt together beautifully. The beat of the drums stayed constant enough that some in the crowd found themselves thumping along on their tables or knees.

"As I said earlier, no one knows where this song came from, and not many even know it exists, which is good for me, for if I mess it up, who would know?" he chuckled. "It is about the creation of where we are now. I don't mean the Bladed Hammer, though I could think of no finer place to be tonight, but of the world we live on in general." He let the music carry on for a few heartbeats and as he began singing, his voice became soft and sweet, not the kind of voice you would expect to hear from looking at his face.

### CHAPTER TWO

### THE KESSELIAN RUINS

Though it bore no thickness, somewhere in the great city of Lefebvre, street lanterns gave life to a soft, plump shadow in the Southeast section of the gigantic city. With absolutely no effort, it glided from structure to structure; noiselessly jumping to the ground and back up with each alleyway it passed. The shadow contoured itself to and perfectly imitated its surroundings, becoming a darker version of each object, door, and window along its path. It was at ease with walking the streets at night. It moved forward without any pause in its purposeful strides.

Its owner had an unscheduled appointment in one of the back alleys that littered the streets with neither rhyme nor reason to their location. The silhouette did not feel disheartened or saddened with the alleys that had thus far turned up empty. It came here expecting a possible delay in the meeting because it knew the exact alley changed night to night. The shadow had years of experience in this particular subject, so to speed up the hunt, every now and then the silence of its movement was broken by a very intentional scuff of soft silk. The sound was not unlike what a slipper would make on the stoned lined street. The sound of a scuffing slipper would normally attract the wrong type of people on these streets at night. A noise one would try not to make but in this case, the wrong type of people were what was wanted.

It found that the silken slipper "cat-call" worked well in this line of work. Largely, only the higher class of life wore slippers – and generally, the higher class of life was smarter than to be out on the streets of Lefebvre at night. With plenty of patience and more than enough hours left to the night, it had faith that this cat and mouse game would be finished before light broke over the horizon. As the shadow passed one of the larger alleyways on the street, it vanished along with the half scuff of silk on cobblestone.

"Wut do we got here?" a deep, scratchy voice belched out, "I do believe our luck is changing." The man who spoke wrapped his thick arms around his plump cargo and dragged it far back into the ally. A flame sparked out of nowhere and lit the wick of a lantern sitting on the ground. Soft light ate away the darkness, revealing four figures towering over a huddled figure. The one being looked down upon was wearing a hooded, black cloak wrapped tight around its owner, covering all hints of skin, hair and clothes. When the largest of the four men spoke, it identified him as the one who had claimed their luck had changed.

"Let me guess, finishing errands for your mistress?" he asked laughingly. His voice sounded like two mountains having a push-of-war with each other. "When me and my boys are done here, we'll have you wishing you left earlier to return. This is our ally, and to pass by, you need to pay." A cruel grin pasted itself on his wide jaw. He crossed his massive arms over an even more massive chest and took a step back while nodding to one of the three men with him.

With orders given, the man squatted down with a thin, evil grin. "Don't worry darling," he said while reaching a hand towards the cowering figure, "we'll take good care of you while you are in our home, and then send you awAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!"

Before the man could finish his sentence, he catapulted backwards and slid to a stop a pace or two away from the opposite sidewall of the ally. The next few heartbeats came fast and went without anyone making sense of what had just happened, except for the cloaked figure. To _him_ , everything was happening according to plan; his plan. His lips widened within his hooded cloak. It was a relaxed smile to no one in general. His name was Redlew Feiht. He wore a calm exterior that was covering a tightly wrapped coil whose time had come to be sprung. As the hand reached toward him, while speaking of what good care he would receive, he was ready. Redlew tightened his grip on the dagger he held in his left hand.

In one fluid motion, that hand shot out of the cloak and passed inches above the out stretched arm of his would-be assailant. When he felt a small trace of resistance in his wrist, his foot was next to leave the protective covering of the black cloak. It did so with all the speed and force he could muster. While that foot introduced itself to the thug's nose, with a muffled thud thanks to the silk wrapped around the hand tailored leather boot, the other leg straightened underneath him, standing him up straight. During the stand, his right hand threw a large, soft pillow to the ground that had been used in his disguise. The man who had squatted landed on his back at the same instant his severed hand landed on the hard packed dirt floor. The fingers were pointing towards the back wall of the ally, the same direction the man's nose now did against his cheek. Redlew flicked his left hand and the injured man's scream ended as a knife sunk hilt deep into his throat. Death was coming tonight to collect the rent on life for these four. He was there to see to it. As the last dying groan escaped the man on the ground, the cloaked figure sprang forward toward the dirt-covered alley floor and somersaulted on top of the dead body. As Feiht's rear landed on the dead man's chest, his feet rolled forward and planted themselves on both sides of the neck holding his knife. After grabbing the hilt in his right hand, he used his momentum to his advantage and raised his butt, leaned forward and planted his left hand on the ground. He twisted his body and arced his feet up and around to his left. The eyes of the closest man standing near him widened with surprise and shock as he stumbled backwards from the force of Redlew's foot to his chest. The dark silhouette continued his spin, bringing his feet back to the ground. One foot of Feiht's was pointed at the man who was trying to regain control of his backwards momentum. The other was pointed towards the muscle bound giant to his left. A few feet behind Redlew was the sidewall of one building or another that the first to die had been flung toward. Half a dozen paces up that wall was the back wall of a different building. This alley was boxed on three sides; the only way out was past that same giant of a man who dragged him in here when thinking Redlew was a female.

The sound of steel rang out to his left. The boss' two thick, hairy arms dragged a large sword out of a sheath strapped to his back. The ring was twice echoed to Redlew's right as both a short sword appeared, attached to the thug he kicked back, and a dagger was produced by the man standing at the opposite back corner of the ally.

"Finally," the cloaked man said in an even voice, "I thought you would all be dead before someone had the idea to bare steel."

"Don't know who you are, but I know what you will be," the burly leader spat back, "a dead one."

"Oh, yes," said Redlew, the one in black, "I will be a 'dead one' sometime, but not tonight." A slow cold grin spread across his face. Light splashed reflected across the wooden wall behind the black-clad figure as the man in the corner to his right brought his sword around him and started to pitch his body forward to close the gap between the two of them. The cloaked figure flicked the blood-coated dagger in his right hand up in the air and expelled all the air from his lungs while relaxing his mind. He shot his empty right hand down to his hip and unsheathed an evil looking dagger strapped at his waist. He sent his thoughts to his right hand, or rather, to the wicked knife clenched in it.

A familiar hourglass image floated up from the depth of the weapon. Along with the image, a cold numbness crept out of the hilt and into his fingertips. As the sensation flowed up his arm to his elbow, he recalled the very first time such a thing happened.

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It was a late summer night over two years before, and Redlew Feiht was exploring the vast ruins a few leagues to the north of his home city of Lefebvre. The weak sunlight cast flickering shadows over the stone remnants of the once great and proud city of Kessela. Built to honor Bal'derick Kessela over a thousand years ago, it used to be a major seaport and one of the largest cities built in its time. Kessela's worshipers lived there in prosperity for countless generations. No one knows why or how the great city met its demise. All that remained now were hulking husks of stone, toppled and broken by the countless years of abuse suffered from the elements. Some still formed parts of foundations or other recognizable parts of building structures. It was on a fare-sized foundation, near the center of the immense ruins, that he set himself down to gobble up the remaining salted beef and dried fruit he had left in his pack. The trek out here, only half way through, had taken almost three days. He cursed himself for not being more careful with his rations. It was not the first time his "eat while you can and worry about when you can't later" motto failed him miserably. While washing his meal down with the last couple swallows of spiced ale from his wine skin, he started contemplating what course of action to take.

With the sunlight rapidly dwindling into dusk, he wondered if he should start to make his way back towards Lefebvre. "The trouble that caused me to vacate the area for a spell should be over," he thought, "by now. Or maybe I should find a suitable camp site for the night?" Both options presented their fare share of problems, so the choice was not an easy one to make. Walk among boulders, rocks, holes, bushes and weeds littering what was once a grand, cobble stone paved road, or wake up in the morning hours from the nearest berry patch where he stopped for a snack earlier after his lunch. He should have filled his wine skin with the cold, crisp water that still flowed from the ground not ten paces from the berry bushes, but a quarter skin of good spiced ale was not worth dumping no matter how thirsty one might get later. He also knew well what drinking all that ale at once with his lunch, in this heat, would do to him.

In the end, he chose to make camp on the idea that being hungry and thirsty for a bit was nothing compared to being hurt, hungry, and thirsty. Being stranded out here, if he found himself unable to walk, would more than likely shorten his life span more than the risk was worth taking. He set up camp, which consisted of unpacking and rolling out his blanket on the octagon shaped floor he had just eaten his supper on. He positioned himself directly in the center of the large stone slab, more out of habit then the fear of any walls collapsing on him during the night.

Unlike any of the other remnants of 'buildings' he had seen on his trek deeper and deeper into the remains of the city, the walls here all fell away from the floor as though they were afraid to desecrate the very structure they were built to protect. In addition, he noticed, that although covered in dirt and weeds, this was the only structure whose stone floor and walls showed no sign of wear from the centuries upon centuries of lying dormant and unprotected from the weather.

Sleep overtook him swift that night and, over two years later, the wild, vivid dream he had was still clear in his mind. It was the last portion of the dream that showed him what no one in centuries could have even guessed. He was flying like a bird above a gigantic city with beautiful stonework houses, stables, forges, and workshops. Nobody was out and about, which surprised him for the position of the sun showed it to be just high noon. He was in no control of this dream, soaring high above the city like an eagle, so his eyes wandered over the area, gazing at the structures. The whole time he was covering ground from above, he wondered how they had been built. Large and small they were, but each one just as awe inspiring as the next. No wood or thatched roofing could be seen anywhere, nothing but multi-colored stone. Even the wide, long docks stretching far into the ocean waters were crafted with stone. For how long he flew, he could not tell, for the sun did not move here in the dream world. Eventually, his eyes picked out a familiarly shaped structure. An octagon building lay ahead of him. The buildings surrounding it dwarfed the eight-sided structure, being in itself only one story tall. It was formed with gray stone, the color of dusk, which set it apart from all the multi-colored stonework surrounding it. In his dream, he circled the octagon building lazily a few times from above before floating down. His decent continued until his feet almost touched the jet-black coble stone which had been set in a circle at least ten paces wide around the whole building. The combination of jet-black on dusk-gray did a good job of making it look like a place he should not be looking at, let alone entering. He laughed at the thought of that because after floating around it three times from ground level, he had not seen anything even closely resembling a door or entranceway. The only thing that marred the smooth, polished, gray stone was a finely crafted hook-peg ladder running up from the Southern wall. It traveled from the street up to the building's top. With no windows or other breaks, the stone looked like a solid block of rock that had been carved into an octagon. Where the eight walls met each other, there was not even the slightest sign of a crack or seam.

His stomach lodged itself in his feet when unexpectedly he shot upwards rapidly. He stopped rising about twenty feet above the building. Just as his belly started to inch its way back up from his feet, it was catapulted to his throat by the downward plunge that followed. Scared out of his wits by this time, he covered his eyes with his hands. The thought of sicking up, even in a dream world, was not a pleasant one. He felt his body come to a stop and waited for the spinning sensation in his head to slow before releasing the death grip his hands had taken on his face. When he did at last open his eyes, he found his body was horizontal to the ground. Not the ground, he realized, but the roof. Directly below his eyes, Feiht saw there were five small holes bored into the rock itself, forming a circle. They looked out of place on a structure that had absolutely no cracks, carvings, or blemishes on it anywhere that he saw during his dream flight around it.

Without conscience thought or planning, his hand reached out and he buried the tips of each finger and thumb into the small holes. A faint "click" was heard and a trap door opened upward, reaching for the sky. It was not large, but he was sure he could fit through it, if that is where his dream led him. His dream did not lead him in, though. In fact, his dream had him doing nothing at all except laying on his stomach, staring at a handful of small holes not even a couple of inches from his face, on top of a smooth stone octagon roof in the middle of, he looked around, the Kesselain Ruins.

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"Ah, the surprise I felt at that moment," he recalled and almost smiled. The cold from the weapon had spread up his forearm and into his elbow. It was now making an assault towards his shoulder like a hungry Stone Skinner towards a wounded Water Lilly.

"But," a voice that had slipped into his mind out of the cold corrected, "that surprise was nothing like what was to come."

"How true you are," he mentally answered back.

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He knew that he was awake when he realized he was back in the ruins, not on a brand new roof. He looked down and saw that the stone was reflecting the full moon's light, shining brightly in the night sky. He was a little puzzled by this, for just last week there was a full moon, but that thought was quickly replaced with others when he lifted his head slightly off the ground and saw that no more than inches away from him, there in the stone, were five small holes in the shape of a circle. Dirt and sand must have filled the holes in after whatever catastrophe had brought this once great city to its knees. He remembered from his dream that the holes were on top of the building, not on the floor. He thought that maybe since he did not go down the hatch that opened up in his dream, that maybe there was another similar hatch on the floor to match the top. This brought another question up, and not the obvious one most would think of, like "I wonder if there really is a hatch hidden in this stone." His thought was "Where did the roof go?"

Not to be one that went blindly through life without answers in hand, he stood up and went to the edge of the stone floor. The rock showing was at least two hand spans thick from the dirt ground to the top of the stone. He tried to remember how thick in his dream the stone was at the hatchway. He woke, however, before he had even looked into the opening, so it was still a mystery to him. He bent down and thrust his hand in the dirt, and found it to be loosely packed and easily movable. He dug himself a small crater by moonlight and after just a few moments, he found the bottom of the slab. He felt a groove in the thickness of the rock, and then there was more stone lying underneath it.

"It must be," he thought, "that I am actually on the roof of the building and not the floor after all." He could now envision the walls falling outward and the roof falling on the floor below, and then Mother Nature trying her best to swallow the whole city. With that portion of his curiosity settled enough for him, he walked back to the holes in the "floor that was now a roof" and knelt before them. With a casual shrug of the shoulders, he reached down and stuck the fingers and thumb of his right hand into the holes. He felt the stone vibrate ever so slightly before hearing the click of some sort of mechanism moving underneath his fingertips. As he slid his fingers out, not five paces straight ahead of him, he saw a hatchway swing open as though stretching from a long, long nap. He turned to his left to check if his backpack and walking stick were still there, as they were not in his dream, and found them right where he set them down upon retiring for the evening.

The gray stone somehow had shed its protective covering of dirt, and now looked polished, even underneath his pack and stick, though neither appeared to have been moved. With his heart beating hard and fast, he got up on his knees and moved himself forward until the hatch was inches from his chest. He peered over the door, and sure enough, there was a small opening etched out of the stone on the other side. The excitement of the find was equaled only by the fear of what had just happened and not having the knowledge of why. How long he knelt on the opposite side of the hatch, looking down he did not know. Seconds? Minutes? Hours? He shifted forward for a better look and, miraculously, he saw what appeared to be steps leading downward. He had thought, up to this point, that whatever the hatchway opened up into when the building was whole would have been crushed and sealed away forever. For a stairway to be located in the floor, almost directly underneath the roof hatch, must be a token of good luck. Finally, wondering about it all lost its appeal and he stood up and backed away from the door. His eyes never left it during his backward travel. He continued to the spot where his backpack and walking stick lay on the glistening stone.

A sudden wind picked up and threatened to topple him as he bent down to his backpack. He opened it up and did a quick inspection of what he had left within it. A small leather bag, drawn tight with a looped leather cord, was first to come out and he placed it around his neck. He made sure to tuck it in under his leather vest. He then pulled out two woolen rags and a jar of pine pitch. He balled one rag up and stuffed it into the front pocket of his vest. He then wrapped the other rag around one end of the walking stick and poured some of the pine pitch over it. He placed the pitch jar on his bedding and rolled them up together before stuffing the bed into his bag. He then reached for his empty ale skin and deposited it into the bag as well. He cinched the top of the pack before slinging it over his shoulders to rest in the small of his back. He, at the very least, would be prepared to have light if he was to make it down the hatch and out of the wind. While walking back towards the hole in the roof, he gazed down and saw himself looking up back up at him. The image reflecting off the mirrored surface of the stone was eerie. There he was, looking down at himself swimming in a sea of stars with a large full moon island glimmering on the stone floor... or was he looking up at his image while it was looking down? He started getting dizzy as his orientation was being distorted. So real and life like, everything he saw on the surface of the stone looked like he was looking at another world just under the surface. "Either way, up or down," he thought, "one foot in front of the other and on top of the one bellow." A wave of nausea threatened to cripple him. "Or," he added, "above." He squatted down to try to regain some sense of equilibrium. He knew by all accounts that he was on top of the stone and not upside down underneath it. His senses, however, were going haywire in an argument with each other. They left him almost doubting the basics of life like gravity pulling down. Slowly he stood up, trying to ignore both the image below him and the floating on air upside-down feelings within him. He set his sight upon the hatch and forced himself the few paces remaining to stand beside it.

He swallowed hard, trying to wet his throat. He inhaled, held his breath and took the first step down. He was not surprised that it held his weight, being that it was the same type of stone used to make the whole roof. The second step brought him down enough so that his waist was even with the top of the roof surface. His legs disappeared from the knee down as the passageway seemed to suck in the moonlight and render it useless. This was also as far as he could step down because the hatch was only so big. He would have to crawl down a few stairs, if he could fit, before being able to stand back up to full height underneath the roof structure.

He realized as he turned himself parallel to the stairs that his head had cleared and he no longer felt odd as he did on the surface looking at the reflections casting themselves off the roof. He sat down on the second step. Just the very tip of his head was visible now to the outside world, but at least he was out of that god-forsaken wind. He laid his torch down on the inside of the step, next to his legs, and folded his upper body down on his lower. He grabbed the roof with his right hand to support his weight, and the left probed below him to see if indeed more steps followed suit. He counted about four hands before his fingers hit the face of the next step. He placed that hand palm down on the step and moved it out as far as he could reach. Using both arms simultaneously, he picked his body weight up with is right arm while pushing his weight up with his left. He used his feet as a pivot point and angled his butt past the step he was sitting on. He eased himself down, and then his legs followed his butt so he was sitting on the step below where he was.

"So far so good," he whispered to himself as he reached up and transferred his walking stick torch to the step below him. He repeated the procedure of step sliding a few more times, using the step above him and the step below him for leverage. Light was non-existent down here, any light from the outside world had vanished as soon as his head broke through the blackness within the stairwell. He could not wait to get far enough down where he could stand and use his torch.

With one more step, the pressure of the wall on his back disappeared. Not wanting to move too quickly out of fear of the unknown, he inched himself forward until his feet made solid contact with the descending wall. That both walls had not vanished made him feel a little better. He carefully slid his left hand out, palm down and felt the smooth stone expand as far as he could reach. Using his hands and feet, he moved at a snail's pace around, feeling the stone underneath him. He realized he must be on a landing of some kind. He felt down the side where the wall disappeared and, sure enough, the stairs continued. He touched the next step and ran his hand out as far as he could reach. Before he had gone very far with his hand, he suddenly started to feel very anxious. Something about the complete darkness down here unnerved him. He desperately needed some light to be shed on his current situation. He reached up a step and felt around for his torch, but it was not there!

"OK, slow down and relax," he tried to tell himself, but fear may as well have been knocking at the door between reality and imagination with a battering ram for all the talking to himself did. Panic gripped him like a blacksmiths vise. "Gotta get out – can't see – can't breath – gotta," he did not even try to finish his sentence as he started a dog paddle assault on the steps to the surface. His right hand landed on something other than a step. With his fear-induced retreat pumping adrenaline throughout his body, he was unable to stop his momentum. The object that supported the downward thrust of his hand did not do so well once his feet pushed him forward and up. The object rolled backwards toward him, carrying his hand with it. He was not able to react fast enough to compensate his movement. With his left hand extended half way up, reaching for another step, and his right hand now useless by his side, he went down hard. His stomach drove into the leading edge of the step above the one he had searched for his torch on and his chin smacked the edge of the step up from that.

Lying dazed for a second, he was finally able to cast off the wild panic within him. After catching his breath, he felt for the object he was now blaming for his injuries; the worst of which was his wounded pride. He felt the familiar wood walking stick that was doubling as a torch and started to laugh.

"Told you to take it easy," he told himself. Without thinking, he used his hands on the step that caused his stomach to ache and tried to push himself up to a standing position. All he accomplished with this act was adding a lump to the top of his head as it hit the underside of the collapsed ceiling.

Cursing his luck, while making his way back down to the landing, he was thinking about calling it quits and heading back out by the safety of the torchlight. His pride, however wounded now, would not allow that, though. The few steps down were not as rough on him as the few up had been, and when he squatted in the dark on the landing, he found the aches in his body were almost gone.

He laughed at himself again and shook his head. He grabbed the small sack he had placed around his neck and pulled out his flint. Within a few strikes, his torch rag started to smolder. Small, pebble-sized amber glows started to cut through the darkness. With years of practice, at the same time he closed his eyes to protect them from the fire that would soon be and take a large breath, his hands packed the flint with the tinder inside the small leather carrying sack, the strap was drawn tight, placed back over his head and tucked into his vest. Then his left hand went to the ground to steady himself as the right one picked the walking stick torch up and held it a few inches from the ground.

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"To this day," his thoughts carried on," I don't know what to make of it."

One of the voices in his head agreed. Another voice, sounding just like it, disagreed with a sarcastic grunt.

The cold had now encompassed his entire right arm up to the neck. He looked over and saw the man holding the short sword frozen in place. One foot was in front of the other, his body leaning forward with frozen momentum. His left upper arm was extended straight out and the elbow was bent, leaving his forearm to cross his chest. His left fingers came together, almost forming a fist. His right arm was pointing behind him, with that forearm facing up towards the sky with his sword extending beyond the closed fist. Redlew noticed the sword was angled slightly to the right.

"A pity, that one will never be able to receive proper training with that weapon. All that lost cutting power," he heard in his head as he shook it. He looked to the face of this would-be attacker and sighed. The man's eyes were focused on the ground between the two of them. "Poor bloat," he thought sadly, "won't even see it coming for him." There was still a little bit of time before everything was ready to act upon, so Feiht let his mind wander back to his previous thoughts.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

He blew on the sap-covered rag and within half a breath, he heard a "whoosh" as flame engulfed it. Keeping the torch at full arms length, he stood while adjusting his pack that had gone astray on his back during his panic induced, hand-over-foot, busted assault for freedom a moment ago. He opened his eyes and an involuntary scream forced its way out of his clenched teeth.

Looking straight ahead, past his out-stretched arm, at the point where his torch and fist ended knuckle-to-knuckle, was someone looking at him past his or her own out-stretched arm and torch. He could feel blood rushing from his face while he moved his gaze upward. His eyes met the others man's eyes, which were wide with surprise of their own. Not knowing if the other man was armed, and knowing that he himself was not, he decided to play it passive for the time being.

"Would not have to play it that way if I had not had to leave Lefebvre that quickly," he thought while as he winced again at that deal gone wrong. "First time for everything though," he finished. He raised his free hand to the side of his face; palm out to show no ill intentions. At the same time he did this, the other mans free hand moved up to his own face, palm up. With realization creeping in like the tide, slow but sure, he felt like the King of Fools for the second time that night. He moved the torch back and forth and his reflection imitated him perfectly.

"Thank Kessela," he said out loud, finishing in his head, "that no one else saw me looking as scared and as white as a ghost as THAT guy did." He had to chuckle at himself. He then turned to his left and saw himself there as well. He recalled the way the stone up top had acted as a mirror under the full moons glow. Turning left, again, where he did not expect to see anything but more stairs down, he was puzzled to find his reflection just as he was on the previous two walls. He lowered the torch closer to the ground and saw that the step down he felt in the dark ended seamlessly with the third wall just inches from where his hands must have probed in the dark.

"What do you know," he stated, "I'm guessing this whole thing was one large waste of time."

### CHAPTER THREE

### THE ONE-WHO-MUST-REMEMBER

A fiery ball of light broke over the Endless Ocean that morning as it always did. It promised another scorching day as it had for the last nine hundred and seventy-eight years since the OneWhoMustRemember and his peoples' ancestors came here. Although the sun did set every evening, darkness was not allowed to settle over the land. Instead, it was as if the wagon wheel of dusk broke every night just before the coach of darkness could sweep across the land. Darkness seemed afraid to push dusk ahead to allow it access to the land. Therefore, in the half-light it hid until the harsh, heat infested daylight came once again, passing them both in bringing another day.

The OneWhoMustRemember was standing on his spot at the base of the One-Day Mountain. Tanned, stick-thin, and wrinkled fingers held back white wisps of sweat soaked hair as he gazed across the mountain peaks, the same as he had every morning since he was raised to the "OneWhoMustRemember" almost thirty years ago. His name was Brendon-Jago, or just Jago to his family. He inhaled a lung full of humid air and released it through the blackened and broken teeth that littered his mouth like stalagmites in a cave. He focused his gaze on the top most section of the mountain before him.

"A day will come," he started quoting from the first passage written in The Book of the Faithless. The book, written by the all mighty OneWhoBroughtUs nine hundred and seventy-eight years ago, was his entire life now. He could recite the whole book from memory, though some of the scriptures made little sense to him. He continued, "...when out forth from the greatest peak, riding the wind, shall Darkness' herald unfold to battle the Light."

He thought about what kind of man it took to be able to look into the future and share what he saw in writings strong and as sure as these.

"Light's power will first be weakened, and then will fade altogether. The sun will hide in fear of what is to Come. Darkness will claim the sky and shout to all of the glorious Coming."

Though he believed the words he spoke, he still could not quite fathom the power that could cause the sun itself to hide in fear. He had never seen, nor heard of, the sun not burning in the sky. He only hoped that he was still alive to see how it all came to play out.

"With Darkness' triumph, at the darkest hour, He shall be born of flesh and fire. The most substantial one amongst you will offer Him themself, and so shall be the first to enter the Eternal Darkness in His name.

The Lost and the Faithless that you are now, you will no longer be.

He will Come, and you will be His."

The sun was now half showing on the watery horizon behind him. Already, the humid air was thickening with the promise of delivering a day like yesterday, and the day before, and the day before even that one. He carefully knelt down on the rocky ground, baron of all vegetation, and clasped his hands over his eyes. He enjoyed the blackness of this "view" and always imagined himself floating in the sweet embrace of the Eternal Darkness, away from the sun and its heat. He brought to mind the last prophecy left by the OneWhoBroughtUs. No one knows what ever became of this great and powerful man. Nothing more was written by him, nor about him. It was as if after he finished the book he just simply vanished.

"I must meet him when I am within the Eternal Darkness myself," Jago thought before speaking the prophecy aloud.

"Fear this, for I say **He** will come

At a time of **HIS** choosing.

**HIS** **Hand** shall first conquer all

In preparation of what shall be.

Into **HIS** **Hand** , **HE** will have given power

Long since forgotten and discredited.

**HIS** **Hand** will open the door **Himself**

To send forth for the shadows long ago

Locked up.

They will do **HIS** bidding as though

**HIS Hand** was **HE** **HIMSELF**

The Lost and Faithless will know **Him**

And through **HIS** **Hand** , they will finally

Be reunited with **HIM** and will be Lost and Faithless no more.

You will once again be able to prey to **HIM**

Under **His** rain

And from then forth you shall be known as

The Faithful."

He knew neither what it was to "pray", nor what his "rain" was, and why you would be under it, but he did know he was anxious to find out. It must be that he was one of the mentioned "Faithless". Only he and his people existed in the whole world and the OneWhoBroughtUs named this place the "Land of the Faithless". Brendon-Jago had often wondered over the years who the mentioned "Lost" were. They were mentioned in the beginning passage, and again in the last, but not once again between.

He slowly shook his head while releasing his hands from his eyes. Sometimes to him it seemed there was just not enough information about the past, and that made the future just as confusing as the prophecies that were written in the past. He started to painfully rise from the ground while his mind was already combing over The Book of the Faithless for anything he may have missed during his countless rereading of the book, cover to cover. He knew every page by heart, and still, after he was finished here, he knew he would head straight to the Cave of Remembrance where the book was kept. He also knew he would spend the rest of the day reading the book again. He may even start to go through the twenty-eight journals composed of writings of the many OneWhoMustRemembers that came before him. Those were, for the most part, dull and uneventful. Nevertheless, somewhere, he was sure he must have missed a key word or phrase that would clear things up in his head. Finding that one thing consumed his days and nights of late.

The sun was now completely above the horizon. The Endless Ocean reflected the fully exposed sun's light in unison with the sun itself; both, he felt, aimed at the back of his neck. He shielded his eyes with one hand while holding back the whisks of hair left on his head with the other. He studied the mountain peak for any moment and noticed nothing in the way of any unnatural occurrences. He saw only the usual changing sparkles of light bathing the entire mountain, cast off the ocean. That, by itself, was a remarkable sight to be seen because the ocean was clear across not only his vast valley, but also the entire Birth Place Flats.

"It will be a record breaking hot one today," he told himself. "I would hate to miss that." He snickered to himself, though he realized his own dry sense of humor. One more gaze to the peak brought him to the close of his biggest job as the OneWhoMustRemember. He must be the first to see the Prophecy of the Coming spring to life. He must then light the bonfire staged further up the mountain, signaling to all of the Coming.

He was given a special tool to start the fire; it was called a 'fire stick'. He learned about it from his father when he was brought up to see the bonfire staging ground further up the path from where the daily watch was observed. All he had to do was point the fire stick at the ever-growing pile of sticks and wood and say the word "ignite". This would light the monstrous pile here, and would in turn signal other fires to be started, creating a bonfire chain across the mountain range for everyone to see, wherever he or she may be scattered across the Land of the Faithless.

Brendon-Jago, the OneWhoMustRemember, was sure that today was not the day of the Coming. He then turned around and started his three-hour trek down to the Cave of Remembrance, already anticipating tomorrow morning's watching of the peak.

### CHAPTER FOUR

### BRENDON-KYLE

"Papa, I brought you some food," a boy whispered.

The man opened his eyes and reality started to flood the void where sleep had abruptly taken off in search of a tired host to nap in. Lifting his head hurt his neck. He looked down and saw the Book of the Faithless opened up on the desk that had been chiseled out of the back rock wall where the Cave of Remembrance ended. He had fallen asleep while reading again. He knew because of prior experience with this, that pain would be keeping his back and neck company for a good, long time to come. His vertebrae groaned in protest to his arms straightening his upper body into a sitting position. Brendon-Jago then looked up at his son of nine years standing before him. Long, black hair fell off the boy's head and rested on lean shoulders. "It is almost time to give the boy his own headband and step him up to TheOneRemembering," he thought as he reached a hand out and patted the lads back.

"You, yourself, are too skinny, my son, to be wasting food on me," he said. "How am I to eat knowing that it is taking that same food away from you?" he asked.

"Papa, it was a gift. It came not from the people. She wanted us to h..."

"Stop right there," the OneWhoMustRemember interrupted the boy. "I am to believe that someone just gave you food, as a gift, on top of the food the People give me and my family? I am too old to believe such lies." His tone of voice remained neutral and so did his grip on the boys shoulder. Not being able to see his son much was harder on him now then it was when he was the son growing up within the outskirts of the mountain. Not seeing his father much, except for the spell when he was learning how and what to remember, taught him why the short spells like now, when he could spend time with the boy, should never be spoiled by anger.

Jago remembered how his Papa died suddenly one day, while in the middle of one of his never-really-ending rants. Jago was twelve years of age. His papa was mid-way through a word, in the middle of a myriad, tempter tantrum explosion of words cutting young Brendon-Jago down about one of, according to his papa, a never-ending list of failures attached to his son when his papa's face turned a deep red color. He placed one hand on his chest, and the other flew straight out to catch himself as he pitched forward. His inner being left his body and was off to the Eternal Darkness long before his body fell lifeless to the cave floor.

All these years later, Jago still believed it was the anger that finally killed his papa. This must have been what was meant in some of the writings held within the many books written by all the other OneWhoMustRemember before him. They wrote about how most in this station die from what was loved. "Don't love, don't get hurt," one wrote. His father had loved to yell and to be angry. In the end, he was killed by all of it that had collected within him over his entire life.

Jago planned to be much older before the boy at his side, Brendon-Kyle, was forced to take his Mama on the walk to the herding farm; the closest farm to them. That was not the hardest part of a death day, though. He truly wanted Kyle to be older for later that same day, when it was time to throw his father's body off the Cliff of Offering, located further up the One-Day Mountain. This particular cliff was where all OneWhoMustRemembers were laid to rest after entering the Eternal Darkness.

After that deed was complete, the boy would have to travel out of the mountains to see the OneWhoPlaces for a woman of his own to birth him a son. Then there was the Act of Gathering, where the newest OneWhoMustRemember must gather whatever amount of wood he could find and add it to...

A gentle arm broke him out of the daydream.

"Papa, it is the truth," the lad pleaded. "She said..."

Again, the man cut in, "Who is this 'she'?" he asked.

"The lone woman in the house next to us, Papa," the boy answered, looking his father straight in the eyes. "These potatoes came from her cellar garden. She said she boiled them last night to make them easier for her to chew, but she has grown tired of potatoes. She asked me to bring these to you and nobody else. She wanted you to know she sees how Mama treats us both when it comes to giving out the food given to us by the People. She is not going to allow another day where the men of the house eat little to nothing because someone else wants to eat all three meals brought to the house, four times a day," Kyle continued.

"I hate to keep cutting into your story," Jago said, "but as the OneWhoMustRemember, I get three PLATES of food a day, not MEALS. You should have said, 'One plate for us all to share, three times a day.' It says so in the book, and has been that way since the OneWhoBroughtUs brought us to this place over nine-hundred years ago."

"Mama changed that, Papa," the boy whispered. He knew that although his father never showed anger in front of him, he was capable of great fits that could be heard echoing across the mountain range that dominated the complete Northern section of the land. "She said that what the People were giving for food lacked substance enough for the OneWhoMustRemember. That the OneWhoMustRemember himself said he wants three meals, not plates, four times a day to make up the difference that he and the former men in his position were cheated out of. She also added that you would be mad if you had to come down and request it yourself.

After that, the people started bring three plates of food, four times a day." With all that said, the boy could not contain his excitement any longer, and placed the small woolen bag into his father's lap. He then looked up at Papa's face with an almost blank expression.

Whispered or not, the way the boy said what he did told Jago that the lad really did not know what a horrible thing his mother had done. "No matter," Jago thought, "I WILL come down off this mountain soon, and mad will not even begin to describe my mood that day."

He then untied the sack and dumped the contents into his lap. Four of the largest potatoes he had ever seen came tumbling out. He picked one up and was amazed to find himself unable to touch his thumb to any one of his fingers. He looked at his boy and smiled pleasantly. The boy's face mirrored the smile and he sat down on the rock floor at his father's feet.

"You did well, Kyle," Brendon-Jago said handing down the biggest of the four potatoes. As any good father should, he made sure his son had what he needed to survive before taking care of himself. It overflowed the hands of the youth and the wide eyes of the boy made him smile and shake his head. Seeing his son gobbling away at the potato truly did bring joy to the man's otherwise work consumed life. He picked the smallest of the large potatoes left and placed it on the desk, before handing down the last two to Kyle. "How is your Mother, Kyle?" he asked as the two of them made eye contact over the food. He could not possibly mistake the sour scowl of hatred that swept over the boy's face.

"Ok," was the one word reply Kyle gave as he stuffed another large chuck of soft potato into his mouth and looked down at the rock floor between his feet.

Papa stood and walked to the mouth of the cave. He bent down and picked up a bucket that had been hiding in a carved hollow within the rock wall. Walking back to his son, he paused at the chiseled shelf of stone made along the right side of the cave wall. He picked up a wooden cup and continued on his way to where the boy was sitting. He placed the bucket on the floor in front of Kyle and then picked up the smaller potato he had placed on the desk before sitting himself on the floor in front of the bucket. He dipped the cup into the bucket and drew up the cool, clean water that collected there. The water was dew that was gravity fed into the bucked from the smooth walls of the cave each morning after the cool nights. He handed the cup to Kyle, whose eyes went wide at the sight of it all, and asked, "Kyle... about your mother?"

His son finished the drink in a few swallows and Jago motioned for the boy to take another cupful, never minding that it would take almost a week of collecting the dew to replace just the small amount of water already consumed.

Kyle set the cup on the ground next to the bucket and looked up at his Papa. "She is much, much worse then when you saw her at your last visit, Papa," the lad spoke. "She tells me not to say anything if I have nothing good to say, but all she ever does is complain about how life was not supposed to turn out this way. I do everything around the house, as I should, while she sits on the chair and calls ME a good-for-nothing following-in-HIS-footsteps lazy body." Then, after Kyle realized what he said, even if it was the words told to him, and the way he emphasized the word "HIS" as his mother always did, made him stop for a second and think how his father may have take it. He did not like what he thought his father's reaction would be because he shrunk himself into a ball on the floor. The potatoes were forgotten about, and the boy started to quiver and shake. "I'm sorry, Papa, I'm sorry. I will not talk bad about anyone again, I promise. Please, not the chair, Papa! Do not do what she does with the chair, Papa, please! I will watch what I say, I will. Yes, I will. Please, please, please!! She said you taught her it for when I was misbehaving, but please don't do it, Papa!"

The OneWhoMustRemember found he was confused. What thing was it that she does? What within the Land of the Faithless was that about? As well as the ending plea that would have been a match for someone begging over the butcher block for his or her life.

"What thing?" he asked. He only, after asking, realized how little of value a question like that was at a time like this. He set the potato he had in his hand down on the chair in front of the desk and slid around the water bucket over to the boy's trembling body. He stroked the boy's hair, and with a few words had coaxed the lad into a sitting position next to him on the cool rock floor. While putting one arm around the boy's shoulder, he drew him in closer and rapped his other hand around him from the front. They sat like that for quite some time before the sobs of pain and anguish subsided from the boy, not long after his shaking did. His breathing had evened out, and Papa knew that it would not be long before sleep had another host to occupy.

"It is time for me to go now, Kyle. The sun will be rising in a few hours," the man said. He released the child from his protective hug, and lifted the boy's chin with his hand. "When I come back, I have many things to show you and to talk to you about. I want you to rest now. Your mother is not here, and I cannot foresee her walking all the way up here at anytime. It is safe, and it would be good for you to get some sleep."

He reached over to his chair and grabbed the boiled potato, the only one that was not either eaten or mashed when Kyle balled himself up earlier, and placed it in the lad's hands. He picked up the cup from beside the bucket and filled it to the top with water before setting it down on the floor next to Kyle. He then dipped his hand into the bucket and placed it to his own mouth. He stood up and walked back to the cave opening where he replaced the bucket into the notch carved into the rock. He turned around and saw Kyle staring back at him. He waved his hand and smiled at the boy, who smiled back warmly while waving the hand not holding his potato. Brendon-Kyle turned and walked out of the Cave of Remembrance and the OneWhoMustRemember started his climb of the One-Day Mountain to look for a sign that the Coming was here.

### CHAPTER FIVE

### SONG OF THE GODS

Brystal Silverhand, who armed with a twelve-sting guitar and his knee-drums, began the simple song he chose to lead off tonight's entertainment at the Bladed Hammer with.

(In a beat not unlike YMCA-Village People)

I say, BE-FORE

The world was formed quite this way,

Yes, much BE-FORE

Be-fore OUR time of day,

There was no lore,

There was not, but a void

Inside the Mo-ther of Go-ods

**SHE** made

The feeling of "lonely"

And then **SHE** made,

**DEATH** to keep her company,

And then **SHE** made

Sons and daughters

You'll agree,

That's great! But where to kee-eep them?

(Guitar thrums five times and, together with drums, blends into a merrier jingle)

The world was made

By the Mother of Gods,

A home to call Their own.

A place for each

To rest Their heads

And rule upon Their throne.

For this, They vowed

They would repay

With gifts from each ones station,

**SHE** then sat back

To watch **HER** kids

While They played w' **HER** creation.

Played with **HER** creation.

Christina DeBold

Or so I've been told,

Is the one God who loves us the best.

**She** had the world at her feet,

But then **she** took a seat,

And hugged all the land to her breast.

There **she** has stayed,

Since the day **she** was made,

And **she** loves it, so try not to cry.

Our lives we would lose

If **Christina** did choose

To unhug us and let us all fly.

Gravi-tee is **her** gift,

For without it we'd lift

Along with all things great and tiny.

That hug keeps us bound,

That's the reason, I've found,

When you trip, you soon land on your hinny.

(The beat tempo rise slightly)

**Bal'Derick Kessela's** small stocky frame

Bent down with ease and grace

**HE** dug **HER** a crater fifty leagues,

For **MOM** to wash **HER** face.

The dirt **He** dug went not to waste,

**HE** threw it with his hand.

Great mounds and hills **He** did create

Con – tor – ing **His** land.

Great thorny bushes

**HE** made next,

Then added stocks of grasses.

**HIS** throne he placed

Under all this

With hollow downward passes,

Hollow downward passes.

**Tuskin Veemara** gazed upon **His** part –

Its weakness made **Him** moan.

On **His** knees, **He** punched the dirt

And turned it into stone.

**He** grabbed the stone

And pulled it up

Each mountain **He** made higher.

**He** shaped them

As a stone tooth cloak

Protecting **His** home's spire.

Protecting **His** home's spire.

**His** land, like **He** , was now rock tough

**He** was the first stonemason

And as **His** gift, **His** white caps melt

To fill **His** mother's basin,

Fill **His** mother's basin.

**Everon Ferlaymin** , tall and thin,

Moved like a re – leased bow string.

The God could laugh, the God could dance

But God help **Him** – mim to sing!

Ha-ha-ha—ho-ho-ho and a

Fidder-fadder-pidder-padder-bay

Tra-ha-ha—see-sigh-say and a

Golly heck ain't life gay?

**He** squatted down,

Cupped hands on dirt

And sang "The Song of First Birth"

Then **He** jumped back

Arms crossed on chest,

A' watching **His** first tree's girth.

The Mother Tree gave birth to more

And soon a forest be–came

**He** added birds and animals

And these **He** let **His** mom name.

And these **He** let **His** mom name.

Oak trees, redwood, pine and fir;

With maple, figs and spruces.

Chipmunks, woodchucks, squirrels and rabbits

Eagles, hawks and gooses.

All the creatures

Great and small

To make them, **He** made his choir.

And when **His** mom

Did name them all,

**He** started making **HER** more.

Started making **HER** more.

(Music now becomes dark, sinister and slow)

**Sinasin Toyvoe** ,

Thin and stickly.

Ghost white skin

Made Death feel sickly.

Bad attitude?

When it was not hard and prickly.

Not friendly,

Made solitude and quickly.

(Drums become deep bass and guitar light and fluffy)

**She** took most of Eastland

By decree

From the lake side

To the sea

Made it swampy

Just like **She**

In it monsters

**She** set free.

As **Her** gift

**She** guards the door

From lake beaches

To the shore

**She** is so deadly

To the core,

So of **Her**

I'll say no more.

In the pause between one verse and the next, Brystal Silverhand, Gleeman extraordinaire, got a very sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. Brystal knew that feeling very well, probably better than anyone alive. Somewhere to the West, magic was being used, and from the distance from which it was felt, a lot of it was in play. His hands and feet kept producing the music that held the crowd like a poisonous snake he had once seen almost become hypnotized by a man playing a lute for coin in the mostly human populated city of Caverndose, a fair distance to the West and South of where he was now in Bek'noni.

Silverhand used one of the oldest spells known to him and partitioned off two small amounts of his mind. One to monitor the wild display of magic to the West, and then another to comb through his memory in hopes of finding anything out about the magic itself. He could not recall off the cusp what base of magic it was, and that was troubling him. He had always thought of himself as an expert on the subject.

"You don't live as long as I and work your trade as long as I and not become an expert in the field," his latest book of memoirs, "The Dissipation of Magic", began. Over the last few centuries, the number of those with the natural born innate qualities to use the residual flows of energy, used when the world was first created, has been dwindling. The energy, over the last four hundred and twenty-seven years, has remained constant. Of this, he was sure. The exact reason fewer and fewer beings could call upon the flows greatly baffled him. Though he thought he knew every combination of the basic five Groups of Flows, and being one of the only masters of all, the fact that the feeling in his stomach was one that, for all his many years alive, he could not put to words as any spell he recognized, unnerved him. It was actually frightening. "Better play it safe," he thought. As anxious as he was to find the answers, he slowed the part of him that was combing his knowledge, just for the added comfort of making certain that if he had ever heard, or read of it, he would find it without question the first time around his mental storeroom.

With him confident that the magic being used was stationary, he continued his performance, adding a little more fun and fanfare to the music and words. If for nothing else then to make himself look as though nothing was wrong.

**Gullisen Jentry** ,

Barbaric God,

Seven foot tall, if an inch,

With muscles a' plenty

A heavenly body,

So brave **He** knew not how to flinch.

**He** pointed **His** arm

Towards the North and the West

Where the water had froze into ice.

**He** winked, God the charm

Then said, "Truly, I jest?

Nay, the harshest of life will suffice."

(The music calms down and sounds more like a love ballot)

His kind heart keeps **Him** warm there,

To **Him** it's the norm there

**His** ice castle did form there

Where there's always a storm there

(The music picks back up to the same tempo as before)

As **His** gift,

**His** cold winds blow

For the five

Sea-sons to know

That the time for their change

Has drawn near,

From Spiring to Seednier

To Sumner and Faltumn,

With Wanter to conclude the year.

The sick feeling in his stomach, without any kind of warning, multiplied to such an extent that his legs buckled and his hands cramped up. He found himself with just enough time to lay his twelve-string flat on his lap before he involuntarily doubled over it. He used every ounce of self-control he possessed to squash the urge to empty his stomach right then and there.

Thunder could be heard rumbling from the West, an extension of the storm he felt brewing from within him. It was the cause of the nausea sweeping through his guts, and he just realized that it had just jumped forward at least half the distance that was separating him from the unknown magic source when he first sensed it.

One of the serving girls, who had been delivering more of the constantly flowing rounds of ale and rum, heard the music as it suddenly stopped and looked over in time to see Brystal double over. She, as well as a number of spectators in the audience, gasped in surprise. She dropped her serving try on the closest table to her and jolted over to the now trembling musician. Putting her face close to his, she could not only see the many beads of perspiration forming on the man's forehead, but she was able to see just how bad of a condition he truly was in.

"Are you OK, sir?" she asked while producing a clean rag from the inside of her left sleeve. As the woman brought the rag up to wipe his brow, a trembling hand shot off the instrument and clutched her forearm with such speed and surprising strength, the girl let out a little squeak of fright.

"Mikel," Brystal forced out with all his might, thought it sounded more like almost a whisper. With his throat clenched almost as tight as his jaw, he did not have the energy to increase the volume. At this point, he was not even sure he could repeat the two-syllable name again without losing control of his body and the urge to sick up. He did not release his one-step-below-a-death-grip on her arm until he saw recognition in her eyes and knew that she knew that he wanted her to go get Mikel Bourque, the Barbarian owner of the Bladed Hammer. He did not know what his friend would be able to do other then just get him out of the common room. That in itself would be enough, he reasoned. He needed to go somewhere quieter, somewhere where he would be able to think and not have everyone staring at him as if he was dying right in front of him or her. He had many things to go over and try to reason out, and the storm he felt was on the top of the list. He saw the barmaid as she started running in between the wall and the throngs of people who were just now starting to get up off their chairs with worried, or just curious, looks.

"What manor of mayhem," he started thinking, when he was interrupted by the deafening thud of the front door to the inn as it slammed open, carrying with it, the sounds of someone shouting from outside.

### CHAPTER SIX

### AS IT WERE WRITTEN

When Brendon-Jago, the OneWhoMustRemember, returned to the Cave of Remembrance, he found Kyle stretched out on the floor where they were sitting almost seven hours ago. However, the cave, as a whole, looked much cleaner. The rock floor must have been swept, for the lack of the normal dirt and dust that had graced it since he could remember. He pulled the bucket out from the wall and was astonished to find it almost full to the very top. For the first time in a long while, he let his own self-preservation dictate his actions. He allowed himself not one handful of the clean liquid, but three. Jago replaced the bucket and stood to walk to his son when something new caught his attention.

It was a brown woolen bag on the floor under the rock out cropping shelf holding his wooden cup and a few miscellaneous items. He walked over to it and opened it up to find it full of potatoes and carrots; both boiled. He put one of each on his stone desk and sat down to partake in this true feast, all the while watching his boy sleep on the ground next to him. He did not care where the food or water came from, tradition or not. This gift was one of the most thoughtful gifts he had received, except for his son, in the thirty years since he had given up all life was to watch for the sign. "Kyle," he said softly, not wanting to scare the boy, "wake up."

Kyle started moving.

"I'm very pleased to see what you did to the cave, my son," he said when the boys eyes started opening. "It looks wonderful. The food and water, too, were a surprise I could not thank you enough for with words."

"Huh? What?" the boy asked while rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands. "What food and water, Papa? I did nothing to the cave. I hate to disappoint you, but I slept right here the entire time you were away." The boy sat up and looked around the cave. His eyes went wide with surprise. "It was not a dream then," he said slowly. "I-I-I thought I had a strange dream about being kissed on the forehead by Mama, which would be strange because she hasn't kissed me since I can remember.

I looked up and saw the woman next door kneeling over me. You know, the same one who gave me the potatoes to give to you. The way she was looking down at me made me imagine I was a little babe in her arms, Papa. I felt all warm on the inside, though not with fever like I did last year. Remember that time, Papa? I felt like I rolled down the mountain for over a wee-".

"Kyle," Papa interrupted him, "back to your 'dream' and the woman, ok?"

"Yes, sire. I was looking up at her and then she rubbed my cheek with the backside of her hand and kissed my forehead. She whispered something about me being the one to make all her dreams come true, and then she kissed my forehead again. I can almost feel the warm sweet breath against my skin. Papa, it was wonderful... and it must not have been a dream at all.

Why would she do that, Papa? And why clean the cave at all? Doesn't she know that is Mama's job? Not that Mama ever did it and why-"

The OneWhoMustRemember held out his hand silencing the boy. "Some things are not for you to know, little one," he said. "I have plenty of things for you to learn and know for when you become what I am now." He picked up the Book of the Faithless and discovered a piece of goatskin folded up underneath. He started to unfold the skin, and saw writing. He folded it back up and slipped it into his robe pocket.

"Odd," he thought. "Nobody reads and writes except for those who look for the sign, and the military commanders." Brendon-Jago knew after his lesson with Kyle that there would be enough time to read the skin and his questions about it would be answered, but priorities were priorities. He sat himself down on the ground and leaned his back against the slopping wall right next to his son.

"Kyle," he said while looking directly into Kyle's eyes, "it is now time for you to start studying the book so that you will one day be ready to take my place looking for the sign. It is not an easy thing to do, as most people believe, but it must be done so all will be ready when the Coming arrives. Let us start from the beginning.

I want you to read." He handed the boy the leather wrapped book and saw the look of wonder on his son's face as he held the book for the first time. For quite a while now, Kyle had been coming up from their home, nestled at the base of the mountain, for his lessens on reading and writing. He was a gifted learner and had no problems mastering in under a year what Papa had taken many years to learn. "Go ahead my son. Open it. Read it. And remember it."

Kyle slowly placed the book on his lap and carefully opened the book cover. There was no introduction to the book, nor was there any formal beginning. Kyle read aloud in a weak voice, just loud enough for his Papa to hear, sitting right next to him.

"A day will come when out forth from the greatest peak, riding the wind, shall darkness's Harold unfold to battle the Light. Light's power of will first be weakened, and then will fade altogether. The sun will hide in fear of what is to Come. Darkness will claim the sky and shout to all of the glorious Coming.

With Darkness's triumph, at the blackest hour, He shall be born of flesh and fire. The most substantial one amongst you will offer Him them self, and so shall be the first to enter the Eternal Darkness in His name.

The Lost and the Faithless that you are now, you will no longer be.

He will come, and you will be His."

Kyle paused for a second before asking the question, "What does it all mean, Papa?"

"That is the prophecy of why our people must wait here. There is someone great who will come into our lives, and we must be here to serve him. The 'how's' and 'why's' of the matter are not known to anyone. But the OneWhoBroughtUs led us here for this one reason almost a thousand years ago."

"Wow," was the reply from Kyle, still in awe of not only being allowed to hold the hallowed Book of the Faithless, but also at being able to read from it.

Brendon-Jago continued his explanation, "Every morning before dawn I make my way up to the One-Day Mountain to look for the sign of that Coming. I really don't know exactly what to look for, but nothing changes morning to morning, so I fear not that I have missed anything."

"So you go up there, every day, looking for something, but you don't know what? That doesn't make sense, Papa," Kyle said after a moment of careful consideration.

"Let us read some more pages for today, and it should answer some of the confusion you have. Keep in mind though, that even I do not know what some of the things written in the book mean. For whatever reason, the knowledge had either never been given to us by the OneWhoBroughtUs, or we have been ignorant and lost that knowledge forever.

"I don't know which, but we still know enough to do our job, and that is the topmost of what matters," the OneWhoMustRemember stated. Then he motioned to the book as a sign to begin the next passage.

Kyle took a deep breath and began.

((((()))))

"I have brought you here to allow you an escape from certain death. Death those who robbed Darkness of its hold on the land would have carried forth unto you. I have brought you here so the less than one-hundred that you are now can multiply and grow stronger.

I have brought you here because it is here that Darkness will be reborn for you.

I have brought you here to follow these rules I lay down in order for you and those of you yet to come, to have the revenge you deserve and should demand.

I have brought you here to obey my words.

I have brought you here to wait for the Darkness.

For that reason:

I have brought the blacksmiths here to create their forges. From these all shall benefit as a mass of weapons will be created. Never stop, never slow, never tire in your efforts. For you shall fuel the Pain of Darkness against the Light.

I have brought the crop farmers to plant their crops. From these all shall benefit. Never stop, never slow, never tire in your efforts. For you will feed the Pain of Darkness against the Light.

I have brought the cattle farmers to raise their cattle. From these all shall benefit. Never stop, never slow, never tire. For you will clothe and feed the Pain of Darkness against the Light.

I have brought the soldiers to train for battle. From them all shall benefit. Never stop, never slow, never tire. For you will BE the Pain of Darkness against the Light.

You will all live here, in the Land of the Faithless, working TOWARDS Darkness FOR Darkness.

All children born shall be given over to the farms to be first raised, and then work for Darkness.

When the sons reach the age of ten full years, they will see the OneWhoPlaces. The first six will take their place and train with the soldiers. So they shall until the Eternal Darkness takes them back home. The next two will take their place with the crop farmers to make food for all. And so they shall until the Eternal Darkness takes them back home. The next two will take their place with the cattle farmers to supply all the meat and skins. And so they shall until the Eternal Darkness takes them home. That cycle shall continue indefinitely.

When the daughters reach the age of fourteen full years, they will be given over to the apartments. There they will become one with child to begin the life cycle anew. When the women in the apartments are too old to produce, they will move to the farms to assist in raising the newborn children.

The children are under no obligation to do as the OneWhoPlaces dictates; however, the soldiers are, from this moment forth, ordered to send those deviants into the Eternal Darkness.

One among you will be tasked with remembering my words. You will watch for the sign of the Coming. From this, all shall benefit. He will take a woman and she will take with his child. She will continue birthing until her newborn is a male.

If daughters are brought forth from her womb, they shall go to the farms.

The male child shall stay with the son-bringer of the OneWhoMustRemember, until he is old enough to learn the signs of the Coming. He will take his fathers place when time and situation demands it.

Shelter shall be given to the OneWhoMustRemember, together with his woman and child. For his job is not to build, but to watch. Clothing shall be given to the OneWhoMustRemember and his family. For his job is not to raise cattle, but to watch. Protection shall be given to the OneWhoMustRemember and his family. For his job is not to fight, but to watch. Lastly, food shall be given to the son-bringer of the OneWhoMustRemember, for it is not the watcher's job to grow or prepare food. The Son-Bringer will take the food and serve her husband, her son and herself from three plates of food daily given."

((((()))))

Kyle paused his reading and looked up into his father's eyes. "Papa, I understand why you are angry with Mama about the food, now."

Children often did say the least expected things at times. He did believe the boy, when Kyle said he understood; if only not on the grander scale of a fully-grown man. He really looked closely at Kyle just then, and what he saw took him back a little. There, sitting where his little boy was just moments ago, was an independent thinking adolescent on the verge of manhood.

"Well," he continued thinking, "maybe not manhood yet, but he is certainly not a little boy any longer."

"Papa, do I have any sisters?" the boy asked out of the blue, snapping his father's attention back from the private thoughts he was lost in.

Papa gently took the open book from Kyle's lap and placed it on his own after closing it. Here it was, the moment he had remembered for all these long years. Only now, he was the grown one looking down into his son's eyes instead of up into his own father's. Though he knew from experience that this question, for a child, was innocent enough, it was still one of the questions he had secretly wished there were no words to form for the asking of it.

All too clearly, he could see his father's far-off distant look after he asked the very same question, thirty-five some odd years ago. That look did not last but a heartbeat or two before anger took the helm of his father's emotions. He could remember first seeing sparks of that anger as it danced around his sire's squinted eyes. Growing up, he always knew his father could hit hard, he was reminded time and time again of that fact. And this time was no different. In one long drawn out moment in time, which had been permanently etched into his memory, his father proved it again.

They were standing in front of the Cave of Remembrance when as a boy, Jago asked the same question. He saw those angry eyes settle on him, and though he knew not what it was, he knew he had made a mistake. That knowledge was heightened when he saw his Papa's left arm slowly draw back around his right side. His Papa drew it back far enough where he actually had to pivot his hips to finish the windup. With crisp detail that only the mind has capabilities to capture, in slow motion he saw that arm and body combination pause slightly as they reached the end of travel in that direction before beginning its forward assault.

It was as though his hand was one of the leather wrapped grass balls attached to a tendon off one animal or another the younger Soldiers of Darkness used when first learning about the theory of "continued killing". The tendon would be attached to a stake in the ground and the soldier would hit the leather ball with a wooden practice sword. It would shoot forward until the tendon stretched tight, where the ball would pause as if unsure of what to do. The next thing the young soldier knew, the ball was shooting back at him from the force of the recoiling tendon. It was the soldier's job to swing the sword and hit it again and again. Swing to the left swing, to the right, repeatedly and "SMACK", one day-dream ended and the prior one continued. His father backhanded him so hard he was swept off his feet and landed in a crumpled heap a few paces to his father's left side.

"Boy," Jago's father spit out angrily, "of course you have sisters. You took long enough to come. You broke your Mama's heart by forcing her to give up her own flesh and blood for the promise of being able to keep a boy. Don't you dare ask anything like that again.

"Do you hear me?"

After no reply was given, his father stalked up to him. Not to help him up, but to better stare down at him. His voice lowered into a growl, "I thought I asked you a question, boy.

"Do you hear me?"

All young Brendon-Jago could do was nod, for pain, fear, and shock had taken his voice away. Tears had also taken his vision. He saw the blurry bulk of his father as he bent towards him and though he was already sprawled on the rocky ground, he involuntarily tried to shrink lower. His father's huge arms reached down and effortlessly lifted him up to his feet.

"Go see your mother and have her clean you up," his Papa told him. "You tell her you fell down on your way up here. I will be down to eat later. You make sure she had not eaten yet, boy."

Brendon-Jago had yet to break the two vows he made unto himself while stumbling over the rocky ground, on the six-hour trek back down the mountain to the small house where his mother would be. The first was he would never physically hurt his future son as he so many times had been. Second, he would always be the last to eat, so his family would not go hungry as he had so many times.

Either his father would come home, or more often then not, his mother would walk the three plates up to his father who would be in the cave. Papa would eat most of the food, but was caring enough to save some gristle or scraps for he and his Mom to share. While the memory faded out, Jago fingered the scar that ran down his face from where his left eye met his nose to his upper left lip. A forever remembrance of the cut he received that day. It was now the symbol of his loyalty to his family. He looked down at his son and realized now how the Cycle of Life continued and yet at the same time, could be changed by those wishing it.

"You have many sisters Kyle," he said warmly with happiness in his eyes. "They are all working towards Darkness, for Darkness, as we were taught. Please do not ask who they are, for I know not who they are these days. They, however, were gifts to my soul as each was born.

"Do not, as well, ask your mother about them. The pain of giving them up for you still haunts her. She thought she should, and would, have a boy the first time with child. It was not until the twenty-fifth that you finally came." He patted the boys back gently.

"So that's why Mama hates me so, and why life for her did not turn out the way she thought?" Kyle asked.

Twice in one day, the boy surprised him with the understanding that should have been well out of reach for one his age. Not wanting to lie to his son, he admitted that even though he firmly believes Mama loves him true, the fact was, yes, his mother did believe she should have had a son the very first try. It was a belief that stained her attitude about her life in general. It could not be her fault, so blame was naturally passed first to Jago, and then to the child upon his birth.

"She holds it more against me, as a father, then you, as the son," he said sadly, while patting the boy's knee. He continued, "She has said, too many times to forget, that if I had been more of a man, I would have gotten it right the first time. As if I really had any control of the outcome of events such as that." He chuckled before saying, "And always remember this, most of all, that to me you are the son that not only have I always wanted, but you are the son I always tried to be for my father, but always seemed to fail at."

"Papa, if you would not be offended," Kyle began, "I would like to say that you are the bestest father I have ever had, and I believe that maybe, if your father had been more like you, he would have been the bestest father you ever had, too." Kyle then turned to face his father.

The OneWhoMustRemember reached up with a finger and wiped a tear from his eye. "That was the kindest thing anyone has ever said to me, Brendon-Kyle, thank you," he said and then took his son into his arms and held him tight.

After Kyle left for the evening, having first eaten a real dinner of carrots, potatoes, and water, the OneWhoMustRemember made his way inside his cave for a short nap before he was to make his daily pilgrimage up the three-hour trail to see if the new day would be THE day. If it were not, he had planned to go have words with Odeesma, Kyle's mother. It needed to be done. However, that also meant he would have just as little time to sleep tomorrow.

"Being the 'bestest' father he ever had does come with sacrifices. But they are indeed well worth it," he thought as sleep wrapped her arms around him, making him forget still of the unread note in his pocket that had been placed under the Book of the Faithless.

### CHAPTER SEVEN

### WHAT'S LEFT TO REMEMBER

Making his way back down from the mountain, after yet another disappointing morning watch, Brendon-Jago started to try to sort out the broken remnants of the dream still floating around in his head. He could not remember exactly what he dreamed during his short slumber, but the feeling of doom, gloom, and a deep cutting sadness were still ricocheting through his entire body, mingling with all the pain and numbness associated with the minimal sleep on the stone floor of his cave.

He was actually thankful, for that reason, to be making the six-hour walk down off the mountain to the little outlying village of WillSeeFirst, where his actual home was. His house was on the far outskirts of the tiny village, with only one other house within a two-hour walk, but he was more then content with the quiet and solitude it offered. The trek was usually something he despised making, except for the brief time he had to see Kyle.

Today, though, he needed to stretch his body and a long walk would give him the time to do that. As well as ponder the dreams he still could not quite remember. Each time he thought he was getting the scrambled slivers of dreams to form something coherent, thoughts of his purpose for this trip invaded his mind and re-scrambled, in a whirlwind, those fragments again. He knew he would have to finish his business first to be at peace enough to devote his entire concentration to the task of his dreams.

"Another reason to be all that much more mad at that fool of a woman," he mumbled to himself. "As if she needs another reason for that," he added with a violent nod of his head.

Putting the dreams up on a shelf in his mind, he began to make a mental checklist of what this voyage should accomplish. There was the whole subject of the extra meals that woman of his had taken it upon herself to have delivered in the name of the 'OneWhoMustRemember'. Hand in hand with that, was she now got three times as many plates of food, but his son was still much too skinny; a by-product of Kyle not getting any more food than he was before the increase, which was not enough even then.

Those two things, as well as finding out what "little thing" it was he was supposed to have taught his wife to use on their son when he misbehaved were on the top of that list. Also on his list, was having Kyle say goodbye to his mother; not for good, but it would take many weeks for him to teach his son everything he knows about being the OneWhoMustRemember. He would have Kyle read and reread not only the Book of the Faithless, but also all the other writings of the many OneWhoMustRemembers that came before them both. Hand in hand with that, he was now going to start taking Kyle up the mountain to witness the watching of the sign.

The thought of spending that much time with his son brightened his mood greatly. The rest of the trip to his village flew by, as he jumped from one scenario to another about how he was taught by his father, and more importantly, how he was not going to teach Kyle in the same manner; no slaps for wrongdoings, no yelling, cursing or fighting of any kind. He assumed that his father had taught him as his own had taught. It probably went back like that for generation after generation, each one getting meaner and more violent than the last. He was going to break that cycle once and for all.

He would also have to find out the reason of why that woman would have cleaned his cave and stockpiled food and drink there.

"Oh, hello there, Jago, what a pleasant surprise," a voice sang out towards his right.

Being so into his thoughts, he did not even realize the outskirts of his village were in sight. His long haul was almost at its halfway pause before he and his son were to be walking back up the path. He looked up and stumbled slightly as his eyes locked on her.

"Coleena!" his mind screamed out. As the name was still echoing throughout his head, his memories of her flooded out of their forgotten hiding places like screaming ghosts who demanded attention right then and there.

She was his first crush, his first true love, his first kiss. They grew up right next to one another and spent all day, every day, together. Life back then, when his papa was up on the mountain, was a magical paradise of fun, laughter and excitement. At least it was up until the week or so before his tenth birthday.

The two of them had been lying on their backs in the shade cast off his house, talking of the future and what it held for each of them.

"I want to marry you," he remembered saying. He recalled how she got up on her knees and looked down at him.

He had to struggle hard that day not to reach up and try to run his hands through her long, black hair. It was parted in the middle, and the left side hung down over that half of her face. At the point where the centerline of her hair met her forehead, a braid as large around as her mother's index finger began. The braid glided down to just above her right ear where it slithered into her hair, hugging her scalp. Going under her hair from there to the backside of her head, it resurfaced and was coiled back to the front to make another burro just above where it had made its first. Another two raps were made around the dark, thin and shinny strands of hair that flowed down the right side of her head. On the third return, it bore in above the other two strands and instead of going back in and around, it went in and then down under the rows of braids where it was tucked behind her ear. It was then left to cascade down her neck and out of sight behind her shoulder. The style not only had half of her face showing, even if the wind blew, and one half that never saw the light of day, or the light of night. It was always the center of his boyish fantasies; about actually one day moving that hair out of the way and, once and for all, kissing her.

"Military Commanders marry, silly, but if we could, I want you to prove it," she said with a teasing nudge to his shoulder.

"How?" he asked. Never before had he been asked to prove something like that.

"You have to ask me, that's how," she said. "It's as simple as that."

He stood up and gazed down at her. "Will you marry me?" he asked innocently.

"No," she replied.

He felt crushed inside, more than he ever did at the hands of his father. Tears started welling up in his eyes.

"Why not?" he asked her, while feeling like he should find somewhere dark and far away to spend the rest of his life.

She giggled and said, "Because that's not the way you ask someone. You are standing and I am kneeling, this is backwards. Now you will just have to do it again, and do it right."

He was feeling rather confused, but found it hard to resist her words. He did as she asked and kneeled down only after he helped her stand up.

"Will you," he started.

"No," she said. "You are not holding my hand and you need to." He gently reached up, took one of her hands in his, and tried to start anew.

"No, I don't think this will do it all," she talked over him. She started looking angrier as her right eye narrowed and her words came out like liquid fire erupting from her mouth. "You need to give me flowers so I can hold them while you are talking. If you do not think I am pretty enough for flowers, how can you expect me to say 'yes' to you, Jago?

"You need to look up at me and say my name. If you don't, how do you expect me to know I am the one you are asking?

"At that point, I could think you are talking to someone else and that would break my heart, Jago. You would not want to break my heart, would you?" she asked as if she expected him to say "yes".

By this time, Brendon-Jago had just lost every shred of patience his almost ten-year-old mind had. He looked around and saw no one else. "How could you think I would be talking to someone else when we are the only people around?" He felt himself getting angrier and then something within his mind bent, or twisted.

"She wants to know who I'm talking to?" he asked himself. "Fine," he replied to himself.

He took her left hand in both of his as he glared up at her. "Coleena," he said while tapping the backside of her hand, which he held tightly within his own. His left hand turned her hand around enough to expose the top side of his. "Jago," he added while tapping the upper side of his own hand.

"You may go on," Coleena said with a grin showing on the open half of her face.

He inhaled to tell her, "Never mind, if you are going to start acting all crazy with being mad at me one second and then smiling at me the next, and always telling me what to do, I don't think I want to marry you", but as soon as her breath, upon which her words rode, touched his nose, all his resistance was gone.

All tension drain from his body as he looked up at Coleena. His will power melted. The sun was starting to reach the point where it was completely covered by the mountain range behind her. The dying rays of sunlight haloed the most beautiful creature he had ever had the pleasure of knowing. She was happy, smiling even, looking down at him. "I'm a lucky person," he thought, as time seemed to almost stand still.

"Coleena's breath. Ahhhhhhhhh," he thought. He always looked forward to the times he was close enough to her mouth to catch even just a whiff of her breath as she talked. He could never quite explain why he loved her particular breath the way he did, but he did love it. Now here he was, kneeling down in front of her like her very own Knight of Darkness, and she, his Queen, with the sun light calling her name in harmonious song all around her. He almost felt like crying, the feeling was so strong. He knew in his heart that he would do anything she ever wanted of him if only for a smile like that. "She is looking down at me, and she is SMILING," he thought again. "I really am the luckiest man alive."

"Jago, dear," Coleena said, still beaming a smile and looking very proud to be standing there that day, "I said you may continue. Now do it, this time, like you mean it." Her words were no longer cold; they were like little butterflies of all different shapes, sizes and colors riding on the wind created by her breath. He felt spongy and not quite solid on the inside as he breathed in the warm air still carrying her scent. Looking up into her eye, he wished with all his heart to be able to say the right thing this time. "Remember the emotions," he heard a voice, sounding like Coleena's, sing from the depths of his mind. He gently turned his wrist back and sandwiched her hand and both of his.

"Coleena," young Jago said, "the Coleena that lives next to me, Jago, the very Coleena whose heart I would never break, you are the very Coleena that I, Jago, want to spend my life with. The same Coleena, standing in front of me, Jago, I want to give to you my love and my heart for all time. Will you marry me and someday become my wife?" he asked.

"That sounded good," he thought. It amazed him that he could actually talk like that, with his head swimming as it was. And to say it all without making a mistake was almost too good to be true. He could see a tear forming in her eye as the exposed half of her mouth started to quiver. She reached her left hand up under her hair and it paused there. A long moment of silence followed.

Already full of frustration, the pause and quietness unseated him. He dropped her hand and stood up, ready to find that dark place to spend his life. In that one second he was angry and feeling like his life was over. In the next second, however, he found himself wrapped up in Coleena's arms with her mouth pressing against his. A shadow fell over the couple as they stood there, his arms to his side, dumbfounded, and hers circling around his neck.

She gasped as he was lifted into the air and out of her arms. The shadow belonged to Jago's papa. The look on his face spoke of the anger and hostility it usually did, but there was something else mixed in with it that even to this day Jago could not put his finger on.

"You are not welcome around here girl," his father said. "I don't ever want you to come near my son and that goes for your mother as well. Take this note she wrote and bring it back to her. You tell her my son and I are leaving for the cave, and if she knows what is good for her, she will never again go there," he spat. "Do you understand, heathen?" he asked. "Go, now," he said when she lowered her eyes and nodded. She did just that, and to this very day, his papa's command had been followed.

"You stay away from her boy," his father told Jago while setting the boy down. He turned his son around to face him. "She and her mother are liars and nothing but trouble. Never again will you talk to her." He led Jago into the house and packed the few simple belongings he had collected through his short life. Later that day, Jago was led up the mountain to the Cave of Remembrance where he stayed for a long, long time. His father never said another word on the subject. Before long, all real thoughts of Coleena faded away and then disappeared altogether.

The sound of giggling snapped Jago out of his daydream. "You look like you seen a ghost," Coleena said. Her words floated on the air cheerfully.

"Coleena," he said in almost a whisper

She was older now, as was he, but age did not take away any of the beauty he was just now remembering from the past. She was wearing a very snug, hand-made dress the color of dried sand, which flared out as it hugged the ground around her feet. It did that with the same grace that it did her overly hourglass figure. There seemed to be hundreds of tiny cog buttons that held the taut fabric together. They all fell vertically down the front of her dress, from under her exposed cleavage to just inches from the ground. They also hugged her body on the same tight course as the fabric itself. The tips of her feet were left to fend for themselves as they protruded from under the dress. They were covered in what looked to be simple hand stitched leather slippers. Slender arms and shoulders flowed out of the sleeveless and neck-less top. The front and back of the dress was joined together by thin strips of cloth upon her shoulders. The dress exposed more skin than he was used to seeing, but it certainly was not a burden on his eyes to see. Her hair was the same beautiful black and shiny color it was when they were little, though much, much longer. On the right side of her head, the hair was kept in the same fashion as it was as a child; being held off to the side of her face with a wound braid tucked behind her ear. The left side, though, was no longer hanging over that half of her face. It mirrored the right side, and left bare for him to see that entire half of her face that he was never able to see before.

"Imagine," he thought, "all those years looking at her face and thinking she was the most beautiful creature on earth, and I am just now seeing her full beauty." The left side of her face mirrored splendidly with the right side. He saw what appeared to be a lightning bolt tattooed on her left cheek up between her eye and ear. The upper portion of the lightning bolt was completely blackened, and the middle half of the bolt was a light gray color. The third section, outlined in black, was the same color as her skin. Gazing at her, Jago found he now had thousands of questions he would like to ask her.

"It certainly has been a long time, Jago," she said.

He blinked with surprise when he saw her now standing within arms reach of him. So wrapped up in his thoughts, he had not seen her walk up.

"Yes, yes, many years," he said slowly. Forgotten went most of the things he wanted to talk to her about, now that she was actually standing right next to him and he was able to actually identify her as the woman Kyle had talked about. She was the "sweet and beautiful one" who had shown the boy kindness.

"What brings you down from the cave today?" she asked.

He was startled, at first, when she spoke. He lifted his eyes off the ground by his feet and found she had moved even closer to him, to where her scent had no choice but to fill his nose. He closed his eyes and breathed in. "Ahhhhhhhhhh," he thought. "After all this time, she still has that breath."

"I, I was just, ahhhh," he started, but no real words came to mind. He wanted nothing more than to hear her talk again so he could breathe her in once more. Regular air was not worth breathing compared to even a small sniff of her scent. He heard her as she inhaled, and his body started to quiver in anticipation of what her words would be. His eyes dropped to her lips as they parted for the beginning of her speech.

"You look tired," she sighed. "Have you been getting enough sleep?" She reached her hand up and laid it to rest on his shoulder.

His entire body was flooded with tiny prickles of electricity from her touch, which grew stronger with his next lungful of fragrance more beautiful and any wild flowers that dotted the landscape.

"Tired," he repeated. He really was tired all of a sudden. "Not much sleep to be had," Brendon-Jago added.

"Come with me, my promised," she whispered in his ear. "My bed is big enough for you." She reached her hand up off his shoulder and ran her fingers through the hair growing in wisps on the back of his head.

All thoughts of everything swiftly melted away. They left a clean white slate with only Coleena's image right dab in the middle of it. He heard her inhale again and found himself holding his breath, waiting for her next words.

"Come, oh great and powerful OneWhoMustRemember," she whispered. "I want to go home, and you," she continued while caressing his neck, "will take me there."

He made eye contact with her and instantly he saw her as she was years and years ago. He thought, "Whose heart I would never break, tonight, of all nights, your heart is safe."

"I will do as you ask, Coleena," he heard himself say. "We have the rest of our lives to do everything you want. Just speak and know it will be done."

Something started to buzz from somewhere in the back of his mind. He was unwilling to investigate what it could be; there would be time later for anything that was not Coleena or her wishes. He started walking down the path towards the two houses that were slowly materializing in the distance. One was on the left-hand side of the path and one was on the right. When they got closer, he started veering towards the left and the little buzzing that was still in his head grew softer. Coleena guided him back to the right side of the path. As he let himself curve back, he found the buzzing grew more annoying. Within a few feet of the door leading into the house on the right, he stopped and looked at her confused.

"What's the matter, love?" Coleena asked.

Just as he finished breathing in to speak, he heard a young boy screen from within the house across the path.

"No, Mama, NO!!" the boy's voice broke through the otherwise still night.

Jago looked over his shoulder as the buzzing in his head felt as though it was going to burst out through his ears. "What's happening over there?" he thought. "It sounds like someone is dying."

"Don't worry, Jago," Coleena purred, while turning Jago's head back towards her with her fingertip. "Your father can't stop us from being with each other now." She smiled, and squinted her eyes slightly. "There is nothing for you over there," she said slowly, as she tilted her head towards the other house where the voice carried forth from. She watched him breathe her words in and saw his face smooth as his eyes took on a slight sheen. She breathed in and could not miss the way his jaw started to twitch in anticipation.

"Yes," she thought, "the time is finally at hand. She cupped his checks in both hands and softly said, "It's just you and me, all alone in this world, and the time to be together has finally come. Take me inside, Jago, take me inside." She made sure to speak slowly and breathe right into his nose.

He released all tension within his neck and face; half in fear of breaking her heart by showing resistance to her touch, and half in fear of causing himself to be anywhere but in this perfect position in case she choice to speak again. He saw her dress rise in she breathed in. He looked Coleena in the eyes and exhaled all of the air from his lungs.

"I am indeed a lucky man," he thought. He was prepared to fill his lungs to the top with her sweet smell. The buzzing starting echoing from somewhere within his head again, but he was easily able to mute it out. "Almost time," he cried to himself, "almost!"

This time when he heard someone yell, "Yes! Yes! He said tonight he is coming, Mama, please!!" he did not even give a small portion of a second thought on who it could be, and why they were yelling.

"Is she?" Jago started in his head. "Yes, she is! She IS smiling at ME!"

"Come inside, Jago, we must talk about a few things, you and I," she said slowly, and then turned her back on him and she started in the house's single entrance.

He did not hesitate to follow, and shut the door behind himself.

### CHAPTER EIGHT

### THE TRUTH OF IT ALL

"At long last," Coleena thought, "the time has come." She was sitting in the grass, peering around a large boulder. She was watching as he made his way down the path towards both her and the tiny village of WillSeeFirst. She did not know if he had read the note she left or not, but either way now it would not matter now that he was within shouting range. "Deep in thought as usual," she murmured to herself. She waited with the same patience as the piece of earth in boulder form sitting in front of her. "My time is almost near," she sang in her mind. "Two segments of the over nine-hundred year old prophecy have already come true," she mused as she reached up and caressed the lightning bolt birthmark on her left upper cheek. "The necessary tasks had been started almost thirty years ago, and by next week the entire prophecy shall be fulfilled." Though she called the lightning bolt a birthmark, it really did not appear until she was in her fifth year of life.

"But what else could it be, other then a late blooming birth mark? It is an odd one, though," her mother used to say every day while arranging her daughter's hair in a way that would cover it. Her mother was always into what others may think of things, never daring to be different or unique. It seemed odd, to young Coleena, that her mother should care so much because of where they lived. They never saw anyone else but the family of the OneWhoMustRemember. And after the day that Jago was taken from her, they did not even do that. That family's food bringer came three times a day with a plate overflowing of meats, cheeses and bread, but the boy who delivered it never even once glanced at her. He walked up with his eyes down on his feet, and after handing the plate over to the son-bringer of the OneWhoMustRemember, he walked back with his eyes still at the ground in front of him.

The bolt told all who knew to listen about how close the foretelling was to coming alive. She smiled a long, thin smile, wrapped her arms around herself and squeezed as she said the prophecy in her mind:

When the OneWhoRemembers

Names himself thrice

To the OneTrueDaughter,

When the OneWhoRemembers

Pledges his heart and love

To the OneTrueDaughter,

When the OneWhoRemembers

Breaks the long held Cycle,

And takes the next in line's life

For the OneTrueDaughter,

She will BE the OneTrueMother.

The OneTrueMother

Will give up her body for Darkness,

But will keep her mind.

The OneTrueMother

Will live with Him

And keep Him safe until such time

As He can take care of Himself.

The OneTrueMother

Will have been given, at birth, the gift of BosBreath.

Simply speak and your commands will be followed.

The OneTrueMother

Will live forever in **His** shadow,

With power as only the OneTrueMother

Shall possess.

The OneTrueMother

Will be the Giver of Life to the Hand of Darkness,

Father of the Faithful, and Finder of the Lost.

"The OneTrueMother," she whispered, "I will be the OneTrueMother, soon."

When the man walking down the path was within a dozen paces, she stood up, moved out from behind the waist high boulder, and took a few steps forward. His head was still bent towards the ground as he approached her, unaware of her presence at all. He was mumbling something to himself, waving and shaking his hands the whole time his feet kept marching, one-step after another down the twisting path from his home away from home up in the mountain itself. The last thirty years had been very harsh on his body, she noted now, as well as every time she spied on him during his visits to his family's house. He was becoming almost stick-like an appearance. What was left of his hair had been distributed throughout his entire head which made him look much older than the forty something years that he was.

"Well hello there Jago," she called out, "what a pleasant surprise."

He stopped walking at the same time his head snapped up. She could almost feel his eyes locking onto her. His face went lax, and tilted slightly to his left. His eyes seemed to glaze over as they spread wide and bugged out slightly in surprise.

"What brings you down from the cave today?" she asked him.

"I am here to fix a few problems with Jago's mother," he said calmly. "Do you realize..."

"No, no, no," she said, while walking the rest of the way to him. "You will forget about Jago and his mother. You will forget both your reason for coming, and your answering of my question. The reason you came here is now lost to you," she said, while directing the currents of her breath towards the center of his face.

He simply stopped talking the very moment her breath penetrated his nose. He looked dumbfounded and confused. Through what looked to be a thick haze, or fog, he muttered, "I, ah, I was just, ahhhh." He then stopped talking altogether and simply stared at her. He was hers.

She had seen that look on his face plenty of times on other people she spoke to. BosBreath was the most wonderful gift given to her by her mother; without anyone, including her mother, ever knowing. She had grown up without ever telling her mother. She always thought she had a talent getting others to do as she wanted. After her mother died, when she was free to experiment, she proved it to herself repeatedly.

She used to walk along the farmlands along the outskirts of WillSeeFirst, until some male, for whatever reason, came along. She would hail him over and start up a conversation. After learning how important in the land he was, she would make up her mind if he would be expendable enough to experiment with. If they were someone of value, they were sent home with instructions of forgetting her altogether. If they were common soldiers, farmers or tradesmen, she practiced the art of using BosBreath. Generally, they were instructed to sneak to a farm and bring a boy, who looked to be ten years old or younger, to her house that evening. She did not care who the child was, but the approximate age was important. She would command the man to forget her and their conversation should he be caught by the patrolling soldiers; though if that did happen, his punishment from the Soldiers of Darkness would be death on the spot, and anything he said would be forgotten the moment he was dead anyway. She would pass the two-hour walk back to her house dreaming up different scenarios of what she thought the moment would be like when the right time came to set the prophecy into motion.

Sometime that night she would receive a knock on her door and the man would return to her with a male child. She would command the child to sit still and the man was then ordered to dig a deep grave in the meadow behind her house. She had no fear that anybody would see the man bringing the child to her, once out of the general vicinity of the nearest town, or the act of digging the grave, either. The only ones around for miles and miles lived in the house across the street, where the OneWhoMustRemember, and his family, lived.

The wife of the OneWhoMustRemember had not been out of her house in years now, and her son was so controlled by his mother that he rarely ventured out of his house as well.

Coleena would wait in her house with the child while the man was getting practice with his shovel out in the meadow. When she grew bored of the child's company, she would instruct the boy not to move or speak and she would go check how deep the grave was. When she deemed it was deep enough, she had the man come back to her house. Coleena would then instruct the man to take the child to the fresh grave and kill him. She would look at the boy and tell him he was going to die for her happiness, and that alone should make him happy as well.

She always made a special point to ease the child's mind by sending her special breath riding unseen behind these words, "Forget all that has happened. You will forget what I said, and what you hear. You will remember a good feeling within you, and you will remember that it will make me very happy that you are going into the Eternal Darkness. You will follow this man, and do as he commands, for I have given the orders he follows." She would radiate a warm smile at the boy and wait for his eyes to relax and glaze over. More often then not, the boy's face would grow a smile, which was, from then on, permanently splashed across it. Those words, in reality, turned the poor boy's mind to melted putty. He would be nothing more then a walking, breathing, good-time feeling, mindless husk of nothingness, trapped in a small boy's body. She would then send the two of them out with the final words of, "Forget the words spoken, but remember the actions to take, and the emotions behind them." She never had to give a lot of time for the task to be completed. On more then one occasion, the man picked up the child and ran to the crater that he had dug instead of wasting time on the smaller steps of the young. She would walk down to the gravesite and inspect the man's work. She would then have the man lie down next to the boy and say these six little words: "I want you to die now."

She was always very pleased with herself as she filled in the grave; that her words could have enough power that they could actually command somebody to die.

"So much power," she used to tell herself. "A gift, such as no other, you possess. You will be the OneTrueMother, yet," she remembered telling herself over and over throughout the years.

Tonight was going to be the test of all tests. Tonight, Jago would be instructed on how to finish what he started well over a quarter century ago. He had to make sure the only heir to his title of "OneWhoMustRemember" would fall to his death off the cliffs by the Cave of Remembrance before his tenth birthday. At age ten, the lad would go to the OneWhoPlaces, and then it would be too late. The title would be his. Killing the boy, in the manor that was written, would break the cycle and signal the prophecy to start, and it MUST be done before his tenth birthday.

"You look tired," she said, just to help him finish his sentence. The way he just stopped talking was a little eerie, even for her. She reached her hand up and laid it to rest on his shoulder. "Have you been getting enough sleep?" she asked.

"Tired," he repeated. "Not much sleep to be had," he said, as he smiled and nodded.

"This is going to be all too easy," she said in her mind. "Come with me, my promised," she whispered in his ear. "My bed is big enough for you." She raised her hand from his shoulder and placed it on the back of his balding head. Stifling the urge to gag, she ran her fingers through the strands of hair remaining. "Forget about your problems and your troubles. Let them all run down and off you like dew on your cave walls. You are here with me now," she cooed. "Come, oh great and powerful OneWhoMustRemember, I want to go home, and you," she swirled her hand around his whole head, "will take me there."

She saw his eyes rise to hers, and for a minute, when he did not speak, she thought he was lost again. Then he said, "I will do as you ask Coleena. We have the rest of our lives to do everything you want. Just speak and know that it will be done."

She noticed that just before they began moving for her house, his head did a funny jerk and his hand went up and swatted at something by his ear. "How peculiar," she noted to herself. As they started coming up on the first houses the path led them to, she saw him waver slightly as he started to angle himself towards the house on the left. It was his house. She stopped walking and grinned when he, as well, took not one more step forward. As she slowly drew in a lung full of air, his head snapped over to her with an unconscious yearning for her speech.

"Sweet heart, my house is over here," she spoke while gently turning his head to the house on the right.

She noticed the odd way his head tilted again, but without another word, he turned his feet to point at the same direction she had just pivoted his head, and waited for her to step first before following. As they neared the door, she glanced at Jago who once again had stopped walking. A confused look was painted on his tilted face and he was swatting at his ear again.

"What's the matter, love?" she asked.

As he closed his eyes and breathed her words in, she started to feel better. Never before had any man she directly spoke an order to have any relapses. She was used to giving orders and having them followed without hesitation, and without needing to give them twice. Failure was never in the equation. She had even allowed one unfortunate soul to stand in the center of her house, with his eyes shut, for six whole days and nights. He did so without saying as much as one word, without moving at all, even to sleep, or opening his eyes. No matter how hard she tested and taunted him with words or her touch, he was a living statue. All on one command, issued only once: "Forget all words, forget all movement, forget all thought. Stand here and forget sight until a new command is given. Start now."

Jago inhaled, preparing to answer Coleena's question, when a young boy's voice rang out into the still night. Jago's head swiveled toward where the house was back off to his left. Her eyes started to slit as a look of madness flashed upon her face. "How dare him!" she screamed in her mind. "I will not allow this of anyone. Time to nip it in the bud, and now," she thought, as she forced herself to calm down. "Sometimes you need to be firm to show love," she had heard her mother's voice repeat over and over anytime she was punished as a child. She reached her hand around to the unexposed side of his turned head and rested one finger against his check. She turned his head back towards her own, and leaned in close enough to him that she could feel his breath making contact with her skin. "You will no longer act without my direct consent, unless I so choose to tell you to do so. From this moment forth, you are mine, forever. You will do what you need to do to stay alive, anything more than that will displease me greatly; unless I command it.

"Do you understand?"

"Yes," was Jago's one word response.

"Wonderful," she said, while mentally calming herself down. "You will forget the words were spoken, but you will obey them until death takes you into the Eternal Darkness." She gave him a small moment to fully register her words, and with her finger still on his cheek, she put on a happy smile. "Don't worry Jago," she said in a voice that purred like a mountain lion. "Your father can't stop us from being with each other now."

She saw the effects of her breath on his face and was once again pleased. She made a show of taking another breath and almost lost a few buttons on her dress from the deep inhale. She noted how his jaw trembled; how he clung to her every word. Oh, how he was going to make all her dreams involving the OneTrueMother come true. She lovingly cupped his cheeks in both of her hands and softly said, "It's you and me, all alone in this world, and the time for us to be together has finally come. Take me inside, Jago, take me inside." Her last words were spoken directly into his nose. She could feel him relax under her touch and as she inhaled, the boy's voice cried out again.

She held her breath and waited to see Jago's reaction. As she hoped, he remained in the same position he was in, seemingly holding his own breath, waiting for her to speak again. She did just that.

"Jago, dear," she whispered while still cupping his face in her hands. "I'm afraid to say there is a little problem I need to take care of straightaway. You will not move at all until told to. You will look where you are looking right now, and no place else. You will forget these words, as well as the time that has passed while you cannot see my face, but not the commands issued.

"Is that understood?"

"I am yours forever," was his whispered response.

Coleena released Jago's face and walked behind him, facing the house that was not hers. All sweetness and fanfare dissolved as liquid lava of anger bubbled and overflowed from her entire being. As she gazed at the structure that held the object of her extreme unhappiness, she balled her hands into fists and started her march towards the house. She did not really know if her gift worked on women as well as men, but at this particular moment, one way or another, this thorn was going to be plucked out of her side like an eye off a potato. Without breaking stride when she reached Jago's house, she threw open the door, framed in the center of the outside wall, and stepped inside. It opened into a small, one room living quarter.

"Good thing food is brought here already prepared," Coleena thought. "There certainly isn't room in here for a stove of any kind." She really did not know why the thought popped into her head, and she easily chased it away as her eyes gave the interior of the house a once over. To her immediate right was a small, hay-filled blanket on the floor. A much larger bed was placed into the opposite right wall corner, as though the beds themselves were trying to lay as far apart as possible from each other. A window was centered in the opposing wall from the door, with a small table and two chairs in the third corner towards the upper left of her. Coleena saw that directly in front of her, in the center of the room, sat the mistress of the house on a third chair.

"Whaaa?" the woman sitting in the chair started to ask as she tried to gather her enormous bulk into a standing position. The chair groaned and creaked loudly in protest to the uneven distribution of the woman's gross weight, and Coleena heard a small gasp of fright coming from under the chair. Within two steps, Coleena closed the small gap of space between her and the large woman, still trying to stand.

"Odeesma," Coleena said as the other woman finally managed to get her weight balanced underneath her feet. It was now time to see what affect, if any, her speech had on members of the same sex. "I want you to go to that bed and lay down until I give you further instructions," Coleena said while pointing over to the small cot in the closest corner to her right. "You will waste no more of my time today." She could feel the tension drain out of her shoulders as Odeesma took the first step in the direction of her pointed finger without so much as muttering one word about the sudden interruption in whatever she had been doing before Coleena's arrival. As the mass of flesh moved away from the chair, she saw what had made that frightened gasp to the chair's groan of displeasure to Odeesma standing up. Lying with his back on the floor, Jago's son Kyle had two legs of the chair sandwiching his neck, with the cross member of those legs pressing ever so slightly on his throat. The other two chair legs and cross member created a bridge from one side of his upper abdomen to the other.

Coleena glanced over her right shoulder to where Odeesma was. Even lying on her side in a fetal position, her girth was overflowing the small cot. She could not understand how someone could treat a child of this importance in such a manor. A shiver of disgust almost, but not quite, escaped from the backside of Coleena's neck as she envisioned that bulk of weight sitting on the flimsy chair. The terror the boy must have felt being trapped underneath it, never knowing if this round of punishment would be the one to finally end his life by suffocation, coupled with being squashed, if the chair had come to accept more torture from Odeesma's weight then it could handle. Coleena pacified the urge to snarl and lunge at the one who may have ended her chances of capturing all the glory of becoming the OneTrueMother, at any time.

Instead, she turned back towards the boy. He had remained under the chair. He looked unsure as to how to act to the new situation of having her walk in and take charge like she did. All without as much as one word of protest from his mother.

"Move the chair and rise," Coleena commanded.

Kyle picked the chair up off his body and set it beside him. He then bent one knee and placed that foot firmly on the ground. He sat up quickly enough, keeping his back curled forward, so the momentum rolled him up on the foot planted on the floor. As Kyle straightened both of his legs and rose into a standing position, Coleena felt the weight of his stare as he locked eyes with her.

"Why were you under that chair, boy," Coleena asked.

"Mama said I lied to her," Kyle said in a monotone voice. "I told her Papa was coming home today. It's now afternoon, and he's not here yet. As my punishment, I was to remain under the chair until he did come, no matter how long it took."

Coleena could not help it; she had to grin. The thought of Kyle dying under his mother's weight because Jago was held up over at her house would mean she, herself, would have been the core reason the almost thousand year old prophecy did not come to pass in her lifetime. She sighed mentally, relieved that she arrived in time. Movement in the waking world snapped her back to reality, and she focused on Kyle. He was still watching her intently. His head was cocked to one side and his mouth was parted thin. She caught the flicker of his tongue as the tip of it snuck out at the corner of his mouth and was retracted quickly.

Her smile became a grin as she saw a young Jago standing before her. The smile faded quickly when her eyes met the boys again. There was something there, just on the inside of those eyes, which made her want to shriek and run to anywhere but where she was. Even more disturbing was the fact that she could not tell why the boy's eyes unsettled her to that degree. She stared deeper into them, trying to put her finger on it. In a flash, his eyes shifted slightly before looking like Mountain Tiger eyes; steady, calculating, and menacing.

"You have great power," Kyle broke the silence by saying. "I can see..."

"Enough," Coleena interrupted. "You will look at your feet and will not speak again until spoken to.

"Do you understand?" she asked.

"Yes," the boy replied, as he lowered his gaze to the ground, the disturbing look in his eyes already gone.

"I have so much riding on the events within the near future and you will not interfere with any of it. Until the door to my house closes, you will remain standing where you are, looking where you are.

"You do understand?"

"Yes," Kyle said

"When you hear my door close, you will walk outside of your house and shut the door. You will sit right there and wait for your father. When he comes, he is going to lead you to the Cliff of Offering, and he is going to throw you off it to end the Cycle of Light. Your death will signal the prophecy of the Coming. I will be the OneTrueMother all because of you Kyle," she smiled at the boy again and patted his cheek. "It will all start with your death." She paused for a second and then took in another lungful of air. Her speech slowed down and her words floated from her lips like a sweet scent would float away from a flower. "I want to be the OneTrueMother, Brendon-Kyle, and you need to die to make that happen. I need you to die Brendon-Kyle.

"Do you understand?"

"Yes," was Kyle's reply.

"I am going to be there to watch it happen and I'm going to be very proud of the way you accept your fate to make my life what it should be.

You do accept your fate, do you not, Kyle?"

"Yes, Coleena," Kyle replied again.

"It will make you happy to know I am the OneTrueMother, Kyle. You will go to the cliff willingly and you will accept your fate, for I am now commanding it.

"You understand the odors given, Brendon-Kyle?"

"I do," Kyle said while nodding his head.

"That is very well. You will forget my words. You will forget I was here at all. You will last remember being under the chair, with your mother on top of you. Then you will remember where you are now standing, and where you are looking. Naught else in between those two points will you ever remember. You will hear nothing until my house door closes and then you will do as the orders instructed you to do."

She waited for a moment and watched the boy. He neither moved, nor spoke. She turned her back on him and walked toward the open door. Pausing there for a second, she peered over to her own house and saw that Jago was still there, looking at the outside wall the way she had left him. Turning her head back away from the door, she then walked to the foot of the small cot that was doing its best to contain Odeesma's weight; unfortunately, that battle was a lost cause.

She looked down at Jago's son-bringer and said, "You will not remember me being here this evening. You will remember sitting on the chair, and you will remember falling asleep on this cot of your own accord. Everything else is lost to you. You will remember, as your own thoughts, that you deserve a better baby, without Brendon-Jago or Brendon-Kyle around to spoil the upbringing. You should have had all that you expected, and more, out of life, instead of what you were given. A new baby boy would fix that. You see it all too well. You will sleep now and remember nothing except the emotions and the instructions given this evening." After speaking, she saw Odeesma's eyes flutter shut and heard the large woman's breathing slow down and became shallow. As Coleena walked back to the door, she glanced over at Kyle. He was still standing where he was previously, and he was still looking at the ground by his feet. Thoughts of how Jago had almost slipped from her control not once, but twice invaded her mind. She then felt the need to make sure all things seemed as they were. Coleena walked back to the boy and stared at him for a mere moment. She slowly brought her right hand around to her left side and she held it there for a second. She got no reaction from the boy, so she then backhanded the boy hard on his cheek. His head jerked around to the side from the impact before returning to the same spot it was before the slap moved it. Nothing registered on his face; neither pain nor surprise existed in his world now. She bent her neck down until it was inches from his ear. "There is a fire in the house and you are going to be burnt until you die," she whispered. Again, her actions did not register on his face. "Your mother is angry with you and is picking a chair for your punishment," she spit out. Coleena got nothing at all in return from the boy. She now felt more secure in her gift again. With all things in order, she walked out of the door and made her way back to house, where Jago was still waiting for her.

"Things certainly are shaping up," she thought as she stepped back in front of the OneWhoMustRemember. The thought of it all playing out, and what it would all mean, made her smile. She saw the way Jago's mind went from hibernation into consciousness, just as she directed. "Just like a little puppy, only not as cute."

She took a breath and saw him quiver in delight. "Come inside, Jago, we must talk about things, you and I," she said slowly. The smile was still dancing on her lips as she turned around and walked to the door of her house. She opened it and walked through. Her smile grew a little bigger when she heard the door close by Jago's hand, after he had followed her through.

### CHAPTER NINE

### OBLIGATIONS TO MEET

Coleena allowed Jago to walk to the center of her spacious, one-room house before commanding him to stop. She sat down on one of the two chairs placed next to the large rectangular wooden table set up against the center of the left wall.

"Jago, darling," she started, "did you like the way your cave looked yesterday?"

"Yes," Jago said in a monotone voice.

Coleena looked proud, and beamed a smile at him. "I did all the work myself, and I did not even wake up that precious gift of a son you have. He truly is a dear, sweet child.

"I carried the water bucket for six hours as I walked up there, with the food sack tied to my waist. Six hours of walking up a mountain, and I did not even spill one drop of the liquid." She had lied to Jago, but something small and insignificant, as minor details did not bother her at all. Why should he need to know she had 'acquired' help; the same helper who made the newest addition to her back-yard graveyard.

"Do you know why I did that, Jago?" she asked him.

"I wish not wish to displease you," Jago said in the same dull, one-pitch voice, "but I do not know why."

"Then you did not read my note?" she asked, while raising one eyebrow.

"No, I did not," he droned out.

"Where is it?" she followed, in a cold voice.

He reached in his pocket and produced the note that, up until now, had been placed there and forgotten about. When she saw the folded goatskin parchment appear, she smiled and clapped almost child-like. "You brought it, how wonderful!" she exclaimed. "Now that we are together again, and I have made you mine, it really doesn't matter, but since I went through all the trouble to write it, why don't you read it?"

Coleena sat back within her chair and crossed her legs as she placed her hands over the top knee. Jago unfolded the note and held it up to his face. His lips started to move as he mouthed out what he read in his mind.

"Out loud," Coleena snarled at him.

Jago looked back up to the beginning of the note and started again, aloud this time.

((((()))))

"Brendon-Jago, my dearest friend, this is Jodeen-Coleena. I realize many years have passed since you saw me last, I can only hope that you have not forgotten me like a wild flower seen years ago in passing. I have had many opportunities to embrace you with my eyes from behind the safety of my window's curtains during the comings and goings of the visits to your family. But had I not, I do not think your face would disappear from my memories for as long as I am alive."

((((()))))

"Stop right there," Coleena interrupted, halting his words with no effort. He stopped not only because of the words that were spoken, but because it was SHE who had spoken them. "If you were whole, you may have questioned how I have learned to write. How few people know how to read and write, Brendon-Jago? Hmmmmm? I think you never knew I could, did you?"

Jago, still holding the paper up by his face, simply agreed that he did not know.

"My family's ancestors have been passing the secret of reading and writing down the family tree since the OneWhoBroughtUs gave us this land. It comes straight from the very first OneTrueDaughter. We can get back to that in a bit. I want to hear the rest of the note, now.

He continued reading.

((((()))))

"Brendon-Jago, I need to see you again and very soon for time is running out. If you had ever loved me as you once claimed to have, what feels like an eternity ago, then you will make haste to me now for the lives of many depend greatly on you. Every second that passes before we talk is one more cry of anguish that will be heard, and it will be placed on your soul for your non-swift reaction. I cleaned your cave and restocked both your food supply and your water as a token of good faith in you.

Do what is right. If you do not wish to see me, at least come home to your family. I believe something bad may happen to them.

Your childhood friend, Coleena."

((((()))))

A moment passed, full of emptiness with not even a flicker of movement from Coleena or Jago.

"Well?" she asked him. "What did you think of my writing skills? I impress myself sometimes, you know."

"It was written as well as the OneWhoBroughtUs would have done," she heard him reply, still in the reading position with the note suspended inches from his face.

"Then that is why are you still looking at it?" she snapped. "You are beginning to annoy me, Jago. I feel as though you are mocking me in some way." She knew full well why he was "stuck" in that position, and would be until she told him to move. So powerful was her gift and she left nothing to chance when she took him for her own. As he opened up his mouth to answer the question asked of him, she spoke again. "Never mind that, we don't have much time, and there is much to talk about. Unfortunately, for me, I am going to need you back as you once were to fully understand the grand scope of things.

"You can have your free will back, your memories at will, your thoughts, feelings, and emotions, as well. You will remember everything that has happened this afternoon, even those memories I took from you.

"You are still mine, and will be forever. For what must be done, you must be acting as if you are under your own free will, and I would like to believe that you would want to do it freely. Due to the importance of the matter, however, you will have one chance and one chance only. You will have to remember that if you do not wish to do it with your free will intact, then I will be forced to take it from you once again. It is something I am willing to do for the cause of Darkness.

"You may remember all, now."

***************************

"Whaaa?" Jago started to say in a confused manner. He found himself rising up from the depths of an ocean within his mind, to once again walk upon land in the light, instead of swimming around in the warm, thought and sound deadening blackness where he was. It was not unlike waking up from a dream, only not realizing you had fallen asleep in the first place. He allowed his hand, holding the note, to fall to his side. "Where am...," he spat as his eyes quickly took in his surroundings.

There, directly in front of him, built into the far wall, stood a huge fireplace. Trinkets and whatnots decorated the chest high mantle. To the right side of the fireplace was a neatly stacked abundance of wood, and to the left, an assortment of steel pokers and fire shovels stood in a medal bucket sporting a shiny silver cover, resting on it from behind. Both the bucket, and the instruments contained within, were polished to such a sheen that the High Honor Guard of Darkness themselves would be impressed with the diligence. A few paces from the northeast corner of the house, along the right wall, stood a shoulder width writing desk. A lone cork-stopped, wooden bottle, full of ink he assumed, was standing guard over a writing pen made from a feather of an extremely large bird, lying down like a fallen comrade. A large comrade, he had never seen a single bird with a feather that size. Above the desk, on the wall, he made out what he thought to be some kind of decorations drawn into distinct columns. One column was directly above the desk. It stretched from the ceiling and ended either where the desk began, or continued behind it out of sight. Each line was as long as the desk itself was wide. The very top line was a dark red, and the rest were in dark black. The second column was to the right of that one by a good hand's span, he thought, as he gazed at it from afar. It started up at the ceiling, in dark black, next to the lonely, dark red beginning of the first column. It matched the first column line for line but continued all the way to within inches of the floor.

He felt his eyes shift right again and spun to the southeast corner. He found himself looking at a closed trap door built into the floor itself. It was at least three paces wide by three paces deep, and was placed within a half of pace of either cornering wall. Continuing around to his right, his eyes were lead to the south wall. For all its length, only a lone, brave door had the nerve to blotch the otherwise empty span, well over twenty paces from corner to corner. One more right hand pivot brought the fourth wall into sight.

A light brown curtain caressed the wall as it sought to protect the shutter window behind it, as though it were made of hardened steel instead of fabric. It rippled softly as warm outside air infiltrated the house through the gaps within the shutter's louvers. A high backed wooden chair, placed in front of the window, waited with never-ending patience for a partner to spend some time sitting with it, looking out the window. He found it hard to pull his eyes away from the window for reasons he knew not of, but once his eyes locked on to the beginnings of a large wooden table, his reluctance to keep the window in view melted away.

Never before had he seen such a beautifully crafted table, not even on his yearly trip to the military headquarters for his report on how the watching faired. Although the top of the table had been worn smooth from years and years of service, it had given to the occupants of the house, it did nothing to diminish neither the quality, nor the structural integrity of the furniture. The large tabletop, at least as long as Jago was tall, seemed to be made of one large, solid piece of wood. Being at least four fingers thick, he did not really know what to make of it. He had seen plenty of trees, during his collection of wood for the bonfire, after his Papa died, down in the valley at the very base of the mountain he was on, but not one was even close to being large enough to be able to yield a slab of this size in a single piece. The color, too, puzzled Jago even more than he already was at the size. It was deep red with beautiful black grain marks running the length of it, just under the surface. The way the smooth top seemed to pull in, like a breath, the abundance of light and then reflect it back outwards, made the whole thing almost seem alive as the markings swirled and danced their way down the table. It had a hypnotic effect on him, and he found his eyes being drawn up the length of it. They stopped as soon as they locked on the woman sitting at the end.

At almost the same time his mind whispered her name, his legs gave out and he found himself kneeling down. The pain of the unexpected fall was enough to make him involuntarily raise his hands to his eyes, as he did every morning at his watch, which allowed him to enter the complete calming darkness. As soon as his eyes registered only blackness, her face loomed within his eyelids, encompassing his entire mine. "Remember," the vision said, and instantly things went from bad to worse. He relived in the next second what it had taken him his entire life to live. Every pain or pleasure receptor that had ever fired, every taste bud input, every sound, everything, no matter how great or small that came in contact with him since his earliest memories, came rushing out of nowhere and reenacted themselves all in that one moment of time. His brain felt as though it wished for a mouth of its own to throw up with, as it registered all the information simultaneously.

As quick as it started, it stopped. The events and such that swallowed his brain had caught up to the present. There was no more pain, except for his lower legs where they had hit the ground. There was no more pleasure; no more anything more then was there before the waterfall of his memory swept in. He was Brendon-Jago, and he had command of his memory again. This time, though, his entire life was fresh in his mind, as if it had all happened within the last hour past.

His mind screamed out, "I am Brendon-Jago! The OneWhoMustRemember! I – remember – it - all!"

He took his hands off his eyes and felt himself snarl. He remembered how she had somehow taken away his true purpose for coming down here from his cave this day. She stole pieces and parts of who he was. She then thought that not enough, so she took all of him. She made him ignore his son as he heard Brendon-Kyle scream for mercy from the child's mother. Because of that, he knew not what kind of trouble the lad would be facing at this moment from the very woman who had given the boy his birth. His snarl became a full-throated growl fueled by the fury coursing through his body.

He could feel the warmth of that anger stretch from his toes up to the wisps of hair dotting his scalp as he stood up to his full height. His hands clenched into fists when his fire-glazed eyes targeted her sitting calmly in her chair. She, the one reason he was not now with his son, the reason Kyle was not wrapped up in his arms, the single reason he would have his "bestest father" title ripped away from him by the one person he loved more than anyone, and she now had a price to pay. He started to step forward and was pleased with the way his muscles responded to his control. Physical violence was never something he practiced, and until that first step forward, even under these conditions he found himself thrust in, he did not really know if he was going be capable of it. As the heel of his foot arced up and forward, Brendon-Jago thought of one of the many life's lessons his father had taught him

.

************************

His papa had come home one evening and, as usual, sat himself at the head of the table without so much as greeting his family or visibly recognizing either he or his mother's presence at all. Placed before his father, on the table, were three large plates stacked high with food, and three hefty wooden cups filled almost to the top with water. His papa slid the plate with morning's meal on it in front of him. Usually he ate his food slowly, whether to savor the meal or remind his family that he was the head of the household, but that night he ate as though he had not eaten in weeks. Whole handfuls of meats, cheeses, rice, and flatbread were shoveled into his mouth as fast as both hands could work the food in, occasionally washing it down with one cup or another of water. When he was finished, there was a piece of flatbread and a quarter cup of water remaining.

He cleared his throat and, without turning around, said in a voice low enough that he could have been talking to himself, "If you had a wrong done to you and you do nothing in return, you are the second one to do wrong to yourself. I am only going to ask this once. Who ate my food?"

The then young Jago had learned from his relatively short past that he did not have a long time to answer before his father would start talking again. If he did not reply before then, trouble would be called swiftly.

"I did, sir," Jago said, "Only the smallest piece of flatbread from the midday meal plate. I could not help it. I was so very hungry," he finished while tensing up for the explosion he knew to be coming. He closed his eyes as he saw his father's large hands close around the edge of the thinly topped table. He heard not only chair as is scraped backwards across the floor, but the sharp gasp of air from his mother that followed. The sound of his Papa's robe as it slid off his chair was next and then mind unsettling silence. If not for hearing his mother as she breathed, he would have thought himself deaf. It was as if time was frozen outside of an imaginary bubble placed around him and his mother.

He felt his mother's arm make its way around his shoulders, which unnerved him even more. She had never been the hands-on kind of mother, and usually never even paid him much mind as she spent her days lying in her bed, mumbling to herself incoherently. Every now and again, a girl's name could be heard, such as 'Emma-Fae', 'Sabrina-Nikole', or, 'Cheryl-Anna'. Jago recalled a rhyme that would always make him stop whatever he was doing then and listen to the mumbled-jumbled garble that slid from his mother's mouth.

"Sabrina-Nikole,

With the golden hair,

First one ever snatched,

Makes this life not fair

.

Cheryl-Anna,

With the dark brown hair,

Snatched from my hands

As though I was not there.

Emma, Emma-Fae

With the jet black hair,

Snatched from my hands

Without any care.

There was more to it, but he was never able to hear it well enough to make anything fit into something comprehendible. There had been times when he had closed his eyes and pretended she was singing to him. For this reason, his first three born daughters took those names as their own. Those times were as close as she came to being an actual mother. That really did not bother him much though. Because of how he grew up, he had no other mother to compare her behavior to.

The suspense, mixed into the silence, made it impossible for him to keep his eyelids closed anymore than the seconds they had been. Within that time of silence, his father had walked around the chair and was standing in front of him, looking down. As he opened his mouth to try and get one more apology out, his father's left hand catapulted wide right before it shot forward and swung around, back to his left side. He watched it, unable to move as it traveled closer to him. He felt the wind carried forth from the movement as the hand sailed within a hair of his head. His eyes were drawn to the traveling object and he found himself unwilling, or unable, to shift his gaze elsewhere.

For reasons only his father knew, Brendon-Geoffy, Jago's father, backhanded Jago's mother. Jago felt her fingernails dig into his skin while she desperately tried to grab anything in an attempt, however feeble due to the haste needed, to find something to keep her on her feet. Jago watched as his mother fell to the wooden floor with the help of his father's powerful blow. He caught more movement from in front of him, out of the corner of his eye. He blinked while turning his head, and in that same heartbeat of darkness felt two vises clamp onto each shoulder. His eyelids tried to open upon completion of the blink, but a sudden upward thrust of his body snapped them shut again. It was a nauseating effect, feeling both the pressure of his head and neck as they tried to burrow into his chest and the way his lower body stretched like a rubber band as he was caught between the war being waged by his father's muscles pulling up, and the force of Christina De'bold's gravity hug pulling down.

Unfortunately, for Jago, his father won the battle. He felt his body stretch to its limit as his feet lifted off the floor. Still traveling in an upwards direction, Brendon-Geoffy pushed one of his hard muscled arms while pulling the other. Jago felt his father release his grip. The push/pull spun young Jago around, and for a moment or two, he was free-floating upon the residue of the physical force needed to catapult him feet above the floor. Just as Christina was gaining the upper hand as she tried to drag him back down to the floor, he felt the clamp-like pressure of his father's hands as they fastened themselves around his upper arms in between his shoulders and his elbow.

Brendon-Jago versus Christina DeBold: Round Two sees the latter taking the backseat. If you could have seen Christina's eyes, they would have reflected hurricane winds of anger still growing within the entire entity. Jago remembered finally being able to open his eyes and almost focus when his father manhandled him around in half a circle. He was now facing the table, being suspended a foot or so above the chair his father had used while eating. When his legs and feet caught up with his torso from the half-circle swing, he felt an explosion in his rear end from the bone jarring impact it had with the chair as his father pushed down. He was sure that DeBold saw her chance to turn the tide of its private war with his father over his young body, and she wasted no time, and spared no effort, in helping to pull the boy back down into her embrace.

He had no choice but to be reacquainted with every bone running up his back as they introduced themselves to each other with a very painful group hug. His chin, having felt possibly left out of the affection his vertebrae paid each other, shot down and gave a low five to his rib cage. Just as he felt the bones in the back of his neck start to recoil up straight, his chair shot forward. Had he any more time to adjust to the sudden movement of both himself and the objects around him, he more than likely would have had the forethought to lift his head. As it was though, he was having a hard enough time just trying to figure out what exactly it was that was happening. Much to his sorrow, a way to stop his forward movement in the chair presented itself to him before he could react, and his open mouth met the tabletop with a very loud "thud".

His father bent down from behind him and said in a very low voice, "Since you were 'so very hungry' Jago, hungry enough to steal from me, I want you to steal from your mother as well." Jago could smell everything his father ate as his father's rancid breath scurried over his left ear and found refuge in his nose.

Hearing about his mother, Jago tried to turn his head towards where she had been on the floor seconds ago but was unable to move his neck at all.

"Well," his father asked, "I thought you were 'so very hungry'? That is what you said, right? I said to eat!" The last of the words spoken were emphasized by a large meaty fist hitting the table. Through the haze of confusion, he could not understand why his head had moved violently from the vibrations cast-off from the impact.

He tried to say he would eat, that he was sorry, that it would never again happen, anything to make the torture stop, but he found he could not feel his mouth through the numbness swallowing the lower half of his face. He shut his eyes and screamed a long but silent vow to himself to be a better son. He felt pressure on the top of his head and quickly opened his eyes. The weight he felt overflowed to either side of his head, just above his ears, and down his forehead. He glimpsed three fingertips as they extended just over his eyebrows, and in the scrambled world his brain resided in, thought it was a hand placed there to comfort him. He saw his Papa's upside down face as it slid over his head to look down at him, and through his tear blurred eyesight it looked to him as though his papa was smiling.

"It's all over. It's alright," Jago's mind told itself. Never before had he been as happy to see his father's face as he was right now, until he blinked that was. Unfortunately, blinking the image altering tears away left world a little less fuzzy to Jago, and he watched, as what he thought was a smile turn into a bloodcurdling snarl. His father's eyes were focused down on the lower portion of his face and he strangely enough seemed to be grunting. Jago tried to look down at where his father's gaze was held but could not see much. Jago felt pressure from the hand laid on his head, as well as the feeling of his skin as it pulled up hard enough to almost tear the flesh around his eyes. He shifted his vision to the left and saw his Papa's other hand gripping the table. He noticed the rippling muscles in the arm testifying to the raw power that, for reasons Jago could not clearly make out, looked as though they were trying to find a weak spot to break through the skin. Jago did not have much time to ponder the newest information presented to his mind before he heard a loud pop, followed by a screech of wood rubbing wood. He saw the table gallop forward and sink down out of sight. The next second found him staring up at the ceiling with his father directly behind him looking down. The look on his father's face made him appear more animal then human. His world faded to black as he passed out from the pain that came rushing in to fill the void where numbness had previously occupied.

****************

"He had been wronged," Jago thought. He ran his tongue over his lower gums where only six teeth remained. They had been left embedded within the table as a reminder to him of the consequence of theft. They remained to this day as a reminder of how violence would not be a common occurrence with his own son, Brendon-Kyle. "If you have a wrong done to you, and you do nothing in return, you are the second one to do wrong to yourself," he heard echo through his head as the ball of his foot made contact with the floor. In one-step, and a few heartbeats, Jago's transformation was complete. He had found the secret of anger, his first taste of complete fury. He had become his father, and he liked how it felt. He was wronged and he would not wrong himself by doing nothing about it. By the time his back foot started to lift, he had committed himself. Coleena would pay for what she had done to him, after he had done nothing to her.

As his left foot reached the right one in its swing forward, the scowl he wore stayed, but he heard his own laughter billow out as he thought about how good for his soul this would be. He felt young again. It was invigorating to be floating in liquid fire on the inside. He felt power surging in his anger. Jago's next stride brought him within inches of Coleena as she still sat in her chair. The long, black haired vixen had not moved a muscle. She seemed content enough just to watch his menacing approach towards her.

"Does she think me unable to strike a woman?" he asked himself as he wound his right arm in unison with his left foot hitting the floor. He put everything he had into that arm as he swung it around towards her. He saw his mother again, as she hit the floor many years ago. "That will be nothing compared to this," he spat to himself as his fist neared her.

"I am feeling very hungry today Papa," he spoke. "Thank you for the lesson learned." With a half-snarl half-grin on his face, he closed his eyes as he drove his fist home.

### CHAPTER 10

### THE PLEDGE UNBROKEN

Jago felt the impact of his fist as it made a solid contact. The feeling was not quite what he expected, as pain raced up his wrist, shot through his elbow, and buried itself into his shoulder. There was comfort in the pain though; the assumption if it hurt him this much, it would be causing her twice as much discomfort. He opened his eyes and saw the crumpled heap of his mother on the floor. She looked up at him and smiled.

"The vow remains unbroken," she said.

Jago blinked. Gone now was his mother. He was looking at Coleena, sitting still on the chair where she was. A genuine smile was painted on her face where a black and blue mark, by all rights, should have been. The voice he heard a second ago continued. As it did, Jago looked at his fist with confusion. It was frozen about an inch from her lightning bolt birthmark.

"That is the only thing it could mean. Sit down and I'll explain it to you so you will understand, Jago, my childhood love."

"What kind of monster are you?" Jago stammered as he sat himself of the floor where he had been standing. "How..."

"Oh my, Brendon-Jago," she cut in merrily, "you should not speak of me so," she finished with a laugh. "You, yourself, will see it clear as our conversation progresses.

"No one knows why my family has lived here all these years. We were instructed to do so by the OneWhoBroughtUs, which I will tell you about a little later.

"I am called the OneTrueDaughter, the same as all the other woman women who have lived here before me. We have been the holders of the key to signaling the Coming, which you have been waiting for, since the prophecies were writ. They were written here in this house, did you know that?"

Somewhere in the middle of Coleena's speech, Kyle and his mother, along with everybody and everything not associated with the prophecies of the Coming, were loaded into a wagon driven by forgetfulness. The wagonload was then chased away by his deep yearning to have some of the holes in the Book of the Faithless filled in.

"Don't move, Jago," she said while standing up. She walked across the room to the writing desk and lifted the top up. Looking back over her shoulder, she said, "This is the very desk where not only the Book of the Faithless, but all the other wonderful works of writings that bare the OneWhoBroughtUs' signature were created." She looked back to the desk and stuck her hand inside. A moment later, Coleena pulled out a book that was a few fingers thick and carelessly dropped it on the floor at her side before reaching back into the desk. "That is the original book. A copy can be found in your Cave of Remembrance," she said over her shoulder.

Jago's jaw, had it not been attached to his face, would have imitated the book by allowing Christina DeBold to pull it down to the floor by that statement. His eyes engulfed the book from where he sat, but being at least ten paces away from him left him nothing to see but what looked to be the outer goatskin casing. "Could it be possible?" he asked himself in what would have been, had he spoken it out loud, a voice half shaken with fear of the possibilities and half full of unbridled excitement because of the same possibilities.

"You are to tell no one of the things you hear and see here today, Jago.

"Do you understand?" Coleena interrupted his thoughts by asking.

He said "yes" while shifting his gaze from the book on the floor to Coleena's face. For the second time in as many minutes, his jaw felt lucky to be securely fastened to his head.

She was standing directly in front of the desk with her feet shoulders width apart. Her left hand held the hinged desk top straight up, her waist was bent over and her entire right arm was thrust into the desk almost clear up to her shoulder. He blinked, feeling sure that the image would change as he got a fresh look, but she was still there as she was. The writing table was a solid hand deep from the outside, and the wall behind it could be seen between the high glossed redwood legs. As if sensing Jago's growing unease, Coleena stood back up and turned towards him, from her waist up, while her left hand still held up the black under-sided top of the desk. "I told you these things belonged to the OneWhoBroughtUs, and as you can see, they are special because of that.

"The very first OneTrueDaughter, Jodeen-Goldspawn, wrote about it in her personal diary as "being one with magic"; whatever that means I don't know. I do know that all the wonderful possessions here can do incredible things that even I can not explain.

"I also do not know how many OneTrueDaughters, in their own time, even knew the objects were special. I did because in another book I read, it talked about how Jodeen-Goldspawn loved to write. She has the most journal writings out of all of us and they all had one thing in common. In each one there would be a colored book mentioned by her, but those colored books themselves were nowhere to be found.

"One day, about half a year before your father took you away from here as a child, I was day dreaming in the grass by the rock out at the path. I happened to look at it at just the right angle, with just the right amount of light, and saw her name shadowed across the lower section of it. I did not know for sure, but I had a strong feeling I knew what it was. That night I grabbed my shovel and dug right there in front of her name, and I was right! It WAS her grave.

"Nothing was left of her, but her diary was wrapped up in layer upon layer of large leaves and strips of leather. Surprisingly enough, it was in great condition. Inside it, it told what each item did, and how it worked with descriptions that were short and to the point. It was as if she were writing herself a note so she would not forget. I made a copy of what she wrote in the back of my book, the book for the OneTrueDaughter.

"It turns out that each colored book she mentioned in writings was hidden within the desk, waiting for someone with some past knowledge to free them from their slumber so they could be read again.

"I used to wait for Mama to go on her evening walk and I would sneak a book out of the desk and read it until I could see her walking on the path back this way, then I would put the book back. It gave me the patience I needed to wait this long to be the OneTrueMother. I did not really try out anything else Jodeen-Goldspawn talked about for a long time, until Mama passed away, and then I was free to do as I chose to do.

"Back to this desk, it can hold much, much more then it should be able to, but only if you know what it can do. If you do not, it acts like a regular desk, holding only as much as it looks like it could. It also seems to go against the laws of time, as well.

"Let me explain," she finished in answer to Jago's raised eyebrow. "As long as you know how it works and the object can fit through the top of the desk, you can put it in. It does not matter how much stuff you put in it, it will always hold more. No matter what order you place things in it, to retrieve what you want, you simply place your hand and arm into it, and picture the object you desire. Like this," she said before turning back to the desk. She stuck her arm inside, and stood there silently with her eyes closed for a moment. When she pulled her hand out, a handful of bright yellow wild flowers immerged as well.

"Remember these?" she asked as she brought the flowers up to her nose. She inhaled the fragrance and sighed. "They have been in there almost thirty-five years, and they still think they were picked this morning." She knelt down on one knee and set the flowers down on the previously discarded book, as though she were laying down a new born babe to nap. She stood up and once again assumed the position with her arm in the desk. A couple of heartbeats later she pulled out a black object. It was the size of the previous book, but was much, much thicker. She closed the desk, bent down and placed the book and flowers, which were on the floor, on top of the black object and walked back to where Jago was. She placed the objects on the table and set herself down on her chair. "Please, Jago, use a real seat," she said while motioning towards the empty chair to her left.

As with sitting on the floor, Jago realized he was already standing and making efforts to sit down in the chair well before he put the thought into doing so. "Plenty of time to figure out the reason of that after I am done here," he thought. "After all, today maybe the day I hold the key to the Coming."

Coleena placed her right hand, palm down, on the table directly in front of her. "Watch this," she told Jago as she closed her eyes and exhaled the air from her lungs. She sat there for a second before breathing in slowly while raising her hand. As the palm of her hand floated off the hardwood, Jago watched as a large metal cup rose out of the table itself. When it grew a hand or so high, the black wood grain, still floating around just under the surface of the deep red wood, pulsated. It did not really flare in brilliance as a light would, but more flickered with different colors from the lightest to the darkest gray mixing with different shades of black. After the pulsation, she stopped moving her hand upwards, and brought it down around the polished metal cup. She picked it up and tilted it towards Jago to show him that it was more then three quarters full of clean water. She leaned it back down and carefully placed the yellow flowers into it. "This table can feed six people, three times a day, with an over abundance of food at each meal. Very good food, too, I must say.

"Are you hungry?" she asked. Without allowing Jago time to ponder, she answered for him, "No, you are not, that is fine.

So, here is your book," she continued while pushing her copy of the Book of the Faithless over to him.

All he could do for the moment was stare at it. The outside binding was certainly goatskin; the coarse white hair still covered the book completely. He imagined his copy would have looked just like this one, well over nine-hundred years ago. His, now, was one-hundred percent hairless and the pages were graying. Some pages had aged terribly and were hard to read, as well as the couple of pages that had torn away from the binding tendon, making handling it a very delicate procedure. He reached out and caressed the hair while wondering how many others have had the opportunity in their life to have done just that. He then braced himself and opened the book.

"A day will come, when out forth from the greatest peak shall Darkness's herald unfold," he read aloud. His book was a copy of this one, there could be no doubt. The only real difference he noticed was the color of the ink used. His copy was written in black, and all the words contained on the first page of this new book were bright red. His mind started to spin out of control. He took a deep breath to steady himself before turning the page. He skimmed the next page, and the next, searching for what he knew to be missing information in his copy. Page after page he inspected, but it quickly became apparent that this book had everything his book did, but not another word more. He closed the book slowly and looked up at Coleena.

"It is the same as the one in my cave, which doesn't hold any key to the Coming," Jago said sadly, with disappointment in his eyes.

"I told you, Jago, I hold the key," she replied while patting the thick, black book in front of her. "You have a book as a reminder of your family's task. The Military Commanders, the Head of Farmers, as well as the Head of Ranchers have a book to remind them of their tasks. Lastly, the OneWhoPlaces has a parchment to remind her of her task. There are copies of all of them within the desk, in case one of them was ever damaged in some unforeseeable event, but they are just the specific book for each one's position, just as you have now back at your cave.

"Since my family's task, though it may seem the simplest, is the most important and the most challenging task needed to be done in order to set the prophecy into motion, I have all the other books combined into this one. It holds additional prophecies and writings, too. There is a copy of this one in the desk as well, so even if one books original and its copy got destroyed, along with my own book, I could still transcribe another one," she said in mater-of-fact voice. She then ran her fingertips over the black binder. "The copy is a different color, of course. Both skins were made from the hides of those 'Followers of Light' that drove the OneWhoBroughtUs to bring us here for our own protection. The dark skin was from a leader of sorts, or so it is written. His skin was the color of night at its blackest. The one I use as my copy came from a fair skinned, ummmmm, I believe it was called a Princess, but I would have to re-read that to make sure. I know what you are thinking, Jago. Yes, the fact that the book shells are made from the skin of 'Followers of Light' is disturbing, but at least there are now two less who would stand in the way of Darkness. The lighter skin suits me very well, so mine it became and the other one became the copy."

Jago's vision was fixed on the book that lay on the table in front of Coleena. All the questions he has had over the last thirty years may very well have answers to them somewhere in that book. "Can..." Jago started.

"You can do nothing until we get something important out of the way, Jago. Then you 'can' do all you want," Coleena interrupted him. As she looked at him, queasiness settled into her stomach. It was not that he was necessarily ugly, just extremely broken down. She took in the stark contrast of bald skin and slivers of hair on his head, the broken or missing teeth, and the stick-like frame that carried him around. After a moment, she realized she was trying hard to find some reason not to go through with this. Coleena pushed those thoughts away. As much as she hoped she was wrong, for what it would mean, she knew deep inside that she was right, and knew what that would also mean. She had made up her mind a long time ago as to how this meeting was going to go, and like it or not, it was going to go according to plan. If she was right, then everything in the end would be worth it, and if she was wrong, "well then, he could forget to breathe awful easy," she finished in her head.

"Jago, you will listen to my question carefully, even though it is an easy one to answer, and you will tell me the truth.

"Do you understand?" she asked in that special voice of hers.

He seemed surprised at first, and then very happy to have heard her speak. As his eyes started to glaze over slightly, she asked him, "Have you ever, in any way, shape, or form, asked that woman next door, who claims to be your wife, to be your wife?"

Jago's mind traveled back in time, back to the day he met Odeesma. It was the day after he not only saw his father die, but the day after he had to throw the dead body over the Cliffs of Offering, where all past OnesWhoMustRemember went. That was how it was written to be. The next day, after his first official watching for the sign, he walked down off the mountain to his family's home. He told his mother what had happened, and expected the worst. What he got, instead, was a firm nod as she turned around and started to gather what few belongings were hers. She looked neither sad nor happy as they made the three hour walk to the farming community where she would spend the rest of her days helping raise the new children brought there. After he introduced her to the farm leader, he wished he could stop for some time out of the baking sun's firm grasp on him, but knowing he was going to already be late getting back by dawn and his watch, he decided to push on to his next destination. Two more hours of walking found him at the small military outpost where the OneWhoPlaces would be found. He made his way to the house with haste, and quickly informed her of what had transpired over the last two days. She was not only kind enough to write the details on a separate piece of parchment, to allow her to write her reports later, saving Jago some precious time, she also had one of the Calvary men give him a horse ride back to the house that was now his alone. The horseman, however, was not as kind as the OneWhoPlaces. He reluctantly agreed to do her bidding only after she threatened him with the prospect of being written in as the new stable boy instead of the soldier that he was. As far as his ability to ride went, the soldier knew how to handle himself and the horse. He also controlled Jago, who had never before been on such a beast in his life. Within a few hours, Jago had been safely returned to his house where he wasted no time starting up the path to the cave. He made that morning watch, if only just so, and upon returning to the Cave of Remembrance, found Odeesma waiting for him. She was young, small, and petite back then. They introduced themselves and walked the six hours back down to the house in virtual silence. He skimmed his memory from that point forward and said, "No, I have never asked her to be, nor spoke to her of becoming or being my wife; my son's mother, yes, as well as my Son-Bringer, but nothing about my wife, ever."

He must have said that right thing, because when he focused on Coleena's face, she was smiling. Her good mood caused her words to almost bubble from her mouth as she spoke, "I thought not, or your pledge to do me no harm may not have prevented you from striking me. This is good news.

"Before we can go any further, however, we need to wed and consummate our own marriage, here and now. I know that only the High Military Commander is allowed to marry, but this is over even his own powers to control."

"What marriage?" Jago asked. "Surely you can not hold me to what I said when I was only nine years in the Endless Light. What about..."

"Yes, I can and will, Jago," she over rid his voice. "You said the words, you asked me the question, and then you left it open by saying 'one day become my wife'. It is all very clear. We are going to be husband and wife, and then you will see why today is that day, Jago."

"I will NOT do anything of the sort. I have free wi..." he began, before blinking.

After his blink ended, he lost all thought. His words ended, forgotten about. It seemed as though his mind blinked right along with his eyes.

### CHAPTER ELEVEN

### NOT A WASTE

While turning left again to face the stairs leading up to the hatch and the world above, movement above Redlew Feiht's head caught his attention. By this time, he knew what it was, but reflexes took over and he found himself squatting down, looking up at himself, who was squatting upside down and looking down. In the moment in between heartbeats, a door inside his head leading to his unease store room, which was usually locked tight, opened up and the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. The sight reminded him of being topside, walking on the stone to the hatch. From this squatting position, he looked down and saw himself upside-down, looking up. Nausea once again filled him from head to toe. It may have been from looking up and then down too quickly in succession, or possibly a reaction to the smoke his torch was making, but whatever the reason, the aftermath had him feeling as though he had drank too much rum on a blistering hot day.

In an instant, his vision blurred and his thoughts swirled around in his head faster then he could make sense of. Gravity lost hold on him and he felt as though he was floating down or falling up; somewhere between where he was and somewhere where he should not be. His mind was screaming at him, but he could not pay attention long enough to make out what it was yelling. Dread and hopelessness were the only emotions he did recognize, but the understanding of why was just out of his minds grasp. His brain broke away from that thought as he blinked.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Redlew, in the present, refocused on the situation at hand. He could feel the to-the-bone coldness throughout his entire body, with the exception of his left lower arm from the elbow down. It would soon to be time. Redlew glanced at the man in the Northwest corner of the alleyway.

The man-for-hire was a first class cutthroat by the looks of him, if the bar for first class was not just lowered, but taken away all together. His ripped and tattered sandals would have provided little more protection for his feet then the skin encasing the foot itself. The lower halves of his legs were almost crossed as his step entered into perpetual motionlessness. A stray wind would be enough to push one leg into the other, tripping the man for sure. The tattered pants ended well above the man's shins, but the looseness of the garment would have rubbed together, making a "swooshing" noise even the deafest of the elderly would be able to hear a half league away from the intended victim. No shirt covered the man's torso, even though by all accounts something should have been, for the shear sake of everyone else's eyes. Large rolls of cellulite were hanging off one another in all sorts of angles from his neck down to his over worked belt. An unshaven beard and long, dirt-crusted, greasy hair decorated his head like flies on a pile of horse dung, to put it politely. Lastly, his eyes were pointed on the dagger that hung suspended inches from his hand as he tossed it from one to the other.

"This one fancies him to be a blade handler," Feiht thought. "Only to enter a fight without the blade in your hand is as smart as entering a horse race without being on a horse."

He had to wonder why these people were here, in this alley, after being denied permission from the Thieves Guild. It was a well-known fact in Lefebvre that ignoring a denied permission petition comes with a Certification of Death just as quick as it would without having asked permission in the first place.

"It just doesn't make sense," a voice in the cold agreed.

Redlew then, realizing it was still not time to act, allowed his mind to wander back to his previous thoughts of his past.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

He was drowning in confusion, lying there on his stomach. Visions of places, objects, people, and colors were racing almost into focus before changing into something else right before recognition took hold. Then sweet, sweet darkness came and took him. Floating in the void, he was at finally at peace with his mind. He wanted nothing more then to stay where he was forever, deep within his very own alone time. That was until he heard the words, "I am Redlew Feiht - I am Redlew Feiht - I am Redlew Feiht," echoing from somewhere.

The longer he listened, the stronger it became, but the location of it still eluded him. The way it was spoken seemed to suggest importance, but from within the depths of darkness it mattered not. It was an annoyance, an invasion of the calm nothingness. It, however, was not caring how rude it was.

"I am Redlew Feiht - I am Redlew Feiht - Redlew Feiht," it repeated. What had started as a whisper was now a strong catcall, forcing its way into the center of the void that was now him and him alone. "Redlew - Redlew - Redlew Feiht - I am Redlew - Redlew - Redlew Feiht."

He felt himself floating towards the source of the voice. He could not tell if he was moving up, down or to either side, but he felt sure that he was moving.

"It does have a catchy ring to it," a voice whispered from his left.

"You should try it," another echoed from his right.

The pull of his movement was increasing and he now felt like he was diving up a powerful waterfall that had been turned upside-down, or possibly side to side. He heard the voice from above him again. "I am Redlew - Redlew - Redlew Feiht - Redlew Feiht." Then he heard within the void, towards his left, "No, I am Redlew Feiht." Then from his right, "NO, NO, NO, I am Redlew Feiht."

"This madness has to stop before it drives me insane," he whispered.

From his right he heard, "You are insane."

From his left, "I am Redlew Feiht."

"Try it," came from his right, only to be echoed from his left.

He was now very angry. His darkness was interrupted by madness. It had to stop and stop right now. He inhaled until his lungs felt like they were on the verge of rupturing.

"I am Redlew Feiht. I am Redlew Feiht. I am Redlew Feiht," came again from where he still felt he was rushing. Laughter started on his right. No, it was from his left. The voices were circling him, taunting him with there chuckles.

"I AM REDLEW FEIHT!!" he finally screamed and through the vale between light and darkness he catapulted. He was sitting upright on a cold, stone floor. The darkness was gone, broken by the dwindling light casting itself off the almost extinguished torch on the floor to his right. A fine gray smoke hung in the air from the burning pitch. His feet were wide apart, straight legs sticking out at angles to either side of him. Through blurred vision, his mind was struggling to regain some hold on his present state of affairs. He could recall neither where he was, nor why he was there.

"The insane one wakes," rang out of the haze in front of him.

His eyes rose from the floor and leveled out, focusing on a shadowy figure sitting on the ground not far from him.

"I am not insane," he whispered in a coarse voice, "I am Redlew Feiht."

"I am Redlew Feiht," he heard echoing to his right, "You MUST be crazy."

He mustered the strength to turn his head and another figure on the ground entered into his fuzzy vision. "It is worse then we all thought," this one said.

"Yes," called out his companion. "Very bad indeed to believe you are who you are not."

Movement, caught from the corner of his eye, brought his neck back in line with his chest. The once sitting person was now standing with his hands on his hips. Concealing shadows danced and flickered around him.

"I am Redlew - Redlew - Redlew Feiht," the standing person sang. It was the same intrusion he heard from within the peaceful darkness that had been void of soreness and confusion. The spark of anger started to feed off his pain and mental anguish. Rage, spun off the excess anger, started to collect and pool within him. Every muscle in his body was aching and his head felt ready to explode. These two half-wits could not even see he just wanted silence to gather himself back together? A task, it seemed, impossible to do with all this chatter.

"Get away from me," he growled through clenched teeth.

"You've gone and made him mad," the standing figure said while shaking his head, "mad, mad, and mad."

"He was already mad," the other said defensively.

Dumb to anything but the liquid fire of fury coursing through his veins, he clenched his hands into fists and screamed, "I WANT YOU TO LEAVE ME BE RIGHT NOW. I AM REDLEW FEIHT AND JUST WANT TO BE LEFT ALONE!"

"Prove it," he heard, whispered from his left. He turned his head and the figure was there, standing one-step down from him. "Prove it," the figure whispered again.

Vengeance was going to be his. He wanted nothing more then to feel this mans throat between his own clenched hands. "Prove it?" he asked himself, "Oh, yes, I will." He did not remember having stood up as he took his first step towards the left... towards the stair... towards vengeance. Two paces brought him to the step, which he took without hesitation. The man was no longer in front of him, but he could hear his words echoing from below, taunting him still.

"Prove it. Prove it. Prove it."

He was not going to get away, not that easily. Redlew took another step and then another. Soon he was taking steps two at a time, all the while hearing the acid echo ringing from further down the steps. The stairs started to curve to the left. He lost count of how many steps he had taken, but the more he took, the more there were in front of him and the tighter of a circle they formed. The voice seemed to be getting louder. Was he gaining ground on the hunt?

"He will be mine," he chuckled madly. "All mine."

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Redlew Feiht smoothly pulled his thoughts back again to him in the present. The man on his right had advanced only slightly as a sliver of time had progressed. The thug's back right knee was now bent just enough to have lifted that foot inches above the ground. His upper body was angled more forward with the suspended thrust the foot caused upon take off. Although the man's left arm had not moved, his right had risen a few degrees and the swords slight angle had not been corrected, neither had the man's gaze on the ground.

"Can't cut what you don't see," he thought.

"Can't see what you don't look at," the voice echoed back in his head.

He gazed to his left where the commander for these thugs stood statue like. He was near the middle of the ally, ten paces away, with his feet planted square to his shoulders. His knees were slightly bent but his back was straight as an arrow. Rock hard chest muscles were threatening to bust open the sleeveless, v-necked leather vest he was wearing, while the extra few pounds around his middle seemed to be having that same thought of breaking out of confinement.

"Loosing himself in the easy life," Redlew Feiht thought. "Should have gone back to doing an honest days work."

Thick rippled shoulders were spilling out of his vest. This would have looked impressive even had they not been attached to upper arms the size of bull legs, and just as hairy.

Powerful forearms and wrists held a large, thick sword in a straight vertical line with his body. Looking past the suspended droplets of spit from his death threat, he saw the tough guy's eyes locked on him.

"A professional through and through," Feiht said to himself. "Too bad he did not pay heed to the Guild Leaders orders to have this section of the city left free of theft. If he were as smart as he was strong, he could have proven a nice addition to the guild."

From within the left part of his head, another voice added, "Cross the Leader once, you will cross not another man again."

His thoughts once again migrated to the past.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

The endless stairwell finally stopped at an archway into which he flew through at a dead run. A stone bridge opened up before him. Ten paces wide, he guessed, and at least one hundred long. He did not break stride as he started across with his eyes fixed on the stone landing on the far side. When he reached the opposite end, he stopped dead in his tracks and looked around. The landing ended at a solid wall of stone with what looked like a door etched into the face of the rock itself. There neither were knobs of any kind, nor were there any hinges to be seen. It looked as though the maker had run out of time, or died, before being able to finish the work that would produce a useable door.

He turned to make sure no other path lay off the other side that the sneaky lunatic may have taken to try to give him the slip. Gazing across from this way, looking back, the bridge looked much longer than he originally remembered crossing. His eyes could barely see the other side and could see no other paths or stairs leading away from the one he ran down and the bridge he just ran straight across. He looked over the edge of the landing and saw only blackness below. He turned back to the etched wall and realized how winded from his flight he had become.

Breathing heavy, he raised his arms above his head to try to stop a cramp from engulfing his entire torso, but the pain from his movements quickly changed his mind. He bent down and put his hands on his knees with his head between his legs. He shut his eyes and continued his labored breathing.

"Stupid, foolish man," he heard between breathes. "Time is slipping away and you waist it by doing nothing?" The voice sounded like it was getting angry. "You can rest AFTER you finish your chores, little boy. You can't catch what you don't run for." The voice echoed from the other side of the etched stoned wall.

His cooling anger flared up as though a bonfire had been lit within him. The pain from his cramp vanished as though having been burnt to ash. The fire of need flowed through his veins; the need for vengeance rekindled. He opened his eyes and started to lift his head. On the ground, just before the wall, he saw five small holes forming a circle.

"Kill, kill, kill" ricocheted in his head loudly. "Redlew Feiht DEMANDS it," he heard echo inside his head as he stuffed his fingers and thumb into the holes. He could not recall how he knew what to do with the indentations, but the result was the desired one. He heard a click and the door swung inward, exposing a small tunnel beyond. Just as tall as he was, and a hands width wider than his shoulders, the stone was the same here as everywhere else had been, smooth and almost polished looking. Dull, gray light unexplainably radiated from somewhere here as well, as though the very rock shone but cast no light. Movement brought his attention from the stone to not even twenty paces down the corridor ahead of him, where he saw the man he had been chasing. The way his hands were on his knees, he must have been taking this time to catch his breath as well.

"I am Redlew Feiht," the center of his anger called out again, and with a laugh, he was gone, disappearing from sight the very moment his hunter sprang forward to resume the hunt.

"Not going to get away again," he thought. Chasing this figure was what he was born to do, he thought, as he poured all his speed into his steps. Visions of his hands around the man's neck were circling through his mind, not leaving much room to think about anything else. He flew like the mythological Wind Wolf and thought himself to be just as dangerous. Faster, faster, faster he went, grinning the entire time as sweet vengeance played out in his mind repeatedly. The passage rounded a bend and he saw too late that it ended there in a large, multi-sided room.

Before the thought of how to stop fully came into focus, he saw his prey. He was in the center of the room, behind a white, polished stand or pedestal that had been chiseled into the shape of an hourglass. The man was running towards him, trying to escape the dead-end room he now found himself in, obvious, Feiht though. Now the man was trapped.

"Vengeance," Redlew thought again, as he pushed all intentions of stopping from his mind, "it is finally time."

He grinned while spreading his arms to pounce on the figure. As he did, he realized the other man did so as well. He laughed wildly at this, though he did not know why. With full speed, he swept forward as fast as his small frame would propel him.

### CHAPTER TWELVE

### SOMETHING OLD – SOMETHING NEW

"The kiss is over silly," a little girl's voice echoed through the young boy's world.

Brendon-Jago opened his eyes. He felt his entire brain spinning out of control within his head. It was as though a veil of fog had swirled around his entire world. The fog made it hard to concentrate on anything about the past. However, who wanted to think about the past, when right here in the present stood Jodeen-Coleena. He was standing inches in front of her; stiff backed, arms to his sides, hands balled into fists, and lips puckered up.

"Great," he said to himself as he tried to relax, "she's probably laughing at you, knowing now that you have never kissed a girl before." He felt his face turn crimson and tried to look down at his feet, hoping she would not see his embarrassment. He heard her giggle softly and then felt the smooth, warm skin of her hand as she touched his chin. He let her lift his head, and as he looked at her, he noticed her exposed cheek was as red as his felt.

"That was my first kiss as well, Jago," she told him. "We are not even ten yet, you know," she snickered.

The way she seemed to read his mind, and put to rest his own feelings of inadequacies, made him feel as though he was the luckiest boy within the entire land. He noticed her eye, on the visible side, was slightly larger than normal. That, along with her more-than-usual blinking, her lone, deep red cheek, and being this close to her, where her fragrance filled his nostrils, gave him the power to overcome his shyness. Casting it off made him feel free.

Alive for the first time, he embraced the moment. He felt his hands rise towards her dainty face. He watched his left hand as it went straight towards her right cheek, as his right hand headed for her left. Just before making contact with her face, the right hand, almost on its own, did a funny downward dip before coming back up, under her protective, half face-mask of hair. He felt, with both sets of fingertips, the smoothest, flawless, warm surface he had ever felt in his whole life. It was as though warm wind had materialized enough to have been touched. If he was not so intently paying attention to what he was doing, savoring every moment and committing to memory every second his hands ran up the sides of her face, he may have been able to close his eyes for a moment and envision cupping a large, soft rose with both hands. He could not imagine living his life without her by his side.

He saw her lips moving, but he was so into each second his hands held her face, he did not care to put any brain resources into a simple task such as listening. "Blaa, blah. Hmmmmm, bla-bla," was all that made it through to his conscience. His hands resumed their climb and when his fingers reached her scalp, they did not stop. The left hand felt no resistance as it slid up onto the hair held back by her center braid. The right, although a lot less then he would have thought, felt some tension. But as he watched in amazement, it kept its forward momentum, folding back and pulling up the hair that had covered her face since he could remember. When his hands had glided up and over to just above her ears, he instantaneously felt cheated during all the years prior to this point in his life.

He finally saw her whole face, for the first time. It was a moment, he was sure, he would remember for the rest of his life. He gently pulled her face towards him. Her lips were still silently mouthing words, but he was not about to let something like that stop him from making this life long dream come true. He stopped the movement of his arms and hands when her face was mere inches from his own. He gazed deep into her eyes, and saw things he knew most people would never have the pleasure of seeing in their life time. There was kindness, compassion and understanding floating just under the surface. Further in, he recognized acceptance of him, her wanting and needing him in her life. He saw her fears and worries, her dreams and desires; her entire soul lay bare in those eyes, and he could see himself, there in the center, being protected from everything and everyone. He could see she truly loved him as nobody else would or could.

"To show you I truly care and will be a good husband to you, Jodeen-Coleena, I, Brendan-Jago," the nine-year old heard coming out of his mouth.

"No, it is not," Coleena's lips mouthed out. The voice was that of an older woman, not his wife-to-be at nine. It sang all throughout his head, but it did not come from the mouth of his hearts captor, though it did look that way. It was more like she was up in the air above him, yelling down in a booming voice that echoed from the sky itself. "Your real name is Goldspawn. You are Jago Goldspawn. That is the truth, as you shall see later.

"You may continue," the voice finished.

Jago was not upset at the interruption. She was kind enough to accept him, and if she wants to order him about, so what. She loved him, he was sure of it like nothing else in his life.

"To show you I truly care, and will be a good husband to you, Jodeen-Coleena, I, Jago GoldSpawn," he started again. He found himself actually agreeing with what he heard come out of his mouth. If she, his wife-to-be, says his name is now to be Jago GoldSpawn, who is he to say "nay"? He continued, "Do, right here and now, promise for the life of me, when that some day comes, and you become my wife, I will love you truly and will always do so.

"To prove to you that I would be worth having as a husband, I promise to honor all your requests without question.

"You will neither go hungry, nor have shelter unobtainable.

"Because you love me, and I can see that in your eyes, the promise just given will become an automatic vow upon you becoming my wife.

"You have made me the happiest person that has ever lived in your shadow." He finished his speech and could not resist the urge to try his luck at sealing his words with yet another kiss. As he moved his head in towards her, she beat him to it by quickly closing the gap between his puckered lips and hers. His mind started swimming around in his head lazily. His entire body felt light as a feather, and a tingly sensation envelope his skin. It was as if that kiss had brought him someplace new, but at the same time, he was still where he was. He laughed gleefully as she playfully pushed him back, smiling that smile that said, "Trust me, you are safe," while not truly saying anything at all.

"Tag," she said, while she lightly patted his arm, "you're it."

He reached out as fast as he could, to tag her back, but she simply was not there anymore. He stared at the spot where she was standing and a blanket of loneliness and depression draped itself over him from out of nowhere.

"It was all a dream," he said aloud to himself. His brain clung on to the events he was now sure were fragments of his imagination. "She was right here!" his mind screamed through the haze that it was swimming within. He then heard soft giggling coming from behind him. He spun around as fast as he could and found, not ten paces away, standing over by the corner of his house, his beautiful wildflower; she was not simply a prank of his over active thoughts. She was covering her mouth, trying to do her best at not allowing her laughter to break through her hand and betray where she had disappeared.

"Catch me if you can," she called as she spun and started to run around the side of Jago's house.

Jago screamed in excitement. He ran up and around his house and just caught the rippling fabric of her dress as she ran behind a large boulder, set off to the left side of the path that led up towards the mountain. He stopped running, confused at how she traveled such a large distance in that short of time. Without spending too much mental matter on contemplating the whole time and space subject, his thoughts wafted back to Coleena. That thought was quickly replaced by another, as his mind started to hatch a plan.

"I'll show her," he said to himself with a twinkle in his eye. Instead of running straight for the path and the boulder beyond, he dashed off to the right, where waist high meadow grass that grew there would conceal him. He paused when he was five or so paces into the dense grass to catch his breath. This task was made more difficult because he was bent over, trying to disappear as she had done. When his breath was under control again, he started walking slowly, still hunched over. His vision was next to nothing, something he had not thought of in his plan making, neither that, nor the terrible ache that was starting to form in his lower back from being almost doubled up in order to remain unseen within the grass. It seemed as though he had walked probably three times the distance he should have when, finally, he came to the edge of the grass. He was several paces from the path and then another couple from there to the boulder. He squatted on one foot in preparation of the mad "dash-to-the-bolder" plan he had just then formulated. A rustling of grass from his left brought his head around, and he realized that she truly had been out of his sight for far too long.

Her bright, half-showing smile was mirrored in her eyes. "Took you long enough," she sighed. Then she started laughing as she said, "You looked funny, you know, with your head all the way down and your backside all the way up." She giggled again, "I think that was the first time I have ever seen the fabled 'butt-shark' before," she shivered and then continued. "It was such a wild and scary thing. I hope to never have to see such a monster again in my life."

Before Jago could begin to start laughing with her, she reached out with speed he certainly did not expect and with a careful shove, pushed him off balance as he crouched there on one knee. As soon as he made contact with the ground, he heard her yell from up the path, towards the two lone houses, "You are still it! Hee-Hee!"

He got up as quick as possible. Just before he started running as fast as he could, he looked back and saw the way the long meadow grass had bent, giving a tell-tale of the large circles he had gone in before somehow coming out at the path right in front of the boulder like he had wanted to. "Certainly not the 'Plan Maker' anymore," he said to himself as he turned to chase Coleena in their game of tag; so far she had two points and he had nothing but the worst schemes ever.

He saw her halfway between him and the houses. He hastened his running, looked down, and then commanded his legs to never tire in their efforts. He looked back up and found himself already coming up on Coleena's house. He saw her take her last step to goal before reaching out with her hand for the knob as she came to a halt. She looked back over her shoulder with a grin. She opened the door. He was right on top of her, but fell away abruptly as the door closed just before he got to it.

He stopped at the entrance, dumbfounded. "Now what?" he thought. He had never found himself in that kind of predicament before. "Do I barge in there, or not?" he questioned himself. He settled on doing the next best thing to that and knocked on the door. She told him to enter. He did. The room was completely empty of anything except for Coleena, who was standing off to the right, back to him, doing something to her hair.

She spun around and he was, once again, thoughtless for a moment. She had somehow managed to obtain another braid in the matter of seconds that it took to knock and open the door. She wrapped it around the other half of her hair that had always covered her face. She looked much older than nine years old, he noted, and glanced down at himself. He, too, had seemed to grow years in seconds. His mind started to cry in agony, and begged him to stop thinking. Instead of the swimming feeling it felt like it was doing earlier, it was now trying to do the backstroke in nothing but mental mud. He was confused, to say the least.

"Oh no, my love," she said to him.

Then and there, he did not care to know how they aged; it no longer mattered at all. She had called him 'my love'.

"Have you gone blank again, on our wedding day?" she asked him, with worry splashed across her face and fear in her eyes.

"Wedding?" he asked himself, "Our wedding day?"

"Ohhhhhhhhh," she coed, and smiled.

He found all he could do was stare at her. Her skin was tanned, smooth, and glowing. He followed the course of her hairline down her face while marveling at her natural beauty. He skimmed over her birthmark, and was puzzled by it. He always remembered seeing it as a kid, but he remembered the dark interior within the top part of the zigzag, having a distinct line, as though someone had used a writing stick and inked it there. Now that line was less defined as it somehow expanded, the black lightened to dark gray, and then to a lighter shade of gray, leaving just the bottom tip of the bolt natural skin color. Even this patch of natural skin was surrounded by a thick, black outline. "It is almost as if the birthmark is filling in with age," he thought. That was how he closed the book on that oddity, which allowed him the opportunity to continue looking at Coleena. He was content to do just that as she started to speak.

"You just want me to think that you forgot it all, so you can see if I remember, hmmm?" he heard her say.

The way those lips of hers moved and parted with each other, he did not care to stop looking for as long as she continued speaking.

"The entire military was there, Jago, with all the armor and weapons they have. They kneeled to us and everything!" she exclaimed.

As she was taking, he started remembering the things she spoke of.

"I was very surprised by it all, as you well know. I have actually dreamed of wedding gatherings such as only the High Military Commanders get, but neither one of us are military commanders, so I never would have dreamed that you had the power of granting a childish notion such as that," she said. As she spoke, she took a couple of steps towards Jago. "It would seem that the entire land showed up to witness our union. The OneWhoPlaces stood up on the mountain with us and listened as we exchanged our vows and promises." She took a few more paces and stood toe to toe with Jago. She then slowly reached out with both hands and carefully took Jago's left hand in hers. Her two thumbs started massaging the flat spot on his hand between his wrist and his first set of knuckles. "Oh, Jago," she murmured, "how I would love to hear those words you spoke again." Her voice spread goose bumps all over his body.

He truly wanted to say those words again, but lacked the memories need to recall and recite them. He would have no choice but to tell her the truth about how he could not remember anything from when they were children to now. He swallowed hard and raised his eyes to her. He saw her mouth moving, though no words were being spoken. He inhaled and closed his eyes to find the inner courage he needed to continue along the path towards her disappointment. He could lie to his love no longer. He opened his eyes and released a now startled breath. Gone from sight was the house they were just in, gone was the almost familiar landscape of two houses nestled on a mountain side, and a worn out path between the two, and forgotten was the urge to tell his love that he could not remember large chunks within his life.

He found himself on a small plateau, high up on a mountain. He looked up to the peak, which stood higher than any other along the range which swept away from the sea to his left, as far right as his eyes would allow him to clearly make out. The spot looked and felt oddly familiar, but he did not know why. He heard a female clearing her throat behind him and spun around. He saw the OneWhoPlaces standing before him, dressed in the finest clothes he remembered ever seeing. Movement behind her caught his attention, and with just a quick gaze, he corrected himself.

There, standing just beyond the OneWhoPlaces, was Jodeen-Coleena. The fact that she was older still, than just moments ago in the house, did not register itself within his mind, neither did the question of how he got to where he was. Time and distance no longer seemed to play a part in his life. Past, present, and future were nothing to him; only the thought of having her still with him was what mattered. She was dressed in a very low-cut, black, short-sleeved dress. There were countless little, yellow wildflowers hand-stitched on the snug fitting cloth that hugged her features as though it was skin. His eyes traveled the entire length of the fabric from her neck down to her black slippers; one single yellow flower stitched on the toe of each. An odd feeling settled over him as he looked back up at her face. He shifted his knees on the dirt and almost recognized the fact that he did not recall kneeling. He was too far into paying particular attention not to squeeze or tug her hand that he was holding as he did so. Her lips were once again mouthing words he could not hear, but even that oddity about her was comfortably familiar. He raised his sight from her lips to her eyes. The love for him that he saw in them took away any urge on his part to try to break the connection. He felt himself inhale.

"My dearest Jodeen-Coleena," he heard himself say. The way the words just floated off his tongue without any forethought, being heard by him for the first time as he said them, must be, he thought, what speaking from the heart really was. He continued, "Today is the day you are to be my wife or my life is forfeit. You are the wildflowers growing in my meadow grass soul, and without those flowers, and all their colors and scents, my spirit would not allow life to interrupt it from taking a long, long nap in the Eternal Darkness.

"All I have to offer you in this documented marriage is myself, as a whole.

"Give me a wedding vow and I'll be yours forever."

He paused and waited to see if she accepted his pledge for marriage.

She did not.

He spoke again, "I, Jago GoldSpawn, have learned as a child that I am not a thinker, but a doer. I will do anything your words speak to me.

"Give me a wedding vow, and I will be yours forever."

Again, no acceptance from her was offered.

"I, Jago Goldspawn, could not anymore physically hurt you then I could beat my own head into the ground. If harm does come to you from me, then may my vow here today take my life.

"Give me a wedding vow and I'm yours forever."

He held his breath, but heard nothing. He was not sure how he knew about a wedding ceremony, having never done this before, but he knew it was up to him to make a vow that Coleena would accept by making a vow of her own. The words he spoke sounded right to him, but her refusal of his vows meant that she must be still waiting for more.

"Jodeen-Coleena, I pledge my undying love to this documented marriage. You will own my heart and soul as a gift from me, for all time.

"All you must do is give me a vow of your own and it is sealed," Jago said.

Again, he stopped talking. This time, just like the last, brought forth no pledge or vow from Coleena. She was still standing there, mouth moving without sound, apparently waiting for more. He was getting to the point of hopelessness in saying a vow that Coleena would accept. He closed his eyes and inhaled a fresh lung full of air. He was not going to insult his love by another failed vow. He was going to put it all on the line, and if she still chose not to accept, then he would simply end it all here and now by jumping off this very mountain.

"Jodeen Coleena, I, Jago GoldSpawn, so named now thrice, could not anymore physically hurt you then I could hurt myself. If harm does come to you, from me, then may this vow take my own life. I do here and now promise to break that cycle once and for all. Furthermore, if hurt comes to you from any source other than me, I will not rest until it is avenged.

"I will love you until the day I die, and promise to honor your commands as though they give me the command to breath.

"You will have no need or want unfulfilled. If I cannot fulfill them myself, I will seek the means to see that they are carried out.

"You have chosen to allow me into your soul. I can see your love for me in there, as it should be. I cannot bare the thought of being without your love, just as I cannot bare the thought of living without the air that I breathe.

"All this I vow, here and now, if you will only give me a vow of your own as acceptance, and seal the marriage."

She lifted her hand out of his grasp and dangled it before his face. It was close enough to his nose that the sweet smell of buttermilk made his mouth water. He uncontrollably stretched his lips out of the protective overhang of his nose and kissed it.

"You may rise, Jago GoldSpawn," Coleena's words rang out like a farmer's dinner bell, calling to home all hands for the evening meal.

He did as commanded.

She lowered her hand to her side, mirroring the other. Standing straight-backed and proper, she looked every bit the most important woman in the land, and to him, she truly was.

"I have heard your offerings and have found them agreeable enough to accept. I give you my own to seal this marriage.

"I vow from this day forth, to the end of time, or your death, I will take you as my husband. Your name shall be mine of rights due to this union, and I will cherish that name always.

"I also vow to allow your vows to remain as spoken until the sweet embrace of the Eternal Darkness takes your soul.

"We are now husband and wife," she said while smiling that beautiful smile of hers, the one that said she was pleased with him.

A deafening roar of cheers erupted from behind Jago and he turned to see the greatest spectacle ever witnessed. People from all trades cascaded down the mountain side as far as he could see. The mass, made up of hundreds of thousands, was headed up by the Supreme Military Commander and his platoon of the elite High Honor Guard of Darkness. The Commander was standing stiff as an arrow, saluting Jago proudly. What seemed like the entire Swords of Darkness army was next. They flowed to almost the point where his eyes failed him, but he was able to make out the contrast from black armor to regular clothes beyond. It would seem that, for sure, the entire Land of the Faithless did indeed come to see the two of them.

"Jago," Coleena's voice, though soft, cut through the still cheering and applauding crowd's noise, as though they were standing alone on the mountain.

He looked back at her and found her standing next to a trap door built within the hard ground of the mountain. It seemed strange, but he noticed the nonchalant way in which she bent down and lifted the large wooden door up, so he did not give the concept of it another thought. After the door reached the vertex of its travel, it started to allow Christina DeBold to pull it down in the opposite direction. Jogo started to jump to his wife's aid, fearing the impact when it hit the ground on the other side would in some way injure her. He had closed the gap by a pace or two when the heavy looking trapdoor made a "thud" noise and halted its movement on its own accord. Jago tried to locate the straps, ropes, or tendons holding the door halfway between its vertex and the ground, but all that was visible besides the door, was a ladder being suspended by darkness, leading into more of the same. He heard a soft and airy snicker from the left of the opening. As he turned towards the source, the whole world staggered nauseatingly. He almost lost not only his balance, but whatever his last meal was as well. As quick as the feeling came, it went away and left his eyes deep in his safe place within Coleena's gaze.

The back of her nine-year old right hand was pressed up against her mouth, with her index finger sandwiched between her lips. Her left hand was palm flat over the birth mark on her cheek.

"I can feel it getting warmer," she squealed happily from behind her right hand. She was so full of childlike energy; she hardly looked able to stand in one place as she was doing. She put her hands down and then motioned to the ladder leading into darkness. He was moving before he got a chance to think about whether he wanted to, and did not stop when he got to the ladder. He started stretching his little boy legs to safely reach the rung below the one his feet were currently occupying. Jago counted ten such rungs before his feet made solid contact with the floor. He backed up two paces and waited in darkness so complete he could have sworn he had gone blind. He heard Coleena start down the steps, then silence, followed by the sound of a heavy door closing. Her movements down the ladder then continued.

When she had reached the bottom, she turned around and spoke one word, "light". The room was then bathed in beautiful, white light. He felt his hands fall from his eyes to his side. When he looked down at them, they were where they felt before she spoke, so all was well.

He glanced around and realized the trap door led down to enormous sleeping quarters. Halfway down the West wall, to his right from the ladder, stood an elaborate, redwood clothes cabinet. A head-boarded, fancy bed was placed along the Northern wall, and completing the room decor, in the Southeastern corner, was the largest bathing tub he'd ever seen in all his nine years alive.

Coleena walked over to the bed and pulled out a set of wooden steps from underneath it. She then walked up them and turned to sit on the bed. "Since we are now husband-and-wife, we will need to sleep in the same bed," she said as she gestured to the high standing mattresses underneath her. Her tiny little body took up no more space upon it than a fly would, landing on a piece of flatbread. "It certainly is large enough for the two of us.

"I am so tired from our busy day I'm going to take a nap. Come join me, Jago GoldSpawn, my husband."

His feet started moving and he was up on the bed and lying down before she even had the chance to move herself up to the pillowed end. He was lying on his back, staring at the ceiling and minding his own business, when she rolled over right on top of him.

"Lights out," she said and then she nestled her head on his chest. Her breathing slowed. Jago wrapped his arms around her, to protect her should anything happen, and he was quickly asleep himself.

### CHAPTER THIRTEEN

### BREAKING THE CYCLE

"We are done here Jago, get up," Coleena's voice infiltrated his slumber. He opened his eyes and rolled over to the edge of the bed, belly down. He stubbed the toes of his leading foot as it hit the ground, but did not comprehend why until after he stood up to his full height. The bed was much lower now than it had been when he and Coleena climbed into it for their nap. He turned his head toward Coleena and a wave of dizziness overcame him. He sank to the floor as the room spun in circles. After it slowed, he looked up and quickly back down to give Coleena some privacy as she finished buttoning up her dress.

"I said we are done here. The gift has been passed. I now hold it within me to pass to the OneWhoComes.

You did your part well, Jago, holding it for this day, but your burden of it is over. You may feel dizzy now, but it will pass. You will grow used to living without that which you did not know you were living with.

"Stand up and get dressed. The time grows short and we still have things yet to be done, my husband."

"My husband?" he thought. Blurry visions came to life, though he could not make sense of most of them. As he stood back up from the ground, picked his robe up off the floor, and started pulling it over his thin frame, his wedding vows whispered themselves inside his head. He looked at Coleena, standing tall and proud as she rubbed her belly with both hands. Her eyes were shut, and a smile was on her lips. "I have truly made her a happy woman," Jogo thought. "Not just any woman," he corrected himself, "my wife."

Coleena started up the ladder and Jago's world was plunged into darkness. He still felt his feet firmly pressed to the ground, with Christina DeBold's pressure holding him fast, but on the inside he was free-floating and ...

"You may come up now," she said.

He felt his hands lift away from his eyes and he was once again within the light of a thousand candles.

"I hope you don't mind that I take precautions against my virtue. Just because you are my husband now, does not mean you can gawk at me as I climb the ladder. Hurry up now, time is passing.

"Lights out," she finished.

He was once again thrown into darkness, but this time his eyes were not being covered by his hands. Hurrying over to the spot underneath the trap door, he fumbled to find the ladder. After he climbed out of the basement bedroom, he shut the trap door, making a hollow thud that vibrated throughout the living quarters. Jago spun around in search of his soul mate and took in his surroundings. They made him slightly bewildered, the things he saw held within the four walls. His last memory of inside the house told him that it should be completely empty. The door was shut, with the bolt drawn to keep it that way. A chair stood in front of a single window, which was an odd place for a chair to be. The curtain, opened slightly, rippled softly as a warm evening breeze filtered through shutters not completely closed together. There was now a deep redwood table occupying space on the wall his eyes brushed as he circled around. Then he saw her. She was standing in front of a redwood writing desk that matched the table. She again was rubbing her belly with both hands and her face remained the owner of a wide, glowing smile. She was looking at some kind of decoration that had been splashed on the wall behind the desk. He took his place behind her, on her right side, and wanted to do no more than stand patiently, awaiting further instructions.

She opened her eyes and turned her head while her left hand gestured to the wall in back of the writing desk. "I don't have an abundance of time to waste explaining everything to you here and now, and I'm still thinking about how much of your daily memories you will keep," she started as she dropped her hand back to her belly. She took a breath and noticed the way Jago still slightly quivered with it. "These are your ancestors, and mine, written on the wall since the first OneWhoMustRemember and the first OneTrueDaughter."

He wanted to ask what a "OneWhoMustRemember" was, as well as a "OneTrueDaughter", since he could not recall anything on either subject, but he dared not to be the one to waste his loving wife's time. All his memories had her in the center, "and that is the way it should be," he finished to himself.

"The first line, though red, was written with the same black ink from this well," she preached and pointed to the wooden vial that sat upon its writing desk throne. "They were husband and wife when they made their journey here with the OneWhoBroughtUs.

"Upon arriving to this land, after dictating to ThoseThatCame of the things he wanted done and how things were going to be, the OneWhoBroughtUs took her away from him in order to take her as his own wife. They both lived here, while the first OneWhoMustRemember and his Son Bringer, although it has been called 'wife' more and more, lived in the very house you do now, Jago. The OneWhoBroughtUs and Jodeen GoldSpawn lived here. They had two children, one son and one daughter.

"The son was given to the first OneWhoMustRemember, Brendon GoldSpawn, to raise as his own. The daughter went to Jodeen to raise as the first OneTrueDaughter. No one complained about the new arrangement, for the all-powerful, OneWhoBroughtUs, commanded it to be so.

"Within the next few years all the books of prophecy and commands were written and the OneWhoBroughtUs simply disappeared. We, the OneTrueDaughters, have held the key to the next coming from that point forward.

"The OneTrueDaughter has to convince the current OneWhoMustRemember to kill his firstborn son by throwing him off the Cliffs of Offering. That is needed to break the Cycle of Light, thus causing the Coming to happen. If it is not done by the lad's tenth birthday, the cycle remains and the next OneWhoMustRemember's firstborn son and the OneTrueDaughter's firstborn daughter would then be faced with the same task. It is a task that seems very hard to accomplish, as many generations of OneTrueDaughters have come and gone, and so far none have seen the prophecy come true."

As she drew another breath, Jago thought about how exciting this "Coming" sounded. He did not really know why those before had not broken the Cycle by now, if something glamorous sounding as the Coming was waiting to happen.

"If I am right, as I usually am, the Coming is very close, Jago, and I will take nothing to chance on its success." She turned back to the wall and pointed to the first set of names, drawn blood red, and recited what she knew from memory:

"Brendon GoldSpawn 3m12y Jodeen GoldSpawn

We honor the first of each station by carrying on their name."

She continued reading the first few names under those two lines, after reminding Jago that the red names and words were written in the same ink as the black ones that followed:

Brendon-Johnson 3m 18y Jodeen-Carolina

Brendon-Hannni 3m 27y Jodeen-Natalia

Brendon-Anson 3m 38y Jodeen-Helena

As she was reading those next few names, Jago jumped ahead of her and skimmed down until that column ended, where the top of the desk met the wall. None of the names were in the same handwriting and letter spacing patterns, but the first name on the left was always Brendon, just like the repeating name of Jodeen. Constant as well, in each line, was the 3M.

"These columns of names and dates are a journal of sorts that give a time-frame of when each OneWhoMustRemember was given the key to the Coming by the current OneTrueDaughter. For whatever reason, the third month has been the birth month of all OneWhoMustRemembers. In that month, during the listed Year of the Endless Light, the OneTrueDaughter wrote down this information after the tenth year since birth of the OneWhoMustRemember's son. The task was then handed down to her daughter to take up. The key has to yet to be used in breaking the Cycle, so the list has grown and grown." Coleena pointed to the last name in the second column, all the way down by the floor. "That person was your father, Jago. My mother wrote that very last entry.

"Brendon-Geoffy 3m 948y Jodeen-Sanseen

"I can tell you it was a sad day for her, for me as well. The same day you asked me to marry you. You have forgotten it because I decided to allow you the gift of having a memory free of that horrible man. He sent me away from you and then took you way up to his cave to keep you safe. He thought my mother was crazy it seems. She fell through the same crack all the other OneTrueDaughters have.

"That day was the first day my birthmark tingled and turned ever so darker. I knew it was something special. I am different Jago, my love, and I certainly will not fall through any crack, nor shall I fall short of my goal.

"I have realized, as well, that all of these names have been written wrong, but we will correct that tonight. The name that has been carried down has been the first one, instead of the last." Coleena started to snicker. "After the OneWhoBroughtUs suddenly disappeared, Jodeen extracted a little revenge for the way her and her true husband was treated. It seems that she had an extreme dislike for the OneWhoBroughtUs. The point is she taught her daughter, Carolina, that it was the first name that was passed down, hoping to blotch up the rest of the prophecy out of spite. She never forgave the OneWhoBroughtUs for first taking her husband away from her, and then taking her first born son, as well. But that is another tale, for another time

"I figured that out by reading the personal journal of Jodeen Goldspawn. Oh, the interesting things she wrote about, like how life was back "before the move", as she put it.

"So, my love, you see that the names have been written wrong, and you must realize that no OneWhoMustRemember and OneTrueDaughter have ever been married since the beginning. I believe that was a mistake of sorts or maybe the originals were married and then broken up and now, with us, that has been fixed. I don't know which, but we must continue," she said. She reached down, picked up the bottle of black ink, and carefully unstopped it before setting it down again. She then picked up the writing quill. "Jago, you do remember vowing to me that you would 'break the Cycle', right?" she asked him.

"I remember like it was just a few hours gone by," Jago stated.

"Though you may have been talking about the cycle of violence that has plagued your family for generations, you did vow to break the Cycle, and you will have your opportunity to do so," she said. Without another word, Coleena dipped the quill into the ink bottle. She then stepped over to the right side of the last column of names that stretched down to the floor ending with Jago's father. She did not write at the top of the wall, like the other two columns, but instead wrote in big letters, chest high:

JAGO GOLDSPAWN 3M 980Y COLEENA GOLDSPAWN

As she set the writing stick back down on the desk, Jago watched as a drop of black ink dripped from the pen onto the desktop where it just sort of melted into the floating black wood grain just under the surface. His eyes went from the desk to the hand that set it down. It was suspended, still open from its release on the quill, a few inches from the top of the desk. He followed her hand up to her forearm, then past her elbow and up to her shoulder. He traced the outline of her neck and throat and stopped, horrified, when he saw her face.

It was frozen in a look of complete shock. Her eyes were as wide as they could be without splitting the skin around them. Her mouth mirrored her eyes and was frozen like the rest of her. He followed her gaze to the wall and discovered the reason. The words, just written in black, had somehow turned the same blood red that the very beginning of the makeshift journal had.

Coleena regained her composure and straightened out her dress, though it was too snug to her body to become out of place. She then turned to look at Jago.

"I was right," she said with a smug grin. "Do you see?" she asked him. "I was right!

"Now, there is one other little problem, Jago, which must be taken care of. It is time for the Cycle to be broken, and that is up to you."

"Coleena, I cannot break the Cycle because we do not have a child in which to break it with. How am I to do it?" Jago questioned. He tried not to sound baffled as he asked; a task made hard due to the lack of any memory that excluded Coleena.

"There is a way," she whispered. "There is a child waiting at the house across the path. He has already been taught some of what the son of the OneWhoMustRemember must be taught. He would certainly be able to break the Cycle."

"Yes!" Jago screamed to himself. He started to smile, knowing that he did indeed have a way to give his beautiful wife that which she said she desired most in the world. He saw Coleena smile back at him. "Ahhh," his thoughts continued, "what is one unknown child when I am prepared to give the world for a smile like that?" His mind was made up.

"I will do it for your love, that you have kindly showered upon me since the earliest of my memories," he said, which earned him another one of those secrete smiles that he thought was full of love and understanding.

"You will need to leave soon, husband," she said as she turned her back on Jago and walked to the empty table where she took a seat. She heard his feet as he made his way to stand at her side. "The boy already knows his part in all of this, and will not cause any problems. Simply escort him up the path, past the cave, to the section of the cliff where two large boulders rest five paces apart. That is your destination, the Cliff of Offering. You will wait there with the child until I arrive. I must see him be thrown over with my own eyes.

"Do you understand these commands?"

"Yes," Jago replied. "I hear and so shall it be done."

"You do this willingly?" she asked, raising one eye brow while shifting her gaze to Jago. Without pausing to allow him the option of response, she continued, "I do not want you to do this because of how much this means to me, or because I am asking you to do it. I do not want you to do this even because I would think of you as my Knight in Blackened Armor.

"I need to know if you want to do this because you feel it to be right and just, down to your soul."

Jago paused for a moment and shut his eyes. He pictured his soul, a sliver of electricity running from his neck to his midsection, radiating a silver light. Coleena's face was in the middle of that light source, surrounded by everything good in his life. If he could not do this for her, he would do it for the love that bathed her face within him, and that felt right to him. "Yes, I see it clearly inside of me that it is the right thing to do. I wish to leave now, if the time is right, to hasten the time before your happiness.

"Would you care for me to wait until you are ready to depart?" he asked, hoping she would say "yes". It would make for a pleasant stroll along the path if she were there by his side.

"No, I have to freshen up and prepare myself. Leave now, and remember, do not break the Cycle until I am there to witness it," Coleena said as she stood up and started to make her way over to the trap door to her sleeping quarters. When she got there, she stopped and turned to face Jago, who had made his way to the closed outside door. She watched as he drew the bolt and started to open it.

He blinked when he heard his name called and turned around. He felt Coleena's body press up against his as she wrapped her arms lovingly around his neck. Her sweat breath filled his nose.

"You truly are the best friend and husband any OneTrueDaughter has ever had," he heard her say before he felt her soft lips touch his. He closed his eyes and lost himself in her love.

How long he stood there, he did not know. The sound of the trap door closing brought him back to reality. He finished opening the door and walked out into the weak evening light. He spotted the boy, not where she had told him he would be, but a short distance up the path, sitting on a large boulder. Jago would not hold that against his wife though. She loved him, and nothing else mattered. Time, places, or things to do, they all did not matter. When his task was through, he was sure that if she could, she would love him even more. He smiled brightly as he closed the door behind himself. Jago Goldspawn then started to make his way up the path towards the boy.

### CHAPTER FOURTEEN

### GUILTY OR NO

"Tobias Marotte, son of High King Granson Marotte and Prince Heir to Magmere Mountain," the Political Overseer to the entire Dwarven nation stated, "what say you, guilty or no?"

The way the question was asked emphasized his true feelings about being called to court on such short notice. The Overseer knew this was a formality only, and whatever the Prince said, no matter if it was true or not, would be counted as truth. The chances of the Heir not denying these allegations, especially with the consequences involved would be very little to none, in his book. A silent but anxious crowd sat in the auditorium waiting for a response.

"Guilty as charged," were the Prince Heir's words. They were spoken loud enough to be heard echoing from one corner of the large rock cavern, nestled high within the Magmere Mountain, to the other.

Loud gasps of awe and shock picked up where the echo dropped off. Shouts of anger and disappointment followed. Each one cancelled out others as they grew in intensity. They were fighting for the right to be heard as though only what they were saying was important. The Political Overseer banged the Gavel of Silence upon the Pedestal of Observance to quiet the gathered dwarves. From high upon the Seat of Judgment, which was carved from a gigantic stalagmite in the center of the vast cave, the Overseer addressed the defendant again.

"I do believe, Prince Tobias, that you may have entered your plea rather hastily. You are charged with not only being seen conversing with Mountain Trolls, but also standing by as one of your own was brutally slaughtered in front of your very eyes by the afore mentioned Mountain Trolls.

"Allow me to go over the charges and the written consequences of those actions?" the Overseer asked while looking up and to his right. In the direction in which he looked was the private balcony where High King Granson Marotte and High Queen Yevon Marotte-Bonje sat watching as their only son stood trial. Receiving their nod, he continued.

"The first charge, which falls under treason to the crown, carries with its conviction complete banishment from Mount Magmere. All personal belongings would be marshaled up and forfeited to those in most need, including the very clothing you have on your body. Your beard would be shaved and then burnt. The ashes would be used to write your name within the Cave of Dishonor. Any other written document or agreements dealing with you, or with your name on it, would be destroyed. You would then be sent out, off the mountain and away from your kind for all time. You would exist within the Dwarven Community no longer."

As soon as the cave was mentioned, Tobias' mind raced back to the first time he had seen the writings on the cave walls. His father, the High King, had taken him there the afternoon of his younger sister's birthday almost thirty years ago. The celebration, which continued in their absence, was close to being canceled because of a prank pulled that went completely haywire.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++

It started the day before his little sister's birthday, thirty years or so ago. While roaming the mountainside, Tobias had come across a prize of prizes. Lying in the middle of one of the main paths their mountain goats used to travel down to the feeding grounds was a snake. To call it just a snake though, would be like calling Mount Magmere just a hill. This snake was a Rock Grazer, and was the most poisonous snake known to the dwarves. It was also the largest breed of all snakes in the land, except for the fabled Leatherback, which is said to live in the Sinasin Swamp on the far Eastern side of the land.

Two things made this a wonderful find for the then young dwarf: first, it was only a baby, and second, it was already dead and could pose no threat to anyone. Picking it up at the base of its head, it was almost as tall as he was, at three feet, and as thick as his lower arm. Six fangs decorated its mouth, four on the top and two on the bottom. It had hoof markings, belonging to the goats, stamped into the skin from head to tail. Tobias thought about how that would have been a very unpleasant way for the snake to die, being stomped on by a herd of goats. Then again, it would have been no joy for goat or dwarf to be bit by this snake. That was the reason for the large bounty on these snakes. They multiply by the hundreds, and there was no living side by side with the creatures in peace. He wished that it were slightly older, while he carefully used his hunting knife to remove the fangs and attached poison bladders located at the base of its throat. The simple fact was, though the skin was not valuable due to the damage by the hoofs, the fangs were always worth coin. A little older snake meant that it would have had a full set of eight fangs.

He deposited the fangs and bladders within his empty side pouch so he could dump out his coin-earners in town, without having to worry about getting accidentally poked and then he happily skipped back to Sunrise Keep. He played with the snake for the remainder of the day, hidden away in his bedchamber, but by the evening meal he had grown bored of it. That was when the prank formulated in his head.

Soon after finishing his evening meal, Tobias dashed to his chambers and hid the snake under his shirt. He snuck to his sister's quarters and listened at the door for a moment. To his delight, he heard nothing. He pushed the door open and found the rooms dark and empty. His younger sister had left the table early, but must have gone to the dress fitters to finish her gown for her birthday ball that very next day. He placed the snake close to the footboard of her bed, under the covers. He snickered as he saw her, in his mind, climbing into bed and having her foot touch it. The Prince was still grinning as he carefully closed the door to her apartment and hid behind one of the many tapestries lining the wall outside of her door. His plan was to wait here for her to arrive and make her way to her bed.

It seemed like hours had gone by and he was thinking he would just go to bed himself, when he heard her and her personal servant walking up the steps leading to her apartment. They went in the room and shut the door behind themselves. He waited some more, still behind the cover of tapestries and shadows, but after another hour had past, the excitement of the prank dwindled due to the lack of loud screams or cursing coming from behind the closed door. It was then that he decided to go to bed himself.

Tobias Marotte awoke very early that next morning. He got changed into fresh clothes, having spent the night in yesterday's apparel, and exited his apartments quietly. He turned right from out of his door, leading away from his sister's apartment and the luxurious staircase. He had one quick stop to make on his way outside, and the staff stairwell led closer to that destination. It was a quick walk to the end of the hallway and without pause he walked through the archway and made his way down the stairs. He passed nobody on his descent; being just before dawn. He knew the kitchen staff would already be bustling around, getting things ready for the morning meal, but the castle staff was forbidden to step foot on these stairs too early, just in case anyone of royal blood wished not to be woken up. The stairs ended at another archway that dumped him into a wide hallway with two doorways facing him. The left door would have brought him into the laundry facility, and the right one, which he headed for, lead into the large kitchen.

As he suspected, scores of cooks and their assistants were all busy. Any normal morning would have produced half as much noise, but today was not a normal day. It was his sister's birthday and the Head Chef had not only a birthday breakfast banquet to prepare for, but he also had to get a jump on the special noontime meal, as well as the huge smorgasbord for the celebration ball later that evening. The Kitchen Head loved the challenge of cooking for so many on a regular day, but days like today were what he truly lived for. He had a large wooden spoon in his right hand that he was waving around and pointing at his underlings with as he ordered them about.

The Prince tried to blend into the crowd of cooks as he skirted the kitchen around the Head Chief's backside. He did not want to have to try to explain why he was up with the dawn, nor why he was in the kitchen instead of in his bed. Never once had he taken into consideration, though, that he was one dwarf in regular clothes within a sea of white uniformed cooks. Tobias spied what it was that brought him down here, adjusted his plans on how to obtain it, and then made a bee line for the thick wooden doors and the complete freedom beyond. Heavenly smells of great food in wide variety entered his nose as he finished his journey from one end of the kitchen to the other. His taste buds were going wild, begging for a small taste of every new scent brought to his nostrils.

"Prince Tobias," he heard booming from behind him. It was the Head Chief's voice.

Tobias Marotte stopped dead in his tracks. There were more important things to be doing right now other then receiving another lecture on why he should not be in the kitchen, and he simply did not want to waste his time hearing it again. He could have simply kept walking, as was his right as the Prince, but he knew the kitchen Head was favored by his father. "Get it over with now and Papa may not find out about whatever it is, or hear it ten times longer from Papa later. Hmmmmmm, what to do, what to do," Tobias thought. He already knew what his course of action would be before he thought too long about it. He turned around and faced the Head Chief. "Morning, Head Chief Haventime," Tobias said with a large smile to the spoon waving dwarf.

"I have not got the time this morning for your pranks or trickery. Whatever it is that has gotten you out of bed this early, I want the kitchen and I to stay out of it. Take a meat pie," Haventime said as he pointed to the large double window at the door's side, "on your way out, and stay out. Neither one of us would want to wake the High King up should trouble befall the kitchen this morning." He finished his speech with another point to the meat pies that were cooling on the window, and then two points of the spoon towards the door directly behind Tobias. A loud clatter of pots to the Head's other side distracted whatever else he may have been getting ready to say. For a dwarf of few words, his lectures seemed to last and last. Tobias took this distraction for what it was worth and used it to end the conversation.

"Most kind of you, Head Chief," Tobias replied and he quickly turned around and made his way out the door. Tobias reached up from the outside and slid a meat pie off the sill and into his hands. He looked at the pie and found that his mouth was already watering. If the pie tasted only half as good as it would have, had he been able to get out of the door unnoticed and steal it as he intended, it was still one the tastiest of all foods to him. A mixture of pork, snake and beef blended into a very thick and creamy sauce riddled with peas, carrots, potatoes and onions. All these good things were poured into a golden brown, soft, and flakey pie crust. He crossed the street and found a place within the cope of trees growing in the middle of a small land island, surrounded by a horseshoe shaped, turn-around roadway where he could sit down and enjoy breakfast. He wanted to not have to worry about missing any of the fireworks he was hoping to see this morning. He looked up three rows of balconies and smiled when he saw the windows in his sister's room open to allow the warm summer air access to the inside.

He was still sitting there when the ale delivery wagon came and was unloaded of barrels and casks of ales, wines and spiced rums collected from all over Magmere and the surrounding area. A rumor started spreading weeks ago that a barrel of Fire Mead from the barbarian city of Polkonheld, far to the West then far to the North, was obtained for the Princess herself. He had thought that rumor was made up, but real or not, everyone who knew the Princess was extra nice and helpful in hopes of being invited by her to try the mead at her celebration.

Just as the wagon was finished being unloaded, the royal Cake Maker's high sided wagon slowly made its way up the cobble-stoned street, through the gates, and into the palace grounds. As it made a brief stop at the guard shack on the right side of the gate coming in, the guardsmen checked their list of names and waved her in without so much as looking at the cart, let alone searching it for the royal family's safety. Some members of society had that kind of special treatment, and she was definitely one of them. It may have been that she got her name on "that" list because she was the only one allowed to bake cakes for the family. Or more than likely, it was because the very first time she rolled up to deliver a cake for the King's birthday, she refused to give the rights for her and her cart to be searched and almost drove away, taking the cake with her. One of the guards on duty went to speak with the king about it, and when he returned, his head was hanging down. Without a word he waved to the cake maker to pass. Never again was she ever asked to stop for more then name confirmation, and never again was the topic brought up by the guardsmen with each other about what happened in the castle and what the king had said to the dwarf to make him hang his head so.

The cake maker took a sharp left after continuing from the guard shack, to put her on the "turn-around road", as the circular road was known. It branched off the main road and did just what its name implied by offering delivery personal the opportunity to load and unload at the kitchen doors and continue without the hassle of having to turn the sometimes-big carriages and wagons around. As she went past young Tobias, he stood up and turned himself around to get a better look at the wagon and what was in the back of it. He may as well been trying to look through a stone wall, as the high-sided wagon offered not so much as a small glimpse of the object it transported. He turned his body with his head and followed the wagon the whole way along the road to the unloading area.

Young Marotte settled back down on his behind as she eased the wagon to a stop, if one could ease something traveling as slow as she was going in the first place. She draped the lead over the seat and stood up. Turning around she grabbed a wooden lever protruding from the upper side of the wagon wall. After pulling it down, she made her way to the other side of the wagon and did the same to a lever located there. She then grabbed a crank handle located in the middle of the carriage on the wagon wall directly behind the seat and started turning it around and around. As she did so, the wall at the back of the wagon started to angle outwards pivoting at a spot where the wall met the floor. Two cords of some kind were attached to the crank handle via pulleys, the young prince reasoned out. It was amazing the new things people think up all the time. The end wall was lowered all the way down to the road forming a makeshift ramp. She made her way over to the side of the wagon and climbed down to the cobblestone. She then walked to the back of the wagon and stood in front of the ramp looking up the way only a mother could at her newborn baby. She called out to the Head of Kitchen. Haventime stuck his head out through the open window with the meat pies a mere moment after her voice broke free of her mouth. Seeing the cake-maker ready to be unloaded, he drew his head back in and bellowed to the unloading crew to get their heads out of the clouds and outside where they belonged. The wooden door opened and four thick muscled dwarves walked out and started making their way to the rear of the wagon.

That is when everything went astray for Prince Tobias Marotte. A very loud female scream was heard coming from high up within the castle. Tobias' attention was drawn back away from the cake lady and up to his sister's windows. In the excitement of waiting for the cake to be revealed, he had almost forgotten his entire reason for being out there in the first place. He smiled a huge smile, wishing he could be up in the room with his sister. The four guardsmen inside the wooden guard shack ran across the street on their way to see what the commotion was about.

The Princess had awoken with the dead snake rapped around her ankle. The blood-curdling scream emanated from her mouth as she kicked out wildly in a terrified frenzy. The snake sailed off her foot limply and flew out of the open window. It then dove, like a hawk hunting prey, straight down the three stories to land on the street below, not five paces from the cake maker and her wagon. It was only an instant before the horses caught a whiff of the snake's scent, dead or not, and decided that anyplace in the world would be better then where they were at that time. They both bolted forward with all the adrenaline filled strength and speed they could muster. The cake slid to the back of the wagon and was hurled down the ramp by the sudden forward thrust conveyed by the powerful horses. The female dwarf at the bottom did not stand a chance against a giant four-tier cake, however beautiful it was, as it rapidly gained more speed as it launched itself down the ramp.

To say the cake-maker knew how to wear a cake would be an understatement as large as the cake itself was. She was submerged in it as it hit the street and continued with its gravity induced speed and direction. It took the cake lady and the street around her to finally bring the monster of a cake to a full stop, exploding pink frosting and vanilla sponge cake everywhere. Not one of the dwarves who were paid to unload for the kitchen, nor the four guardsmen, who were thankful enough to be off the street when the horses made their break, were not lucky enough to escape their fair share of the cake that exploded upon contact with the cake maker and the street. To make matters worse, if they possibly could get worse, the run-away horses made the sharp turn merging the turn-around road with the main street. However, the wagon, to Tobias' dismay, simply did not possess the needed agility to maneuver such a turn at that speed. It was forced over sideways, and luckily, for the horses, the impact snapped the hitch before dragging them down as well. The wagon then slid straight into the guard shack, smashing them both into kindling. The horses were able to make the only clean get away of the morning. He remembered smiling ear-to-ear, while hiding in the trees, never imagining the trouble it would get him into.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++

"Is something funny?" the Political Overseer asked. "This is hardly the time or place to be smiling so."

Bringing himself back to the present, Tobias regained control of his facial muscles and replied, "Nothing, Political Overseer, please continue."

"The second Court Offense is on a higher level of ethics. The book is not too clear on a specific punishment, but after due consideration, if convicted, you may be sent to the Cave Makers Union to live out your life digging and expanding caves for the betterment of all."

"Would that be before or after I'm sent away from Mount Magmere for good? I can't very well be here working in the caves if I can't be here at all, can I?" Tobias asked. He never really had the social grace to think before he spoke. He was always one to state the simple truth of the matter, be it good or be it bad, then to think about words that would cover them with sugar and make them easier to swallow. It was part of who he had grown up to be, and everyone who knew him knew that as well. "I said I was guilty, and in doing so, I ask for my right to an Elder Gathering to debate whether or not my actions have merit enough for punishment. I will say no more on the subject until the Town Elders gather to hear the whole truth, instead of a broken misrepresented version. Life is not always so black and white, and neither are the actions taken in it."

After having said that, he turned around, bowed to the High King and Queen, and marched his way down the isle to the door that would take him to the holding cells to wait for the Elder Gathering.

Once requested, the dwarves living on and around Mount Magmere would have one full moon span to send their respected Elder to the top of the mountain, to Skyrise Keep, where he would be waiting for them.

### CHAPTER FIFTEEN

### STOLEN PROPERTY

"Jago," Coleena said as she reached down towards the trap door in her living quarters. She watched as he stopped opening the door he had just unbolted. "Stop everything you are doing. You will remain facing the outside side world until you are told to do otherwise." She finished lifting the door from its resting place before continuing. "I do not feel bad at all in taking your memory again, nor does it bother me that I have filled your mind with a false past.

"I gave you the choice to keep your life as it was. All you had to do was keep your promise of giving me your last name with our marriage. You failed to want to do so, and I acted accordingly.

"I give you forgiveness for the error in your judgment, Jago, but I told you this is too important to take any chances.

"That doesn't mean, however, that I am willing to make your new life upon this land a curse for you, either.

"When you are given the command to proceed, you will forget what I just said to you. You will turn around after hearing me call your name and you will see me right in front of you. You will feel my arms wrap around your neck as my body presses against yours." A quick passing, nauseating feeling trembled its way through her body as she remembered the way his body felt underneath her as she took back the gift his family had been protecting, passing down generation after generation. Once again she thanked whoever it was that gave her the power she possessed. "If only I could make myself forget certain things as well," she mused as she continued speaking. "You will hear me say that which you desire to hear the most before you feel my lips press against yours. You can allow yourself to get lost in the emotions, for to you, it will be real." Coleena chuckled and thought, "I am so glad that, for me, it will not be."

"You may start now, Jago," she finished. She watched as he slowly turned around. His eyes shone in a polished luster that could be seen from where she stood at the trap door. She turned around and started down the ladder. When she had traveled down enough to keep her head below the floor, she stretched up and grabbed the pull rope. After one more glance towards Jago, who was hugging the air in front of him with his lips stretched out in a frozen pucker, she pulled the trap door down, wasting no effort in trying to slow its speed as it fell. She climbed down the ladder in complete darkness. Her feet hit the floor and she spun around saying, "Lights." The room lit up without any visible lighting source. It never ceased to amaze her, that one trick, just like the table, writing desk, clothes closet or bathing tub did every time. She had no problem making the items do their intended tasks, but never even came close to explaining how they did what they did.

She turned her attention to the giant, white tub in the Northeast corner of the room. She did not really know what it was made of exactly, but it was hard as steel and as strong as steel, even though she knew it was not like any metal she had ever seen. It was made of something between rock and metal, and stayed warm, even down in the cooler sleeping cellar. It was large enough that she could almost lay down in the bottom of it, with only slight pressure on the top of her head and the bottom of her feet. The top rim was rounded out and down, with the sides sloping gently towards the flat interior. That feature made climbing into the waist high tub extremely easy, but getting out required the use of the movable wooden steps she kept under the bed. She walked over to the tub and spoke to it saying, "water." She watched as black shadows appeared out of nowhere and began swirling around the inside of the tub. She did not know if the shadows were where the water came from or not, but soon after they materialized with each bath, water started filling the tub from the very bottom up. It filled slowly enough that she had time to fetch the steps from under the bed and carry it back before the waterline was half way up the sides. She bent over and dipped both hands in the water and formed a cup with them. She drew the water up to her mouth several times before drinking her fill. When her drink was finished, the tub water was mere inches from the top. "Stop water," she said as she gazed into the cool, clear liquid. The shadows were still circling and swimming around the surface of the tub, under the water, and would be until the last drop was emptied. She stuck her left arm in the tub, up to her elbow, and said, "I want the water warmed now." Within seconds, she could feel the water getting hotter. She gave it a few more seconds before deciding that it was warm enough for her liking. "Stop heat," was the next command she gave before stripping herself of her dress and throwing it over on the floor next to the redwood clothe closet.

"Ahhh," she cooed, as she climbed into the tub and sank neck deep into the clear, warm water. Her left hand rose from the liquid and pressed up against her cheek. The lightning bolt was radiating more heat than the water, and she certainly did enjoy the feeling. She almost could not believe the time of the Coming was drawing near. "It has to be," she said to herself, still cupping the side of her face with one hand. "The journal entry turned red," she continued, "which means that even though no one witnessed our union of words and vows, it still binds our names together."

She laughed at herself, remembering that she commanded Jago to include everyone within the Land of the Faithless as witnesses to the words he spoke. She figured, at the time, it would not hurt to take extra precautions.

"All that is left to do is break the Cycle and wait for the prophecy to finally take shape and start," she finished while she submerged her hand, after hesitantly taking it off her cheek. She laid her head back to relax a bit before her walk up the mountain.

She was not sure how long she sat and daydreamed of what the Coming would actually be like, how long it would take to come, and what stepping up from OneTrueDaughter and becoming the OneTrueMother would be like. Time meant nothing to her. Brendon-Kyle would not be turning ten until next week, so she felt comfortable soaking there, allowing her thoughts to fuel her own anticipation of the glorious event. When she finally had enough bath time, she stood up in the middle in the middle of the tub. "Buttermilk," she said, as she closed her eyes. Within seconds, she smelt the sweet fragrance wafting up all around her. She did not need to open our eyes to know that the crystal-clear water was turning milky white upon her command. She squatted down in the tub, held her breath, and submerged herself for a very brief moment before standing up. She made her way to the edge of the tub and started to make her way out to the waiting steps. Coleena remembered her first try at this command and how she sat too long in the buttermilk. She went outside directly after and as soon as her skin became hot under the sun light, she started smelling sour. After only three days, and countless baths later, was she finally able to smell normal. "I've yet to make that mistake again," she said to herself, as she stood on the floor and rubbed the sweet smelling liquid into her skin.

When she was done, she felt much better. Her time with Jago in her bed had left her craving the clean and sweet smelling aftermath of a bath. That time with him was something she would do again, if need be, but with her cheek still warm where the lightning bolt was, she knew it was something she would not ever have to do in the future. "At least he doesn't even know," she consoled herself. "And one way or the other, if the book is right, he won't be around much longer to remind me of it with his presence."

Thinking about the book made her want to hold it, to run her fingers over the cover, and read, one more time, of the Breaking of the Cycle. Even though she committed it to memory years ago, she decided to bring it along with her. She would be near the Cave of Remembrance, soon to be her cave for the raising of HIM, when she was finished. She had been contemplating getting some sleep there for a spell and then and there decided she may want some quiet reading before her slumber.

She walked over to the closet door and placed her hand, palm out, on it. She wondered what attire it would have ready for her today when she opened it. A different dress everyday and never, yet, any duplicates. She felt a tingle in her palm and moved her hand down to the handle. She grabbed it and used it to open the door. There were two wooden hangers on a bar running within the closet. Hanging on one of these was a stunning dress unlike any she had the pleasure of seeing, let alone wearing, in her life. It was made of the blackest of black fabric. From the waist up to the high neckline, there were buttons of black, outlined in silver. They were no ordinary buttons though, being that they were all in the shape of lightning bolts. It was sleeveless and the bottom stretched to where it lied itself in a pile on the floor of the closet. She could not help herself and clapped merrily as she smiled ear to ear. To her, it was a dress that would outshine any the wife of the Supreme Military Commander had in her wardrobe. She reached out and felt the fabric, it felt like butter in her hand; smooth and slippery. As she handled it with her fingertips, her other hand reached up and slid it off the hangar.

This was a dress she wanted all on, and wanted on now. It almost slipped out of her hands twice as she lowered it to her bosom, where she hugged tight. She savored the feeling of the silky smoothness against her skin. After a long moment of this, she looped her fingers through the wide shoulder straps and lowered the dress to the floor so she could step into it. If anyone else were in the room, they would have heard a low, soft moan escape Coleena's lips as the dress caressed and flowed up from her lower legs to her thighs. She trembled as the silky fabric stretched and molded to the curves of her of her hips. She then slid the shoulder straps onto her wrists and raised her hands towards the ceiling. The dress was pulled up, carrying a wave of goose bumps in its wake like nothing she had ever experienced before. She brought her arms down slowly, savoring every ripple the movements caused the dress to make against her skin. The OneTrueDaughter leaned her head back and closed her eyes as her hands found the open ends of the dress along each side of her midsection. She pulled the material over her stomach and felt it stretch taut around her lower back. The combined feelings made her thoughts scramble within her head and left her wanting more. She allowed herself to get lost in the task.

Button after button, her hands moved on autopilot as her touch receptors went wild over her entire body. Her hands went up for another set, and instead, ended up touching her chin. It was over, there were no more buttons left undone. She almost unbuttoned them all, to reenact the whole thing again, but one deep breath made her realize it was not the act of buttoning that was wonderful, but the fact that with each button, the dress wove itself over previously exposed skin. Unbuttoning even a single lightning bolt, loosening the feel of the high-grade cloth being stretched tight around her, simply was not an option she wanted to explore. She was so appalled by the thought of potentially having to take it off at the end of the day; she chastised her subconscious for bringing it to her attention, and pushed the thought to the deepest, darkest corner up her mind where it would stay until it dissipated. Keeping that dreadful thought at bay was made it easier after she opened her eyes and saw the other article that came with the dress, from where ever it was that they came from. On the second hangar the wooden rod had hanging on it there was a long, wide piece of the same black material she now wore. She stepped back up to the closet to get the fabric when she noticed two more piles, which were previously hidden from sight by the long dress while it was hanging down. Her breath caught in her throat as she reached down for one of the two piles of black. She pulled it up and soon it became apparent that it was some kind of long stocking, with a thick, sturdy soul.

At this point, a thought from somewhere in her mind reminded her that Jago and Brendon-Kyle were still waiting to break the Cycle for her. That thought echoed through her head and grew louder, while becoming more direct in its need of seeing the Cycle broke once and for all. She held her breath against the eruption of feeling she knew would come, and hastily pulled a shoe/sock combination on and stretched the end to a spot just over her knee. She did the same with the other one and barely seemed to acknowledge the feeling of having that much more skin enveloped by the silky black. She then blinked slowly. Before she knew it, she had the other piece of cloth, from the second hangar, in her hands, tying it over the top half of her head. The loose ends of the tied cap dropped down just past the small of her back, where her hair ended. When the ends fell in place, a wave of pure energy pulsated within her scalp as every strand of hair found themselves being drawn towards the tie ends, weaving in and around each other as they did. The way it felt would have taken her breath away, but she had been still holding it from when she was putting on the hard bottom stocking shoes. She let her breath out, and as she did that, she felt her finger tips start to tingle. She looked down and smiled lovingly at the polished-until-they-shown, long black fingernails that now stuck out of each finger and thumb.

"Image," she heard come out of her mouth, though she did not command it. It was not a command she knew, nor did she know why she said it, until the inside back of the empty cabinet started to shift and warp, and as it did so, became smooth silver, allowing her to see herself perfectly. She liked what she saw and, better yet, she loved how it felt. She was on top of the world, in the best mood that she had ever been in. She turned around and made her way to the ladder. "Lights off," she said.

Her eyes started to tingle, and instead of being washed in a wave of darkness, a dull gray settled within the room. She could see well enough to make out every feature contained within the four walls. If she was surprised by this, it did not register in her voice. "One quick stop to the writing desk and we will be ready to go," she said as she ascended the ladder. "We would not want to be late, now would we?" Her eyes stopped feeling funny as she lifted the trap door and emerged into the soft, night light. She walked briskly to the desk and stuck her hand inside while thinking of the white book, the twin to the one she had shown Jago earlier that evening. "Something is wrong!" she exclaimed, as the familiar feel of the book failed to enter her grasp. She snarled to herself and tried again. When nothing happened, for a second time, she changed the color of the book to black and immediately felt the binding grow within her hand. She lifted the copy of her book out of the desk, perplexed as to why its twin would not come.

"We are going to be late!" she heard in her mind. She closed the desk and started walking to the door with all intentions of figuring out what went wrong first thing upon her return. A movement to her right caught her attention as she reached the door. She glanced over to the window and watched as the curtain lazily ebbed on the gentle, warm breeze entering through the partially opened shutter window. "Hmmmmm," she throated, as she approached it. She slid apart the curtain, and began lifting her hands to close the window. What she saw made her blood curdle with anger. Small footprints led from the patch of grass, directly underneath her window, towards the path separating the two houses. "Who could ...," she started to ask before choking on the rest of the words as Brendon-Kyle's face came to mind, with those eyes that disturbed her.

"You fool!" she spat at herself, while her already heated blood got much hotter. "He has in him what we have in us. Using your gift on him awoke what he carries within him. Your words meant nothing to him. Now he has what we wanted, MY white book is with HIM!" she spun around and marched to the door, which was flung open hard enough that it bounced back after hitting the wall and slammed itself shut, with her on the outside.

"You and I will talk later about why grass was allowed to grow within my protective rock garden, Coleena, and you will pay for this," she heard with fire in her voice.

"No one steals from us," she said. "He will pay as well." She set her eyes on the path and began setting a furious pace up the mountain, where she knew he would be found.

### CHAPTER SIXTEEN

### WITHIN THE COLD

"What kind of trickery is this?" Redlew Feiht thought as he was being held motionless several feet above the floor. He remembered sprinting down the hallway in madness, running down his own reflection that he had thought to be a crazy man who had made him very angry. As accurately as he thought he saw it all happen first-hand, his now clear mind showed him that not only was he wrong, but showed him how things really took place.

He saw himself on the stair landing yelling and arguing with mirrored images, like a lunatic. He watched as he started running for the wall where the stairwell ended after that one lone step. Only instead of running into the wall, it glowed as he passed through it as if it were air and not stone. He kept running full steam down hundreds of steps that made up the spiral stairwell. He had tripped twice during the decent, during both he had fallen half a dozen steps or so before getting back up to continue his mad pursuit of who he was chasing. He tripped again as he ran out of the stairwell onto a stone landing.

He then saw the bridge he crossed, and realized that it had been crumbled and more then halfway missing. He did not run straight down the middle as he remembered, but instead leapt from one section to another and back to another in a zigzag pattern. Some of the steps he took would have made him shutter if he could move; steps he would not have taken had he been clear-headed as he was now. He never even glanced at where he was placing his foot nor where he was going to place the next, almost as if he was on autopilot. He watched as he stuck his fingers in the holes located in the floor just before shouting "Redlew Feiht commands it!" in a voice that could have made the God's nervous.

That door opened into only what could be called a labyrinth. Door after door, hallway into hallway, through this arch then that, he had run his way through a series of endless passages and ways around. He never hesitated in his choice, being too busy in his pursuit of the taunting voice. He never saw that he was running through a maze whose ceilings, walls, and doors were made of polished, glass-like marble, carved directly from the rock itself underneath the once great city of Kessela. Each knob and door was the same, and each pair was set at just so of an angle they reflected and doubled off the walls opposite them. He did not think he would ever be able to find his way out, or in again. He was then dumped into this octagon shaped room.

He saw his reflection, the man he was hunting, trapped in the octagon shaped room. He saw his chance at vengeance. The only thing now blocking him from the one he sought was an hourglass pedestal that had been carved out of the rock everything seemed to have been. He was not going to let that stand in his way, so he did the only thing he could think of. He tried to jump it, hoping to land on the man he was after. Head long he dove over the pedestal, and that led him to his current situation. As soon as his airborne frame was over the hourglass structure, not only did his movement halt, but his head cleared of all the confusion that had held it captive until that point in time.

"A good thing, too," he thought as he came to grasp with the truth that the room was not as whole as he first thought. A wall made out of mirrored rock cut the room in half, just behind the pedestal he was positioned over. It gave the room the appearance of it being larger than it was.

He glanced first at his left and then at his right hand, held tight in air that refused to allow him movement through it. It was as though Father Time had forgotten to wind up his own clock up. They held steady about a foot away from the mirrored end wall of the room. He looked back over to the front of him, where his own face was reflecting back not more than inches away from his eyes. He knew his forehead to be within an inch of the wall, and with his hands a foot away, there would be nothing to shield his face from the impact that should have already happened. "So much for a clear head," Redlew thought, envisioning the pain he would soon be in.

Times were tough these days, and the roughness of life did take its toll on his body. Though he was only in his early thirties, his once jet black hair had almost fully converted to an in between of white and gray, but not quite silver. The same color transformation took place on the narrow patch of hair that grew on his chin directly under his bottom lip. It was so odd, walking down the streets got him a lot of attention from the ladies, and consequently, lots of unfriendly glares from the men. A short but distinguishing scar ran from just below where his left eye and nose were the closest together down to the corner of his mouth. By all accounts, his life should have been all over the night he received that wound, but for whatever reason it was, fate had intervened and he had managed to get the upper hand with quick wits, and even quicker feet.

"I was always a fast runner," he almost chuckled. That night, for the first and only time in his life, he ran from a fight. "It was also the first time on the wrong side of a six on one blade fight," he finished as he shifted his view directly into the reflection of his own baby poo, green eyes.

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He retracted the past back and tucked it away just before the cold was about to seep into his left fingers, finishing its task of consuming him. He always loved and savored the feeling of being completely enveloped within the power of the blade. It was not unlike being submerged in icy water. "Each time, it feels like I'm alive again, coming back from the dead," he thought.

"That it does," his voice answered back from within his head.

Every inch of him tingled in response to the numbness, and he could not help but smirk; it was now undeniably time.

Redlew's gaze shifted from the saliva droplets, frozen in front of the thug boss' mouth, to the man a few paces to the right of him. He saw the man's eyes had finally started to move up, not that it mattered at all now. Redlew turned and walked over to the man, free of the time constraints that had been draped all around him; he was the holder of the blade, the master of its power. Feiht's feet made no sound on the dirt alley street, nor were foot prints made by his advance. He knew that after the cold left, and things returned to normal, footprints may appear, but for now, and even then, it simply would not matter. Nothing would, really, except for the fact that the Guild Leader's words for punishment would have been carried out.

"I'll even be able to pay myself the reward," he spoke in his mind.

He had all the time he needed here, in the timeless void of the cold, so he got up close to the brute and studied his face. He recognized him as a silent observer who had been brought in to witness both the asking permission for, and the denying of that permission to hunt this section of town. The actual alley sought in that interview was three more up on the left, where he was headed to start his search after hearing someone was illegally hunting this area. Him as a witness meant that he was not just some "too-dumb-to-know-better", and the punishment would certainly be fitting the crime.

"Consider your debt paid in full," the black clad figure of Redlew Feiht thought as he used the blade to collect the life that was owed. Rent was due when you disobeyed the Thieves Guild Leader. He then stepped back one pace and out of nowhere, Redlew's right foot shot up and kicked the blade-for-hire in the chest. The man, still frozen in time, did not move or make a sound as the deal was done. The man would not even know what happened until Redlew exited the cold. And by then it would be too late for him; what was done was done.

Feiht then looked over at the obese man who was a little further up in the back corner of the alley. The very sight of the man made him want to scream, but letting out his breath would released the cold, and that was nothing he was ready for just yet. Instead of taking in his distasteful appearance again, Redlew's eyes settled on the small knife suspended between the man's fat hands. His eyes narrowed as a satisfactory feeling settled in the base of his neck, causing his mouth to elongate into an evil grin. A plan had been formulated, and it was a plan he liked. Instead of a quick ending, like the cutthroat he just disposed of, he wanted this one to suffer as he slowly counted what was due for the rent on his life. He did not know why he felt this way, but he did, and he was a man willing to act on those thoughts. He made the punishment for offenses like this very quick, with or without the help of the cold from his dagger. But the man did curdle his stomach with both his outward appearance and the stupidity he was showing and tossing the only weapon he had from hand to hand.

"Gives honest thieves a bad rep," he thought. "Not to mention, he did, as well, forgo the denial to operate on this street." Whether the fat man knew he was not supposed to be hunting here or not, did not matter to Feiht. These streets needed to be free from the members of the Thieves Guild for particular reasons only he knew. "Time is time," he finished, as he started to walk towards the object of his disgust. During his walk, his thoughts floated back to where he had left them, deep under the once great city of Kessela.

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As his dark green eyes met the mirror image of the same, he felt drawn into them. The outer fringes of his sight swirled around in black and gray. His saw movement deeper in the reflection, so he concentrated harder at looking at it. His sight became narrow, as though he was inside a long tube, looking out from the far end. He then felt as though he was sliding headfirst into the green eyes that were not even inches from his own. The movement he noticed moments before became more distinct, and he realized that his vision was indeed not only tunneled, but also moving toward where the action was. Like smoke being drawn up the chimney, he cascaded through the tunnel vision, and at the end, broke out into the real world, free of his constricted sight.

He immediately knew where he was, though he did not understand how he could have been below the Kesselian Ruins one moment and then hundreds of leagues the North and to the East at the base of the Tuscan Mountain Range the next. There was no other mountain shaped like Tuscan's cloak, so it had to be. A clash of metal on metal erupted its way into his head as closer to the mountain he flew. He never really even questioned the facts that he was flying over the treetops that dotted Kessela's Beard and the grasslands leading up to the base of Tuscan's Cloak. All around him on the ground were people and creatures of every shape and size. They seemed to be in a conflict with darker beings, which continued to pour out of the mountain region even though there was not much room left in the great expanse of grasslands surrounding it. The fighting below him became a blur as he sped up faster and faster, approaching the mountain itself. His eyes seemed locked on a target, off in the distance where he could not see anything yet. Still he looked and sped constantly forward. When he got a glimpse of a man wearing a black robe, he knew it was he that his eyes were looking for. The closer he got, the more distinct and clear the person became, and the more horrified and disgusted he felt inside. With less than one-hundred yards separating the two, the world seemed to stop turning.

All sound deadened and movement no longer existed. Even from this distance, he could make out the man's appearance perfectly. A tan, baldhead sat confidently upon wide shoulders with cold black eyes gazing the battle being waged below him. He was standing on a large rock outcropping about half the distance up on the mountain. The man was somehow not tied to the same thread of reality as everything else that stood motionless around him. Redlew could see the man's mouth moving as he spat words out. Then the man turned slightly and cocked his head to the side.

Redlew first felt the blood in his veins go cold as the man's darkened eyes settled on him. Then the stranger's mouth spread into a wide grin, and Redlew felt his body go numb as his blood congealed. Redlew Feiht then blinked. When his eyes opened, he found the distance between the two of them had shrunken into less than twenty feet. Fear and hopelessness dug into Redlew's mind. They seemed to be radiating off the other man's body. He felt the feelings heightened further, when the bald man spoke.

"Ahhhhhh," he began. His voice was almost heavenly-like as it glided from his lips, "My old friend, how wonderful to see you again."

Redlew tried to speak. He mouthed the words, "Who are you and how do you know me?" but found he was still unable to move, as he was while he was suspended in the mirrored octagon shaped room.

The bald man chuckled and said, "What's the matter? Is it a bad time to talk?" He then slowly walked up to Redlew Feiht and placed his face inches away from him. All hints of playful banter had erased itself, though the bright, gleeful smile remained. "Something is missing from you. You are not as powerful as you once were, Feiht. I can sense that about you, even from here, where I wait for my own Coming. I cannot tell exactly why that is, but it is the truth, as is what we are both seeing," he said as he motioned to the battle at the base of the mountain and beyond, below them. "You're not going to stand in my way, this time, for as you have grown weaker, I have grown stronger. I will be there when you expel your last breath, just like before, and I will happily inhale it as I look down upon you while you are being sent into the Eternal Darkness; a gift to my father."

Redlew did not really know what this man was talking about. He did believe, however, beyond any doubt that his threats should not be taken lightly.

"As a matter of fact," he said to Redlew, as the smile vanished from his face, "I have been wanting to try out a little magic I've learned since our last meeting. I haven't a clue how it will work from here to there," he continued, while gesturing to where he was standing and then to the general location of where Redlew was. "Since I haven't been reborn yet, I guess I have nothing to lose. What does not kill you makes you stronger. And as I have said, I am not reborn, so could I really die?"

The figure then started laughing as he glided back about thirty paces. Redlew noticed that during the backward slide, the man's legs did not move at all. The bald man then began moving his arms in a circular motion. The laughing died down as he spread his arms wide. The air all around the strangers started to shimmer and crackle.

"Get away, get moving!" Redlew's mind screamed. He tried to turn and flee, but movement was still not permitted. He knew something bad was going to happen and this was the last place in the world he wished to be when it did. His eyes started frantically searching for something to aid him. He knew it was hopeless though, because even if he saw something he could somehow use, he lacked the ability to move his body except for his eyes.

"The blade, for Bal'Derick's sake, the blade!" he heard his own voice shout within his head. It may have been his own voice, and though it may have come from within his own head, he had no clue what the words meant.

A murmur, in some language that he had never heard before, drifted over to his ears. His eyes migrated back to the bald man in the black robe, where there was now a greenish haze swirling in-between his outstretched hands. His eyes were nothing more than little slits of black, and his forehead was wrinkled and sweaty. It was unsure to Redlew as to if the effects were from the greenish mist, or from whatever it was he was to doing to produce the unnatural cloud above of him. The man's mouth stopped moving and a pleased looked spread over his face, which relaxed both his eyes and the skin that covered his forehead. The man then started to chuckle.

"Reach for the blade, man! Reach for the blade!" Redlew heard again from within his head, even more insistent this time. The stark terror in the voice that rode on those words was like a sharpened knife edge that ripped into his soul, deep enough that to wonder what they meant was no longer at the forethought, simply doing what they said was.

Redlew once again started combing the area for any blade or weapon that maybe just out-and-about and found none. He knew he was running out of time in his search when he heard the man's chuckle become almost child-like with glee at whatever it was he was doing.

"Find something," he said to himself, "find something I don't see and use it without being able to move." He started to feel confused as the laughter started to change its pitch to a low, full of throat, growling cackle.

"GET IT!!" blasted in Redlew's skull.

He was just about to protest to the voice still ringing in his head, when that thought was replaced by anger, which once again began to creep out of his mind.

"Yell at me, will he?" he mentally asked, as he was filling up with burning madness that radiated off the anger. "Is that going to make anything better, yelling like that?" he continued. His thoughts were getting louder and louder. "You can't do this to me, I will not allow it! 'Get the blade, get the blade'. You are ranting like a madman, acting as if the blade were directly below my nose." Redlew Feiht then drove his eyes straight down below himself as proof of that nonsense. The anger faded, replaced with wonder and hope. Directly underneath his forward pitched torso, a foot or two down, he saw a knife resting in a bowl of some kind. It was the granddaddy of any sort of knife he'd ever seen, and because of his line of work, he had seen many to compare it with. It was about forearm size in length, from the bottom of the hilt to the tip of the blade.

Before he could start to look more closely at the details of it, the annoying voice bellowed in, "Don't just look at it, lad. You need to reach out and pick it up. If you waste anymore time we are going to die, right here, right now."

His voice that he heard in his head was loud, but was relatively calm. Redlew heard an inhale of air, and all traces of calmness exploded with the words, "PICK UP THE BLADE, NOW!!!"

"What are you doing, my little test puppet?" It was the robed figure's voice. Redlew brought his eyes up for a quick assessment of what was happening with the bald man, and then wished he had not. The figure, standing where he was, had a watermelon-sized, green swirling orb suspended between his two hands, which were held above his head, spread out shoulder width. The man continued speaking. "You look as though you don't care to be here," he said with a mock look of disappointment in his face.

Redlew looked back down to where the knife was, "Either he doesn't see it, or doesn't care about," he thought. Some of his confusion was chased away at that moment by his backstreet upbringing. "Best use it to my advantage while I can," he finished as he cleared his mind of the robed figure, and whatever unknown threat against him that was in store. It felt good to let go of the entire subject of the danger he was thrust into. He could not help but smile. His eyes locked on the silver dyed leather hilt of the large dagger. He did not allow himself to actually look at it. He feared he would be more caught up in admiring it than trying to figure a way to somehow reach out and grab it, so he relaxed his eyes, blurring the image out while still concentrating on it. He tried to move his arm and found it still stubborn to any movement he wanted.

"I need you," he thought, as if he were actually talking to the weapon. He felt a small tickle somewhere in his mind. "You are my only hope, if I could command you to rise to my hand, I would, but I'm not sure that would do anything for me, even if it worked." The more he talked to it, the harder the tingling in his head became. He could not explain it, now, but something was happening. He just did not know what.

"It is stimulated by your thoughts," he heard in his head.

"If it is true," Redlew mentally added, "then let's see how stimulated it can really get." He was hoping, still, that it was somehow going to jump up and do his bidding for him, where he was incapable of doing it for himself. He cleared his head of every thought he could. Bundling up everything that was Redlew Feiht, he tried to push the thoughts out to the dagger and found that it did not work that way. He then tried to force it out of his eyes, still locked on the hilt, but again, nothing happened. He was becoming desperate in his need, and was no closer now than he was moments ago in obtaining his goal. In what would probably end up being his last attempt at saving his life, Redlew imagined a road from his mind's cavity down to his right hand. The tingling in his head as it flowed out and followed the created path to his hands.

"That's it lad, hurry up though," he barely made out, because at that point he was trying to send out all his thoughts on the same highway to his hand. He was pushing and pushing, as hard as he could, but nothing was happening. It seemed his whole brain was bottlenecked somewhere in the base of his skull. "Sorry, this looks like the end of the road for me," he thought sadly, as he gave up and stopped trying to push his thoughts where they have no right to be. He relaxed his mind and was ready to give up his life. In-between relaxing and giving up, he heard a loud popping sound, and felt something in his head shift. It must have opened up some kind of door within his mind, he figured, as he felt his thoughts swiftly race down his arm, to join the tingling feeling in his hand.

"That one door swings inward, boy, not outwards. When you relaxed the outward pressure, you allowed the door to open. It would be best to remember that," the all-too-familiar voice in his head said.

Redlew ignored it this time. More important things were going on so he did not waste time asking why he was not told about how to connect with the weapon before learning on his own. His hand felt funny; strangely numb. He realized that he was now looking at his hand, and not the knife, but did not recall shifting his gaze. It was not until he tried to look back down to the blade that he discovered his eyes had not moved, rather his hand did.

A numbing cold encased Redlew's hand as he gripped the hilt of the knife. As quick as that, the cold was up to his shoulder, and spreading through his entire body.

"Don't lose a hold on that cold, lad," he heard in his mind, "That is what allows you to..."

"What is it you are doing?!" a loud voice boomed out of nowhere. So intent on what was going on to his body, Redlew had forgotten the reason this knife was so important to him. The robed man's words broke through the voice in his head. The bald figure was screaming at the top of his lungs. "You may have gotten back that which was lost to you, but you are still no match for me!" the man spat.

By this time, the cold had spread into every nook and cranny of his body. It felt good, the numbness did. It felt right.

"To escape this horrible situation Redlew, you need to release the air in your lungs. That will draw the cold out of you, and will allow things to return back to normal," he heard from within his mind.

"Let go of the cold?" he asked himself. That was one thing he certainly was not going to do. He never felt so alive, or so free.

"OOO are now going to..." bald man continued.

"Breath," the voice commanded again.

"DIE!" the black clothed man finished his statement while bending both his elbows and dropping his forearms and hands towards the backside of him. Redlew noticed how the shimmery green orb drew back as well, still holding steady between the man's hands.

"I said to BREATH!!" his voice shouted.

"No!" he mentally screamed back.

"It's a pity there will not be anything left of you that your own mother would recognize," the hairless man in dark clothes said.

"My mother," Redlew thought. Images of his childhood and of his mother surfaced from their hiding places in his memory.

"I'll have to find her and tell her all about this," the man said as he pitched his body towards Redlew, while his arms started to roll forward.

Thoughts of his loving mother still floated around in his mind. He could not let her fall into this man's hand. His mind was made up; he was just hoping he did not waste too much time in changing his decision. He continued watching as the green orb was released from the man in black. Feiht really was not scared of what would happen to him, whether he lived or died did not matter much to him, or probably a lot of other people. But it would to his mother. She was the one person who loved and accepted him as he was, without judgment or criticism. He then caught a vision spring to life on the surface of the orb as it was en-route to his location.

In that vision, his sweet, dear mother opened her front door and took in a stranger on a rainy night. The stranger turned around to close the door and Redlew saw that the stranger was the man who was killing him right now. The man seemed to look right at him and smile.

Before he had time to close the door, Redlew could not stand it anymore. "NOOOOOOO!!" he screamed as he threw his head back and shut his eyes. His breath started to taste as though he drank poison of some kind, or was expelling it from his mouth. He opened his eyes and knew for sure that he was probably less than a second away from his death, or was already in the grips of death, experiencing hysteria and hallucinations. Pouring out his mouth was what looked to be the neck and head of a really large, bluish lizard, or similar creature.

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"I really thought I was already half consumed by the orb," he chuckled to himself. He stopped walking just shy of running into the fat man at the back of the alley.

"I could smell the fear, I know you speak the truth," his voice echoed back

He smiled after hearing that. Redlew then looked at the small dagger still frozen in mid flight. In one graceful dance, he transferred all his weight onto his outstretched left leg, and used his right foot to push himself backwards. The foot that was holding his weight acted as a pivot point, or door hinge. As his body was turning, his left hand shot out and snatched the dagger out of the air. A flick of his wrist later, the dagger hilt was embedded in the ground, leaving the entire six inches of blade angled up towards the man. His arc continued until his one-hundred and eighty degree spin was complete. He transferred his weight to his right foot and pushed off with his left. When that arc was done, it put him behind the fat man, but off to the side. Redlew expelled the smallest amount of air from within his lungs as he gently kicked one of the frozen man's feet. That was a little trick he taught himself to be able to react with people or objects while shrouded in the cold. The man's foot slid over in front of the other one, and since Redlew stopped releasing the trace amount of breath, the man's leg became frozen in this new position. Redlew then walked to the rear of the man and pushed him hard on his back, towards a dagger in the ground. The push did as much to this man as the kick did to the other, as he did not expel any of the cold breath that would allow time to become unfroze around them. The force behind what he did was hidden from time, behind the cold that was contained within him, and would not be set free until his own breath was released. That was how it worked.

He turned to the right and started making his way to the largest of the men, standing in the center of the alleyway. He walked past him and stood behind the brute. This one was going to wish he had listened to the thieves' law and decision that was given to him. Because this was the section of the city where his mother refused to leave, this was the one section that was going to be free of any random based operation until he could convince her otherwise.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

"NOOOO!" the stranger in black yelled in unison to Redlew's own cry.

Redlew watched as the green ball came within a foot of his body before the strange, blue he-did not-know-what that was coming out of his mouth, curved its neck forward and down, snatching the orb out of its streaming path with its mouth.

As soon as the orb touched the lizard thing, it erupted in a flash of color and both disappeared altogether.

### CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

### THE TIME IS NOW

"Whooooow!" was all Brendon-Kyle could say before sound was refused access to his throat and mouth by a surprising upward thrust to his body. He felt his father's muscles straining as his Papa waged a private war with Christina DeBold in keeping the boy balanced above his head.

Brendon-Kyle had thought he would have come up with some kind of plan or something by now, but the 'now' seemed to have had sprinted ahead of him. Now, it was far too late to think of anything that may get him out of this situation. Now, he was on his back being suspended by only two thin, frail arms, looking up at the pre-dawn lit sky. Now, he was going to be tossed over the Cliff of Offering. Now was when the Coming would start.

Other than the involuntary gasp of surprise, Brendon-Kyle seemed very relaxed. He knew this time would be coming, but he thought when it was here that he was either going to not be in the predicament at all, or that he would be scared to death. Neither of those two came true, Kyle realized, and knew that sometimes you just could not plan for everything. The recent events leading up to this shock induced calmness splashed through his head. He felt his eyes close as his mind retraced his steps.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

Brendon-Kyle, still holding his breath, forced his eyes open as the chair above him stopped its movement and its squeaking. He learned a long time ago that, although it was hard keeping them open, shutting them gave his mind the short second it needed to create the worst of thoughts and splash them onto his eyelids for him to see. "No, thank you very much, but no, thank you," he found himself chanting every second his eyes stayed shut for more than a blinks time. That left him to stare straight up at his mother's hulking butt and thighs. He could not help but see them as they tried to hug the ground from where the rest of her was suspended three feet off the floor, on a wooden chair that had been groaning in absolute protest to her weight for the last few years. He could feel the wooden rods holding the legs together as they indented his lower neck and upper abdomen. They also loved to taunt him with vibrations that ebbed from every creak and crackle the chair made. He heard the sound of the house door open and thought Papa had finally come to rescue him. He started to call out, to let him know he was thus far unhurt. However, even if his mother's voice had not over-powered his in her own surprised outcry, her shifting weight locked his throat up after just a few notes as he saw the top of the chair flex and move in circles with yet more grunts and groans of wood on wood.

She tried several times to rock the chair forward enough to center her body under her legs, and managed to gain sure footing on the third try, just as her surprised, "Whaaa?" ended. As she accomplished this and started to transfer her bulk on them to stand, the chair rocked backwards and dug the wooden dowels deeper into his throat. All Brendon-Kyle was able to do was let out a small gasp of fright, as thoughts of her falling backwards on top of him consumed his thoughts.

"Odeesma," a woman's voice rang out.

It was not his Papa at all, he thought. With his mother standing in front of him and the chair still positioned over his body, he could not see enough of the woman to help him remember where he had heard her voice before. He concentrated on it as he heard the woman speak again.

"I want you to go to that bed," she said, and he caught a glimpse of a slender wrist and hand that shot into view as it pointed to Kyle's own small, grass cot in the corner of the house, closest to the door. "And lay down until I give you further instructions. You will waste no more of my time today."

Her voice was smooth and every word was pronounced clearly. He actually felt bad for this unknown lady who had just helped herself to not only the doorway to the house, but to the wrath and fury of Mama's anger as well. She obviously did not know to whom she was speaking to. Mama was not one to take orders of any kind; she was the one to give them. He wanted to be anywhere else in the world but in this house at this very moment. As his mother's foot scraped across the wooden floor during its frontal assault on the ground before it, Kyle shut his eyes. He did not want to see what Mama's response would be. He heard another foot grate across the floor, making its way forward and then another. He peeked out from behind his half closed eyes and saw that his mother was doing exactly what she had been told to do. He was really confused by the lack of anything considered a fight as his mother finished walking to his pile-of-grass bed and lay down upon it. She did not try to adjust herself or the lumps in the mattress, as she did every night she suffocated her own bed with her sheer weight alone, nor did she say a single word. "Something is not right with Mother," Kyle thought.

"Move the chair and rise," he heard the woman say. After just witnessing the way his mother did as this woman said, he thought it would be best if he copied her acceptance of the orders given. He was beginning to think that maybe this woman was the wife of the Military Commander or someone else with just as much power. Brendon-Kyle picked the chair up off his body. It felt good not to be a prisoner by it any longer. He really wanted to throw it far, far away, but instead he simply sat it next to him. With that done, he sat up and rolled to his feet. As he stood, he got his first look at the intruder with the smooth voice. He recognized her immediately and felt ashamed that her voice was not enough to bring to mind her face when he was under the chair.

It was Coleena; the lonely woman who lived across the path from them. He never really saw or talked to her much during his life. She stayed inside most of the day or only came out when he was not around, he assumed, so he forgave himself for not recognizing the voice, but she was also the one who had given him all those wonderful potatoes to bring up to the cave to share with his Papa.

"Why were you under that chair, boy?" she asked Kyle.

Kyle informed her of the details, after which he saw her start to grin. Although she may have been pretty, even more so when she smiled, it still hurt him to see she thought what he had just went through as funny. Someone being scared to death, to him, was nothing that should be laughed at. He started to get angry and annoyed. Marching into his house, ordering people around, and then having the nerve to grin after being explained as to why he was under a chair with his mother sitting on top of it?

He looked her square in the eyes, feeling braver with the anger running within him. He felt his eyes getting dry and blinked. When he opened them, still looking at Coleena, he saw something different. Her eyes had taken on the look of some kind of wild creature. He had never really seen a wild creature before, but from the stories his Papa would tell him to pass a restless night by, he knew beyond any doubt that those eyes were of a monster and something within them spoke of power. Goosebumps tingled down his spine and caution replaced the anger her smile brought. He felt the wave of goose bumps reach his lower back before they broke apart and started rippling around his sides. They met again in the middle of his stomach, where he felt them gather in a circle. A warm sensation broke out of this collection in his midsection. It spread through his body and had a calming effect on him, even with the eyes of a beast staring him down.

"You have great power," he started to say. He wanted her to know that he could see it, just under the surface of her eyes. In addition, he felt it right to tell her he was not afraid of what was lurking within her. "I can see..."

"Enough," Coleena interrupted him. He let her do so, not much now caring, for some reason, of letting her know his secret. He blinked again and the goose bumps dispersed, but the warm feeling remained as she continued talking. It was at this point his mind started to feel funny. The calmness from his stomach moved into it and he chose not to fight it as the feeling encompassed his brain. He was watching life without truly feeling life. "You will look at your feet and will not speak again until spoken to.

"Do you understand?" she asked.

"Yes," Kyle answered. He did not understand what he had done in the few seconds between her smiling and her interrupting him that would cause her mood to change so quickly, but he felt it wise to obey her, at least for the moment. The look in her eyes visibly softened a shade as they lost their knife-edge, but they remained ever calculating as she continued. "I have so much riding on the events within the near future and you will not interfere with any of it. Until the door to my house closes, you will remain standing where you are, looking where you are.

"Do you understand?"

He had no idea what she was talking about, other than the standing and looking part. Partial understanding was better than no understanding, he felt, so he said "yes".

"When you hear my door close, you will walk outside and close this door. You will sit on the ground in front of it, and wait for your father. When he comes, he is going to lead you to the Cliffs of Offerings, and he is going to throw you off it to end the Cycle of Light. Your death will signal the Prophecy of the Coming.

"I will be the OneTrueMother, all because of you Brendon-Kyle," she smiled a genuine smile of happiness after saying this. "It will all start with your death," she said still smiling. She paused for a second and then took in another lungful of air. Her speech slowed down and her words floated from her lips like a bee leaving a freshly pollinated flower. "I want to be the OneTrueMother, Brendon-Kyle, and you need to die to make that happen. I need you to die, Brendon-Kyle.

"Do you understand?"

It was hard not understand something as simple as that, but he had no idea what a "OneTrueMother" was. Still, he allowed himself to agree that he did understand.

"I will be there to watch it happen and I am going to be very proud of the way you accept your fate to make my life what it should be.

"You do accept your fate, do you not, Kyle?"

The hair rose on the back of Kyle's neck as he stood there listening to Coleena. With every word it was as if giant, invisible hands were running their large sausage fingers up and down his body, paying particular attention to his head and neck. His active imagination was able to make real these "hands" his skin told his brain were all over his body, even though his eyes could not see them. It was also able to add a purpose for their actions. They were not there to massage him or anything such as that, they were looking for a weak spot; a point of entry to his very inner being. More than once he wanted to back up or run away, feeling the pressure of hands that were not there is they melted through his skin in search of something. Each time it happened, he felt the warmth inside of him rush to the spot of entry and repel the invading force. He did not know how, but he did know that the ball of warmth was the only thing between him and how he was right now and how his mother was right now.

Unknown to him was how his father was, trapped in a house with a woman who tells people what to do and then has fat-fingered, invisible hands enter your body and make you do whatever it was she ordered. Brendon-Kyle hoped he was better off than Mama, the strongest person he had ever known. He knew too, though, that she was still lying down on his bed, acting as if it was normal to take and obey orders as easily as she had.

"Yes," he, yet again, replied to her question.

"It WILL make you happy to know I will be the OneTrueMother, Kyle. You will go to the cliffs willingly and you will accept your fate, for I am now commanding it.

"You understand the orders given, Brendon-Kyle?" she asked with one eyebrow raised.

Not knowing what else to say, he once again decided to keep his answer simple and to the point by saying, "I do."

"Very well, you will forget my words," she began telling Kyle.

Something within her tone of voice changed as she started. He more felt then heard her words as they turned into ice upon entering the extremely warm evening air. The pressure of individual fingers probing his skin melted into one continuous touch over every inch of skin, even those covered with his woolen robe. The pressure of the touch grew more persistent, and then even more so in its effort to gain a threshold into his body. It was as if each word that broke free from her mouth flew at him and combined with those already trying to enter him. Along with the extra pressure he faced, pain apparently was invited to join the spontaneous party his body was hosting. It became clear to Brendon-Kyle that although he was able, with the help of the liquidly calm, to keep whatever was around him at bay, that "whatever" had just gotten stronger and much, much scarier.

As Coleena continued talking, Kyle knew that within moments he would end up like his mother. He understood more now on how her words affected his mother and a saddened sigh echoed through his whole head. He decided right then that he was going to keep fighting the pressure her words put on his body. He breathed in and then held his breath and closed his eyes. His breath was going to stay held, until the Eternal Blackness called on him. His eyes were going to stay shut so that he could better visualize his Papa until he was not able to do so anymore. By the time his eyes closed, an image of his Papa already started to materialize within his head. He thanked the liquid calmness for giving him a chance to fight longer than his mother had. "I must surrender," he thought. He then felt the warmth speed up his windpipe from his abdomen. Without slowing down, it exploded into his skull and appeared as a brilliant white light bouncing throughout his mind. It was then that he realized what had just seemed like a really long time had been only long enough for Coleena to inhale another lungful of air.

She continued, "You will forget I was here at all. You will last remember being under the chair, with your mother sitting on top of it. You will then remember standing where you are, looking where you are now. You will do nothing until my door closes and you will do as the orders instructed you to do."

Already, Brendon-Kyle could feel the muscles in his whole body start to stiffen as though he were turning to stone. The fireworks of popping and flashing light doubled in its intensity, flaring up and becoming an all inclusive, large sheen of bright white that swallowed his entire mind in the aftermath.

He now felt as though he was swimming within a hollow crater his brain had occupied since his birth. At some point during the intensifying of the light and now, Kyle found himself no longer feeling as though he was connected to his body. All normal feeling disappeared and was replaced by an odd numb sensation that was now attacking his sight and hearing.

"At least," Kyle thought as he floated around within his mind, "I am still who I am." Then the disturbing thought broke loose from his subconscious, what if the Eternal Darkness was not dark at all? What if he was there now? While it was that he was either floating or swimming, he could not make up his mind, he contemplated what kind of truth his most recent thought brought. As he was just about to give in to the notion of being dead, just like that, something rippled on the outskirts of the light surrounding him.

He could see colored waves ebbing closer and closer to him. They seemed to be coming faster and faster, too, he thought. He found himself scared and more troubled as he waited for the collision of that something and himself. As the waves overtook him, they parted and molded themselves around him as they passed. They carried a noise, and he heard what sounded like a door closing, very far away from him. He could feel the very sound as it rode the air currents around his body. A nauseating feeling suddenly splashed over him, causing him to squat close to the ground while his hands braced his body on the wooden floor. Several seconds followed with him not wanting to do anything but breathe. The feeling passed and when he opened his eyes he saw not the light he was expecting, but the inside of his house. He could once again feel his body and the soft sound of his mother snoring broke the news to his brain that he could once again hear.

"Hmmmm," he thought, still confused about what had just happened. He remembered everything, right down to what he was explicitly told to forget. He played it all back in his mind. The whole episode seemed the kind of story that had he not experienced firsthand, he would have thought next to impossible to believe. He shook his head, hoping to knock the information stored there into something that would help him make more sense of what took place. What he did know did little more than make him realize that if he was confused before, at the beginning of his conversation with Coleena, he was one hundred times more so now.

"Something big just happened," Kyle thought as he slowly walked up to his mother. After several failed attempts at waking her, his Papa's image slammed into the back of his mind. His eyes went wide as the full meaning of her words sunk in.

"Papa would never do such a thing," he said aloud. He certainly did not believe that his Papa would walk him up to the cliffs and throw him off. His eyes then took in his mother and suddenly he was not so sure. "I have to get him away from that woman," he finished in his head, "and very soon."

He may have been small and he may have been young, but Kyle's love for his father gave him the drive to make up his mind to do something, anything really, that would help his Papa. He quickly scanned the room for something to protect himself with, but nothing seemed to fit. He saw a wooden fork on the table next to the empty plate that his mother was eating from when he was first placed under the chair. "If the plate and fork were useful, I would have good luck," Kyle said as he spied the other three empty plates and two unused forks tossed off to the side; Mama only needed one fork. There were the chairs themselves, he thought, though disregarded them as useless unless he got winded from running away should he have to. He finally decided to forego bringing anything with him as he turned back to the door. Speed and brains would be all he would take with him.

He could see nothing unusual, and besides the sound of his mother's breathing, he could hear nothing but his own blood pumping through his body. Within the few steps to the open door, a plan hatched itself in his mind. It was the perfect plan, he thought as he reviewed again. There was one little gray area in it, but he thought there would be time to figure that part out as he went. He carefully stepped outside, ready for anything as he looked left and right. He had a feeling he would be alone, but it never hurt to be cautious. He then took off running straight for Coleena's door.

After only half the distance from his door to her's was covered, he shouted, "YES!" to himself. He could not help but smile ear to ear as he angled himself towards the right corner of her house and continued pumping his legs as hard and fast as he could. He did so until he was past the corner and out of sight from the shut door. He pressed his body flat against the side of Coleena's house as he caught his breath. "Plan one, alone, would've failed miserably," he thought. It was composed of a bold and daring dash to Coleena's front door, which he would enter, take the house by surprise, overtake Coleena and then rescue his Papa. "Just walk through the door and overtake Coleena?" he chastised himself. He was still standing in the open, lambasted to the side of her house. He was thankful that plan two hatched in his mind before he was too committed in his actions to make the necessary adjustments. "Thank you," he said proudly to himself while rethinking plan two. "This should work much, much better now."

The revised plan involved him skirting around Coleena's house to the window that faced diagonally to his own house. From there he would enter through that window, take the house by surprise, somehow render Coleena useless, and then rescue his father. He smiled and nodded his head. It was a fine plan, he told himself. The only thing that was not covered in it, still, was how he was going to deal with Coleena in order to get to his Papa.

"I'm sure something will come to mind before too long," he assured himself, as he looked at his next objective, the far corner of Coleena's house.

### CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

### A CHANGE OF PLANS

Brendon-Kyle took a deep breath as he readied himself for phase two of his new plan. It simply required him to circle the house, in which his father was held captive in, to the window that faced his own house. He examined the terrain he needed to cross, all the way to the far corner of Coleena's house, and saw nothing out of the ordinary. The first four or so paces of land heading away from her house were made up mostly of small, round pebbles. Large tufts of meadow grass grew in patches scattered around, with no apparent pattern. It looked as though the knee-high grass surrounding the house had sent in raiding parties to prepare for an all out assault on the barren ground between where it stopped and the house. As Kyle reached out with his left foot to start his own advance, he stopped with his foot suspended a few inches above the ground.

He stared at the surface as he slowly moved his foot back to the grass he was standing on, and, sure enough, what he thought he saw, he did see. He stuck his foot out again and watched as the sand and gravel rippled and moved directly under his lower appendage. He made circles in the air with his foot, and the movement on the surface of the sand followed its course once again. He slowly withdrew his foot and squatted on the grass for closer look. He stuck his hand above the sand and moved it in circles like his foot. Being close to the ground allowed him to see tiny, rock-sized bumps emerge from the gravel. Just like with his foot, they traveled everywhere his hand did. As he was getting ready to pull his outstretched arm back, he glanced from his hand to the sand and froze, palm flat to the ground with his fingers dangling down towards the baron landscape. The bumps of sand protruded from the ground directly below each of his fingertips. He wiggled his index finger slowly and the mound below it mirrored it perfectly, parting the sand and pebbles as it did so. Caution took over when he started to lower his hand, trying to see how the bumps would react to his touch. So instead of using his finger, he reached to his right side and grabbed a handful of the long, slender grass growing there. He turned his attention back to the ground in front of him and discovered the bumps in the sandy gravel were no longer visible.

"That was strange," Kyle thought disappointedly as he stood back up. He underhanded the grass and threw the mound out in front of himself. As the grass started to fall, Kyle lifted his right foot to take his first step into phase two of plan two: the run around of Coleena's house. He inhaled in preparation of the dash to the far corner in front of him. One and a half walls to go at that point. Fortunately, for Kyle though, his plan came to an abrupt halt when his eyes caught sight of the picked grass just as it started to land not ten paces from him. The grass did not even have a chance to bounce or make noise of any kind as it was caught by the very ground itself. Two hands of sand and pebbles splashed out of the earth like a fish would, if it were a sea of water instead of desolate ground. They rolled over the top of the grass mound before the grass had time to even touch the surface. The fingers continued rolling until the tips once again made contact with the ground, imprisoning the meadow grass mound in a rolling wall of earth. The tips melted back into the ground it was made from. The hands kept sinking, pulling the grass down with it, until the sandy surface was once again flat, smooth; and completely motionless.

Kyle let out his breath slowly, trying to settle the matter of whether or not he had imagined what he thought he saw. He shook his head up and down, to no one in particular, as his mind was made up for him. What helped him make up his mind that quickly was seeing shredded chunks of grass as they were burped out of the ground, scattering in a puff of confetti green.

"Okay," Brendon-Kyle thought, "time for plan three." He then backed his body up one step to put more distance between him and the rock line that started the barren rock-infested-with-what-he-did-not-know area around Coleena's house. He backed up another step or two, peaking around the front side of her house to make sure the door was still closed. It was. He locked his eyes on the far front corner of the house. He vowed to keep his feet moving no matter what happened. If he had any other plan available to him, he would be doing it instead.

Before he started creeping forward, he stole a glance at the door. He would have to walk past it to get to the window from the other side of the house. If he could do that while not being caught, it would save almost all the extra time it took investigating the scary "sand-thing" he had just seen. He forced himself to look away from the door and instead, looked back at the corner of the house. The first step forward became another. He may have been creeping along, but he kept the momentum going, the whole time mentally instructing the door not to open. He did not stop this internal chanting even after passing the door; it was not until he was at the corner did he.

He peeked around and was horrified by what he saw. The landscape here mirrored the other side exactly. Four paces of sandy gravel stretched away from the side of the house to where it met a line of lower growing grass. One major difference was, however, where the other side of the house had many tuffs of wild grass growing within the otherwise barren area, this side had but two. One large patch was growing directly below the window and a smaller one, large enough for maybe a foot, was taking hold a pace or two towards him from there. Desperation started to make his skin itch on the top of his head, just under his hair, as visions of the thrown grass being pulled down and then spit back out of the ground unrecognizable played and replayed itself within his head.

"Whaaa?" Kyle faintly heard. It was his father's voice coming out to him from within Coleena's house. Kyle could almost picture the words fighting their way around the cloth curtain in front of the window before they bolted to safety from the cracks between the wooden shutters on the outside.

"Papa!" the boy's mind shouted. Without giving it another thought, Brendon-Kyle's mind hit the mental override switch, which sent the signal for a sprint step and long jump over the sand to the first tuff of rooted wild grass. His stomach showed its growing unease at the sudden lurch forward. The surprise leap across the sea of ground, where there was something hiding that did not want him anywhere close, made him almost feel more an intruder instead of a rescuer. He kept his eyes to the ground in front of him, which allowed him to see that the mound was just big enough to fit one foot on, with zero room for miscalculation of speed and lift. It also allowed him to watch as the small, half balls of sand materialized the moment his leading foot broke the grass/no grass line. This time, however, the mounds resembled the tips of an outreached hand times two. They were directly underneath him the entire time he was airborne. When his foot hit the small patch of ground, the hands simply went around the tuff, each on its own side. Without stopping, his mind ordered yet another jump. He sailed towards the larger mound of grass growing under the window with the sand hands still underneath him.

Kyle landed on the mound with both feet at the same time. He was able to stop and regain his equilibrium without having to touch Coleena's house. He looked at the ground and was relieved to see that there were no longer moving mounds of any kind. As he turned back to the window, he heard the sound of some kind of wild animal growling from the inside of the house. It was a low and deep-throated scrape of rock on stone. He was scared out of his wits for his father, who must be trapped in there with an actual beast. Until, that is, the growl stopped and merged into his father's voice before continuing. "I'm feeling very hungry today, Papa. Thank you for the lesson learned."

The phrase meant nothing to Kyle and he did not know why his Papa would say that, but he did know his father's voice and that was certainly it. The boy stood up to his full height, putting the beginning of the window at shoulder level. He brought his face right against the shutters and tried to peek through them for a glimpse. He was hoping to see his Papa, but if he could not, at least he might be able to see what he would encounter when he went through it. He was denied both because of the fabric on the other side.

"Even so," he thought, "at least I can hear and wait for my opportunity save my father." That brought the thought of how brave and grown up he felt, and it fluttered through his head. He had survived yet another dual with Christina DeBold, his mother's chair, and he had somehow managed to not allow the shadow fingers to turn him into one of the most horrifying legends his father used to tell him of, the dreaded Death Walkers. He had run the hardest he ever had in his life, he had stared down death and destruction in the sand, and he actually walked past Coleena's front door. He leaped boldly past his own death, should he have stepped off or fallen from the tuffs of grass, and now he was waiting for the right time to enter the house to do away with Coleena and save his father.

Sometimes it was good to be Brendon-Kyle, soon to be Brendon-Kyle, the OneWhoIsRemembering.

### CHAPTER NINETEEN

### DEATH'S HAROLD COMETH

Brendon-Kyle found that he was unable to move as he listened to the conversation between Coleena and his father. It was a remarkable tale, full of things so unbelievable that he anxiously clung onto every word, especially those that involved the Prophecy of the Coming. She knew everything about the duties and life of the OneWhoMustRemember, and her knowledge did not end there, he discovered, as she continued along in her story. He could not tell how long she had talked until the subject of marriage came up, but the meeting between his father and her took a turn for the worse when it.

Brendon-Kyle could feel the air around him grow colder, and he knew somehow that the sausage fingers had been sent into battle again. It was just as he heard his father deny the wedding proposal he had made as a child. Brendon-Kyle wondered why his father had never mentioned anything to do with that day, or any other day with Coleena growing up. Kyle was hoping that his father could resist the fingers, as he himself had done. He found that was not the case; his father was as easy to take as his mother was. Though he was not scared, he was saddened greatly while listening to her words as she rearranged his father's memories easily, just by talking it.

Brendon-Kyle could tell by the way that Coleena's voice echoed off the far wall, before coming out the window, that she was facing away from him. Complete curiosity overtook him and he reached up with one hand and carefully pealed back one of the wooden shutters baring access to the window. He then separated the bottom corners of the curtain halves just wide enough to peek in. Doing so, he witnessed the marriage of his father to Coleena, though it was a little weird when she told him what to say, how to say it, when to say it, and had him repeat it again and again until it was just right. The whole thing was odd and scary enough that Brendon-Kyle failed to think about storming the house at all. He learned all kinds of things as the late evening light made its way from being hot and harsh on the eyes to a dull sheen that allowed cool air to settle close to the ground for the night. She held his desire of knowledge in her hand and did not let it go until she and his father climbed down some ladder built into the corner of the house; then he heard the trap door concealing it slam shut.

It was the noise of the door closing that shook him enough to regain control of the situation. He knew now he had wasted his time away and that the time for saving his father had passed. He had failed and his father was now hers unless he could find something in one of her books she talked about to help him. He reached up and opened the other shutter. He had no fear that he would be caught because he could still sense her and her extra hands below him, wherever the ladder had taken her.

Kyle grabbed the windowsill with both hands and jumped high enough to lock his elbows. With all his weight suspended on his hands and arms it was an easy task to slide one foot through the window. The same foot found the chair that had been resting in front of the opening he straddled and he transferred his weight to it as he turned his body and pulled the other leg into Coleena's house. His hands were still on the windowsill as he lightly climbed off the chair onto the floor of the one-room house. He turned around counterclockwise and quickly scanned the room. He first saw the drawn bolt keeping the door shut.

"Good thing I rejected plan one," Brendon-Kyle thought, "or I would have failed before even entry of the house and that would have meant losing the element of surprise." His eyes then passed over the trap door Coleena took his father down. He next saw a desk, a corner, a fireplace, a corner, and then a large, wooden eating table. The room was otherwise his alone. He walked softly over to the writing desk and opened it. There was no hesitation in his movement, he knew there were books in there, and he knew how to get to them. He did not know, however, what book would have information he could use to help free his father, nor how long of time he had to look before Coleena came back up here from below.

He lost a few valuable seconds to awe when the desktop was finally opened as wide as it would go. The very bottom of the desk was not the bottom it all. It looked to be the top of a whole lot of nothingness. The black surface, void of everything, was stretched out corner to corner, about one hand down from the top of the desk. It was so black, even from this close of a prospective Kyle could not tell if it was made of air, something solid, or liquid, because it reflected nothing.

He knew how the desk worked from listening to Coleena's narration, so instead of wondering any longer on what the substance was, he closed his eyes and stuck his hand down into the depths of the void. Thinking of Coleena, he knew what book he wanted. It was the one book that was a combination of all the other books. He closed his eyes and pictured the large, black book that had been described by Coleena. He did not want to take her personal white book; that would be too close to stealing. Although she had stolen more then enough from him to justify a theft like that, he certainly did not want to be placed in the same category as her.

He wondered how long he would have to wait for the book to arrive. It did not seem to take this long for Coleena when he heard her describing the process of how to get what was desired. He tried to open and close his hand, thinking there must be more to it than she talked about. It was then that he discovered something Coleena had not talked about. From his elbow down, the part of his arm submerged in the void had no feeling at all. It was as though nothing of it existed at all, other than what he could see. He started to panic as he envisioned himself armless for the rest of his life. He wondered what could have gone wrong. He quickly raised his elbow and to his wonder, the rest of his arm appeared. As it did so, it instantly felt like his arm again. When his hand materialized out of the blackness, he saw that clenched his fist was indeed a large, black book. He smiled to himself and felt the excitement of it all bubbling inside him.

"It worked! It actually worked!" he sang in his mind. He carefully closed the desktop and held the book with both hands for closer inspection. It was neither as large nor as thick as he envisioned with his hand down in the desk, but it was black and that was definitely a step in the right direction. He then sat it upon the desk and opened the binder, exposing the first page that had been hiding behind the cover for over nine centuries. It was the six lone words that had been written on the first page that confirmed, for him, that this was the right book:

### OneTrueDaughter

^

^

### OneTrueMother

As eager as Brendon-Kyle was to start reading, hoping to find something to free his mother and father from Coleena's shadow hands, he also did not want to be caught in her house if she should decide to come back up from where she was. He disappointingly closed the book and picked it up off the desk, hugging it to his chest as he spun around to make his way out. A new thought jumped into his mind during the spin and he found himself sitting the book on the floor at his feet before turning back towards the desk.

"How is it you got the right book when you thought it would be bigger and thicker?" his thought asked him, "Was that just how it's supposed to work?"

Kyle threw open the desktop again and catapulted his hand down into the void. He was not worried about where the feeling of his hand went this time as cleared his thoughts. He quickly formed a single vision of a large, black and thick book. He gave time a moment and pulled his hand back out with a much smaller-then-before black book attached to it. He did not take the time to open this new book, having figured that the desk gave the closest thing to that which was wanted. The new book went into a pocket pouch stitched into the inside of his robe at his chest, and once again, he closed the desktop and spun around. He picked up the larger book and made his way back to the window. As he climbed onto the chair, he almost changed his mind, making the door his exit point. He chose not to because doing so would require him to unlock the door. That, by itself, would not be a problem, but then he would not be able to shut the door and slide the bolt home again from the outside.

"Unless," he countered himself, "I went out the door and then back around to the window to slide the bolt home." He contemplated this new plan for a mere second before he realized that he wasted enough of his passing time thus far, and he still knew nothing that would help his father. Therefore, standing on the chair, Brendon-Kyle tucked the large, black book under his robe's tie strap and turned to face the window. He bent over as best as he could with the book at his stomach, and gripped the windowsill. With his wrists touching back to back, his right fingers overlapped the interior sill and his left fingers hung over the exterior. He stretched his left leg through the window and used the ball of his right foot to pivot his hips before he used the same foot to sideways hop over to the sill to sit his rump on it. He then leaned what he could of his body out the window and used his left leg as a brace against the side of Coleena's house. While doing this, he let his mind formulate his next course of action. His plan was a simple one. He would escape the window's opening, hop down on the grass mound, jump to the second, and then back to complete safety on the worn, dirt path. Before he was able to draw his plan out further than that, however, he realized something had already gone wrong. His thoughts traveled back from the future to the here and now. He processed the information of the immediate past and concluded that sometimes it was not good to be "Brendon-Kyle, the Adventurer".

He was in midair, belly down, and horizontal to the ground. His right hand was flaring wildly above his head while his left hand was doing the same off to the side of him. His upper legs were in line with his back, his knees were bent, and his feet were mimicking his hands. He reasoned that his whole body, minus his right leg from the knee down, had managed to flee Coleena's house without incident. It seemed the very second Brendon-Kyle's right foot had slid clear of the window, the book at his waist screamed silently to anyone who would listen that it was not ready; it had not yet cleared the windowsill. No one was paying attention, though. The book had managed to sandwich the windowsill between itself and his stomach and unfortunately, for the boy, the leather tie strap of his robe did not break as all his weight found itself suspended upon it. This caused the chain reaction leading to his current free fall. He registered the fact that he was falling, and falling fast. He uncontrollably inhaled and held his breath as he watched the ground beneath him rush up. It was then that Brendon-Kyle noticed not only the warm goose bumps in his stomach flair up, but also that he appeared to stop falling. Oddly, nothing moved; not even him even though he was suspended in midair on his way to what would probably be his death, not the small mounds of sand that had at some point materialized and were heading towards him on the surface of the gravel ground, nothing at all.

The flare in his belly shot out through him like mountain fire ants, swarming out of their red clay mounds on the warpath. The feeling did not stop until it owned his whole body. As it did, he felt himself shift down slightly. It was just enough to let him know Christina was still patiently working on his body, trying to bring him down where he belonged. His eyes saw, through a silver tint, that the tiny mounds of sand had risen and had grown into two perfectly formed hands of earth. He simply accepted the fact that he saw it happen within the same shift of time that lowered him slightly, though his eyes were focused on the ground directly below him, not on where the hands were, off to his side.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

From his suspended placement, still above his Papa's head at the cliffs high upon the One-Day Mountain, he did not stop to question why his mind had grayed out and fast-forwarded through what transpired during the next section of his life after the fall from Coleena's window. He guessed that was because he was still very unsure as to what actually happened. His mind picked back up with him standing on the path between the two houses.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

He remembered walking slowly, in a dazed stupor, up the path where he stopped at the large rock on the left side of the path. He took the acquired book out from behind his robe's tie strap and sat upon the rock to start his investigation for answers that would help him free his Papa. The knowledge he sought was not quick enough to surface. No sooner than he read the first page, consisting of the prophecy dealing with how to become the OneTrueMother, he heard the sound of a door opening. Instinct took over, and with little thought Brendon-Kyle stuffed the book inside his clothes between his stomach and tie strap. He never imagined hiding something from his Papa, but his real Papa was taken from him and this man was going to throw him off a cliff to make two prophecies come true. The Coming would start, and Coleena would be the OneTrueMother. He did not understand the whole OneTrueMother thing, but he understood for sure what being thrown off a cliff would do. He only hoped there would be time to look the book over in detail at a later point in time. It was his only hope.

He watched his Papa-that-was not as he closed the door to the house before turning to look at his family's own house across the path. He paused for a moment before sweeping his gaze from right to left. When Brendon-Kyle saw him look over towards the rock, he noticed the little shrug his Papa did before starting down the path towards him.

"Come, boy," was his father's only words to him.

The walk up the path was in silence, with no breaks to be taken during the entire trip. Brendon-Kyle tried to stall once in the beginning, but that attempt failed, and had not been duplicated. He fell to his knees in fake fatigue, and was slightly relieved to see his father stop and come back to him. Relief was washed away by surprise when his Papa reached down, grabbed his arm and hauled him to his feet. Once they were planted on the ground, he pushed Kyle forward without a word. After they covered the long distance needed to bring them to the cliff with the two boulders, the same one that each OneWhoMustRemember was cast off upon their death, they simply stopped. His father turned around and looked up and past his son at the path they had just travelled. Kyle walked around him and sat upon one of the boulders, looking out beyond the shear drop off. The cliff was high enough, and steep enough, that he could not see what lay waiting at the bottom. He turned to his father, but before his question was even half asked, a raised hand silenced the rest. His Papa did not turn around to acknowledge his son, or the question Kyle asked. He just stood there, frozen in place. Brendon-Kyle knew his father was waiting for Coleena to arrive so he could do what she had ordered him. Not knowing what else to do, Kyle turned himself back to face the cliffs to try to reason out the mysteries that faced him. He did not want to die, but he really did not have a choice in the matter while his father was not acting like his father. He could run away, but he knew that would be useless in the end. He would be caught and his fate would still be his fate. Instead of that, he decided to accept what would happen. He would stay, come what may.

"But," Brendon-Kyle thought, "as long as I have some time to kill," he involuntarily shuddered, "I may as well do a little more reading." He then brought his hand down inside his robe and closed it around the book's binding.

"Whooooow!" was all he could say before sound was refused access to his throat and mouth by the surprise upward thrust his body was given. Shock from what was happening to him muffled his hearing while slowing down his heart rate to one barely functioning. "How could he be ready this quick?" he asked himself, "I should have had more time." At that moment things around him seemed to slow down and his vision blurred.

"OOOooo rrRRROOOooo HHhheeemmm!" he heard flying on the air currents over to him. It was Coleena's voice. She had just come inside the circle of his falling eyesight and numbed hearing. He slowly turned his head towards the sky and saw something odd. Way, way up, where the mountain met the sky, dark wisps of floating blackness could be seen. They were exiting the mountain itself or so it looked.

"Could it be?" he asked himself. "Is that 'Darkness' Harold'?"

He then turned his head back to Coleena and tried to raise his hand to point at the spreading wisps of black. If it was truly the sign, then maybe the prophecy was coming to pass. If it was, then maybe he did not actually have to die this way. He saw Coleena stop dead in her tracks and look up at the peak of the mountain. He was quite sure she saw it as well. When she turned her gaze back to him, she started to spring forward in an all out run while flapping her arms. The sight would have been funny, under different circumstances, to witness, but comedy was the farthest thing from Brendon-Kyle's mind.

"EEEeeess OOOoo IIIImm! OOOooN ROOOoo EEEeeem!!" was all Brendon-Kyle could make out of her voice. She was still too far away to be heard clearly.

"She is saying not to throw me!" Brendon-Kyle yelled to his father. He was hoping he was right, and even if he was wrong, he was hoping his father would believe him and set him back down on the ground. "She doesn't want..." was all he could make out before his Papa's voice cut him off.

"She said to bring you up here and throw you. She said to wait until she could see it, and see it she can. She did not say to wait, and she certainly did not say NOT to throw you. Your lies will not stop me from caring out her commands. It is now time for the Cycle of Light to be broken."

Without so much as a pause for his words to sink in, Brendon-Kyle felt his father's body pitch forward. His breath locked in his chest as he felt the contact between his back and his father's hands break apart. The force behind the push spun him upside down and Kyle felt the blood flee his face as he stared down the cliff. Nothing was left to him but Cristina DeBold's sweet embrace as he tried to block from his mind the image of the cliff side and open air that stretched down from him as far as he could see. It ended not with land, but far, far down, he could make out a wall of fog with who-knows-what beyond that.

The very last thing he saw before blessedly passing out was a small bird way down below him, just skimming above the fog bank, lazily circling the area.

### CHAPTER TWENTY

### RIDING ON STORM CLOUDS

As the thud from the door being opened in haste faded, a man ran into the Bladed Hammer. His eyes were wide with fright, as if some form of devil had been chasing him through the streets of Bek'noni. "Worst storm ever is coming and getting here FAST!" he shouted. "I've never seen one move quicker or dump more water in its passing. I can't recall ever hearing thunder any louder in my life, I tell you!

"Barkeep, an ale, and make it fast! I want to be home before the rain comes!"

Somewhere in the middle of all the yelling, Brystal felt the rush of air from being picked up; though he could not remember feeling or hearing Mikel arrive by his side. His friend whispered words of encouragement as he started back towards the kitchen area before the man yelling about the storm finished his rant. As if on queue, another round of thunder roared from directly overhead. That was the last thing Brystal heard before passing out within the arms of his giant friend, Mikel Bourge.

Silverhand awoke a short moment later as the barbarian was carefully lowering his head, sandwiched between two hands that could just as easily crush a polar bear's skull, onto a soft pillow. He felt as though a mob of people had trampled over him and then the immense sickness came back. Brystal no longer needed the tracking spell still going off in his head to let him know that the storm full of the unknown magic was directly overhead.

"It's got 'em again, Mutha!" Mikel called to out of the room.

"Coming, dear," was a woman's compassionate reply, spoken from afar.

A low grumble started to be heard from outside the window on the opposite side of the room. As he was listening to the increasing volume of the thunder, Silverhand thought he heard coarse laughter mixing throughout the rumble.

"Do you hear that laughter?" he managed to hoarsely whisper to Mikel.

"Nay, my friend, 'tis no a thing but thunder that I hear. That and ya feeble voice, which I done told ya once ta save yur energy and not try ta talk," the large man said teasingly as he patted the bed ridden man's shoulder.

Another round of thunder started just as the last ended. Brystal heard the same laughing as he did before, only this time it was not weaned and replaced by the deep rolling thunder as it was moments ago. He gazed back up at Mikel, but if the barbarian heard it, his facial expressions showed nothing. Silverhand scanned the room, looking for anything that would make a noise that would resemble laughter, but found nothing. Not a thing was moving, and no one was currently talking, but the giggling continued. Not only did it continue, but it got louder and louder. Swiftly drowning out the not-so-quiet thunder, it became the only thing Silverhand could hear. He thought that the sick feeling inside of him was making him delirious. The next moment made him realize that he must be going fever-crazy, as the laughter died down somewhat and turned into gleeful singing.

"I ride the winds of chaos

Born of my father's breath,

Under the cover of darkness

Upon the cover of death.

Who – Who – Who am I?"

Each word worked its way down deeper into Brystal's stomach.

"Back in your world I'll be tonight,

Reborn in flesh and fire.

The Lost and Faithless have the right

To bow and call me 'Sire'.

The rest of you will have to fight,

Your future's grim and dire.

Darkness will blot out all your light

As I reign supreme or higher.

Who – Who – Who am I?"

Brystal knew he would not be able to take any more of the sick feeling swelling up within him. He rolled on his side and curled his knees up to his chest. He felt Mikel's body shift to maintain body contact with him, and then felt a large, meaty hand cup his entire shoulder. The silly and sickening song continued the whole time.

"I cause great floods in my wake.

All I see is all I take.

All that's good is all I break.

To hear my name, you'll start to quake.

Who – Who – Who am I?"

As **MOTHER GOD** came for tea one day,

We talked if time was right

Too bad that she did not agree

And now is locked up tight

**SHE** won't interfere in matters of

My rebirth to take control

Death and I, we stand above

**HER** law, which was **HIS** goal

With **HER** not there, and me reborn

Soon **HIS** world will grow

Of **HER** land and kids, **HE** has such scorn

So all will have to go

Who – Who – Who am I?

"Who are you?!" Brystal screamed as loud as he could, all restrictions on his throat and mouth had been discarded, wrapper thrown away, and he made good use of it.

Mikel, who was actually startled from the sudden scream, jumped up off the bed and spun his large frame around to face Brystal so fast he almost lost his footing. "Mutha!" he screamed, looking down on his vocal friend. "He's hearing things I don't and he's yellin' back at 'um!"

Just then, another crack of thunder was discharged from the massive storm clouds. Brystal heard the same laughter as before, only no singing or bantering followed this time. Only a name rode on the wind and thunder.

"EVLION'HAUL MEZULION CON'KION"

Hearing that name finished Brystal Silverhand off. He could feel the blood rushing from his face. "It's not supposed to happen this way," he thought. "I have worked too hard for too long for it to start like this." He could feel cold sweat droplets climbing out of every pour in his forehead. "Over four-hundred years of trying to understand how it would all come to pass was simply not enough," his tired brain rattled on. "If only I had found that book much, much sooner. I maybe could have worked it all out by now."

A numbing, hot sensation started to spread up from his feet. Goose bumps formed in the wake of the warmth. That feeling, once it hit his already ailing belly, was more then he could stand. He stretched his neck past the edge of the bed and emptied his stomach. The world started spinning fast for Brystal, who tried to sit up and tell Mikel what had happened, what was still happening. Moving his eyes from the floor to half way up Mikel's body alone was too great of a movement. With his head spiraling down into itself, "Evlion'haul Mezulion Con'kion" was the last thing that ran through his mind as blackness over took Brystal for the second time that night.

### CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

### ONE DWARF AMONG MANY

Once word of the Gathering for Justification called by the Prince Heir road the four winds like a stallion, it was not three weeks later that the Sky Rise Keep was overflowing with Elders from every hold and burrow in the surrounding communities. During a traditional gathering, a large amount of elders would have sent word with excuses and reasons as to why they were not going to be able to attend. This was not a traditional gathering though, not with the High King's only son involved.

Two days shy of the deadline set forth from protocol, a tally showed every single hold and burrow had an Elder present. This was the first time in recorded history such a thing had ever happened. The rooms within the Keep itself had been reserved for the eldest of dwarves. The next ranking Elders took up quarters in the Keep's two inns, built more for the serving taverns then for the rooms themselves. Every other cave, hollow, passageway, and storeroom had been rearranged as makeshift sleeping quarters for the rest of the present population.

On the day of the Gathering, it took all morning and part of the afternoon for the elders to be accounted for and shown to his or her respected seat. When the last of the elders were in place, there was not a seat to be had, and some of the younger Elders found themselves standing along the outer ring around the auditorium. A loud gong echoed and vibrated throughout the hand carved cave, signaling the official start of the Gathering. The attendees to the Elders filed out of the single entrance to the hall, and as the last one exited he pulled the wooden handle by the large archway. A grating of rock on the rock was heard as a slab of polished mountain slid from its hidden resting place, closing the hall and sealing the meeting from unwanted eyes and ears.

A door towards the right side of the cave opened up and the Political Overseer stepped out. He was dressed in a black flowing robe and was carrying a leather bound book hugged tightly to his chest. He walked down the aisle towards the center of the room, where the tall Seat of Judgment sat vacant. He then slowly began taking the many steps up, one at a time; a lesson he learned a very long time ago. The stairs were hand carved into the giant stalagmite near the center of the cave and circled around it as they made their way to the top. There were over one-hundred and fifty steps that lead him to the seat, where he took his place behind the Pedestal of Observance.

Quite winded, and in need respite, he slowly took the Gavel of Silence from a notch carved in the back of the pedestal. He pretended to polish it, knowing all eyes were on him, until he regained control of his breathing enough to allow him to talk without gasping. He stood up and looked around. Seeing all was in order, he hit the gavel on the very top of the pedestal-style desk. A flat spot had been worn from countless years of being hit which added to its volume. After the hammer met stone, everyone became silent and all eyes pivoted towards the single balcony to the left, where the High King and Queen were just now entering.

The Queen bowed her head, a simple nod, no more, no less, before taking her place on the left of two cushioned, high-backed chairs. Her Lady in Waiting took her own spot behind the chair, after a full at-the-waist bow to the gathered Elders. The King, however, made his way to the grand stone rail at the edge of the balcony.

Speaking to large crowds here, the King always felt the awe and wonder of those that laboriously formed this cave, one chisel blow by chisel blow. Planned or not, the echo in the cave allowed one single dwarf to address even a crowd of this size, easily and without having to raise the volume of their voice. It truly was a magical work of art.

"Esteemed Elders of the Magmere, I welcome you all and thank you for coming. Know this now, before we begin, I will not hamper, nor try to sway your mind in any way towards a specific path of thought. We are here today because of my son. It is because he is my son that I am going to remain neutral so as not to jeopardize the judicial system that has served us since all minor kingdoms stepped down in order to finally end the internal conflicts from within the Dwarven Nation that threatened to eradicate our kind permanently.

"In remaining neutral, I do hereby pledge on not only my honor, but also the honor of us all, that my Rejection of Decision ends now and will not begin a new until after this trial is concluded." Murmurs broke out amongst the gathered Elders. Just as never before has an audience of this size been recorded in any judgment trial, neither has any High King ever relinquished his most powerful tool of court.

"Quiet, please," the High King continued. "Once the trial does begin, I would ask each of you to refrain from talking, even amongst yourselves, as even that could distract you and those around you. When the session ends, you will be asked to leave one by one and the Political Overseer will record your verdict. We will reform here again tomorrow to share with all the reached decision and any consequences that may follow. Thank you all." Then Granson Marotte, having finished speaking, took one-step backwards and nodded his head towards the Overseer before taking his seat next to his wife. The Overseer, in turn, nodded his head down to the dwarven guard standing next to a door built into a wall towards the left of the lone entrance. The guard turned and opened it. Out stepped the Prince Heir, Tobias Marotte, who walked tall, as tall as a dwarf could, and proud to a chair set in front of a small statue podium directly in the middle of the enormous cavern.

The Overseer banged his gavel again and said, "Tobias Marotte, your trial has begun.

"Do you swear to answer all questions in truth, under the eyes of all Elders, myself, and the High King with his Queen?"

"Yes," Tobias spoke. "I have given my word and it will be honored." Tobias then bowed first to his father and mother, the High King and Queen, then to the Political Overseer. Lastly, he turned around and bowed to the assembled mass of elders before taking his seat again.

"Tobias Marotte, son of Grandson Marotte, you are here to be judged by the Elders within our communities on actions taken by you under your own free will. This trial is now in order. I would ask the accused to kneel before us," the Political Overseer's voice rang out in a neutral tone.

Tobias rose from his simple, wooden stool and walked around the chair to the front of the podium, standing inside a large circle that had been etched into the stone below his feet, surrounding the chair and statue. The podium was actually a statue of the maker of all dwarfs, Bal'Derick Kessela, who was standing tall and proud, if only belly high to a dwarf. One arm of the statue was bent at the elbow, with a balled up fist resting on his hip, the other arm was raised straight up, upon which laid the shelf of the podium. The God's face was angled down towards the circle in the floor. His eyes were carved to such detail that they appeared to actually be able to see the world. Tobias knelt within the circle and looked up at the Political Overseer while feeling the weight of Bal'Derick's stare on him.

The Overseer's voice rang out from above, "To be a dwarf is to be honest. Are you a dwarf?"

"Yes," Tobias stated.

"Then you are honest and will be so?" The Overseer's voice echoed down again.

Marotte replied, "As long as I'm alive to do so." Tobias turned his kneeling body around to face the gathered elders.

All of them spoke as one, "To be a dwarf is to be faithful to the dwarven cause. Are you a dwarf?"

His reply came a little bit louder, "Yes."

Then the mass of dwarves said, "Then you are faithful and will be so?"

"As long as I'm alive to do so," Tobias chanted. Then he went from kneeling to sitting and stuck his legs out straight. Dropping his back to the ground, he stretched his arms out to his sides, palms up and leaned his head back slightly. From this position, he looked eye to eye at the carved statue of the dwarven God. He felt goose bumps cascade throughout his entire body. Staring up from this angle, the eyes of the statue truly did seem life like.

The High King stood up, walked to the stone rail and looked down at his son. "To be a dwarf is to hold all our God stands for at the top most of our desires, above all our worldly wants. Are you a dwarf?"

"Yes," Tobias repeated, while still gazing into the statue's eyes. He thought he saw the eyes started to shimmer. "That's crazy," he thought to himself. "It must just be the light reflecting..." was all he was able to think next, before a blinding flash of light exploded out of the eyes.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Tobias Marotte shielded his eyes from the sudden bright light and when he could see again, things were not as they should have been. He was looking across an open field of rolling hills and grasslands. Large mountains, stained with dark threatening clouds, could be seen on the horizon. He knew these mountains, the largest one on the left was his very own Mount Magmere, the others spreading off to the right were part of Tuskin's Cloak, home to the rock trolls. As if that was not confusing enough, his vision blurred again. When his eyes were able to refocus, he was right up against the base of the Tuskin Mountain Range, previously the better part of one-hundred leagues away. Horrendous screams and wails could be heard coming from within the black circling mass of what appeared to be storm clouds. He spun around away from the unnerving sight and his jaw opened wide.

Laid out before him was the largest mass of living creatures he had ever seen gathered in one place. He could see the different hues of every band and clan of the Elves. The Tree Elves, tall and slender and in their leather armor of various greens, the Sun Elves in their bright yellow leather carrying the traditional spiked sun shields, the Earth Elves in their deep brown leather, and the Water Elves dressed in blue. He saw what could be every single barbarian in existence, with what looked like a small bushes carrying weapons and shields while they danced around their large partners. He spotted little gnomes with fierce face paintings carrying pole arms and spears twice their size.

All these numbers combined looked to be matched by the human race, which were spread out, evenly mixed in with the other races within the grasslands stretching out before him. They had the widest variety of weapons and armor. Some sat upon horses, in armor as well, and others wore no armor at all, only robes of various colors. Lastly, on the far left of the field, were the strangest creatures he had ever seen. Except for the small handfuls of humanoid bodies in small tight knit groups, the rest had nothing to suggest what manner of being they were. As he swept his gaze from the left, where the land bordered Leversa's Basin, back to the right, something puzzled him but he could not quite put his finger on it. Then from the extreme right of the field, towards Mount Magmere, he heard two high pitched notes from a horn; the signal of the Rock Trolls.

"The trolls are attacking?" Tobias asked himself.

He heard the horn blast another two notes that sent shivers down his spine. He was too young to have ever gone into battle against these giant creatures, but after coming to know some of them, he could well imagine what would be the better side to fight on when the line was drawn. He knew of the great wars his kind had with the rock trolls, and knew the only reason they were any kind of match for the large trolls was their numbers alone. The birth rate of the rock trolls was slow, and the dwarves had been able to out number them ten to one. Still, the wars were devastating to both sides. Now he saw what his Elders must have seen, and felt both awe and helplessness.

Sweeping down the base of Mount Magmere, on a collision course with the waiting army, the Rock Trolls came quick and hard. Tens of thousands strong, each one had wicked weapons strapped all over their bodies and clenched in their hands. The back half of the assembled army turned to face the new threat, while bowstrings were pulled taut, crossbows raised, and weapons drawn.

"What went wrong?" Tobias thought. "They were going to be allies with us as they were in the long distant past. We were bridging the gaps that had torn our nations apart and forced us against each other. My god, what could this mean?"

Just shy of three hundred yards away from the army, the Rock Trolls stopped. Just like that, with no horns or verbal commands. Every leading foot pounded to the ground with a deafening thud and did not move again. No one from either army moved or made a sound. It was as if both sides were silently praying to whatever God they chose. Then without warning, a higher pitched horn blasted out from somewhere amidst the trolls.

TOOOOT - toot - toot - TOOTOOOOT

TOOOOT – toot – toot – TOOTOOOOT

Tobias knew that horn's call as well. He just did not understand where it was coming from, or why it was sounding from the Toll's mass. Every Rock Troll drove whatever weapons they had in their hands into the ground in front of them. Then all but one dropped to a knee and bent forward while reaching up behind their heads. The one lone troll, still standing in front of the entire army, reached up and lifted something up from behind his head as well. His eyesight was not great at this distance, but he thought he saw a dwarf being lifted high into the air by the standing troll, while the dwarf blew into the horn for a third time. A dwarf appeared over every Rock Troll's head. The dwarves were then gently set down on the ground. At that time, the blurry shapes of the dwarves knelt down toward the one troll standing and the dwarf still held high above his head. After the horn's tone stopped its echo, the tall Rock Troll set his package down.

Tobias did not know how or why, but as he saw the pair of them set out together. Walking weaponless towards the army facing them, he knew that not only were they coming in mutual friendship and honor to and of each other, but also that they were coming with the same respect and honor for the large army who had been facing the darkness.

+++++++++++++

"Then you will hold all our God stands for at the top most of your desire?" Tobias Marotte heard echoing from somewhere above him. He blinked a few times before finding himself lying on the rock ground within the Hall of Gathering. The stone eyes he had been staring at were no longer putting out so much as a hint of glimmer. They were still perfect in their creation and chisel work, but alive with any extraordinary presence they were not. He heard the question repeated with a hint of annoyance.

"From the day I was born, I have and will always continue until the day I meet our maker, and it will be with his blessing.

"I have given my word, and with the same spirit I have been blessed with, that word will die only when I do," Tobias said.

High King Grandson Marotte nodded first to the Elders and then to the Political Overseer before speaking again. "This Gathering is hereby open. All things spoken will be spoken honestly and faithfully, as if Bal'Derick Kessela was here and was bearing witness." He then sat himself down next to his High Queen and together they, along with everyone else in the large cavern, waited for the Prince Heir to get up on shaky legs and take the few steps needed to reach the statue podium.

"Tobias Marotte, son of Grandson Marotte, you understand that you are here to be judged by your Elders on actions taken by you under your own free will.

"Court Offense One states that you were seen in the company of Rock Trolls, sworn and bitter enemies of the entire Dwarven Nation. That offense does borderline High Treason to the Crown.

"What say you, guilty or no?" The Political Overseer asked.

"Guilty," was Tobias's reply. Though he was still shaken by the vision he just had, he noticed that the overall demeanor of the Overseer was much more professional than at his pre-trial one month ago.

"Court Offense Two states that you stood by and watched a fellow dwarf, one of which was under your protection during a hunting expedition, get slaughtered at your side by rock trolls without you coming to his aid.

"What say you, guilty or no?"

"Guilty," the Prince Heir said.

The Political Overseer paused for a moment and shuffled through some paperwork held within the book he guarded so carefully upon entering. He then said, "I have spent the past few weeks reviewing other court proceedings and such to get a better understanding of how our ancestors would have dealt with Court Offense Two, where the first offense has clear dictation on the restitution needed to offset the crime.

"I have some disturbing news to share. An entry was written by Conban Illissa, the Political Overseer in the one hundred and twenty-first year since the Day of Shining. It reads that one who shall remain nameless was found guilty of a similar charge and was first shaven and such and then, immediately after he was pronounced nameless, was stoned to death at the base of this very mountain." The Overseer looked up and gazed round at the gathered Elders. "Other than that one incident, there has been no other written documentation for the alleged Court Offense Two.

"It is therefore my recommendation that the Majority Clause be integrated into the proceedings should a guilty verdict be reached by those present. Along with the traditional "guilty" or "no" on your ballots, if you have chosen "guilty", you are here and now instructed to choose what coarse of action you think is justified for the crime. Are there any among us that would protest to this?" The Overseer paused for a moment before continuing. No voice rang out in disagreement. "Then let us proceed," the Overseer stated. The voice from above paused briefly as he took a deep breath. He then continued, "This would be the part where I produce all the facts and or evidence against you, Tobias Marotte, but you already admitted your guilt, so that probably would not be necessary."

Tobias jumped in above the Overseer, "I would like to hear what you have Political Overseer, may I?"

After a short spell of silence and a rustle of paper later, the Overseer spoke, "Very well, Tobias Marotte, I shall do just that. I am holding a note, Item One against you and it reads:

((((()))))

"Peldon Obet, Political Overseer:

"I have seen our beloved Prince Heir within the company of those despicable Rock Trolls during the quarterly hunting trip to the Durgun Plains. There were four others with him at the midnight meeting, thought I could not make out who the others were.

"I have heard that another meeting will take place again in two weeks time. While I do love our Prince Heir, these meetings go against Dwarven law and I believe it should be investigated.

"If you send someone quick, you will not only see that I speak true, but you'll also be able to get to the reasons of why such meetings are taking place.

"I am also informing the High King for assurance that something will be done in this matter.

One Dwarf Among Many.

((((()))))

"When I received this," Obet looked over the piece of paper to peer down at Tobias, "delivered by the High King himself, I ordered the departure of the troops who met you that night at the Durgun Fields. That brings me to Item Two.

When the squad arrived shortly before midnight, you were nowhere to be found. A head count of your party revealed that there was, including yourself, five dwarves missing and unaccounted for." Peldon Obet, the Political Overseer looked down at his book. "Robnier Coilhouse, the detachment Chief, organized a search of the surrounding area. He was one of the dwarves present when you were found, along with only three others under your command."

"Ahhh," Tobias thought. The things he knew were now clicking together with those he was just finding out about. Together they were allowing him to paint a much broader picture in his mind as to what was actually happening. He made a mental commitment to listen more intently at Obet's words, as each one seemed to be a key that was unlocking more of the picture.

"Coilhouse was instructed to take you into custody, which he did, and upon his return to your hunting base camp he was given another note anonymously. It was going to be sent to the High King, but since a detachment was sent, the note was given then. It reads:

((((()))))

"I just witnessed another meeting with our Prince Heir and those foul Rock Trolls. I wish you had taken my advice and sent someone here to investigate. I followed them to the conference, and during the meeting, I watched as one of our own was brutally slain by the Rockies. They were all standing there talking, it seems the Prince actually speaks the language of our enemy, when two of the Rock Trolls pulled out their weapons and cut one of the dwarves with the Heir to pieces.

The Prince did nothing about it.

This has gone too far and needs be stopped.

One Dwarf Among Many

((((()))))

After reading this note, Robnier went back out to the area where you were found and searched it extensively. He found a circle in the grass that had obviously been used for the meeting and there was, in fact, blood splashed on a spot of compressed grass.

It is true that nobody's body was found, but you are one dwarf shy of the fifty you were sent out with. Footprints matching those made by Rock Trolls were also found entering and exiting the meeting grounds."

Tobias was set back by the new information. His initial thought of an inside operate, a traitor within his handpicked group, was replaced by another thought. He was glad to know about the anonymous notes and, at the same time, he was more than a little suspicious of the eyewitness accounts. He decided he would play it safe and reveal nothing too detailed about the way events really took place until he got a better understanding of who could have sent the notes and why.

The Overseer continued, "There are a lot of gray areas surrounding this trial, and since Robnier failed to make any attempt at segregating the other four with you, we have no other eyewitnesses to color those areas in. In fact, the entire trip roster has come up missing. It may take weeks to scour through all our logs and musters to find out who the still missing dwarf is.

That is the evidence against you, Tobias Marotte, Prince Heir to Mount Magmere's High King crown. It is now time to hear your accounts of the events being charged against you."

Peldon Obet then closed the book he had been referencing and peered down at the young Prince, waiting for his testimony.

### CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

### THE HOUR GLASS DAGGER

Redlew Feiht blinked a couple of times, trying to clear his vision of the dazzling array of bright colors still floating around his face. Blinking, however, accomplished nothing in his quest of ridding the air of the annoying dots he could see but not touch. The same went for shutting his eyes completely. When he reopened them, he could see enough to realize he was no longer at the Tuskin Mountain Range. Gone were the many hundreds of thousands who were fighting, gone was the terrifying man in black, and gone, thankfully, was the image he saw so clearly of the lizard-like thing that had protruded from his own mouth. He was safe, and quite alive, back in the half octagon shaped room.

Instead of being suspended in mid-flight inches away from the mirrored, back wall and hovering over the hourglass pedestal, he was now kneeling on the floor next to it. He shook his head, hoping that the room would disappear as well; meaning all the strange events of late would turn to broken dreams upon him waking up back on top of the octagon shaped slab he fell asleep on. No such thing happened.

He rose to his feet with thoughts of somehow finding his way back out of this whole mess, until he reached his full five-foot and four inch height. A shimmer of color caught his attention from the corner of his right eye and he turned to investigate. His breath caught in his throat. Laying in a bowl, carved right into the hourglass pedestal, was the same beautiful knife he had seen during his wild daydream moments ago.

"What an incredible blade," Redlew said aloud.

Before his words had stopped echoing, and without actually saying anything further, he heard, "Yes, and you have proven yourself to be its owner. You may pick it up. It is now yours."

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Redlew looked down at the blade he held within his right hand. Even after the two plus years with it, he still loved to admire it. "There will be time to look at it all you want when you are finished here," he told himself as his eyes made contact with the boss of the illegal operation being conducted in the alleyway. There was less than two feet separating him from the leader's backside.

Feiht's eyes swept around, looking at the scene before him. One of the added benefits of owning the hourglass dagger was the knowledge of the future. He knew how his surroundings were before going into the cold, and he knew how he interacted with those surroundings while in the cold. Only he, with the gift of this forethought, could enjoy to the fullest the second or two after time moved once again. For everyone else, what he did and how he did it, would be a blur of action. What he did within that period of one second to the next was real, and when Father Time caught up, he wasted not another second in making it all happen.

Redlew hated this next part, but knew enough that it needed to happen in order to jump from those suspended in between of one second to the next back to the constant flow of time. He turned his head to the side, opened his mouth and pushed all the air within his lungs out into the world. He instantly felt drained, as though part of him exited his body along with the cold air that blew out. However, the excitement for the show he created helped ease that hatred. He shifted his gaze to the man that he had kicked and inhaled a lung full of air, all the while smiling.

As if a switch had been pulled, regular time began anew. Redlew heard the thug leader's startled gasp as the chief realized that Redlew had simply vanished as a ghost would. Before the full impact of that realization could wrap itself around the leader, the thug boss watched as his hired hand sprung a leak within his chest, allowing the man's blood to flow on the outside of him. Then for no apparent reason, the same man went flying backwards into the far wall of the alley. Before the corps came to a dead stop on the ground, movement to the leader's left brought his eyes to the fat man he had hired. As gasp of surprise shot from the obese man, the boss watched him trip forward and some how ended up impaling himself on his own knife, now hilt deep within the abundance of cellulite hanging for dear life off his midsection.

Redlew continued to stand behind the large, muscle bound man until he saw the tendons in the man's neck flinch and ripple. Redlew then squatted down low to the ground and from this vantage point, saw his own foot prints appear. They led from where he was in the corner of the alley where he pulled his blade at the onslaught of the fight, to over to where the first man slain was, then over to the fat man, then straight as an arrow up to and past the man he was currently behind. He guessed that was the reason of the tensing neck muscles he witnessed before ducking. He was proven right when the large man quickly spun one-hundred and eighty degrees around with his powerful sword arcing around at what would have been chest level to Redlew had he been standing. Feiht waited for the gigantic sword to pass overhead before standing up.

"You should have really listened," Redlew said calmly while looking the thug in the eyes. He shot his right hand up and made contact with the muscled man just below the rib cage. "You would have lived longer, that's for sure. Consider your debt on life, and disobedience to me and my order, paid in full," he added while removing his blade from the man's sternum. "This is my city. I denied you hunting privileges to this area." Redlew then kicked the man square in his stomach, sending him flying to land on his back staring at the predawn-lit sky. "I am not a man who is disobeyed, my friend," Redlew finished.

He could still hear the labored breathing from the dying fat man as they rode the otherwise silent morning air, blocks away from where his cat and mouse game ended. The intensified hearing was just another gift of the voice in his head, obtained when the hourglass dagger became his. His thoughts drifted back to that day as he made his way through the large city, back to where his days were spent before becoming the Thief's Guild Leader by night.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

He looked down at the knife within the bowl, carved into the white hourglass shaped pedestal in the middle of the octagon shaped room. The large dagger was spinning carelessly within its water prison. He did know it was a knife, but the first thing he thought of was the water wheel down at the Business District in Lefebvre. It was always half in the water, half out, and constantly spun as the small, man-made river's current pushed it around and around, frozen in place by its axel. Redlew knew the similarities ended with the rotation aspect though, because the knife had no axel holding it horizontal in the water, it was completely submerged in the bowl, and he saw no evidence of any form of current needed to create the circular motion. Yet, still it spun. Each quarter turn of the knife's rotation brought to view another side and another razor edge. It was as if two knives had been crossed and then combined flawlessly together as one.

"It's the Elvin broad headed arrow of knives," Feiht thought as he continued to study the twirling weapon. The next thing he noticed was the shape cut out in each individual blade, halfway between the tip and hilt. It was half of an hourglass, and no matter what position the dagger was in, one side on one blade matched up with its twin on the next blade, forming a perfect unbroken hourglass. Redlew was quite impressed with it indeed. The tip was the lightest of gray, not unlike the wisps of smoke that would rise from a fire pit seconds before the wood would ignite. That color darkened as it flowed down the dagger into the dark gray of storm clouds at the hilt.

Redlew reached over to the bowl and without thinking drove his hand into the clear liquid filling it. He felt his heart slow down, and for a second or two, he thought he was going to meet his maker right then. It was colder then any water he had ever felt before, even during the winter months. He was not sure if that had anything to do with the fact that it felt thicker and more sludge-like then any water he had ever felt as well. The shock of submerging his hand in it made him hold his breath long before his hand wrapped around the hilt of the knife, even though the blade was just inches from the surface. His fingers wound around the handle and he noted how comfortable the shape of it was in his hand. He drew the blade out of the liquid and brought it closer to his face for a better look.

Before that better look presented itself, however, a falling drop of the clear, cold liquid caught his attention as it fell from the hilt of the blade towards the floor. A shimmer towards his right, where the mirror wall stood, brought his eyes up to the right. Before his gaze could fully focus on the wall, before he could even blink or cover his eyes, the entire wall split and broke apart. Redlew watched as the shards of falling glass keep getting smaller and smaller as they fell straight down. By the time they reached the floor, they hit it not as glass, but as liquid. No sound was made as the water reached the floor. There were no splashes or waves created. The water simply cascaded down and flowed out of sight into small holes located on both sides of the pedestal, all within the same second or two of time since the single drop of liquid had fallen to the ground.

Redlew did not have much time to wonder about what had just happened as his eyes took in what was behind the now gone mirrored wall. It was the other half of the octagon shaped room. The first thing he noticed was a set of stone steps leading up, directly across from the archway he ran through to enter the room. "What is that?" he asked himself as he spied what looked like a person sitting next to the left side of the stairwell. He called out to the shape but got no reply at all. He cautiously walked closer to the form for a closer look. He was not mistaken about what he thought he saw, though to his disappointment, he realized he was still alone in the room.

Wrapped in what could have been the remains of a robe was a set of bones all caved in. "I hope I don't end up like that one," Redlew thought. "All alone in this place, and dead to boot," he finished, just as thoughts of the stairs being collapsed or leading nowhere entered his mind. "That may be why this person's life ended down here. Maybe it was another adventurer that had, by whatever grace of his god, made it through the obstacles that led to this room," Feiht thought. It was such a dreadful one. In his mind, he was left trying to find his way out of the maze of passages and rooms that led him here. Panic gripped his heart. As he started to look from the bones back to the stairs, he spied a folded up piece of parchment resting within frozen finger bones at the skeleton's side. He hastily picked the parchment up and stuffed it into his vest as the beginning of hysteria started seeping into his thoughts. Within two strides, he was already flying up the stairs as fast as his legs would carry him, praying for safe passage.

### CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

### THE COMING OF THE STORM

Though Coleena Goldspawn could not feel anything physical from her arms, legs, or any other part of herself, she knew her body suddenly jerked to a stop. Sight and sound were the only two senses left to her. From the moment she had fully clothed herself in the magnificent, black dress, she realized she was no longer entirely herself. She heard thoughts as they turned to words within her head. They sounded like she sounded to herself, but were definitely not of her design. Coleena thought back to a section of the prophecy she had lived her entire life to fulfill.

As the OneTrueMother,

You will give up your body to Darkness,

But you will keep your mind.

She knew what these words meant now. She was whole in mind, yet held captive within herself. There was someone else with her here, in her body, and that someone else was now in charge. All she could do was view life out of eyes that were no longer hers to control, and follow along where ever her body went.

"I told you to wait!" she heard her voice yell. It snapped Coleena back to reality. She saw her hand fly up and backhand Jago Goldspawn hard on his cheek. His body flung to the ground before the sound of the slap carried to her ears. Coleena watched as her eyes traveled down to the man sprawled on the ground before her. He would have gone over the cliff, moments after his son, had he not been fortunate enough to have been stopped by one of the large boulders on the cliff side. However, being fortunate could still have unfortunate consequences, Coleena thought. "I told you to stop!" Coleena heard. "I screamed 'Not now!'" Coleena then saw her own black booted foot fly out with incredible speed from under her dress. Her foot connected with Jago's stomach and actually lifted him off the ground before driving him backwards to once again hit the massive boulder. "The boy had MY book!" the one inside Coleena's body shrieked.

"But you said not to throw him until you could see it, my dear, sweet Coleena. You did see it. I made certain of it," Jago feebly voiced. "Please don't torture me with the knowledge I failed you, and the misery of letting you down," he pleaded. "I will try again. Yes, I will try again, until I get it right, Coleena. I will..." he started to say. His words were cut off by cruel laughter. Coleena saw the confusion in his eyes as he meekly looked up at her. She actually felt pain for Jago, at being treated this way by someone other then herself.

"Coleena?" she heard her voice ask as the laughter died down. "The one you knew as 'Coleena' is no longer in the larger scheme of things, Jago. Never again will you call me by that name.

"Do you understand?"

Coleena, from where she was, saw Jago's eyes glaze over. The confusion was gone as he said that he did understand.

"It will not matter for long, you disappointing me," the one in Coleena's body said. "I will recover the missing book from the boy's corps soon enough, and I do have a way for you to make up the disappointment I am feeling right now. There are things that must be done, and you must still be alive to see your part through." She looked up to the peak of the One-Day Mountain and pointed for Jago. "See?" she asked. "It happens already. My being here right now proves it, if the Coming of the Storm does not."

Coleena, looking through her eyes, saw dark tentacles of something as it continued pouring out from the top of the mountain. The thin wisps that she was forced to see during the last of her body's mad dash to stop Jago and recover the missing book had already more than doubled in size. It now looked liked a huge fire was burning atop the mountain, with the dark, menacing looking substance riding on the wind. Her eyes went back down to Jago.

Coleena's voice then said, "Before death takes our union from us, I will share a few things with you, Jago. Do not worry, you will not remember anything; for long anyway.

"My name is not Coleena, as I mentioned. I was known as, and certainly will be known again as, Meeghan Quintal, High Priestess to Death's Hand. To you, I am known as the OneWhoBroughtUs." Meeghan chuckled. Coleena read her thoughts and knew she was waiting for some tremendous outburst of fear from Jago, or some form of praise; to her they would be the same. She got no more then a stare from him, as if her words fazed him not.

Coleena then felt pain, more unbearable then anything she could remember feeling. It felt like her mind had been ripped open like a boiled potato. Flash backs came and went rapidly, consisting of every major event she had gone through in life. Every use of the power, every effect it had, every wrongs or rights that she had ever done surfaced and was gone again, back inside her mind. It lasted only seconds, but felt like a lifetime. When the visions faded, so did the pain that would have doubled her over, or halted her in her tracks, if she had control of her body.

Along with the visions and pain, the ability to hear Meeghan's thoughts vanished also. She was left feeling naked and very alone as she floated within her mind. She thought about spending the rest of her life in this state, and found that for the first time, had her eyes responded to her thoughts, she would have cried. She had thought of herself as a great and powerful influence in the prophecy. She was the one who was did what she had to in order to see to it that the Coming did arrive in her life time. She was the one who worked day and night to painstakingly make it happen, never once allowing herself to believe the task was too hard. Now she found herself just a thinking mass of nothing, locked away within her head. It truly was not fair.

"Oh, that's right," Coleena heard Meeghan say, "You have no mind left to you. I will not waste my time any further with this then." Meeghan pointed up the trail, further up the mountain, and began speaking to Jago again, but Coleena had already stopped listening. She had gotten over her self-pity, for the moment, and she found that she would have given Meeghan the outburst mixed with confusion the Priestess had wanted, had she been allowed to.

"Meeghan Quintal is the OneWhoBroughtUs?" she asked herself. "That can not be. The OneWhoBroughtUs was a man. The OneWhoBroughtUs fathered two children. The OneWhoBroughtUs could not possibly have been woman at all. How can her words be true??

"Unless," she mused, "Bosbreath was used." Coleena thought about this possibility. She knew first hand what the gift of Bosbreath could accomplish. She thought of the many things she was able to do with it herself. It would certainly be possible to leave everyone believing she was a man. But why? To what gain? Then, who was the real father to the first OneWhoMustRemember and the first OneTrueDaughter?

"Higher! Keep climbing and do as you were instructed!" Those words, screamed in her voice but not by her, caused Coleena to focus again out of the eyes not in her control. It took only a second to realize that while she was thinking, she and Jago had traveled up the path to where the bonfire for signaling the Coming had been placed. It was, in itself, a large mountain of sun dried sticks and lumber collected over the span of almost a thousand years. As the OneWhoMustRemember took the place of his father, he would add branches to the pile in memory of those who had been thrown from the cliff before him. It looked to be at least thirty paces across and at least that tall. She saw Jago more then half way up the pile, trying to climb higher with the words he took as encouragement.

"All the way to the top, Jago, and do not disappoint me again. You know what to do. I will be able to tell if you do not do it just as you were commanded," Coleena heard Meeghan shout. Meeghan then spun around while muttering about time needed as she turned her back on Jago and set a grueling pace down the path.

*************************

"I am coming, my love," Jago said. Traveling up the large hill was proving more difficult then he first imagined it would be. "I do not want to miss this surprise," Jago thought. "Better then anything, she promised, and she would not utter one lie to me." Anxious and eager, he continued to climb higher and higher. He went over the conversation repeatedly during his ascent.

"Jago," his loving wife, Meeghan, had said to him, "I have a surprise for you like none other you have ever seen. To find out what it is, all you have to do is take the special fire stick left to you and meet me on top of this hill." Jago felt her smooth skin as he saw Meeghan place her hands on his cheeks. "When you get up there, you will know what must be said and done for me. That is all you are required to do, and the surprise is yours." Jago then felt her warm lips press against his as she sealed her promise with a kiss. "Hurry now," she said as she turned him around towards the hill.

It was an extension of the mountain they were on, only it was covered with lazily rolling, waist high grass. He turned back around, towards where she was, just wanting to see that special smile of hers one more time, and found her no longer there. "Higher!" he heard from behind him, "You must be higher!" He turned again towards the hill and saw his precious wife almost to the top of it. He saw her turn around and smile down at him before hand signaling him to follow.

"It should not be taking this long to climb a hill," he thought again. He forced himself to go faster, not wanting to be late. "I must not disappoint the only thing good in my life."

As he crested the top of the hill, he found himself on a large, flat plateau. He saw Meeghan there, with a basket nestled between her crossed legs. There was a small ring of stones on the dirt ground in front of her, with sun-dried sticks inside of it. She looked up with eyes that screamed to him of love. He then saw her give him that special smile she showed nobody but him. It was the one, he often vowed, he would die for. She reached out one slender arm, motioning to the make shift fire pit. He knew what she wanted, and by the look she was giving him, she wanted it in a bad way. He understood that he was the only one who could give her this gift of love, for he was the only one who loved her as he did. He was also the only one who knew how to work the fire stick that was passed down from each OneWhoMustRemember to the next. He tried to impress her as he took the stick out of his robe's tie strap. He wanted to leave her with the impression of him being a Black Honor Guard unsheathing a sword. It must have worked, for he saw the way she tried to cover her blushing cheeks, made redder in contrast to her completely black, lighting shaped birthmark.

"This gift of mine, I do give willingly," Jago said. "I am completely breaking the Cycle, in your name. May all the power that was taken from you long ago be yours once again. It makes my heart sing to know that I am the only one who could give you this gift. My dear, sweet, and kind wife, know that you will forever be in my heart." He then drew another lungful of air. He pointed the stick at the center of the ringed, stone fire pit. "IGNITE!" Jago screamed. Brendon-Jago Goldspawn watched as fire instantly started to blaze within the circle.

"It sure does put out some heat," he thought to himself. He started to feel a little uncomfortable as he watched the flames grow higher and higher. That feeling passed quickly, though, and so did the feeling of heat. All feeling, actually, was lost to Jago. He started to feel really tired and sleepy. He tried to find his love, but for some reason found himself unable to see at all. "I will find her when I wake," Jago barely made out as he fell face down into the burning bonfire consuming him.

***********************

After one hundred yards of their downward journey, Coleena saw their travel had stopped. She watched as Meeghan turned and gazed first at the bonfire's thick and billowing smoke in the air, and then down a bit to the largest fire she had ever seen. Coleena knew the bonfire had been lit, without a doubt. No later then she realized it, she heard Meeghan inhale sharply. She let that breath out with a slow and deliberate sigh.

"He has done it," Meeghan said. "I can feel myself whole again, as I have not been for almost a thousand years." She giggled wildly. "I can once again sense the flows of magic. I lost the ability to use those flows the moment I went away into my place of hiding as instructed by my Master. They are mine to once again control."

Coleena was unsure about what that all meant, but if it was something that Meeghan was happy about, she doubted it was something that would bring joy to the world. "Do not expect any favors or special treatment because I owe it all to your husband. It was actually easier than I thought to not only find a truly caring and loving soul, but to find one that would willingly," Meeghan snickered, "offer himself up to death to give me back what was robbed from me all those long years ago.

"Come, Coleena," Meeghan said as if Coleena had any choice in the matter. "There is much to do, and little enough time to see to it all." Meeghan then turned and faced the great ocean from her spot high above on the One-Day Mountain. She pointed to the large, flat expanse of land between her and the sea that began at the valley of the One-Day Mountain. "There is where we need to be to prepare for HIS Coming."

Meeghan turned her head back to the bonfire and watched as smoke rose higher and higher. It seemed to melt into the black matter still pouring out of the tip of the mountain peak. As if the bonfire smoke was a cue, the blackness widened, and Coleena could see that it was not actually coming out of the mountain, but was moving in from behind it. Growing more widespread as it continued to sweep forward, it looked as though it were swallowing everything in its wake. Large flashes of light could be seen streaking across it from one spot to another. Low grumbling noises faintly made their way down to where Coleena could hear them.

Meeghan turned back to the area of land known as the "Birthing Flats" and raised her hands. "How I have waited for this day," Meeghan said. "For not only has the Coming arrived, but, as I have said, I have my powers and abilities back. I owe both to your Jacko. Travel will be much easier now."

"His name was Jago," Coleena thought sadly. Sure, she was going to offer him up to Darkness herself, but the fact that this 'Meeghan' did, instead of her, left her feeling bitter and angry.

Meeghan started twirling her hands around. She looked like she was plucking invisible things out of the air as she did so. She lowered her hands and instantly a black doorway appeared where nothing previously was in front of her. If Coleena were in charge of her body, she would have turned and ran in the opposite direction. She was not in charge, however, and screamed a long and silent protest as Meeghan walked up to, and then stepped through the void.

### CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

### THE COMMANDER OF THE GUARD

As Meeghan Quintal gazed up from the Birthing Flats within the Land of the Faithless, she allowed herself a truly genuine smile of happiness. The key elements surrounding the Prophecy of the Coming were finally done right. Her own power of BosBreath was gifted to a OneTrueDaughter. That Daughter was born with enough intelligence to do what was needed to start the rebirth of the Hand of Darkness. She had figured out the marriage and the last name portion that had somehow been blotched up, and she received the gift for the OnewhoComes.

Those were the only two things needed to start the Coming. She had also wrote the names down correctly, to include the last names, and clothed herself in the High Priestess's black dress which was needed to release Meeghan from the timeless void she placed herself in.

"She even pulled off disposing of the child," Meeghan thought. That particular part really had nothing to do with the prophecy. That was just a little extra she had added in to help her master when the final battle came. It was one of the details HE had chosen to share with her upon receiving the vision of his imminent defeat, and the foretelling of his own rebirth almost one-thousand years ago. The last child of the OneWhoMustRemember was in that vision, at the battle that would decide the fate of all. Meeghan wanted to give her master a welcome back gift, and so decided to have the child eliminated before the actual rebirth took place. She envisioned HIM sitting with HIS FATHER within the Eternal Darkness when the gift of the boy's soul came to them. They would know it was she that had sent him to his death. Her reward would be vast. She knew it.

Seeing the child thrown off the cliff made her feel warm inside. Warm enough, that she forgave Coleena for allowing the boy to obtain her white book. It should have never been known about, so it should never have been pulled out of the writing desk until she pulled it out. She had things written in there that she may need; things of the past, with visions and prophecies of the future written all those years ago. They were things not written in the black book of the OneTrueDaughter.

The black book only contained what her master wanted to share. She would find out how Kyle got his grubby little hands on it. If only he had taken the black book instead of her own. She had more pressing things to worry about at this moment, but she was already prepared to send out troops to scale the cliffs and retrieve her book from the cold, dead hands of the one known as Brendon-Kyle.

"Almost a century ago," she said as she dropped the book from her mind and gazed upon the land. Not much had changed since she removed herself from this place. The High Priestess of Death thought back to that long time ago. She had transported less then one-hundred to this place minutes before her master was sent back to HIS father's embrace. She was to prepare for HIS coming back. The biggest part of that was having a standing army ready and waiting for HIM. HE did not want to waste time preparing for war when he could simply start where he left off, by _making_ war. She did what she was instructed to do.

She spent those years carefully making an entire population believe what she needed them to believe, behave as she needed them to behave, and do what she needed them to do. Meeghan took almost one-hundred years writing things down and setting things up in this land.

She made the first OneWhoMustRemember and the first OneTrueDaughter from the only married couple she brought. She split them up because when you are married, you love someone. When you love someone, sometimes judgment was clouded as to what should be done and what one wanted to be done. Take away the love and you take away that variable that may have set the seed of disaster in the future for her master. Without that love, they had no choice but to follow her words, simply multiply, and prepare for war. She did not want to return and find them living as the forsaken Children of the Light did.

She gave one to each, a child, of her very own; made by her Master; twins; one male and one female. Both made to hold his power until he came back to collect it. One small amount of his power going to her. Just BosBreath was needed, HE had told her that night. The rest was to go to the male for holding until it was collected and given back to HIM upon HIS arrival.

Once her task was finished, and all was as it was told to be, she used her special gift of BosBreath to seal the truth away from the OnesWhoWereBrought. She then went down into her sleeping quarters and entered the clothes cabinet. The spell HE had her use there took her to a place where time had no meaning. She did that without hesitation even though she knew the travel would also strip her of all her magic ability. When the names were written correctly on the wall by Coleena, they turned red. When they changed color, Meeghan awoke inside the closet, imbued within the same black dress she entered the closet in. As the dress was put on, she gained full access to her host's mind, body, and the ability to use BosBreath again. That made getting a sacrifice to give her the lost powers back easily obtainable.

Thunder boomed overhead and Meeghan cast away all other thoughts. The High Priestess of Death studied the sky again. Clouds blacker then even her dress continued pouring over the One-Day Mountain Range. She could see from here the glowing blaze from Jago's bonfire, as well as the dozen or so others that had been lit after he started the chain reaction. They stretched along the range as far as the eye could see. Their purpose was not ignored, either. They were the collective signal that told the entire land that the single event that they had been waiting for had finally been started. A continuous and ever growing river of bodies made its way from all over the land to gather and be here to greet the OnewhoComes. **HE** was the one promised to return, the one to make the Faithless the Faithful. **HE** was the Finder of the Lost, the Hand of Darkness, and the Son of Death. **HE** was Evlion'Haul Mezulion Con'klion.

Meeghan lowered her head and spun around. Within hours of darkness' herald creeping into view, the gathering people seemed to grow as quickly as the expanding storm clouds did. She scanned the faithless numbering well over one hundred thousand already and growing by the minute. A platoon of Calvary was the first to arrive at Meeghan's side, as well that they should have. They were told to be ready when last she was here. She told them to be mounted and ready to fly to the birthing flats when the first spark started to ignite in the OneWhoMustRemember's bonfire.

HE will be pleased, Meeghan remembered thinking when she first felt the vibrations ebbing through the ground that cast themselves off the forty horses blazing their way to her location. They had all galloped within ten paces of Meeghan, as she stood still and unworried about being run over, before the leader gave the command to halt. That one man jumped off his horse before the beast had come to a complete stop. He ran up to within arms reach of her before he stopped and hit the ground with his knees. He then lowered his head almost to the ground.

"Do you realize how close to death you and your men came just now, Captain?" Meeghan asked the man at her feet. "One more gallop closer and I would not have been happy. That will be one against you."

"M'am?" The soldier at her feet asked.

"Questioning me?" Meeghan asked as she crossed her arms in front of her. Her face became a mask void of all expression. "That is your second, captain."

"I am sorry M'lady. Forgive me," the captain said lowering his face the inches more required to touch his forehead to the ground.

"Unfortunately for you, captain, forgiveness is kin to mercy and we just entered a time where no mercy is asked for, nor any given. That is your third and last. If I allowed four, you would have certainly have used it by calling me 'M'lady'.

"I am Meeghan Quintal the High Priestess of Death. That is how I expect to be addressed." Without another word, Meeghan uncrossed her arms and brought the left one down to her side. Her right extended diagonally towards the man at her feet, palm out and fingers stretched wide. The men still mounted on their horses saw her finger tips move as though she had something in her hand she was playing with. They watched as she raised her hand. Along with it raised the platoon captain. As she continued her finger movements, her wrist made a tight circle and the captain spun around to face his men. His face was twisted in pain and agony, mixed with growing horror and confusion at what was happening to him.

He was suspended a foot above the ground and his body was straight as an arrow. Everyone, with the exception of the captain who was facing the platoon, saw Meeghan's mouth as it spread into a wide grin. Her left hand rose toward the floating man before her. While her right hand was still twisting and juggling unseen objects above her head, her left slowly formed a fist. As it was in the process of closing, the captain's face became first red in color and then changed to deep purple. His mouth was open though no sound came forth from his parted lips. When Meeghan's hand had finally completed the task, she quickly pulled it towards herself and hugged it to her chest. The platoon leader's face went lax and his eyes closed. The right hand stopped its finger wave as it too clenched into a fist that had been raised above her head. As soon as her fingers met each other, the men on the horses saw their leader's skin shrink and stretch around the bones they once protected. His face went from purple to black. Before anyone could blink, the captain's body shimmered and then just blew away as dust. The Priestess of Death giggled as the last of the captain's body disappeared on the ever-increasing breeze blowing across the Birthing Flats. She stopped laughing and brought her left hand up in front of her face.

"Tell the OneWhoComes that we will be ready to receive HIM at the appropriate time. You should also pray that you do not offend him as you have me," she said to her hand. She then threw her fist into the air above her and opened it. A black ball shot out from the opened hand and travelled ten paces up into the air before it stretched out thin and resembled smoke from a cooking fire. The wisp of blackness then travelled into and against the wind blowing from the One-Day Mountain Range, making its way upwards, towards the dark cloud's gathering mass. Meeghan inhaled a lung full of air and asked in a voice just above a whisper, "Who is the next in charge here?"

One man, from the back of the pack, answered, "You are High Priestess."

Meeghan smiled. "Come to me."

The man jumped off his horse and ran full speed towards Quintal. He stopped running, hit the ground with both knees several paces away from Meeghan and skidded to a halt less then a foot from where her feet met the ground.

"What are you known as?" she asked the kneeling one.

"Tyslair, High Priestess," he replied.

Meeghan studied the young man at her feet. "You are young, boy. You look far too so to be in a Calvary platoon. Explain this."

"I scored top honors in not only hand to hand combat, but in weaponry training as well at my Military Skills Testing Day. I was moved to Calvary that next sun up. The next day was the Calvary vs. Calvary exercises and I was last man standing in my old platoon. I killed thirty opponents that day," Tyslair said. "It was then that I was moved to the veteran's platoon where I am now."

"You killed members of your own army?" Meeghan asked with a hit of anger.

"Yes, High Priestess. The High Military Commander said that was the only way to prove one was worthy of being a Sword of Darkness."

Meeghan thought of this. Part of her agreed with what the lad said the Commander's thoughts were, but part of her was annoyed by the fact that her army was killing itself instead of saving itself for the day it was needed. She decided that she would 'talk' to the Commander when they met, about this practice. Another topic she had for the Commander was about his "wife". She said no marriages, almost a thousand years ago, so why, or more exactly 'how', did he obtain one? The knowledge should have been lost.

"Tyslair, hence forth shall you be known as Captain of my Personal Guard. Rise and take your place with your men." Meeghan waited for the man to jump to his feet, run to the horse left vacant from the former captain, and leap on its back before continuing. "You are all mine. I give the orders and you follow them. I order Tyslair and he orders you.

"Do you understand?"

As one, the remaining thirty-nine men replied, "Yes."

"Tyslair, have one of your men go to the OneWhoMustRemembers' house and bring his son-bringer to me. Her name is Odeesma and she will be at my side when HE comes. You and the rest of your men will head to the pass at the entrance of the birthing flats. You are to make sure everyone moves forward, without delay. We have not the time to waste. I want to see the people running as they gather for the Coming. Go now," she ended as she turned around to face the mountain range. She heard her new captain shouting orders and then heard all thirty-nine horses as they turned around and galloped in the same direction they came to her from.

### CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

### THE HIGH MILITARY COMMANDER WHO?

Another round of thunder broke free through the sound of war drums. They sounded from the pass leading into the Birthing Flats. The High Military Commander, his Honor Guards, a full regiment of foot soldiers and Calvary, and drummers started making their way down the path soon after Odeesma was escorted up to where the Priestess of Death had positioned herself by a hill overlooking the One-Day Mountain Range. The drums were signaling his approach to the gathering mass to bare witness to HIS Coming. In Meeghan's opinion, the drums and the accompanying Soldiers of Darkness were the only thing good coming up to the pass.

Her eyesight, heightened by the flows of magic she could once again control and manipulate, easily covered the distance between her and the wide pass leading into the Flats. What had caught her attention was the current absence of bodies coursing through it. All she could see at the pass itself were the thirty-nine new members of her guard. She brought her hand up to create a doorway to bring her directly to the pass to find out where the bottleneck was coming from. That was when her ears heard the first echo's of the unseen drummers. She then decided to stay where she was, to watch hidden from view by the vast distance.

Almost a full minute later, she found herself once again getting ready to transport over to find out why the pass was still empty of people. She was getting angry at the lack of bodies her hard work a century ago produced. That was when she heard a shrill horn blow. Not a full moment later, she saw the caps of the drummers as they proceeded to crest the hill and enter the pass. The horn must have been a signal from the Military Commander to continue.

She knew from reading Coleena's mind earlier that the High Commander loved to present himself in outrageous displays of hype and fanfare. That he would dare to hinder the gathering people who had come to pay respect to HeWhoComes for his own vanity started the Priestess of Death's blood curdling. She could see her men waving the drummers through, trying to speed up the procession as ordered, but their actions were for naught. The drummers marched ten wide and twenty deep down and out of the pass as slowly as possible, no matter what her men shouted and no matter how hard they waved them to pass faster. The percussionists were followed by the High Honor Guard of Darkness, riding tall, black horses. They were in arranged in a wedge formation and were traveling as slow as the drummers were. When their numbers became strong enough, the wedge wide enough, they started to push her men aside. That was when the High Commander became visible. He crested the hill, riding upon a platform with railings and roof suspended on the shoulders of six soldiers who were mounted on horses. At that moment, the lead Honor Guard of the wedge met Tyslair, the High Priestess' platoon commander.

Tyslair had positioned himself in the middle of the pass after the drummer had made their way by him. He sat upon his horse and waited for the Honor Guard to approach. As the lead wedge horse came within feet of him, still moving as though it was going to try to go through him, Tyslair reacted. He unsheathed his sword and turned his horse around in a full circle with the sword stretched out horizontal to the ground. With Christine De'bold's persuasion, the Wedge Lead had no other choice offered to him, but to follow his severed head to the ground.

Another high squeal of the High Commanders horn blew, once again stopping the whole precession. Thirty-eight men of the Priestess' guard drew their swords. Half of them started making their way over to the drummers who had stopped. Seeing this, the beat marchers decided as one to forgo the signal to halt and ran as fast as their legs would carry them into the crowd of people gathered ahead. The other half of her guard formed up into their own wedge formation behind Tyslair.

Without a word, Tyslair started his slow frontal assault on the High Commander. His horse never faltered or waved as it walked straight, challenging any who would want to stop it. By the time he made it to the top of the pass, unchallenged by any of the Black Honor Guardsmen, the High Commander's platform had been lowered and the Commander was standing on the ground in front of it.

"You will die for your actions today, man," the Commander spat. "You commit treason with killing one of my own. How ignorant are you?" he asked as he drew a sword strapped at his side.

Tyslair's voice never inched up from a whisper as he spoke. "I am under orders given to me by the Priestess of Death. You are standing in the way of those orders. The pass must remain open and moving to allow the people to gather for the Coming. You closed the pass to announce to all of your coming, but you are not the one we gather to see.

"The Priestess with deal with you herself, I am sure. And as sure as I am on that note, I am equally as sure you will not like it.

"You are hereby ordered to move these soldiers down out of the pass and into the Birthing Flats as fast as they can travel, or you NOT have to opportunity to be dealt with by MY commander, the High Priestess of Death."

"You are giving orders to me?" the Military Commander asked. "How dare you!" His words were not entirely out of his mouth before he started moving forward.

With the edge of grace, Tyslair lifted one leg and swung it over his saddle before sliding down off his horse. "Your wife?" he asked the High Commander.

The question took the Commander by surprise and he stopped short in his approach. "She is where she belongs, back in my house preparing my dinner for this evening," he said.

Tyslair looked to the closest guard member in his command. "Go get the wife of the Military Commander and bring her to the Priestess. Inform the High Priestess of the wife's decision to stay at home to cook for this worthless being." Tyslair looked back at the Commander. "Also inform the wife that she is no longer wife to anyone alive."

With that being said, the Commander face glowed red with anger. He lifted his sword and leapt ahead, closing the gap of land between them.

****************************

Meeghan Quintal smiled again. Still viewing the scene from afar, she knew she had picked the right man for her Guard's captain. She lifted her hand and started wiggling her fingers. "Maybe not in this day and age," she thought, "but I remember how it was. A leader of an army needed to be feared as well as respected. He already has the respect," she noted as she saw the soldier riding off fast to the Commanders house to obtain his wife, without any question to the order itself. "Now he needs to be feared."

No one saw the residue flows of magic from the land as Meeghan called them into play. She swirled strands of Earth and surrounded her Guard Captain with them. Then flows of Water mixed in with it. One thread of Air wrapped all the fibers of magic together, and the creation was complete. Meeghan tied the ends of the strands to each other and used two weave of Fire to combine forever this protective spell.

**************************

The Commander was faster then Tyslair had thought he would be. A mistake he would not make again, ever. The gap was closed and the commander's sword was inches from slicing through not only Tyslair's arm, but torso as well, before he knew it. Tyslair's reaction was fast, but not fast enough as the sword came into contact with his arm at the elbow. The Commander continued his sweep of the sword and expected the soldier in front of him to fall. He was surprised to see that not only did he not fall, but also he was not hurt in the least. The Commander looked at his weapon and was confused to see it a mere stub of the weapon it used to be. More then half of it now lay broken on the ground at their feet; shattered upon impact with Tyslair. The confused look turned to pain as he looked down and saw a sword sticking almost hilt deep into his upper stomach where there was none seconds ago. He gazed at hand holding it, and followed it up. Tyslair was wearing a mask of stone as he looked the former Commander in the eye.

"You do not command anyone anymore. You will now be going to the Eternal Darkness to greet the OneWhoComes before his Coming. Pray that you can make up some of the mistakes you made while alive or your after-life will be more painful then your death." Tyslair then twisted his sword within the belly that held it.

"You are all mine to command now," Tyslair shouted at the Black Honor Guards. "I am commanded by the High Priestess. Her wishes are to keep this pass free from blockage. It is to remain a river of the Faithless, ever flowing to meet HIM when HE comes." Tyslair pointed to the Birthing Flats.

"Get this platform," he said while switching his pointing finger to the traveling platform lying in the middle of the path, "to side and do her bidding!" he commanded.

The Black Honor Guards did just that without question, and without hesitation.

### CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

### THE HAND OF DARKNESS

Less then six hours after the first hint of black creped out behind the One-Day Mountain, the sun had been defeated. Storm clouds may have continued to pour over the mountain, but as dark as it was, even Meeghan Quintal could not tell. She looked around her and was satisfied with all she saw. The Faithless' number was well over a million. Every one of them was here to witness the glorious event. Deafening thunder and continued bright flashes of light told the High Priestess of Death that **HIS** time was almost upon them. She was as ready now as she was almost one-thousand years ago for this moment.

She had Odeesma, the obese son-bringer to the OneWhoMustRemember standing at her side. On the other side was the former High Military Commander's wife, still crying over either the loss of her husband, or the words Meeghan had with her.

One more explosion of light lit up the sky. One more crack of thunder was heard. Then silence laid its blanket down over the pitch-black landscape. It was so unnatural, the absence of noise after the last few hours, most of the Faithless thought that Meeghan had issued some unspoken command for quiet. The people stopped talking and chanting **HIS** name. The drummers all stopped as one. Even the horses did not dare to break the silence though they were restless and anxious. That was when it came.

Slow at first, one drop here and one other there. With it came puzzlement, splashed across the faces of those who had been hit. However, within a thirty-second span it was all over and lots of it. No one within the land had ever seen this act of nature. They were unsure of what to do. They looked to their Priestess for guidance. The Faithless saw her standing still; not paying much attention to the water that was falling from the sky. More water then most had seen in their lives.

Hair then started to stand up straight on the heads of those around Meeghan Quintal. She smiled.

"The time has come!" she shouted. "Make a circle before me! This is HIS rain and we must pray under it!"

The gathered crowd moved back and opened a hole that spanned thirty paces wide within the sea of bodies. Meeghan's personal Calvary platoons then positioned themselves around the perimeter of it. The High Priestess did not try to hide her happiness as she looked over at the former Military Commander's wife and said, "Go to the center of the circle and kneel, my dear, sweet woman."

The woman did as she was instructed. As soon as her knees hit the mud soaked ground, a deafening roar of thunder challenged all for the right to be heard. Violent flashes of light lit the Birthing Flats up with daylight intensity.

"We are ready and shall receive you with open arms!" Meeghan shouted. Her arms were spread out in the air and her head was angled back. A low rolling wave of thunder answered back. "Yes! Yes!" Meeghan cried. "HE is calling to us! Look up to the sky as welcome HIM!" The entire Land of the Faithless did as they were instructed. Every head swiveled up and all arms were raised to the sky.

The no-longer-Commander's wife could not see a thing, even though she, too, was looking up. Her hair was reaching for the sky like her hands, blocking her vision. Her skin felt tingly as though a thousand needles were poking her skin. Her breathing became labored and was allowed only in short gasps. The once-wife felt her face getting hot but dared not move her hands to wipe the sweat mixed with rain on her forehead.

Meeghan started to get goose bumps all over her body. Without warning, a bright flash of light connected the kneeling woman in the center of the circle to the sky. As fast as it came, it went. It was followed by the loudest crack of thunder heard yet. When those around the circle could see again, without spots marring their vision, they saw the destructive power of that lightning.

Lying on her back where she was kneeling, the woman was still in the center of the circle. But her body was mostly consumed in flames. Black smoke rose from the corps, becoming thicker as more flesh burnt. In several blinks, the fire had extinguished itself, whether because of the rain, or simply because its job was finished, was unknown to those who saw it happening. All that remained of the woman were her bones. They were lying almost unseen behind a veil of thick, burnt-hair stinking smoke. The next noise to reach the ears of those close enough made them sink to their knees with bowed heads. It was the sound of a baby cry. In a growing arc, everyone within the Land of the Faithless knelt down like those in front of him or her.

All but Odeesma, that was, who was still standing next to the kneeling Meeghan Quintal, the Priestess of Death.

Odeesma heard the baby and her heart rang with joy. It was a gift to her from the gods she knew it. Her wishes had been granted. She had not seen Jago or Kyle since yesterday and she really did not care to, now. In fact, she wanted the two of them out of her life forever. She was not going to allow them to interfere with her and her new baby; not with a gift such as this. This time around, she was going to do it all her way. To have a son who would love her and give her daily satisfaction was what she deserved. It was what was owed to her after the way Jago messed up her life with his inability to produce a boy on the first try. It was because of him that she had to give up twenty-five daughters, when all he had to do was give her a son as fine as this one. How she grew to hate that man, and Kyle, too. Brendon-Kyle, that good for nothing, following-in-his-footsteps of a son never did anything right. He was never fast enough to do what she wanted. He lied to her all the time. He made her do the things to him that she did because he was just like his father. She tried to break him of that habit. Tried with all her might and knowledge, she did. It was for nothing though, the boy never changed. All her hard work was in vain; her rotten little son was still the spitting image of that rotten little man who was his father.

Yes, she had already had enough of the two of them for a lifetime. That life was over now. She did not have to revisit or think about it again. Not now that her new son had come to her at last. She looked at Meeghan out of the corner of her eye and saw the woman just kneeling there with her head bowed. Her mouth was moving, though Odeesma could not hear any words coming from Meeghan's parting lips. Odeesma saw it as an opportunity to claim that which was to be hers and hers alone. She was not going to stand around and watch someone else try to claim her son. She was not going to watch her one and only opportunity to slip through her fingers. She was going to make real all her dreams of being a happy family.

The son-bringer to the OneWhoMustRemember ran as she had never run before. She put all her speed and energy into each step she took. She was going to be the first one there. She was going to claim the boy as her own. Though it was only fifteen paces to the body from where she was, when Odeesma reached the pile of bones she was quiet winded. She sank to her knees, partly because bending down with her girth was all but impossible, but mostly because her legs were protesting the amount of movement they were just forced to endure. She took a few quick breaths to ease her aching lungs. By the time she looked to where the baby's voice had come from, the blowing wind had removed all traces of the burnt-flesh haze that surrounded the once-wife of the once High Military Commander. Tucked up within the rib cage was where she spotted the child. The baby was naked and helpless.

"Probably hungry, as well," she thought. Without giving it another moment, Odeesma reached inside the prison of bones and picked the baby up. She wrapped it tight within her arms and felt the warmth that radiated off the child. When the baby started to cry again, she stretched down her robe and allowed the infant to suckle. Movement caught her attention and she looked up as Meeghan was reaching the spot where she knelt.

"She doesn't look mad," Odeesma thought as she looked at the High Priestess. Meeghan was looking down at her with an understanding smile on her lips. "Maybe she knows I am the right one to care for this child. She understands that a mothers bond wi..."

That very moment was the last moment alive for Odeesma. She felt a stinging sensation from her breast as the baby boy continued to suckle. That stinging feeling grew and just as she was going to stop talking to look down at herself to see what the trouble was, she existed no longer. She had turned to a pile of flesh; everything else within her had left to feed the newborn baby. Her skin now wrapped the infant like a blanket.

Meeghan slipped down to her knees in the mud. She bowed her head while clasping her hands together at her breast. "I hope your travels have been pleasant, my Master," she said with excitement. "I also hope you have found all to be as it should. I have worked hard in your name, and cherish you back in my life as it should be.

"Will you accept me as your High Priestess, Master, to work towards Darkness for Darkness?" Meeghan asked the baby. To her delight, the young one looked at her and babbled happy baby talk.

Meeghan Quintal scooped the skin-clad infant up and stood to her full height. She lifted the Hand of Death above her head and shouted with that special gift of hers.

"You are all **HIS** now. **HE** is your God and under **HIS** rain you will now pray. Repeat after me!

TAKE ME, MY LORD, THE HAND OF DARKNESS.

I WAS BROUGHT HERE TO SERVE YOU AND SERVE YOU I WILL.

TAKE ME, MY LORD, THE HAND OF DEATH.

YOU COME TO PREPARE THE LAND FOR YOUR FATHERS ARRIVAL.

I WILL DO WHAT MUST BE DONE TO SEE YOUR WISHES THROUGH.

TAKE ME, MY LORD, THE FINDER OF THE LOST.

WE WERE ALL LOST UNTIL YOU CAME TO MAKE US YOURS.

THE REST OF THE LOST WILL BE FOUND, AND WILL SERVE YOU AS WELL.

TAKE ME, MY LORD, THE SON OF DEATH.

WE WILL ALL DIE AND WHEN WE DO, ALLOW US TO LIVE IN YOUR DARKNESS IN SERVICE OF YOUR MAKER.

TAKE ME, MY LORD, FOR WE ARE THE FAITHLESS WHO NOW PRAY UNDER YOUR RAIN.

WE NOW KNOW WHAT IT IS TO BE THE FAITHFUL. YOU ARE THE ANSWER.

TAKE ME, MY MASTER AND USE ME AS YOU WILL FOR YOU ARE

EVLION'HAUL MEZULIION CON'KLION

THE ONE PROMISED TO COME BACK AND END THE LIGHT FOR US ALL.

UNTIL DEATH I AM FOREVER YOURS!"

"Go now and keep preparing for warfare. You will all answer to the one known as Tyslair. I order him and he orders you. Make haste in your preparations. The time for our departure grows smaller with each passing day," Meeghan said. She had already started to wiggle her fingers, playing with the magic threads at her command. When she was finished speaking, the doorway opened and she with the Son of Death stepped through.

*********

The End of Book One
Thank you for buying the first book in the Bladed Hammer series. Check us out at www.bladedhammer.com to tell me what you think. I would love to hear the bad as well as the good. In addition, there is a section there where you can create a character to have inserted in the book! The site will be periodically updated, so be patient with me.

Book Two: The Twin Blade of the Swamp will be forthcoming.

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