Author: JJ Polson

(Nine Parts. 9500 words)

One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight | Nine

One

The hero was dead and gone, but Emanuel hadn’t forgotten her.

Despite his abilities, the ailing sorcerer never expected to reach the hero’s grave. The Dark King did not take chances. After slaying the hero who had been prophesized to kill him, the Dark King had toppled the seven sacred temples and destroyed every known relic linked to the divine, ensuring that there would be no further heroes, that there would be no further prophecy.

Emanuel placed his back against a boulder and muttered a cloaking spell as a demon patrol passed high overhead. It was the first patrol he had seen in hours, a token reminder of the distant past. The hero’s tomb had once been a breeding ground for the Dark King’s soldiers, a warning to all those who had fought at the hero’s side. But the site’s novelty had expired. Only rocks and stubborn trees remained.  

After the danger passed, Emanuel resumed his trek. Every step brought pain. His leg could not be healed. It was a malady that required a constant flow of magic to suppress, an ever-present reminder that the Dark King had turned against the humans who had served him.

Emanuel’s regrets far outweighed his pain. He had served at the Dark King’s side long before the man had won the crown. When the hero had been slain, Emanuel had celebrated. He had expected to live a life of luxury, to forever stand at the side of his king.

Instead, he had been cast aside.

Emanuel studied the monument before him. The hero’s grave appeared unchanged, despite the decades that had passed. Her body had been fossilized inside a chunk of crystal. Her sword remained in her hand, and her face was smeared with the blood of her enemies. Seven statuesque demons surrounded the grotesque monument, serving as her eternal captors.

The sorcerer closed his hand around the statuette hidden in his cloak in preparation. The spell activated as he drew near. In silence, he watched the hero return to life within her crystal coffin and battle the Dark King. Their swords clashed several times before the spell ran its course, revealing the result of the battle — the hero’s head on a pike.

I can resolve this injustice, Emanuel thought, clutching the unholy relic in his hand. There need be no other prophecy for this one can still come to pass! I will make sure of it!

Dark words sprung from his blistered lips. Words that turned to shadows. Shadows that raced toward the demons surrounding the hero’s grave and leapt upon them like wolves, devouring the guardians and turning them to ash.

Emanuel fell to his knees before the nightmarish grave and began to pray. Not to the gods, for the Dark King had destroyed all that tied them to the world. He prayed to those who ruled the Underworld, to those he had bargained with so long ago.

This time, I will not be deceived, Emanuel thought as tendrils of darkness encased the hero’s grave. I will take my revenge upon the Dark King and claim the crown for myself!

Darkness slipped through the cracks in the crystal coffin and began to spread like the roots of an ancient tree through the body of the hero. The hero’s head was reattached to her body by black threads, as if she were a doll under the care of a seamstress.

Fire filled the eyes of the dead hero. She began to cut through the crystal with her sword.

Emanuel regained his feet with the aid of his staff and bowed deeply. “Sophia of Black Rock,” he said as she emerged from her tomb. “I have returned your soul to this world so that you may fulfill the prophecy. So that you may slay the Dark King. I will guide you.”

The hero observed him for a long moment with her flaming eyes.

Slowed by his ruined leg, Emanuel never stood a chance.

The hero broke his staff with her sword, drove him to the ground, and began to feast.

Two

Samuel paced anxiously outside the Dark King’s tent. The ruby-eyes of the demon sentries tracked his progress. Back and forth. Back and forth.  

The Dark King terrified Samuel even more than his otherworldly servants. There was no telling what words would spew from the mad man’s lips, what thoughts brewed within his ruined mind. Nothing had been the same since the death of the hero a quarter century before. At least that’s what everyone said. Samuel had never known the Dark King to be anything other than insane.

“Must humans always be moving?” one of the demon sentries asked.

Samuel didn’t bother to respond. Lesser demons never sought casual conversation from humans. They only spoke in the common tongue to annoy them.

“He must be thinking up a spell,” the other demon replied. “Perhaps he’s trying to kill the king. This one is always squirming in his presence.”

“Oh! That must be it!”

“Should we try and stop him?” 

Samuel didn’t take the bait. As the sentries continued to bicker, he thought again of what words he would use before the Dark King. The Dark King hated receiving bad news. He had been irate for months after learning that the sorcerers of White Mountain had discovered a way to destroy demons. Samuel had no desire to rekindle that anger.

But what choice do I have?

The answer was simple. He had no choice. His position in the Dark King’s cadre of sorcerers was temporary at best. If he didn’t adequately perform his duties, he would be sent to his death, likely in one of the pointless raids on White Mountain. Samuel cursed. He hated the snow.

“Sorcerer.”

This voice was different, distinctive. Samuel skidded to a halt and turned to face the Great Demon known as Marq. If not for the demon’s twin horns, black wings, and glimmering eyes, he could have easily been mistaken as a human. From a distance.

“Great One,” Samuel said with an appropriate bow. “I have urgent news for the Dark King.”

Marq sighed through his razor teeth. “The Dark King is indisposed.”

“This can’t wait!”

The Great Demon gestured to the tent. “Step inside, sorcerer.”

Samuel begrudgingly followed Marq into the ornate antechamber beyond the tent flap. He refused a goblet of the sour wine preferred by the demons. However, he did accept the demon’s offer to sit on one of the plush couches the Dark King had claimed from the fallen kingdom of Golden Spire.

“I’ve been authorized to act in the Dark King’s absence,” Marq said after pouring himself a drink. “He does not wish to be disturbed for any reason whatsoever.”

“Even by you?” Samuel asked. Marq was like a son to the Dark King. The Dark King hated his actual sons. They either fought on other battlefronts or were buried beneath the ground.

“Yes. Even me.”

Samuel licked his lips. Marq was reputable, unlike the other Great Demons who only lived for battle. If Samuel couldn’t tell the Dark King the news himself, his second in command would have to do.

“The hero’s grave has been robbed,” Samuel said.

The Great Demon spit out his wine. “By who?”

“The patrol reported no signs of life. The entire battlefield was empty.” 

“What about the sentries?”

“Broken … by dark magic.”

Marq narrowed his glowing eyes. “And the hero’s body was gone?”

Samuel nodded.

“Was the crystal also broken by dark magic?”

Again, Samuel nodded.

“Shit.” The Great Demon rose and poured himself another drink. He emptied his cup in a single swallow. “I told the Dark King your brother was dead.”

“No guarantees it was Emanuel.”

“Stupid human! Of course it was him! He cast the spell that summoned the demons from the Underworld, the one that bound us to the Dark King. Only he could have done this!” Marq refilled his goblet and emptied it in the blink of an eye.

“Servant! Get in here!” the Great Demon bellowed.

One of the sentry demons stepped into the antechamber and bowed deeply.

“Pull Quin out of the pleasure tent. He is in charge until we return,” Marq commanded.

The lesser demon bowed and exited the tent.

Samuel eyed the Great Demon skeptically. “Did you say we?” “He’s your brother,” Marq snapped. “We’re going to handle this. The Dark King is not to be disturbed under any circumstances.”

Three

Samuel hated flying. Especially on the eagles favored by Greater Demons. Every inch of the winged monstrosities was colored back, beak to talons. Saddles were strapped to their bony backs, and their eyes glowed like fire. They were foul creatures capable of deafening an entire platoon of human soldiers with a single screech.  

Of course … they did make good time.

It took a moment for Samuel to regain his wits after landing. He leaned against his gnarled staff, watching the ruined landscape swirl before his tired eyes, thinking of his brother. Damn you, Emanuel. You promised to disappear! If anyone finds out I saved you…

“Sorcerer,” the Great Demon called from the hero’s tomb. “What do you see?”

Samuel stumbled to where Marq waited, shards of crystal crunching beneath his boots. The site looked just as the patrol demon had reported. The guardians had been turned to ash, and the hero’s tomb appeared to have been struck by lightning.

“A spell was cast here, Great One,” Samuel said after inhaling sharply. The stench of magic was overpowering. “A dark spell.”

“Could Emanuel really revive someone who has been dead so long?” Marq asked as they circled the shattered tomb.

Samuel replied truthfully. “Yes.”

“I knew this display was a foolish idea. The body of the hero should have been burned. You cannot resurrect a soul without its flesh.”

“The Dark King wishes everyone to know the depths of his power.”

The Great Demon sighed. “I have no wish to hear propaganda, sorcerer.”

Samuel slowed at a familiar sight. Pieces of a staff. A simple cantrip confirmed the enchanted item belonged to his brother. The sorcerer’s eyes widened as he noted an object buried in the dark earth.

“This staff belonged to Emanuel,” Samuel said, picking up the statuette. “As did this relic. I have little doubt that my brother used the power of this object to revive the hero.” 

Marq snatched the statuette from his hand. “This relic was made in the Underworld. How did Emanuel come to possess it?”

In this instance, Samuel feigned ignorance. The Great Demon would strike him down on the spot if he knew that Samuel had stolen the artifact from the Dark King and used it to save Emanuel. “Impossible to say for certain. No one truly knows the extent of my brother’s relationship with the gods of the Underworld. Perhaps they had a part in devising this plan…”

Samuel bent down to retrieve the remaining pieces of his brother’s staff, avoiding the probing gaze of the demon. His lie was believable enough. Or was it? Samuel hurriedly pushed the conversation in a different direction.

“Why would your gods want to kill the Dark King?” he asked, attempting to conceal his unease. “That is the only logical explanation for such an alliance.”

“All demons are currently bound to the service of the Dark King,” Marq replied. “It is possible that the gods desire our return. Killing the Dark King would free us.” The Great Demon produced a flask from the pockets of his black jacket. He drank deeply. “Do you believe in the prophecy?”

“The prophecy?” Samuel echoed nervously, wiping the sweat from his brow.

He had concluded long ago that there was only one logical explanation for such a seemingly one-sided pact – once the Dark King died, the demons would take over the world. Emanuel had never confirmed his theory of course. His brother had never liked to share.

Why did I save you? Samuel thought with disgust.

Stupidly, Samuel had believed that the Dark King’s betrayal would end his brother’s obsession with the mad man, that Emanuel would finally see the error in his ways. Samuel had been mistaken. Emanuel’s bottomless love for the Dark King had turned into a fiery hatred.

“The false gods proclaimed that only the hero could slay the Dark King,” the Great Demon elaborated. “Do you believe it?”

Samuel reluctantly nodded. “If your theory is true, that means the gods of the Underworld do as well. Emanuel couldn’t revive the hero alone. Of that I am certain.”

Marq took another pull from his flask and pointed at the ground. “You said the patrol reported no signs of life. You know the penalty for treachery, sorcerer.”

Samuel’s heart skipped a beat. Stay calm. Emanuel acted on his own. That is the truth!

Between calming breaths, Samuel studied the two faint trails leading away from the grave. One was made by a human with a noticeable limp. “Those are clearly the prints of my brother and the hero, Great One. Emanuel must have used magic to conceal his escape. Certainly, the gods of the Underworld know how to evade one of their own.”

“And left his staff behind? Human sorcerers never part from their staffs.”

“What are you suggesting, Great One?”

The Great Demon shouted an alien word. Seconds later, a winged lesser demon alighted before him and touched its midnight face to the ground in subservience. Marq summoned a wicked blade to his hand and decapitated the patrol demon. “Come, sorcerer,” the Great Demon commanded. “We shall follow this trail to its end.”   

Four

The trail went on for miles. Samuel rode alongside the Great Demon, another unsettling demonic companion beneath him. Fortunately, demonic horses were far more stable than their winged counterparts. There was practically no distinction from their living kin. Except for the gleaming eyes. And the fact they didn’t breathe.

Samuel busied himself by repairing his brother’s staff. It was an ultimately pointless task, but it was far better than worrying about what awaited them at the trail’s end. The Great Demon had spoken true. Human sorcerers never parted with their staffs. Something terrible must have happened to Emanuel for him to leave the item behind.

Clearly, Emanuel didn’t sacrifice his life to revive the hero, Samuel reasoned. He walked away from the tomb! There must be a logical explanation…

But there wasn’t. At least, not an obvious one.

The pieces of the mystery populated the sorcerer’s mind like a floating jigsaw puzzle. Unfortunately, Samuel had never been good at solving puzzles. The sun had reached its peak by the time he realized the truth behind this inexplicable occurrence.

This is all my fault! If I had just let Emanuel die, none of this would be happening!

But … he couldn’t have allowed his brother to die. Samuel had fought to win the recognition of his brother for his entire life. He had followed Emanuel into the study of magic, into the service of the Dark King. Samuel had been certain that saving his life would finally bring them together. So certain that he had risked his own to steal from the Dark King.

Oh, what a fool I am!

The iron voice of the Great Demon disrupted his thoughts. “Sorcerer.”

“Yes, Great One?”

“I have a theory,” Marq said. “What if your brother and the hero are not alive?”

“Not alive? I’m afraid I don’t understand, Great One.”

“Your brother was executed for treason along with a dozen other traitors. The patrol responsible for the tomb reported no signs of life,” the Great Demon explained. “What if they are not alive?”

In lieu of responding, Samuel studied the wrapped staff in his hands. Spell light seeped between the gaps in the weathered cloth. Once the staff was repaired, it would stop glowing. If Emanuel had already been dead, then he wouldn’t have brought the staff to the tomb in the first place.

“Sorcerer!”

“I … don’t see how that would be possible,” Samuel replied meekly.

“Your brother has favor with the gods of the Underworld. They could have used his corpse and its connection to this world’s magic to revive the hero and rekindle the prophecy.”

Samuel considered telling Marq the truth but knew that he could not. “I suppose that is possible, Great One. Nothing is out of the question when the gods are involved.”

Even to his own ears, his words sounded incredibly hollow. He was a mouse trapped inside a cage with a cat. It was only a matter of time before he was eaten.

“You are right to fear me, sorcerer,” Marq said. “I can tell you are concealing what you truly believe. Tell me, or I will kill you.”

Am I so easy to read? Samuel thought in horror. He scrambled for something to say, something controversial but less offensive than the truth. He chose the first reasonable theory that came to mind. “Forgive me, Great One, but it almost sounds as if you want your gods to be behind this, that you … perhaps … desire the prophecy to be fulfilled.”

The demonic horses came to an abrupt halt. Samuel cowered as the Great Demon turned his nightmarish head and studied him with his gleaming eyes. His every instinct urged him to flee, but fear held him firmly in place. No one could outrun a Great Demon.

“There is a settlement ahead,” Marq said at last. “Certainly, someone there saw the hero.”

*

Samuel followed the Great Demon into the nameless settlement. It had almost certainly been destroyed during the hero’s last stand and reconstructed in the time since. Erected alongside the King’s Road, it consisted of two streets and a handful of dwellings, the largest of which was an inn. Fields heavy with crop were visible in the distance.

Strangely, there was no sign of the inhabitants.  

Marq smoothly dismounted outside the town’s two-storied inn. At the demon’s sharp command, Samuel bound his brother’s staff to the saddle of the black horse and followed suit.

The Great Demon ascended the wooden stairs and stalled before the door. “Prepare yourself, sorcerer.”

“For what?”

“This place reeks of human blood.”

Without another word, the Great Demon kicked in the door and marched inside. Samuel took a last glance at the empty streets of the settlement before crossing the threshold. Inside, the floor of the common room was slick with blood, however, there were no corpses.

Samuel clutched his staff tightly and followed the Great Demon to a table near the fireplace where flies swarmed a pair of spoiled meals. After sampling the contents of the abandoned goblets, Marq stepped toward the fireplace and kicked the ashes with his boot.

“Are there any traces of magic here?” the Great Demon asked.

“No, Great One. I can’t sense—” Samuel broke off as something crashed to the floor in the next room. His heart began to pound in his chest. Again, he resisted the urge to flee.

Marq drew his blade from its midnight scabbard and gestured for him to follow.

The door leading the suspicious room was located at the back of the common room and barricaded by an overturned table and a barrel. At the Great Demon’s command, Samuel removed the obstructions with a spell.

The sounds within the room intensified.

“Open it,” the Great Demon commanded, blade at the ready.

A second wave of magic flung open the door.

A diseased-looking man emerged from within and sprinted toward them. The man’s weathered face was sunken in, and his skin was an odd shade of gray. Chunks of flesh had been ripped from his left arm. To Samuel, it looked as if the man had been attacked by a wolf. 

The Great Demon stepped forward and crippled the assailant with a blow to the leg. The man did not seem to notice the loss of his limb. He began to crawl forward across the bloody floor, a menacing growl stemming from his throat. Another strike from the demon’s wicked blade silenced him.

“What was that thing?” Samuel asked. He had no desire for a closer look.

Marq picked up the man’s severed head by its hair and inspected it for some time. Eventually, the Great Demon tossed the head aside and turned to Samuel.

“We must speak to the Dark King.”

Five

After the black eagle’s latest dreadful landing, Samuel emptied his stomach then hurried to catch up to the Great Demon. He had nearly regained his wits by the time the Dark King’s tent came into view. Most of the world had stopped spinning.

“The sorcerer returns!” one of the ruby-eyed sentry demons proclaimed.

The other grinned. “Should we check him for weapons?”

“We must! This one is treacherous. Always sweating. Always—”

At a glare from the Great Demon, the two sentries instantly silenced and assumed a uniform, statuesque poise. Marq entered the tent without comment. After conquering the urge to vomit, Samuel followed the Great Demon inside like a loyal hound.

“Quin!” Marq snapped. “Get up!”

The Great Demon lounging on the golden couch, who strongly resembled Marq, cracked open a gleaming eye. “No need to shout, brother.” Quin woke the two pleasure demons lying to either side of him with an almost gentle touch. “Best leave now, my dears.”

Marq took a long drink of wine before returning his attention to the other Great Demon. “I said you were in charge, not to make yourself at home, brother.”

“You worry too much,” Quin replied coolly. “I had the servants turn away all potential visitors. None witnessed the carnal sins committed in this chamber.”

“What of the Dark King?”

“Forgot about him. He didn’t seem to mind.”

Marq bared his razor teeth.

“Relax, brother.” Quin chuckled. “You weren’t the one who had to tell him the hero’s grave was robbed. He is expecting you and your human pet to bring him good news.”

“Tell the servants to clean this place up on your way out,” Marq said. He waited until Quin had gathered an assortment of knives and other objects from the foul-smelling antechamber and exited the tent before turning to Samuel. “Do not speak to the Dark King unless directly addressed.” The Great Demon extended a goblet of sour wine. “For your nerves.”

On this occasion, Samuel drank, hoping the fiery concoction would cleanse images of the diseased man they had discovered at the inn from his mind. It did not.

Oh, Emanuel, he thought, I hope you did not suffer the same horrible fate!

“Sorcerer! It is time.”

Samuel followed the Great Demon through the door at the far end of the antechamber and into the magical space beyond. He clutched his staff tightly, forcing himself through the series of luminous doors that led to the Dark King’s throne room. The path was never the same, and it was only known by the Great Demons. Those who lost their way were never seen again.

The throne room was a dimly lit chamber of undeterminable size. Magic torches lined either side of a short path leading to a black marble throne set atop an equally black dais. Beyond the torchlight the impenetrable darkness was broken by the glimmering eyes of the Dark King’s personal demon guard.

Samuel focused on the figure seated upon the throne. The Dark King had once been a great warrior, but time had reduced him to a frail old man. The last vestige of his power rested in his brilliant golden eyes.

“My King,” Marq said, falling to a knee before the throne.

Samuel emulated the gesture. Only the Great Demon was allowed to return to his feet. Samuel lifted his eyes from the ground to watch the proceedings, praying he wouldn’t be required to speak.

“Your report, servant,” the Dark King demanded in his nasally voice.

“I have confirmed that the hero has been resurrected,” Marq replied levelly, “and that the sorcerer responsible is your former right hand, Emanuel.”

The Dark King growled. “That traitor was slain! You told me so yourself!”

“He was, Majesty,” Marq said. The Great Demon reached into his coat pocket and retrieved the statuette. “Emanuel was revived by his brother using this, an item stolen from your collection.”

Samuel’s heart skipped a beat. You idiot! Why did you ever think you could deceive a Great Demon? Of course he knew where the statuette came from!

“The two brothers worked together to bring the hero back to life in hopes that she would be able to complete the prophecy,” Marq continued. “Fortunately, I was able to dispatch both Emanuel and the hero; however, due to the nature of the spells used to restore their lives, their bodies were irrecoverable.”

The Great Demon produced another item. The recently repaired staff. “I have brought Emanuel’s staff as proof. A human sorcerer never willingly surrenders their staff.”

Jaw agape, Samuel stared at the Great Demon. He tried to summon words in his defense but found himself unable to speak. Not that words would have mattered. The Dark King trusted Marq more than anyone. He would never believe that his favored Great Demon had lied to him. The patrol demon was the only other witness … and Marq had killed it.

He does want the prophecy to be fulfilled, Samuel realized in horror. The demons are going to kill the Dark King and take over the world!

“The punishment for treachery is death,” the Dark King hissed.

“Please, Majesty,” Samuel found himself saying. Marq had revealed more than enough of the truth to send him to the grave. He had stolen the statuette. He had helped a known traitor avoid death. His life was over. “I don’t want to die…” The Dark King smiled. “I am not a king without mercy. Conquer White Mountain, and all of your crimes against the crown shall be forgiven.”

Six

The only thing Samuel hated more than snow was war.

Entrenched alongside a mixed platoon of lesser demons and human soldiers, Samuel huddled beneath his thick cloak. He had been transported to White Mountain and planted in the thick of the Dark King’s latest war immediately after his sentencing. His unit was tasked with taking a key enemy fortress deep within the vast mountain range. A fortress that would allow them passage into the valley beyond. A fortress that had already repelled countless attacks.

Samuel peeked over the trench and gazed upon the whitewashed landscape. Frozen bodies rose like skeletal trees from the icy field between the trench and the fortress. Nothing moved.

The structure itself was situated in a magic-made gap within a towering mountain. It wasn’t difficult to surmise that there was no other way to reach their destination.  

“Sorcerer,” the Great Demon known as Enz said, crouching down beside him. Unfazed by the bitter cold, Enz wore steel armor as black as his skin. A monstrous sheathed sword was strapped across his back. One Samuel had no desire to ever see unleashed. “I have given you more than enough time to assess the battlefield. What is your plan?”

“My … plan?” Samuel asked through chattering teeth. The Great Demon had never asked him to construct a plan. Enz had simply positioned him in the foremost trench and told him to…

Oh, I guess that was what I was supposed to be doing, Samuel realized. What does it matter though? No plan I devise will ever work.

Samuel sighed. Might as well speak his mind. What did he have to lose? “Why trust any plan of mine, Great One? I have been named a traitor by the Dark King. I was sent here to die.”

“You were sent here because you begged for your life,” Enz replied. “I am a demon of my word. Get us inside that fortress, and you’re free to go. And yes, I meant to say it that way. I wouldn’t recommend returning to the Dark King. He’ll just send you to the next battlefield. Although, I hear the Red Sands is an enviable post.”

A demon of your word, Samuel thought bitterly. For some stupid reason, he had thought Marq planned to tell the Dark King the truth of what they had found. Demons cannot be trusted!

His first instinct had been correct. The gods of the Underworld had found a loophole in the spell that bound their subjects to the Dark King. They planned to use whatever disease had stricken the human in the inn, and presumably the revived hero, to fulfill the prophecy and kill the Dark King. 

I have to tell someone about this! Someone powerful enough to stand against the Dark King! But who?

Once again, Samuel looked upon the distant fortress. There was one person who had proven capable of fending off the demonic army. The White King.

Samuel scratched his growing beard. He had never been good at strategy. Or at anything really. He wondered what Emanuel would do in his situation. Likely come up with some brilliant plan to defeat the Dark King … like gifting the man he loved an army of demons … or reviving the hero with the help of the gods of the Underworld.

Maybe my brother wasn’t so brilliant after all…

“Sorcerer!”

“How many direct assaults have you tried?” Samuel asked.

“There have been eight in total. I have led one personally,” the Great Demon replied. “I am the third Great Demon who has been posted here. The others were vanquished by the White Flame. I have little desire to meet the same fate.”  

“You’ve seen the White Flame?”

“Aye, sorcerer. It is rumored that the White King himself defends the walls of that fortress. He knows that if the stronghold falls, the Dark King will conquer his kingdom.”

“I assume you’ve tried an assault by night.”

“And by day. And in the midst of a blizzard. Nothing has worked.” Enz grinned. “I trust that you have come up with something unique.”

Samuel looked from the Great Demon to the fortress, then back again. For once in his life, he believed he had solved the issue at hand. For now at least. Just days before, he had believed that he had successfully stolen a priceless artifact from the Dark King and won his brother’s approval.  

“I will approach the fortress alone,” Samuel said. “Wait for my signal.”

*

Samuel approached the fortress. Alone.

The walk was far more grueling than he had anticipated. Every step into the knee-deep snow was exhausting. The icy wind cut through his cloak and the furs beneath, freezing him to the bone. Snow fell from the sky in waves, erasing his surroundings.

Some fraction of the way across, Samuel remembered that he was a sorcerer and cast a spell to preserve himself. For how long was impossible to say. Once he came within range of the fortress, there was a high probability that he would be instantly slain.

Well, at least it would be an honorable end, Samuel reasoned as he marched on. His father would have been pleased, not to mention surprised, to know that his youngest son had died in battle. Samuel wondered if he would see his brother in the afterlife. Gods above! After all of this, why do I still want his approval?

Samuel cursed himself as the walls of the fortress finally came into view. There was little chance the demons would see his signal and even less of one that they would act on it. Enz hadn’t forced Samuel to fully explain his plan … meaning the Great Demon expected him to die. Clearly, Enz had no desire to attack the fortress, to die for the Dark King.

Even the Great Demons fear the White Flame. Samuel managed a frozen smile. That piece of knowledge was the only reason he had any chance at surviving.

Samuel lifted the wards that protected his mind and directed his inner-voice at the sorcerer the Great Demon claimed lived within the fortress. Doing so was extremely dangerous as it made him easy prey for a sorcerer of any skill … but he had nothing to lose.

“I have urgent news for the White King!” he shouted with his inner-voice.

When a response finally came, Samuel nearly collapsed from shock. Or perhaps it was from the cold. He hadn’t expected to get this far.

“You are a servant of the Dark King,” a disembodied voice replied.

“I no longer serve the Dark King. I was sent here to die,” Samuel said. “Strike me down if you must, but first allow me to speak. I’ve opened my mind to you so that you may gauge my sincerity.” He tensed as a spell wrapped around his mind like a venomous snake preparing to strike.

“What is your news, sorcerer?”

“The hero was been resurrected by the gods of the Underworld. The demons plan to use her to kill the Dark King and gain their freedom!”

This time, a different voice responded. A terrible voice.

“Sorcerer!” Enz shouted from his side. “This does not seem like much of a plan! We are tired of waiting!”

So much for being afraid of the White Flame. I really am a fool…

Samuel turned, looked the Great Demon in the eye, and said with remarkable sincerity, “Prepare yourself, Great One. The time is near.”

Then, Samuel did something worse than stealing from the Dark King. He sent the Great Demon flying backward with a burst of magic and sprinted toward the fortress.

Seven

Samuel wondered why he continued to hope. Sure, he had made it inside the fortress. Sure, the Great Demon and the others had been vanquished. But it wasn’t as if the White King had actually agreed to anything. Samuel had been stripped of his staff and clothes and put in chains seconds after he had been permitted to enter the fortress. 

Impossibly, the dungeon was colder than the battlefield.

Samuel felt naked without his staff. He hadn’t parted with it in decades. While awake, he always carried it in his left hand. While asleep, the staff never left his side.

Human sorcerers were nothing without their staffs. Without the link a staff provided, they couldn’t perform magic at all. Samuel hadn’t been granted the opportunity to restore the wards that protected his mind, or to rid himself of the unsavory cold that had infiltrated his soul. He thought it likely that he would die on the frozen stone floor of the dungeon.

Then why bother living? he posed to himself. Just surrender…

But he could not.

Every time Samuel closed his eyes, he saw the diseased human sprinting toward him. He knew in his heart that both the hero and his brother had suffered the same fate, that he was caught in the midst of a dark scheme. The gods of the Underworld would never have revived the hero if they couldn’t control her. His brother would have never left his staff behind if he had been sane.

To his surprise, Sameul stumbled upon a rather logical conclusion. The disease erased the humanity of the afflicted, and like any good plague, desired to spread. The hero had first transmitted it to his brother, then to the people of the empty settlement, presumably by blood contact. The infected had then abandoned the town, seeking to swiftly increase their ranks.

If this plague is allowed to run its course, it could mean the end of humanity!

Samuel needed to prevent that inevitability. Didn’t he? He was the only one alive who knew what was going on. Well. The only human alive. Regardless, a world ruled by the Dark King was better than one ruled by demons. A world ruled by an actual sane human would be even better.

I guess that is what I want, Samuel realized. Some sort of redemption for my family. It was Emanuel who allowed the Dark King to take power, and it was I who enabled this plague.

His motivations clear, Samuel finally fell asleep. It had been a rather long day.

*

The sound of footsteps awoke Samuel from his frigid slumber. To his horror, he found himself unable to move. A pair of soldiers stood before the bars of his cell. Both bore staffs. Samuel sighed in relief as a blessed wave of magic drove the cold from his body.

“Stand, prisoner,” one of the soldiers demanded. Samuel knew the voice. It was the same man he had spoken to using his inner-voice before assaulting the Great Demon.

I still can’t believe that actually worked…

Samuel obeyed. Slowly. To his relief, his body had regained its functionality. He almost allowed himself to relax. Then he remembered that he was a prisoner and without his staff. That he had no wards protecting his mind. That the soldier-sorcerers could kill him in an instant. But they could have done that hours ago. They had let him into their fortress for a reason.

“The White King will speak to you,” the same soldier said.

“Could I … get some clothing first?”

*

Samuel, once again fully clothed, entered a small chamber at the top of the fortress. Behind him came the two soldier-sorcerers and a trail of noisy chains. His eyes fixed upon the table in the room’s center where his staff rested atop a crimson cloth, then begrudgingly slid to the Great Demon’s head residing alongside it. The heads of two other Great Demons were mounted on the far wall. It was almost impossible to distinguish one from another.

Samuel was surprised when the soldiers left him alone in the room. He tried to stand, discovered his chains had been bound to the floor by magic, and was no longer surprised. He wondered if he stood any chance of convincing the White King to trust him. He doubted he would ever be granted his freedom.  

As long as he listens, that will be enough, Samuel thought. Once someone else knows what’s about to happen, my conscience can rest in peace. I hope.

The White King entered the room. Oddly, he did not display his crown. His face was veiled by the hood of his soiled white cloak. Steel armor clinked as he approached the table. When he sat and removed his hood, Samuel gasped in surprise.

“A turn cloak sorcerer,” the young woman beneath the hood said. A simple crown was strung through her thick, white hair. Her icy blue eyes studied him like a hawk. “I am intrigued. What is this urgent news you sacrificed your life to bring me?”

Samuel took a deep breath and began his tale.

*

Atop his favored eagle, Marq surveyed the army below.

It was as impressive as he expected. Thousands of humans had already been turned to diseased animals. By the time they reached the war camp of the Dark King, there would be no stopping them. On that day, his kin would at last be free of the spell binding them to the mad human king. On that day, they would finally begin their true mission.

The conquest of the human world.

Marq guided his mount to where the leader of the infected humans awaited him. The hero stood apart from the others, alongside the mutilated figure of the sorcerer who had revived her. She had retained her infamous blade, meaning the gods had imparted her with some level of sentience.

The Great Demon slid from the back of his eagle and approached the hero. He marveled at the fire within her otherwise black eyes. She was very close to being a demon. In fact, she had been marked by both pantheons of the divine. She truly was the chosen one.

“My forces stand ready, Great Ones,” Marq said to the hero. He knew that his words were heard by the gods below. “Once the Dark King is dead, I will claim this world with the help of these infected humans. All will be accomplished in your noble names.”

The hero stepped forward in response.

Inches apart, they stood in silence.

“I see you have not been granted the ability to speak,” Marq said at last. “Great Ones, I will await your arrival at the side of the Dark King.”

The Great Demon turned and stepped toward his eagle. Only to discover that he could not move. Shadows clung to his legs. Shadows extending from the human sorcerer.

“What is this?” the Great Demon roared. “I am your most loyal servant!”

The hero sunk her teeth into his flesh.

Eight

“So, was it really your brother who unleashed the demons upon our world?” the White Queen asked as they ascended the stairs leading to the top of one of the fortress’ turrets.

It had been six days since their initial – and only – meeting. In the time since, Samuel had been transferred from his original cell to a windowless room with a bed, a table, and a rotating guard at the door. He didn’t see the need for the guard. He had no intention of escaping.

His staff had not been returned to him. The White Queen had claimed it as a trophy.

“Yes, Majesty,” Samuel replied. He kept his eyes on the staff in the queen’s hand. His staff. Wielding two staffs was a rather excessive display of power. Fortunately, he had grown used to feeling powerless … and realized he had never been all that powerful to begin with. He had spent his time in isolation wondering exactly what he had accomplished with his life.

“And he was in love with the Dark King?”

“He was in love with the man who became the Dark King. Not much of that man remains. The Dark King has changed dramatically since the death of the hero.”

“I believe you. No king in their right mind would slay their entire council. Especially when that king could only be killed by someone who is already dead.” She paused. “Why do you think he did it?”

Samuel shrugged. He had often pondered the Dark King’s motivations in the days before his brother was to be executed. Unsurprisingly, he had never discovered the true reason. “My guess is that the spell granting him control over the demons has repercussions. Dark magic often does. The bond it created likely corrupted his mind.”

“And your use of dark magic?” the White Queen asked. “What has it done to you?”

Samuel ran a hand through his graying hair. The cost had been high. “I … sold my soul to bring Emanuel back from the brink of death. I figured I was already going to the Underworld anyway.”

“You must truly love him.”

“Despite everything, I do,” Samuel admitted as they continued to climb. When the White Queen didn’t respond, he took the opportunity to address the current situation. “Majesty, why have you summoned me after all this time? I expected that you would kill me.”

“I wanted to ensure that you were not a spy for the Dark King before speaking to you further,” she replied. “If your arrival had proven to be part of a scheme, I would have certainly killed you.”

Reasonable. “What convinced you I was not a spy?”

“Patience.”

A sentry at the top of the staircase saluted the White Queen, then unlocked the thick door leading to the catwalk that surrounded the top of the fortress. The White Queen’s staff flashed and a sphere of light appeared around her figure. At her command, Samuel stepped into the sphere. Warmth seeped into his bones.  

Samuel remained patient as the White Queen led to their destination. He focused on the landscape beyond the walls of the fortress, however, it was impossible to tell on which side they had emerged. Snow-covered mountains stretched in every direction, and Samuel had never liked geography.

Presently, the White Queen took a diverging path that led inward. Through the falling snow, Samuel could make out a stone gazebo rising from the heart of the fortress. The White Queen led him beneath the structure and expanded her spell to block out the foul weather.

Samuel stared at a shimmering object set on the central pedestal. “A looking sphere,” he said, surprised. “I’ve never seen one in person before.”  

“It has belonged to the ruling house of the White Mountains since the beginning of the current age,” the White Queen replied.

“Aren’t they objects of the divine?” Samuel asked. “I thought the Dark King destroyed everything linking the divine to our world.”

“There is much of the world the Dark King does not rule.”

Once again, I’ve fallen prey to the man’s propaganda, Samuel sighed inwardly. Still, the sight of the looking sphere sparked what little of his hope remained. It was an odd feeling.

“I have been using it to monitor the movements of the Dark King’s forces,” the White Queen said. “It is because of this device that no demons have passed through the White Mountains. It is because of this device that I now believe your claim.”

Samuel turned from the looking sphere, noting the White Queen’s sudden grim tone. “What have you seen, Majesty?”

The White Queen tapped her staff against the looking sphere. Light erupted from the artifact. An image appeared within its endless depths.

“Death,” she said.

*

Quin cracked open one eye at what sounded like screams of terror. But that didn’t make sense. Who would be screaming in the Dark King’s camp? Besides those in the pleasure tent. Or in the Dark King’s antechamber which he had once again turned into a close approximation of his favored abode.

The Great Demon opened his second eye when the screams came again. He glanced at the trio of pleasure demons arranged across his body and decided it wasn’t worth the trouble of moving.

“Servant!” Quin shouted in his most demanding voice. Unfortunately, what came out was more of a crackling whisper. Sour wine and sour leaf never mixed well, even for Great Demons. After ingesting so much, he could barely think straight.

One of the servants stepped into the antechamber. “Yes, Great One?”

“What is happening outside? I hear screams.”

“We have everything under control, Great One. You asked not to be disturbed.”

Quin growled. “Well, now you’ve disturbed me.” He relished the fear in the servant’s eyes as he tossed the pleasure demons aside and stood to stretch. He didn’t bother to reach for his clothes. “You’re lucky Marq isn’t here. He would’ve decapitated you by now.”

The servant was visibly shaking. Quin prolonged the servant’s suffering by pouring himself a goblet of sour wine. He drank deeply, hoping to ease his cloudy mind, then gestured to the tent entrance. Outside, the screaming continued.

“Let’s get this under control before the Dark King notices,” he said.

The servant pushed aside the tent flap. And was gutted by a gleaming blade.

Quin stepped back in surprise as a human woman with fiery eyes and gray skin entered the tent. A human man who was missing half his face followed a step behind her. It looked as if they had been bathed in blood. They smelled worse than pigs.

“Do I know you?” Quin asked. Due to the frayed state of his mind, he couldn’t remember where he had placed his axe. He glanced over his shoulder and saw two of the pleasure demons cowering behind him. The other was attempting to retrieve his axe from beneath the couch. 

The strange but familiar human woman stared at him. Apparently, she did not speak.

“I can’t allow you to reach the Dark King,” Quin said, expanding his wings and exposing his razor teeth. That sort of display usually forced the humans off-balance.

The human woman seemed to smile.

Quin exhaled in relief as another figure entered the tent. “Brother! About time you returned…”

The Great Demon trailed off as he noticed Marq’s skin had gone from black to gray, that his brother bore the same unnatural eyes as the two humans. Quin studied the black blood dripping from his brother’s mouth and from the blade bestowed upon him by the gods. Demon blood.

Marq stepped past the human woman and raised his blade in challenge.

No. Not just any human woman. She looked like the human woman who had been prophesized to slay the Dark King. The hero.

Quin turned to gauge the progress of the pleasure demon carrying his axe. Both her body and his weapon were encased in shadow.

Quin finished his last drink. “Fuck me.”

Nine

Samuel stood beside the White Queen, overlooking the frozen field below. The same field where he had assaulted a Great Demon and somehow survived. The field that, hours from now, would be filled with an army of not only diseased humans … but diseased demons as well.

He still couldn’t believe the diseased humans had turned on the demons. And not just the demons. The Great Demons as well. That had been a most troubling development. One that defied all logic. Were the gods of the Underworld not behind the disease?

Well, it’s not as if I’ve gotten anything else right in my life…

For reasons beyond his comprehension, the White Queen had requested his advice. Samuel had told the young queen everything he had learned from his encounter inside the inn.

Admittedly, that wasn’t much. Only that the diseased had no regard for their own wellbeing and that they could be killed by decapitation. Unfortunately, the Dark King’s encampment had not been prepared for an attack. The Great Demons had barely managed to rally a token defense. The one-sided confrontation had revealed nothing new regarding their latest foes.

And then there was the Dark King himself. Samuel had watched through the looking sphere as the hero and his brother effortlessly navigated the magical corridor to the throne room. There, the hero had dispatched the Dark King’s personal demon guard with her legendary sword. The Dark King hadn’t seemed to comprehend what was happening. Samuel had felt surprisingly disappointed when the old man fell without resistance.

“You are quiet, Samuel,” the White Queen said. The wind toyed with her white hair. It was a warm wind. Despite her youth, she was far better at controlling magic than him. “You look as if we’ve already been defeated.”

Samuel eyed the staff in the queen’s left hand. His staff. Even after the death of the Dark King, she still didn’t trust him enough to return it. “I don’t like our chances, Majesty.”

“This fortress has never been taken.”

“This fortress has never faced an army of ten thousand diseased humans and demons.”

“You still advise me to flee?” she asked.

Samuel nodded. “To be fair, I am a coward at heart.”

“If the infected get past this hold and enter my kingdom, there will be no containing them. Their disease will spread to every corner of the world. We must stop them here.”

“And should you fail? No one will know what is coming.”

“I have sent word ahead,” the White Queen said, “but we will not fail.”

Samuel was far from convinced. “Have you determined why the gods of the Underworld turned against their own creations?”

“That is obvious, Samuel. The gods of the Underworld want to rule this world. The demons weren’t getting the job done. They mean little in the eyes of their gods.”

“A fair assessment,” Samuel admitted. “However, it does not explain your confidence.”

“Do you believe in the divine?” the White Queen asked.

“Of course. It was their priests who prophesized the hero would end the reign of the Dark King.”

“The divine showed me how to summon the White Flame,” the White Queen said. “They will provide us with a way to defeat this foe as well.”

For some time, they stood in silence, watching the sun rise, watching the first of the infected appear on the horizon. The hero led the diseased army. Emanuel and the Great Demon Marq marched a pace behind her, well ahead of the others. It was clear that the trio was unique, that they had retained some semblance of their awareness. Samuel wondered if a part of Emanuel still lived.  

They will provide us with a way to defeat this foe as well…

Samuel glanced skyward. For once, the snow had ceased, allowing him a view of the heavens. The home of the divine. A place he would never see for himself.

“Majesty,” Samuel said presently. “Would you believe that I have a plan?”

“A plan to win this battle?”

Samuel nodded slowly. “I’m going to need my staff.”

*

Samuel walked across the frozen field toward the hero and her army. Alone.

To think that I would willing put myself in this situation again! Just who have I become?

The answer was obvious. He was and always had been a fool.

Only a senseless ruler would trust a sorcerer who had broken an oath to their former employer, even if that employer had been the Dark King. Samuel had decided not to beg for his life a second time. This way, his death would at least have meaning.

Well. Probably. At the very least, he would buy the White Queen enough time to comprehend that defeating the diseased legion was impossible.

Samuel wondered if the infected could be frozen alive. Well, not frozen alive for they were already dead. No. That wasn’t exactly right either. The infected didn’t seem to be truly dead. Neither living nor dead. Somewhere in between.  

They’re undead, Samuel determined as he approached the hero and her entourage.

His heart sunk at the sight of the eight undead Great Demons atop their nightmarish steeds. Thankfully, it didn’t appear the undead had chosen to employ the demonic eagles. That would have been problematic in more ways than one.

Samuel frowned. Getting so close to the undead legion hadn’t been his original plan. He had expected them to storm the fortress in mass. Instead, they stood in an organized fashion behind the line of mounted Great Demons. Snow clung like ash to their gray flesh and nested in what remained of their hair. They did not move.

At last, the hero stepped forward, allowing Samuel to end his march.  

She looked far worse than the rest. He remembered seeing her interned inside the Dark King’s crystal grave. She had been beautiful, ferocious, and proud. A true warrior. Now, her gray skin was stained black with blood. Patches of dark hair had been ripped away from her scalp. Somewhere along the way, she had lost most of her teeth.

And then there was Emanuel. The hero’s first victim. His face was unrecognizable. The bones of his left cheek were exposed where the skin had been ripped away. His long nose had been broken, and his blackened lips were frozen shut. Only his devilish eyes betrayed any sign of life.

Samuel clutched his staff as the hero stopped a pace before him.  

“Sophia of the Black Rocks, your purpose has been fulfilled,” he found himself saying. This part of the plan had little chance of working, but it was certainly worth a try. “The Dark King has been slain. The prophecy has been fulfilled.”

The hero growled.

Despite the snow, Samuel was sweating. He didn’t bother to calm his racing heart. He had already chosen his fate. It was far too late to flee.

Samuel managed a tired smile. One final spell, then it will be over…

His staff slipped through his frozen fingers and fell to the ground.

No. Something had pulled the staff away. Shadows.

Samuel reached for his staff but found that he could not move. He looked at his brother in horror. There was no question that this magic belonged to Emanuel.

The hero raised her blade.

“Emanuel,” Samuel pleaded. “If you can hear me, know that I never meant for any of this happen, know that I love you!”

To his surprise, the shadows receded.

The hero turned to Emanuel, allowing Samuel an opportunity to retrieve his staff.

His last words were a whisper. “I’m sorry.”

*

The White Queen walked among the frozen bodies. Her sorcerers followed close behind, using White Flame to erase the entombed legion. As there were thousands of icy statues, the process would take days. But the enemy had been defeated. The day was won.

“You were no coward, Samuel,” the White Queen said, standing before the frozen sorcerer, the man who had been sent to her by the gods. “You are a hero.”

THE END

(Three Parts. 5500 words)

One | Two | Three

Note: This is the draft form of this story.

This story stemmed from the following prompt: You’ve just found evidence that a local hero famous for sparing all his foes, and a masked vigilante going around killing villains, might be the same person.

One

“Move the light closer,” Ryen ordered as knelt next to the body.

“Yes, Investigator.”

The Butcher was as ugly in death as he had been in life. A bear of a man with an untamed red beard and a trail of cult tattoos darkening his square face. He was the prince’s latest capture and had been scheduled to be transported to the prison isle at sunrise.

Ryen examined the wound in the magic-light. The strike that had decapitated the Butcher had been clean, struck by someone experienced with the blade. More importantly, the blade had been exceptionally sharp, possibly enchanted. Few warriors carried such a blade.

The prince was one of them.

“What do you see, Investigator?”

Ryen stood slowly. His left knee ached. “The same as the others,” he replied, hiding his pain. “Our killer struck his victim from behind.” He stepped forward and unleashed an imaginary strike. “One blow was all it took. Even for a man with the girth of the Butcher.”

Erik documented his words. Then he moved the magic-light to the window.

Ryen sighed. “No trail.” Their killer was either clever or lucky. He had avoided the shards of glass planted on the windowsill and the fresh fertilizer that had been recently deposited in the garden. He hadn’t left behind any prints or blood. 

“We should have stationed someone inside,” Erik said. “Cloaked them in a spell. They could have provided details on the killer. Perhaps they could have seen beneath their mask.”

Ryen grunted. “And if the killer had discovered them?”

The younger man hung his head.

“Thus far, the killer is only targeting the damned,” Ryen said. “This trap was of our own devising. The king has not authorized a formal investigation. It is not worth the risk.”

“You still suspect him?” Erik asked.

Ryen had forbidden the use of the prince’s name. Investigating such a powerful man without substantial evidence would be viewed as treason. The king loved nothing more than his sole heir. “Aye. There are few who have access to this—”

He broke off as another officer entered the room. “Investigator,” the man said. “There’s a witness.”

*

The witness was an elderly woman with white hair and dark eyes. One of those who walked the royal gardens in the hours before dawn, paying appropriate homage to one of the major deities. She sat alone on a stone bench. Visibly shaking.

Ryen sat down beside her. Even to his weathered eye, the woman looked old. “I am the King’s Investigator,” he said. “Will you tell me what you saw?”

“A man … in a mask … with a glowing blade,” she replied. Her words her slow. Her voice a whisper. “Investigator … was he the Spirit? The one delivering judgement?”

Ryen took her hand. Rumors of the Spirit had already spread through the capital like wildfire. Still, the woman may have seen something useful. “Did you notice anything else? The color of his hair or his skin? Did he hold the blade in his right hand or his left?”

“No,” the woman replied. “The mask covered his face. Dark clothing covered his skin…”

Ryen withheld a sigh.

“… he spoke to me.”

A surprise. “What did he say?”

“That he was an envoy of the gods. That he was charged with delivering justice.”

*

After disposing of the Butcher’s body, Ryen sat at his desk in silence. Erik paced the length of their shared office. The floating light trailed behind him, distorting the dimensions of the small room.

“Why speak to her?” Ryen asked after some time. “He has never said a word to any other witness.”

“Perhaps he has grander ambitions,” Erik replied. “The Spirit is gaining popularity in the capital. By revealing his motivation, he can transition from myth to hero.”

“He is already a hero.”

“Then his ambitions must be even greater,” Erik said. “Perhaps the crown?”

Ryen frowned. “Why take such a risk? The king is old and gray. He need only wait.”

The door opened, bringing their conversation to an abrupt end. The man who stepped inside was intimately familiar. An enchanted sword hung from the belt around his waist.

“Investigator,” the prince said, his handsome face marred by an uncharacteristic frown. “This spirit is tampering with my reputation. I want him captured and exposed!”

Ryen stared at the prince, at a loss for words. He hadn’t expected his primary suspect to request an investigation into the Spirit’s killings … but it didn’t make him suspect the prince any less. If anything, it made him suspect the prince more.  

“Well?” the prince snapped. “What is your plan? Surely, you have one. If you do not, I will dispose of you and have another investigator installed in your place.”

Ryen had no intention of revealing the details of his investigation to the prince. Until the prince was cleared of suspicion, he would only provide him with the known facts. “The Spirit has killed three men. All were arrested for murder. All were killed the night before they were scheduled to be shipped to the prison isle.”

“Three men that I brought in!” the prince exclaimed. “His name is the first on every tongue. People are saying that he delivers true justice. That is unacceptable! It is my divine duty to deliver justice!”

Ryen met Erik’s eyes. Only in the walls of the castle was the prince’s true character revealed. He was arrogant and entitled. He brought his bounties in alive not to stand trial, but to parade them through the capital in a cage drawn by his horse. He craved attention. He wanted to be a hero.

The prince slammed his hand on Ryen’s desk. “You’re as slow witted as my father,” he said. “Don’t worry about coming up with a plan. I have already done that for you. The Spirit is targeting the criminals that I capture. We will use my next bounty to set a trap. It will be done tonight!”

At last, Ryen spoke. “Do you have another bounty in your sights, my prince? Have you finally managed to capture the Sewer Dweller?”

The prince bared his teeth. “No. We will need to use a decoy.” He pushed the blond hair from his face and bit his lower lip in thought. “Your face is too well known … but his is not.” The prince pointed at Erik. “Your assistant will serve as our bait.”

Erik raised his brow in silent question.

Ryen spoke for him. “I will not put an innocent man in danger.”

“He won’t be in danger!” the prince exclaimed. “We will cloak ourselves in magic and await the Spirit. When he appears, I will best him in a duel and unmask him. I possess the sword of Rao. I cannot be defeated in combat!”

“My prince, surely there is—”

“The decision has been made, Investigator,” the prince said sharply. “Circulate wanted posters with your man’s face. I will arrest him in the slums outside the city wall. I won’t rough him up too badly.”

Ryen withheld a sigh. “Yes, my prince.”

*

Ryen waited in silence. The stench of magic and blood filled the small cell. The same cell where they had held the Butcher the night before. Once again, they had left the window unbarred.

To his left, the prince’s fingers flexed against the hilt of his blade. Ryen had overruled the prince’s demands to have separate cloaking spells, determined to keep an eye upon the arrogant heir. It was his investigation after all.

Ryen’s argument had been unassailable. Even the prince couldn’t deny the visual effect of two cloaking spells. Anyone entering the room would be able to discern such an abundance of magic. Especially a killer who had demonstrated exceptional skill, one that possibly employed magic themselves.

“It’s nearly sunrise,” the prince hissed. “Where is the Spirit?”

Ryen withheld a frown. Instead of responding, he looked to where Erik sat bound to the wall by chains. The cut above the young officer’s eye had mercifully stopped bleeding. However, his nose would have to be reset. As usual, the prince hadn’t been able to help himself.

“I had to make it convincing, Investigator,” the prince whispered, following his gaze. “If I had made any deviations from my normal routine, the Spirit may have figured out our ruse.”

Ryen grunted. “Be patient. He may be watching us.”

The sound of the temple’s bell startled the prince. He drew his blade and lunged forward, stepping out of the range of the spell. After cursing, he whirled about and pointed his enchanted blade at Ryen.

“Your plan was flawed, Investigator,” the prince snapped. “I will retire to my chambers. When I emerge, I will set out to catch the Spirit myself. I no longer require your help.”

*

Ryen led a squad of officers into the highest wing of the castle, toward the bedchamber of the prince. Erik walked at his side. The magic-light floated a step behind.

“I don’t like this move, Investigator,” Erik said. “Just because the Spirit didn’t appear doesn’t mean that the prince is the Spirit.”

Ryen shook his head. “I disagree. Your arrest and sentencing were completed in the exact same fashion as those the Spirit targeted before. Killers find comfort in patterns.”

“The prince wouldn’t have offered to help us if he knew it would expose him.”

“He unknowingly revealed his scheme,” Ryen said. “If we allow him the opportunity, he will find someone to admit to being the Spirit. He will advertise that he captured the killer when we could not. This was all a game to him.”

“And the words he said to the old woman?”

“Meaningless.”

“The king won’t allow us to arrest the prince on circumstantial evidence,” Erik said. “We can’t prove that the killer is using his sword. We still don’t know how the Spirit avoided our first trap.”

Ryen smirked. “We’re not arresting him. We’re placing him under the protection of the castle guard. If the Spirit appears while we have eyes on him, then we will set him free.”

As any good officer did, Erik knew when to abandon an argument with a superior.

Moments later, they stopped before the prince’s door. It was open. They found the prince’s head in the next room.

Two

Two hours after the prince’s death, Ryen marched through the royal gardens. The man’s head had seemed real enough, but magic could replicate anyone’s appearance. The prince had access to the royal reserves and the kingdom’s best mages. If anyone could fake his own death, it was the prince. He remained Ryen’s primary suspect.

“Perhaps we should take a break, Investigator,” Erik suggested. “You’re limping.” 

Ryen grunted. He had been too long without sleep. His bones ached. The injury that had forced him to retire from the king’s army had never truly healed. “The king has tasked us with unmasking the Spirit. I will not rest until this case is solved.”

“We must conduct our investigation with care. Especially since you still believe he is behind this.”

“You don’t?” Ryen asked, coming to an abrupt stop.

“Few are allowed in the prince’s chambers,” Erik replied. “The body maintained its appearance after probing from the royal mage.”

Ryen shook his head. “Those tests mean nothing. The king wouldn’t allow a thorough investigation.” He paused, took the canteen of water from Erik’s waiting hand, and drank deeply. “What of the sword? It should have been released into our care.”

“There was no blood on the blade,” Erik replied. “We have no proof that it was murder weapon.”

“Not yet.”

Ryen continued his determined trek through the gardens. Fortunately, he didn’t have to walk far to find who he was looking for. The elderly woman was seated in the same location he had spoken to her on the morning after the Butcher’s murder. As before, she wore a dress as white as her hair.

“Investigator,” she said in her quiet voice. “Can I help you with something?”

Ryen nodded. “To our knowledge, you are the only living person the Spirit has spoken to. Erik, please repeat her words.”

Erik stepped toward the bench. “You said the Spirit claimed he was an envoy of the gods, that he was charged with delivering justice. Is that accurate?”

“Yes, Officer,” the woman replied.

“You are one of those charged with providing daily offerings to the gods?” Ryen asked.

“Yes, Investigator.”

“To which god?”

“Rao,” the woman replied. “The god of justice.”

Ryen met Erik’s eyes. “Did the Spirit wield the sword of Rao?” he asked the woman. “It is the same blade carried by the prince. It is unmistakable to the eye.”

“The spirit’s blade was sheathed, Investigator.”

Ryen frowned. His frustration grew.

“Does Rao have a temple in the capital?” Erik asked.

“Yes, Officer. In the Temple District.”

“How did the prince acquire the god’s blade?”

“That I do not know, Officer. I only tend a small shrine in Rao’s honor,” the woman replied. “Rao’s head priest would have bestowed the blade upon the unfortunate prince.”

“Thank you,” Erik said. “You’ve been a great help.”

Ryen was grateful for Erik’s presence. He was in no mood for formalities. Erik understood that it was important for the citizens to trust the castle guard. Someday, he would make a fine Investigator.

As Ryen regained his feet, the woman grabbed his wrist. “Investigator, in which of the gods do you believe?” she asked.

“None.”

*

The Temple of Rao was one of many that lined the streets of the Temple District. The king believed in religious freedom; every major god and goddess was represented within the capital. Citizens streamed between the distinct buildings, seeking different deities for different needs. It would be easy for one man to hide within such a diverse crowd.

“Keep your eyes open,” Ryen said to Erik. They stood before the temple’s stone steps. Citizens streamed to either side of them, wary of their insignia. “The prince could be nearby.”

“Yes, Investigator,” Erik replied. He cleared his throat. “I assigned an officer to look into the history of the sword of Rao. It has been centuries since the blade was removed from this temple. The stories surrounding the weapon are closer to myth than fact. Some scholars believe it to be cursed.”

“When was the prince awarded the blade?”

“Three days before the first murder committed by the Spirit,” Erik replied. He paused. “Investigator, there is no proof that the blade is the murder weapon.”

“It has to be,” Ryen snapped. “The Spirit first appeared after the prince received the blade. The Spirit has only spoken to a priestess of Rao. The Spirit said he was charged with delivering justice – Rao is the god of justice. These things cannot be coincidence.”

“We do not have yet have all the facts.”

Ryen ignored the officer. “The prince must have made a deal with Rao’s priest. The priest must know the truth behind the Spirit, the reason the prince committed these crimes and faked his death.”

“I’ll … follow your lead, Investigator,” Erik said.

Ryen led up the stairs and into the temple. He marched through a cavernous lobby and into the main room of worship. There, the head priest of Rao stood by a simple altar, surrounded by a group of citizens with their heads bowed in prayer. Upon the altar rested the sword of Rao.

“Good day, Priest. I am the King’s Investigator,” Ryen said in greeting. “We are investigating the murder of the prince on the authority of the king.”

The priest excused himself from the prayer and guided them away from the altar. “How may I help, Investigator?” he asked.

“We believe the sword of Rao is connected with the prince’s murder.” As he spoke, Ryen cast his eyes around the chamber of worship, searching for the prince. “All those the prince captured using the blade are now dead. The prince was killed in the same fashion.”

A grave expression overtook the priest’s face. “I will do my best to answer your questions.”

Ryen gestured for Erik to take over the interview. He turned his attention to the occupants of the temple, to the area of worship. The prince was watching. He was certain of it.

“How did the prince earn the sword of Rao?” Erik asked.

“The prince sought to rid the kingdom of crime,” the priest replied. “He undertook a trial. The blade was his reward.”

“Has anyone attempted this trial before?”

“Many have asked Rao’s permission to wield the sacred blade. Few have been granted the right to undertake the trial. Only the prince ever succeeded.”

“What happened to those who did not succeed?”

“They left this temple in peace.”

“And the nature of this trial?”

Ryen ignored the priest’s latest lie. He doubted there had ever been a trial. The prince had never earned the enchanted blade. For some reason, the priest and prince had decided to wreak havoc on the capital. The prince’s death was a precursor to something far worse.

I have to stop this before anything else happens!

Ryen approached the altar and studied the blade. It looked just as it had at the scene of the prince’s murder. Spotless. He thought again of the Butcher’s death. Every clue led back to the sword.

“Investigator!” the priest shouted, rushing to the altar. “Please. Do not touch the sword!”

Ryen ignored the man’s plea. He removed the sheathed blade from the altar. “I am confiscating this weapon in the name of the king. I will return it when my investigation is complete.”

The priest’s eyes grew wide. “You must not take it from the temple. You must not remove the blade from its sheath. You have not earned the right!”

“What will happen if I do?” Ryen asked.

“Rao will deliver judgement upon you. Just as he did to the others.”

Ryen drew the blade.

*

Ryen awaited the Spirit in the heart of the royal gardens. The square space was open and flat. Each entrance was twenty paces from its center. In the distance, the stone castle loomed.

Erik waited next to him. Beneath the light of the moon, the floating magic-light was superfluous. The young officer had said little since they had left the temple of Rao. Ryen could sense his unease with the latest turn of the investigation. One day, Erik would understand that difficult decisions had to be made in order to keep the peace, that every leader carried unimaginable burdens.

“What will you do if the Spirit does not show himself?” Erik asked presently.

“You heard the priest,” Ryen replied. “I must incur Rao’s judgement. The Spirit will deliver it. I have forced his hand.”

“And when he does appear?”

“He will be arrested and unmasked.”

Erik nodded. “The guards have been stationed as you requested. The symbols for the magic barrier have been placed. There will be no escape.”

“More importantly, the prince’s scheme will be revealed before reliable witnesses.”

“And if the Spirit is not the prince?”

“They are one in the same,” Ryen replied.

Erik eyed the sword in Ryen’s hand. “We must take him peacefully. There is no need for further violence. Do not forget that the prince is among the best swordsmen in the kingdom.”

“My fighting days are long behind me,” Ryen said. “If he attacks, I will retreat.”

“Investigator?”

Ryen met the officer’s gaze.

“Be careful,” Erik said. With that, the young officer walked away. The magic-light trailed him, leaving Ryen alone in the center of the open square.

Ryen studied the naked blade in his hand. The mages employed by the king paled in comparison to those who had existed during the Age of the Gods. The secrets to forging an enchanted blade had been lost centuries ago. In his heart, he knew that he held the murder weapon.

There remained only one facet of the case to solve. The reason behind the prince’s murder spree.

Ryen quickly grew tired of waiting. “Spirit! Show yourself!” he shouted.

The Spirit emerged from the darkness. Just as the price did, he stood taller than the average man and walked with the gait of a practiced swordsmen. Every inch of his body was covered in black cloth. A ghoulish mask concealed his features. His eyes burned white.

The Spirit stopped a pace before Ryen. He was unarmed.

“I know who you are,” Ryen said coldly. “There is nowhere to run.”

Ryen gave the signal. A barrier of magic-light sprung into existence, enclosing the square. A pair of sorcerers from the king’s cadre emerged from the gardens to reinforce the spell.

The Spirit did not look away from the investigator.

“I want to know why,” Ryen said. “Why capture the criminals and then kill them? Why fake your own death? Are you after the crown?”

The Spirit said nothing.

“Then you are after something greater. Perhaps you intend to overthrow your father’s regime, to cleanse the capital and repurpose it in your image. Perhaps you intend to use the sword of Rao to turn this kingdom into an empire that stretches across the known world.”

Still, the Spirit did not speak.

“Answer me!” Ryen growled. “Face justice!”

“Justice,” the Spirit repeated. Its voice was powerful – obviously enhanced by magic. Ryen could hear the prince’s voice within it. The single word confirmed all he needed to know.

“It’s over. You have no weapon. You are surrounded,” Ryen said, gesturing to the fifty guards who stood beyond the magic barrier. “Take off your mask. Pray that your father is merciful. I will ensure that you are unharmed until your trial.”

The Spirit was silent for some time.

“As you wish, Investigator,” he said at last.

The Spirit removed his mask.

In the instant before his death, Ryen screamed.

Three

Erik had never believed in the gods, old or new. Until the night in the royal gardens, he had thought the gods nothing more than myth, the subjects of stories augmented by the passing of time.

Then the Spirit had removed its mask.

He looked at the sheathed blade in his hands. The sword of Rao. A sword forged by a man that had ascended into divinity in an age long past. A sword that contained a piece of his spirit. A sword that did not belong in the hands of any mortal man.

“Investigator?”

Erik turned to regard Rao’s head priest. The man had had no choice but to accompany him. The king had burned the temple of Rao to the ground and commanded Erik to destroy the blade. In the three weeks since, they had traveled by ship to the other side of the known world.

“You have been banished from the capital,” Erik replied. It had been the first time they had spoken in days. However, he knew exactly what the priest wanted. His motivation was apparent. “Whether you follow me from here is up to you.”

The priest’s eyes lingered upon the blade. “I will follow you.”

Erik returned his gaze to the quickly approaching shore. The desert was an imposing sight. Flat and filled with golden sand, it stretched unabated to the horizon. The last leg of his journey would be difficult. The desert would be the least of his worries.

*

The desert heat was unimaginable. Erik rode in the midst of a camel caravan. His entire body was wrapped in a thin white cloth. The sword of Rao and his supply bag was tied securely across his back.

The priest remained nearby. His eyes rarely left the sword. Erik knew it was only a matter of time before he attempted to reclaim it. The priest had no intention of allowing Erik to destroy the blade.

For a time, Erik rode alongside the caravan guide. The woman was from a kingdom across the desert. She earned her living by guiding such caravans from one side of the sands to the other.

“A word, pilgrim,” she said in her strange voice.  

“Do you need something?” It would have been foolish to advertise his true mission. Erik had hired the caravanner and her guards to guide him on a pilgrimage to the tomb. Nothing more.

“The man who travels with you claims to be a priest of Rao. He claims that if we kill you, he would handsomely reward us.”

“You have been guaranteed the second installment of your payment upon my safe return to the docks. You have seen with your own eyes proof of funding, personally notarized by my king,” Erik replied calmly. “The priest can offer you nothing.”

The woman considered his response. “Why travel with such a man?”

Erik looked to where the priest conversed with a pair of caravan guards. The truth was a callous one. The priest believed he was charged with reclaiming the sword of Rao for his god. He had to be eliminated to truly end the threat, to finally close the case.

He turned back to the guide. “Because hard decisions have to be made to ensure peace.”

“You plot against a god and his priest,” the woman said. “You seek death.”

“No. I seek justice.”

*

The tomb of Rao appeared suddenly. It was carved into the walls of a silent canyon somewhere in the vast desert. Time had yet to erode its pristine features. Pillars cut from mountain rock stood sentry before its magnificent metallic doors. Above the door was a depiction of Rao himself. Two priceless diamonds served as his eyes.

“This is where we wait, pilgrim,” the caravan guide said. “The ground ahead reeks of magic. We do not worship this god. We have no desire to test what power he still holds on this world.”

Erik dismounted and surrendered the reins of his camel. “I will return before sundown.” He gestured to the priest. “Come, priest. The temple awaits.”

The glimmering doors parted as they approached. Magic-torches flickered to life as soon as they stepped beyond the threshold. The way forward was lined by artifacts from the time of Rao. All appeared in perfect condition. Within the tomb, there was not a spot of dust or dirt.

They walked in silence. Erik followed the central passageway, ignoring the myriad of doors and paths to either side. Rao had no need to hide his burial site behind arcane traps. His tomb was a monument that was intended to be viewed by his worshippers. Men and women came from across the kingdom to pray before his sarcophagus, to ask for his divine judgment.

Despite his preparations, Erik was stunned by the sight of the burial chamber. Its size seemed impossible given the supposed dimensions of the tomb. Its decorations were more lavish than the castle of the king. Ornate rugs hung from the golden-stone walls. Priceless paintings and murals filled the gaps between them. A dozen mummified men in full armor surrounded the dais holding the god’s shimmering coffin.

Erik stopped before the stairs. The priest stood before him, knife in hand.

“Surrender the sword,” the priest said. “It does not belong to you.”

Erik shook his head. “I lay no claim upon the blade. You were witness to the havoc it caused in the capital. You know as well as I that this blade must never be drawn again.”

“That is not your decision. The sword belongs to Rao!” the priest exclaimed. 

“It is a relic of an age long gone. Its time has passed.”

 “Rao is eternal!”

When the priest lunged, Erik stepped to the side. The knife passed through empty air. He made no move to draw the blade sheathed upon his back, nor the knife harbored at his waist. Spilling blood in the tomb of a god was nearly as dangerous as drawing the blade.

Erik patiently waited for his opportunity. The priest was light on his feet but unpracticed with the blade. When the moment came, Erik grabbed the man’s arm and snapped the bone below the elbow, sending the knife harmlessly to the ground. Then he wrapped his arm around the priest’s throat.

“I have no desire to kill you,” he said softly as he released the unconscious man.

After retrieving the priest’s knife, Erik ascended the golden stairs, untied the blade, and set it atop the ornate sarcophagus. He couldn’t help but study the surface of the god’s coffin. It had been cast in an astonishing life-like fashion, as if Rao had fallen into an eternal slumber.

The legends claimed that Rao had ascended to the heavens and left his body behind to ensure that he had a lasting connection with the mortal world. In the time since, the sword had been taken from his tomb and traveled the world. Erik had been unable to determine when and how it had first appeared in the capital, what other damage it had caused.

Presently, Erik descended from the dais and opened his bag. He spread magic-charges around the perimeter of the burial chamber. The explosion would activate upon his mark, a magic word that he would utter just before leaving the tomb.

The Spirit awaited him at the exit to the burial chamber. As before, its body was completely covered in black cloth. “You are making a mistake, Investigator,” it said in its haunting voice. It stared at him with its burning eyes. Its alien face remained hidden behind its mask. “Rao’s tomb must not be destroyed.”

“There is no other option,” Erik replied calmly.

“You will be creating a world without justice.”

“A world without Rao’s justice.”

“Rao’s justice is absolute,” the Spirit said. The sheathed sword flew from atop the god’s coffin and into the Spirit’s waiting hand. “Three were slain for atrocities committed by their own hand. They were marked by the blade and thus had to be judged by it.”

“They had already been judged by the crown. Their sentence had been delivered.”

“Rao sentenced them to death.”

“The prince did not carry out that sentence.”

“You’re right. I did.”

“And what was the prince’s sentence?” Erik questioned. “Why did he deserve to die?”

“The prince was chosen by Rao to deliver justice,” the Spirit replied. “Instead, he made a mockery of it. He risked sending you, an innocent man, to his death to bring glory to his own name. Rao could not forgive such an affront.”

“And yet, he passed Rao’s trial.”

“The prince showed the will necessary to wield the blade, to deliver the judgment of Rao. He knew that his every action would be judged and that no man is above justice.”

“What of the Investigator?” Erik asked. “He did not deserve to die. If any deserved to deliver judgement, it was he.”

“He drew the blade without passing the trial and was thus subject to the judgment of Rao.” The Spirit pointed the blade at the fallen priest. “The investigator was warned.”

Erik looked directly into the glowing eyes of the Spirit. “The judgement of your god is flawed. That is why no one will ever wield the blade again. The time of Rao has passed.”

“In that you are mistaken, Investigator,” the Spirit said. It knelt before him and raised the sheathed blade in both of its gloved hands. “You are worthy of carrying the blade. You are worthy of wielding the power of Rao, of delivering judgment in his name.”

“I refuse.” Erik walked past the Spirit.

The Spirit reappeared before him, blocking the exit.

“Take the sword,” it said. “Rao has deemed you worthy.”

“That blade is the last vestige of Rao’s power in this world,” Erik said calmly. “It lay undisturbed for centuries inside the capital. Never once did you appear. Only when the prince passed the trial, only when the Investigator drew the blade, were you able to act in the physical realm. I do not believe that you can harm me unless that blade is drawn.”

The Spirit narrowed its glowing eyes. “You are making a mistake.”

“No. I am delivering justice for all those Rao has wrongly killed,” Erik said. “This case is closed.”

With that, he walked out of the burial chamber. Flames nipped at his heels as he moved through the main passageway. The tomb collapsed shortly after he emerged into the desert.

He approached the caravan guide and reclaimed the reins of his camel. Together, they listened as the canyon rumbled and watched as fallen stone forever blocked the entrance to Rao’s tomb.

“Rao is the god of justice,” the woman said at last. “His spirit will come for you.”

Erik shook his head. “Rao has been judged.”

THE END

The Ark

J.J. Polson

(3 Parts. 3,000 Words)

One | Two | Three

One

Zon preferred to work in silence. No. He demanded to. He had not become one of the Ministry’s top investigators by chance. His station demanded respect. A discovery of this magnitude meant everything. Reward. Recognition. Status.

“Quiet!” he shouted.  

Shirai didn’t hear him of course. Zon had been far too lenient with her. With purpose in his step, he crossed the length of the small chamber and put an end to the chaotic racket. It was hard to believe that Shirai hadn’t tired of the simplistic music of Earth.

“I told you to leave that on the ship.” Zon snatched the primitive device from Shirai. It was the latest in a long string of artifacts that had led them to Earth. The others had proven just as irritating. “How can you bear to listen to such nonsense?”

“Nonsense?” Shirai frowned. “Why must you always be so close-minded, father?” She gestured to the orderly contents of the chamber surrounding them. “You know as well as anyone that true insight of a species is gained through study of their art. Have you thought to incorporate the lyrics of these songs into your studies of the samples onboard the Ark? The humans must have carefully chosen each song. Why else disburse so many probes into space?”

Zon narrowed his eyes. “And what of the hundreds of redundant probes orbiting their planet? It is exceedingly likely that disbursing probes into space was the apex of human innovation.”

“They did manage to create a facility on their moon,” Shirai said with a smile. Her arm elongated and expertly plucked one of the millions of samples from storage. “Not many species care to conserve other lifeforms. This one is an insect known for transmitting disease from human to human. They didn’t understand its actual purpose in the food chain and decided to preserve it anyway. Humans were clearly thoughtful.”

“Careless is more like it,” Zon said. “The dominant species is responsible for the continued existence of their planet. The Ark is their way of seeking forgiveness. They practically begged for someone to find this place and absolve them of their failures.”

Still examining the vial, Shirai shrugged. “Worlds are prone to change, Investigator. Life is cyclical. Perhaps the humans send species to this ship when they fall out of favor.”

“And your explanation as to why a quarter of this ship is filled with human samples?”

“Subsections of humans who have fallen out of favor.” Shirai grinned. “Obviously.”

Zon was not amused. “What of the scans of the planet? Any signs of sentient life?”

Shirai returned the vial to its place and summoned an array of vibrant screens.

Zon sharpened the focus of his eyes and pointed to a flashing indicator on one of the panels. “What is that?” he asked.

“It certainly wasn’t there before,” Shirai replied. The image on the screen magnified. She turned to him with an expression of wonder. “It’s another message! Just like the ones that led us here!”

Zon allowed the message to repeat several times, then abruptly dismissed the display. “Absolutely not. We do have not have authorization to venture to the surface. I will not put our lives at risk to see what the humans had in mind for the Ark.”

“But dad! You’re the lead investigator,” Shirai said. “Isn’t this … part of the investigation? Aren’t you the one who wanted to see these creatures in their natural environment? Didn’t we come all this way so you could impress the Ministry?”

Zon sighed. “The discovery of this place is more than enough to do so. We can’t get overly ambitious. Who knows what the Ministry will decide to do with Earth.”

Zon turned as the door to the Ark sealed. The surface beneath him began to quake.

In disbelief, he watched as the Ark leapt from its perch on the moon and dove toward the surface of Earth. Thinking quickly, he detached his ship from the Ark and activated its automated landing program.

Shirai laughed. “Now this is exciting. I have just the song for the occasion!”

Two

Shirai waited until the Ark initiated its landing protocol before deactivating her personal shield. Suspended in midair, her father silently judged her as she used her screen to interface with the ship’s rudimentary controls. Unsurprisingly, he wouldn’t dare to place himself at risk of injury.

“Surprisingly well made,” Shirai said as they descended. She increased the size of her screen and allowed her father to see its contents. “We’re clearly headed for a specific destination. No malfunctions with the landing gear. Well done, humans. Well done.”

“What about our ship? I was barely able to save it.” Zon growled. His angled face contorted into what Shirai knew to be rage. However, his shield distorted his features, casting him as a frightened child instead. She tried her best not to laugh. “I told you not to touch anything!”

“Is that really how you made lead investigator? By not touching anything?”

“That’s exactly how!”

Despite her best judgement, Shirai stretched her arm and probed her father’s shield ever so slightly. The shield reacted as she knew it would, spinning to counteract the newly introduced force.

Now upside down, her father glared at her. “I knew I shouldn’t have taken you along. I knew you weren’t ready for this.”

“As I recall, you didn’t have a choice, father,” Shirai said, adjusting the ship’s controls to slow the landing process. Ensuring the safety of the samples was only one reason for the manipulation. She enjoyed getting under her father’s silver skin far more than she would ever admit. “I finished at the top of my class this year. I earned the right to accompany you on this expedition. You would never break the Ministry’s rules.”

He closed his eyes, defeated. “We must return to our ship with the samples and depart as soon as possible. We have accomplished our goal of locating both Earth and the Ark of the humans. We must place the samples in the hands of the Ministry.”

Shirai sighed. That didn’t sound like fun. She hadn’t come halfway across the galaxy to not explore an undiscovered and formerly-occupied planet. This was the exact type of adventure she had been hoping for, one that would make her renowned throughout the Settled Worlds. Shirai could already hear her own voice describing her journey, could already see her face inside every Shooting Star ship.

Exactly one minute after the Ark landed, her father dismissed his shield. Shirai retrieved the collection kit and tossed it in his direction, then activated the door before he could utter a word of protest.

“You finish cataloguing these samples. I’ll go and retrieve our ship.” She gave him an exaggerated salute, then stepped into the unknown.

*

Standing outside the Ark, Shirai observed her colorful surroundings. She maneuvered her retinal screen, ensuring that every angle of the impressive beach was documented. White sand. Blue water. Blue sky. This was the sort of beautiful world that existed only in movies.

What will my movie be called? she thought. More importantly, who will play me?

As she sorted through potential candidates, Shirai altered the features of her body to mirror the characteristics of the humans as they appeared on the images within their probes. Tall with slender legs and defined arms. Large eyes, incapable of hiding emotion. Two rows of white teeth. Unfortunately, Shirai didn’t possess the ability to grow hair. That seemed to be optional.

Shirai selected a new song then began a leisurely stroll down the beach. After realizing the song was disrupting the integrity of her scientific recording, she redirected the oddly-seductive melody to her inner ear, allowing her to absorb the beauty of Earth as the humans once did.

The quaint state of the world inspired curiosity. Shirai wondered how long ago the humans had perished in order to allow Earth to restore itself to such a vibrant existence. There was also the small possibility that her father had misinterpreted the human language and their stated cause of extinction. Perhaps they had not literally ruinedtheir world. Languages were rather fickle.

So many questions, Shirai thought as she continued on her way.

Her sharp eyes discovered a multitude of birds perched in the branches of the trees growing beyond the beach. With some effort, she was able to pick out a different species flying above the water of the sea, attempting to hunt for dozens of species of fish existing beneath the water.

Were any of these species on board the Ark? Perhaps I should try to catch one.

By the time Shirai located the Ministry-issued ship, she had decided to convince her father to take a pass across the surface of the planet. It was vitally important to document those species that had survived and compare them to the species housed in the Ark. Something like that anyway. Shirai would derive the most logical reason before speaking to her father again. There was always a better—

Shirai stopped in her tracks. Surrounding the ship was a group of creatures standing on two legs. Humans. Humans who had already seen her.

Dad’s going to kill me…

Three

Alright, Shirai. You can do this!

Shirai studied the eight approaching humans. They were shorter than she had anticipated. Each held a wooden spear topped by a sharpened rock. She could have killed them in seconds. Of course, such a needless act of violence was prohibited by the Ministry.

Remember your training, Shirai thought firmly. You must communicate with them.

Shirai skimmed the notes she had taken on the information cached inside the human probes. Obviously, the humans wouldn’t be able to speak any of the twelve major languages, but their coordination suggested they had developed at least some level of verbal communication. Unfortunately, language had never been Shirai’s strongest subject.

After dismissing her screen, Shirai stood statuesque, waiting for the humans to surround her. She forced herself not to sing the song ringing in her left ear. It was impossibly catchy. She wondered if it would be featured in the soundtrack of her eventual movie. Wait. Would it be better as a documentary?

Focus!

One of the humans stepped forward. The woman was beautiful. Seashells were strung through her golden hair. The distant sun had bronzed her skin. Her eyes gleamed like distant stars. She said something and pointed at Shirai. Then, she spoke again and pointed to herself.

Shirai worked feverishly to decipher the language. The data from the probes had been written … yet Shirai felt as if she was on the verge of understanding the humans. How was that possible? She needed far more data to decode a language.

Oh, the songs. Duh.

The human woman repeated what she had said before. “You.” She pointed at Shirai. It was clear the woman had previously interacted humans who spoke a different language. “Keeper of the Ark.”

Shirai’s eyes widened in surprise. They know about the Ark?

“Me.” The human pointed at herself. “Rosa.”

Shirai breathed a sigh of relief. She had figured out their language. The songs of the humans were not only entrancing, they were helpful. She grinned at the thought of telling her father.

Stars above! This adventure won’t be a movie or a documentary … this must be a musical!

“Hi, Rosa. My name is Shirai. I am a Keeper of the Ark,” Shirai responded, forcing herself to speak slowly. She was careful to keep her tone level and her words simple. 

The Ministry would have a fit if they discovered she had identified herself as a deity. Then again, the humans had been the one to make the assumption. Clearly, they had retained some knowledge passed down from their ancestors.

Rose pointed to the nearby ship. “This ship is not the Ark. What is it used for?”

Shirai thought quickly. She decided there was no need for an unnecessary lie. “My father and I watch over the Ark, but it is not all that we do. That ship is our way back home.”

Rosa nodded in understanding.

Shirai couldn’t believe her luck. Not only did the humans know of the Ark, they knew of ships and accepted that there were worlds other than their own. This interaction could have gone much worse. It was fortunate that her father hadn’t run into the humans first. He would have done something foolish — within the rules of course, but foolish.

“By now my men have claimed the Ark,” Rosa said. “We will meet them there. You first.”

Shirai begrudgingly turned and took a step back the way she had come.

She did not take another.

*

Shirai awoke in an unfamiliar place. When her body didn’t respond to her commands, her mind darkened with fear. Had she really been bested by the humans?

“Shirai.” It was her father’s voice. “Are you okay?”

Slowly, Shirai managed to bring herself to her knees. She was in a large cage made of green wood. Her father sat before her, a mixture of judgment and concern in his eyes.

Shirai managed a weak smile. It was nice to know that he cared.

“I’m sorry, father,” Shirai said. “I didn’t see what hit me.”

“Poisoned dart. I watched them pull it out of you.”

Shirai groaned. “It is … a strong poison. What about the Ark?”

“Sealed it upon my surrender. I haven’t yet been able to decode their language, but we did exchange names. I believe we’ll be able to extricate ourselves without incident.”

Shirai continued to stimulate her body, directing antibodies toward the last of the venom. Unfortunately, the poison had stolen control of her facial features, allowing her father to easily uncover her guilt. Stupid poison. Stupid humans. Stupid Shirai.

“The humans seemed peaceful enough,” he said. “What did you do to incite them?”

“I…” Shirai trailed off. Honesty would presumably be the best way forward. Her father had likely been in far worse situations, and he had always returned home alive. But she would never tell him that she had been one to send the Ark to earth. He would disown her for that.

“I’ll send over the language syntax. I was able to derive it from their songs,” Shirai said. Now for the hard part. “The human leader thought that I was a Keeper of the Ark. I … didn’t deny it. When I turned my back, they struck.” She cringed. “Before you say anything, I know that was against the rules.”   

To Shirai’s surprise, her father smiled. “There is a reason for rules, daughter. Especially the rule about deities. Statistically speaking, most species do not have a high opinion of their gods. Use the toxin as a lesson. Never cast yourself as a deity, and never underestimate a sentient species.”

Shirai nodded. “Thank you, father.”

“I’m impressed that you were able to decode their language so quickly. Your exam scores in language were far from perfect.”

Shirai rolled her eyes. That was more like him.

“The human leader will return soon. Listen closely, daughter…”

*

As the single sun neared its peak, Rosa and two muscular males carrying a metallic box between them approached the cage. Rosa directed the men to place down the box, then took a seat atop it. She stared at the two captives for some time without speaking.

Shirai broke the silence. “I’m sorry. I lied to you. My father and I are not Keepers of the Ark.”

Rosa toyed with one of the seashells strung through her golden hair. “Then what are you? Why are you on Earth?”

Shirai explained the situation exactly as her father had instructed. “We are a species known as the Eridani. Our job is to investigate anomalies throughout the galaxy. We encountered a series of ancient probes that led us here.”

“Do you know a being by the name of Ouma?” Rosa asked.

Shirai shook her head.

To her relief, Rosa smiled. “I believe you, Shirai and Zon of the Eridani.”

“So easily?” Shirai asked, suddenly skeptical.

“The Keepers of the Ark were supposed to be humans. If you were human, you would be dead.” Rosa laughed a lovely laugh. Apparently, the comment was intended to be humorous.

“Since you survived,” she continued. “I am certain the Eridani are beings of significant power. I have no desire to challenge you in combat or to keep you imprisoned. There is a reason I did not take you to my village. Most humans are unaware of the existence of life beyond Earth.”

“How do you know about life beyond Earth?” Shirai asked. The interaction was going well. She didn’t see the harm in going a little off script.

Rosa tapped the box beneath her. “These instructions were left to us from the humans who existed before the First End. For generations, my family has passed down knowledge related to the Ark and its contents. My forebearers built our village here, waiting for the Keepers to arrive. Tell me, Shirai, was anyone aboard the Ark?”

Shirai shook her head.

“As I suspected.” Rosa stood and approached the cage. “I propose these terms. You and your father will leave Earth at once in your ship. You will leave the Ark behind. You will tell your masters that Earth is uninhabitable and ensure that we have no more visitors.”

For the first time, Shirai’s father spoke. “What happens to the Ark?”

“I will destroy it,” Rosa replied. “The past is best left in the past.”

“And if we refuse?”

Rosa smirked. “I have my strongest men surrounding your ship. They may not be able to destroy it, but they can certainly damage it before you arrive.”

Shirai smiled inwardly. She liked this human.

“We cannot guarantee that Earth will be left alone,” her father replied after due consideration. “However, if you allow us to take a portion of the spoiled samples stored on the Ark back to our home world, it is unlikely that any investigators will return here.”  

Rosa unlocked the cage and opened its door. “Agreed. I wish you good fortune, Eridani.”

*

Zon watched the Earth disappear in blessed silence. Shirai slept soundly on the control station beside his own. Despite her mistake, he was proud of her. She had performed admirably.

He summoned his screen and began to modify his previous reports. The Ministry would believe the experiment of the humans had failed, just as the species had itself. Besides, there was now a far more important detail to report. A discovery that made their lengthy journey worthwhile.

Do you know a being by the name of Ouma?

Few in the Ministry knew of the existence of the COMET organization. Fewer still knew the name of Ouma. Zon wondered what COMET could possibly want with Earth.

Zon turned at the sound of Shirai’s groggy voice. She often talked in her sleep.

“I’m sorry, father,” she said. “It was … stupid to send the Ark to Earth…”

Zon smiled. One day, Shirai would one day become the Ministry’s top investigator.

He was certain of it.

THE END

Yuri of the Fields

J.J. Polson

(Two Parts 2,000 words)

One | Two

One

Gavlar, Lord of Flame, sat upon his throne.

Waiting.

Sweat dampened his brow. His heart thumped in his chest.

In moments, Yuri of the Fields would enter the Brimstone Keep, seeking to claim a power no man should ever wield. The other Elemental Lords, those corrupted by power, had failed. Gavlar was the Realm’s last hope.

If only I had more time…

Gavlar sunk into the memories of his defeat at the hands of Yuri of the Fields two years before. He had attempted to take the burden of the Elemental Blade upon himself, but he had been ill-informed and underprepared. Only when Yuri had drawn the legendary sword from its sheath, had Gavlar understood his mistake.

The Blade had already chosen the boy.

Thoughts of Yuri spiked Gavlar’s anxiety. The boy was the perfect vessel. Tall and muscular. Dark hair and darker skin. Eyes filled with hope. But the instant Yuri had wielded the Blade, that idealistic boy had been devoured. No mortal could withstand the pull of such an evil weapon, could ignore its whispered promises of unrivaled power.

Gavlar traced the scar above his heart. He didn’t understand why Yuri had not slain him that day, why the boy had not claimed the Fire Stone after dealing him a nearly-mortal blow. Yuri’s pursuit of the other Elemental Lords had allowed Gavlar to regroup, to strengthen his volcanic stronghold high in the northern mountains.

Shuttering his eyes, Gavlar probed the devastating traps and ferocious creatures positioned throughout his mountainous keep. Every obstacle and every foe was designed to drain the energy of the Elemental Blade. His only chance at victory was to weaken the boy.

Gavlar summoned the commander of his legion with an archaic word. The fire demon eyed the radiant gem atop Gavlar’s staff, then bowed deeply.

“He approaches,” the demon said.

Gavlar raised his staff. The twin doors to the throne room parted, and a host of armored demons marched forward. They were the most powerful of those that had once terrorized the Realm, the most difficult to seal away. The price to summon so many had been great, but none could deny the Lord of Flame. Their grim fate was deserved.

After they inevitably fell, Gavlar would face Yuri alone. He knew the weakness of the other Elemental Stones, of the Blade itself. He could only hope that, this time, his preparation would make a difference.

Gavlar tightened his grip on his staff and studied the radiant stone affixed to its end. Only he could prevent an age of darkness. He would claim the Elemental Blade and seal it away, then he would scatter the other Stones upon the winds.

Finally, the fated day had come.

All Gavlar could do now was wait…

*

Gavlar waited until he could no longer.

At last, the Lord of Flame rose from his ornate throne. His weary bones creaked as he descended the glowing dais. Struggling to regain his wind, he summoned the demon commander.  

The fire demon appeared after an uncharacteristic delay. The former wielder of the Fire Stone studied the gem with rebellion in its ruby eyes.

“Where is he?” Gavlar questioned.  

“The Brimstone Keep has not been breached, Lord.”

“Impossible. The Fire Stone is needed to bring the Elemental Blade to full power. The sword has a hunger that cannot be denied. Yuri has no choice but to face me.”

The demon grinned, revealing rows of black teeth. “You were mistaken.”

Incredulous, Gavlar watched the demonic legion fall to dust.

Gavlar cursed. Time was inconsequential to an Elemental Lord. How long had he waited on Yuri’s arrival? How much had the world suffered in his absence?

A spell brought Gavlar outside the Brimstone Keep. Staring at the sealed entrance, he accepted that his extensive preparation had been in vain. He had been so certain the boy would attack him directly that he hadn’t considered any alternatives. Yuri had outwitted him, forced his hand.

Cautiously, Gavlar turned to survey the world before him. Winter had come and gone. The fields extending from his mountaintop fortress were rich with life and color.

What have I done? Gavlar thought in horror. He attempted to transport to a city where he could discover Yuri’s location. The spell failed. The Fire Stone went dark.

Gavlar began to walk.

Two

Gavlar struggled to navigate the unfamiliar terrain. It had been centuries since he had walked the world without the aid of the Fire Stone. The path leading from the Brimstone Keep was overrun with weeds, and there was no discernable trail beyond its abrupt end. His tortured muscles protested every step, but he forced himself to keep moving. He had no choice.

Eventually, Gavlar collapsed by a stream, exhausted. His throat burned. His stomach had twisted into knots. Gavlar dragged his failing body to the water and drank. Until the Fire Stone restores itself, I’m useless, he thought in despair. What if I’m already too late?

“Need some help, old man?”

Turning, Gavlar found a man dressed in furs at his side. Dead rabbits and a long knife hung from a leather belt wrapped around his waist.

Gavlar didn’t protest as the hunter helped him to his feet. The sight of his reflection in the water summoned a lengthy sigh. The Elemental Blade wreaks havoc on the world, and I can barely stand. He cursed himself. I’m the Realm’s last hope. I can’t give up!

“My cabin is nearby,” the hunter said. “Can you walk?”

Several hours later, Gavlar found himself seated at a table beside a squirming child. The hunter’s wife served him rabbit stew from a rusted pot. The concoction smelled horrific.

“What brings you this far north?” the woman asked.

Gavlar tested his stew and found it surprisingly acceptable. During the slow march to the hunter’s cabin, he had stitched together a backstory … one he hoped was believable. “I am searching for Yuri of the Fields. I heard rumors that he seeks to battle the Lord of Flame.”

The eyes of the cabin’s occupants lit up.

“You know Yuri?” The young boy squealed in delight. “He’s a hero. He defeated the evil Elemental Lords and brought peace to the entire world!”

A hero? Foolish child. Gavlar moved the conversation forward. He needed answers. “I was there the day he claimed the Elemental Blade. I was hoping to give him some advice before the battle.”

The hunter laughed. “I’m afraid you’re too late. Gavlar is dead!”

Gavlar nearly choked.

“Yuri and his companions have taken residence in River City,” the hunter continued. “Come with us into town tomorrow. Any friend of Yuri will be able to find a ride to River City.”   

Gavlar nodded slowly, assessing his options. Entering the boy’s stronghold was a daring move, but what other choice did he have?

*

The road to River City was packed with travelers, and the hero’s name was on every tongue. The hunter’s revelation that Gavlar had helped Yuri retrieve the Elemental Blade had earned him free passage. Or so he had foolishly believed. Gavlar’s companion, a merchant named Leigh, assaulted him with an endless barrage of questions.

Despite the apparent jovial state of the world, Gavlar refused to believe his eyes. The Elemental Blade had corrupted every being who had ever wielded it. It had unleashed chaos and destruction time and again. Where were the soldiers? The signs of battle? The diseased? The dead?

Gavlar concluded that Yuri had placed the entire Realm under a trance. That was the only logical explanation. Once again, he had underestimated the boy.  

To earn directions to Yuri’s favored tavern, Gavlar was forced to reveal the details of how he had helped the boy claim the Elemental Blade. He had no option but to lie, to tell the merchant what she wanted to hear. He couldn’t risk Yuri prematurely detecting his presence.

The streets of the colorful city brimmed with life. The scent of fresh bread and ale overpowered that of waste and filth. On every corner, street performers danced to festive music. Gavlar walked with a painted smile upon his weathered face, careful to avoid unnecessary attention.

An hour later, Gavlar slipped through a bustling common room and claimed an empty corner table. He spotted Yuri of the Fields among the crowd. The so-called hero was the focus of every eye. Cheers arose whenever he won a hand of cards.

Gavlar studied the wicked sword sheathed upon the boy’s back. He hadn’t yet been able to discern the nature of the trance Yuri had used to sedate the Realm. With any luck, a spell of such magnitude would drain the power of the legendary Blade.

Discreetly, Gavlar peeked beneath the cloth wrapped around the head of his gnarled staff. The Fire Stone had finally begun to restore itself. Still, he would not risk a reckless confrontation. The world hung in the balance. He needed to discover what Yuri—

“Greetings, Gavlar,” the boy said, sliding into the seat across from him. “What brings you down from Brimstone Keep?”

Caught by surprise, Gavlar spoke the truth. “I’ve come to stop you.”

“Stop me? From what?” Yuri scratched his smooth chin in thought, then grinned. “Oh! From taking the Fire Stone. That’s actually a funny story. I walked all the way to your door … only to realize that I didn’t need it.”

Gavlar narrowed his eyes.

“It was actually your words that caused me to turn away!”

My words?

“When we fought, you told me that the Elemental Blade was dangerous and that no one man should wield such power.” Yuri laughed. “To think that I nearly forgot your warning! When I realized the Blade’s evil intentions, I gave the other Stones to my companions for safekeeping.”

Gavlar followed the boy’s gaze to the three youths enthralled in the ongoing card game.

“My father once told me the legend of Gavlar the Wise,” Yuri continued. “I know that you vanquished the fire demons, that you constructed Brimstone Keep to protect the valley. Unlike the other Elemental Lords, you used your Stone for good. I thought it was best to leave it with you.”

Gavlar stared at the boy, dumbfounded.

Yuri grinned. “It worked! You may have noticed on your way here that everything is under control.”

“But … the sword … you nearly killed me,” Gavlar managed to reply.

“That was never my intention. I was alone and afraid. It was almost as if the Blade fought with a will of its own.” The boy’s tone was remorseful. “Can you forgive me?”

Forgive you?

Gavlar was silent for some time. Gavlar the Wise. A legend?

He remembered seeing his alien reflection upon the water. How long had it been since he first claimed the Fire Stone? He had rarely left Brimstone Keep since, even after binding the souls of the fire demons. Only when rumor of the long-lost Elemental Blade reached his ears had he dared to leave the fortress. He had concluded that only the worst could occur, that only he could defuse such a dangerous situation.

More like Gavlar the Fool. There was never any spell. Gavlar thought of the demon commander, of its hunger to reclaim the Fire Stone. That’s the same way I yearned for the Blade. I wanted its power for myself. I was the one who gave into evil…

“Forgive me,” Gavlar said at last. “I was wrong about you.”

“Already done.” Yuri of the Fields extended his hand. “Join me. There is still evil in this world. Together, we can vanquish it.”

Gavlar the Wise took the hero’s hand. “I’m eager to begin.”

The boy smiled sheepishly. “Glad to hear it. We’ll head out after this game. It seems the fire demons have claimed your keep…”

THE END

(Five Parts. 6000 words)

One | Two | Three | Four | Five

One

Dot hadn’t always been Dot.

Truth be told, she still wasn’t certain about the name. Her chosen name. She wondered if it was too late to un-choose it. Just because there were no records of changing chosen names among the Inked didn’t mean it was impossible. Then again, all the good ones had long since been taken, and the names of the dead could not be recycled.

Quite the dilemma, Dot thought, taking her chosen position against a rusted light post. Those that passed by didn’t spare her a second glance. She didn’t blame them. Dot was nothing special, nothing like the enhanced women that men fantasized over. Dot didn’t mind – she liked it better this way. The girl before Dot had often lied to herself about such things.

Dot raised her pen to her lips and inhaled sharply, relishing the flavor. She searched through her memories of The Shop as she waited. Despite spending hours there, she hadn’t really thought to look for a rule book. Certainly, there had to be one. The best rules were always written down. Rules that weren’t written down were much harder to enforce.

Wouldn’t it be better if there wasn’t actually a rule book? Then I could do whatever I wanted…

Studying the electronic posters plastered to the wall before her, Dot frowned. It was hard to believe that she had already completed her first contract. She had been certain that it was all a dream, despite the sharp pain that came with her Ink. She was no Lion Fangor White Crow. She certainly wasn’t on par with the legendary Blackheart. She was just…

Well. Dot. At least for now. 

Dot traced the simple mark on her wrist. The white circle contrasted sharply with her black skin. Still, it was nearly impossible to notice unless you knew what to look for. Hardly the mark of a distinguished professional. She wondered if it would be taboo to wear gloves, if she was allowed to conceal the marking.

Dot exhaled, filling the artificial air with smoke. If there are rules, they better be in a book! She wouldn’t allow herself to be excommunicated. Not after all she had been through.

The man who walked between her chosen light post and the colorful wall of posters increased his pace to pass through her timely cloud of smoke. He didn’t notice that she followed him. Despite his apparent ignorance, Dot didn’t take any unnecessary chances. She kept a safe distance from the man, silencing her footsteps, massaging the mark on her wrist in thought.

She wondered how White Crow would handle such a menial task. His work always possessed such flair. There was no question who was responsible when White Crow struck. Her eyes studied the shadowed rooftops above, imagining a winged figure bounding across them. No one had ever said White Crow could fly, but she liked to imagine that he could.

Certainly, he conceals his Ink, she reasoned. He can’t walk around without a shirt.

Or could he? Dot cursed.

“Hey! Watch where you’re going!”

Dot had been of course. The past two nights her target had walked the same street and turned into the same alley. She hadn’t bothered to learn where the man was going. There was no need.

With a sheepish smile, Dot met the man’s eyes and raised her hands innocently. “Sorry, friend. My mind was somewhere else.”

The man returned her expression, his anger suddenly forgotten. Dot thought it funny what the sight of a smiling woman, even one of her menial appearance, could do to a man. She wondered how much more effective the tactic would be if she was actually pretty. Perhaps she could ask Pink Flower … if she ever met her.

Dot didn’t allow the man a chance to extend the interaction. There was no need to ruin the illusion that he found her attractive.

Like a phantom, the white dot rose from her black skin, then shot forward. It entered through the man’s mouth, chipping his teeth before emerging from the back of his skull.

Dot. Simple yet effective. Not to mention distinctive. Her kills would certainly be recognizable.

Now that she thought about it, it was a rather good chosen name.

Dot reclaimed her weapon and continued on her way, not bothering to look back.

Two

Dot was exhausted.

Eyes heavy, she leaned her head against the cool surface of the window and stared into space. Memories of her latest kill lurked in the endless darkness, glimmered among the distant stars. She considered turning away … but didn’t have the energy.

Dot had failed. Well. Nearly failed. She had killed her target. Hadn’t that been the goal?

The kill didn’t bother her. It was the events surrounding it that did. Those before and those after. It was the first time her plan hadn’t worked, the first time she had been forced to improvise. She should have known that it would happen sooner or later. There were a million clever sayings warning her that plans tended to fail.

I’m such an idiot, Dot sighed.

Her thoughts turned to Lion Fang. There was no chance he ever constructed intricate plans. His kills were certified crimes of passion. Probably because he was an animal at heart. She wondered how it would feel to rip out her target’s throat, to disembowel someone with her bare hands.

Could I be an animal? Dot pressed her hand against the foggy window. Her gloved hand. She had covered up the simple mark. Caged it. So much for being an animal…

Dot didn’t bother to turn when someone took the seat beside her. She didn’t need to confirm their identity. No rational person would seek out her company.

“Ever been off-world before?” the man asked.

Dot groaned. She hated small talk. Why couldn’t people just say what they needed to say? No one truly wanted extraneous details. Who cared about other people’s past? What someone thought of the weather? No one. Especially not one of the Inked.

Dot believed that there was no need for pointless conversation. Dot rarely talked.

“Will you at least look at me? Wouldn’t want other people to stare…”

Begrudgingly, Dot abandoned her study of space. Yellow Book had changed his appearance. Again. Who did he think he was – Folding Mirror? She considered asking him why, but she didn’t actually care. There was only reason to speak to Yellow Book.

“Who’s next?” Dot asked, instinctively tugging at the ends of her glove.

“Who’s next?” Yellow Book echoed. He narrowed his pale eyes, either in concern or admonishment. The golden Ink across his brow made it hard to tell. “We need to talk about what just happened, Dot. You nearly didn’t make it out.”

“But I did.” Dot stifled a yawn. “I’m not Razor. Every kill can’t be clean.”

“You are my responsibility!” Yellow Book hissed. “I think you’re moving too fast. Too many contracts in too short a time. This is partially my fault. As your handler, I should have …”

Dot’s exhaustion vanished. What was Yellow Book implying? He couldn’t possibly suspect the truth. Could he? 

“… this is a partnership, Dot,” Yellow Book continued in his usual hushed but urgent tone. “We need to work together! If we’re going to make a living in this line of work, you’re going to have to listen…”

Dot exhaled in relief. Yellow Book didn’t know anything. No one did.

She reached for the comfort of her pen, only to remember that Shooting Star prohibited smoking of any kind onboard their ships. A ban from the preeminent space travel company wasn’t worth the temporary satisfaction. She needed to save her money. Someday she would need it.

Besides, what was a little more suffering? Nothing she couldn’t handle.

“So, you didn’t bring me a new contract?” Dot asked when she was certain that Yellow Book had finished rambling. She found it easier to let him run out of words.  

“Of course I did,” he replied. “Why else would I have come?”

“Beats me. You do like to talk.” Dot pulled at the fingers of her glove. “You know that you can pay people to listen, right? For the right price, they’ll even talk back to you. Just be careful what you say. They sell even the seemingly unimportant data.”

Yellow Book gave an exaggerated sigh, leaned back in his seat, and stared at the ceiling. As if to make a point, he didn’t talk for some time.

Dot enjoyed the silence. She wondered if Blackheart had a handler. There had to be a more convenient way to acquire contracts for someone so proficient. Not to mention prolific. Perhaps Blackheart was his own handler. That would certainly make things simpler.

“You’re going to like this one,” Yellow Book said at last.

Dot raised her brow. “Who said I liked any of them? I’m only doing what has to be done.”

“Well, it is more interesting than your last target,” Yellow Book continued. “There is a credible rumor that a long-time defector has turned up in the Delta System.”

A defector? Dot frowned in thought. Those were rare indeed. The reward would be great.

“Who?” she asked.

“Clayfist.”

Dot’s heart skipped a beat. “Did you say … the Delta System? It’ll take weeks to get there.”

Yellow Book laughed. “I’ve already booked us tickets.”

Dot returned to her study of space. I should have died when I had the chance…

Three

Dot needed a better plan.

The girl before Dot had never had a plan. She hadn’t believed she needed one. She had been wrong of course. But that had been the girl before Dot. Dot always had a plan. That was one of the good things about her. Dot was prepared.

Except when your plan failed. Have you forgotten already? For some reason, the thought was spoken in Yellow Book’s grating voice. Dot discarded the oddity. Her handler had departed before they reached the Delta System, citing some sort of urgent business. Dot suspected it wasn’t really that urgent. No one could stand her company for long.

Fortunately, Dot hadn’t forgotten her near failure. That’s why she needed a better plan this time around. She needed this encounter to go well. Clayfist was important.

Dot studied her reflection in the wide window before her and adjusted her black hair. Dot had never cut her hair. She needed it to be long enough to conceal her face when necessary.

Tugging at the end of her glove, Dot frowned. Did she really need to hide her face? It was so … forgettable.

Will he remember it? Dot mused. That was all that really mattered. When the time came, she would need every advantage possible. There would be only one chance.

Spinning away from the window, Dot stepped down from her stool and approached the counter where an onyx-skinned human attempted to decipher her name. She wondered why the boy struggled. Surely there was a functioning educational structure in the Delta System. Then again, what did she really know about the system? Only that Clayfist was hiding there. Nothing else about it actually mattered.

“That’s mine,” Dot said, reaching for the cup.

For some reason, the boy pulled it back. “What did you write on here? I can’t figure it out.”

Dot pointed to her marking. A simple circle. Black as the café didn’t have white pens.

“Dot,” she said simply.

Dot snatched her coffee away before the boy could make a reply. A part of her noticed the way he looked at her. Had his stupidity been feigned? Had he actually wanted a conversation? Dot didn’t think so. Likely, he wanted a tip. No one actually wanted to talk to her.

Dot took a sip of her steaming drink, then lowered her dark frames over her eyes and stepped outside.

*

The world Yellow Book had sent her to was crowded. Too crowded. Not to mention expensive. That was the problem with worlds boasting natural air and sunlight. She wondered what sort of base instinct drove humans to them. Idiots. There was nothing wrong with artificial air and sunlight.

Dot allowed the crowd to carry her deeper into the sparkling city. Yellow Book’s voice filled her mind with directions, guiding her to her target. Fortunately, coffee muted it. By the time she reached Clayfist’s last known location, Dot buzzed from the enhanced caffeine.

A glass door slid open, granting Dot entry.

Dot allowed herself a brief moment to admire the structure’s imposing – and crowded – lobby. Light poured in through towering windows above. Overhead, the vaulted ceiling had been painted with a provocative religious display. A fountain in the shape of a winged Hero spat water in the center of the cavernous chamber. No one else paid attention to the room’s priceless marvels.

Dot groaned as Yellow Book’s voice reminded her of the mysterious circumstances surrounding Clayfist’s defection. Something about abandoning a contract, refusing to kill a target in a remote region of the galaxy. If Clayfist had stayed hidden, he likely would have lived a long life. For reasons unknown, he had joined the Great Church.

Dot had never understood religion. She doubted that most of the billions who claimed to follow it did. Still … it obviously provided them with some benefit. A part of Dot wished she could understand their sanctimonious community, that she could fit in somewhere. She knew better of course. The girl who had come before Dot had tried to be normal, and she had paid the ultimate price.

Dot found a secluded spot against a marble wall and retrieved her screen from her jacket pocket. Fifteen unread messages from Yellow Book. Did he ever shut up? Only the first was important. The scheduled time and location of the service Clayfist frequented.

A service that started in ten minutes. Dot had arrived right on time. As planned.

Dot suffered the crowd. Everyone was headed to same location, a massive room filled with thousands of uniform chairs. Its walls were adorned with larger-than-life images of the Heroes of the Great Church. An ornate podium where the celebrity preacher would soon give his sermon floated overhead.

Dot traced the white mark on her wrist anxiously as she lingered by the uppermost entryway. She was just another face in a crowd full of them. Clayfist wouldn’t know her. That was impossible.

I won’t freeze up again, she thought sternly. Dot learned from her mistakes.

When Clayfist entered the room, Dot slipped through the crowd and followed him. She planned to sit through the service and follow him back into the city afterward. Thus, she was surprised when he moved past the blocks of uncomfortable seats and exited through a side door.

So much for my plan. Dot took a seat near the door, debating how best to proceed. What would Dark Shadow do? Keep tracking the target of course. Dark Shadow never stopped stalking her prey until the contract was completed. Dot waited for another person to open the door, then followed.

Beyond the door was a simple passageway divided into countless rooms. A quick glance into an occupied one confirmed its purpose – a place for private prayer. Looking ahead, Dot spotted Clayfist’s towering figure. She smiled inwardly. The burdens of being distinctive.

Dot took the room next to Clayfist’s and waited. Once the service was underway, she walked over and found her target kneeling before an altar dedicated to one of the Heroes. The bald and muscular man didn’t turn as she eased the door shut.

“I suppose it was only a matter of time until the Inked found me,” Clayfist said without turning around. “I have made my peace with the horrors I have caused this life.”

Dot removed her glove, pointed the white mark toward the kneeling man. “You once worked with Blackheart.” It wasn’t a question. “Is he truly immortal?”

“No,” Clayfist replied. “He is just a man.”

That was good news. “Tell me how to find him.”

Clayfist shook his head. “Impossible.” He didn’t look away from the altar. “Prove yourself, and he will find you. That is the only way.”

Dot summoned the small white sphere from her black skin. It began to rotate. Faster and faster.

To her surprise, Dot had another question. “Why the Church?”

“Why else? Salvation. I hope that one day you find forgiveness–”

Clayfist slumped to the ground. His blood soiled the golden altar.

Dot reclaimed her weapon and swiftly departed.

Forgiveness? Salvation?

Those things meant nothing to Dot.

Four

Dot perched on the edge of a chair in The Shop. Her screen floated at eye-level, scrolling at the wordless command of her dark eyes. Since killing Clayfist, she had worked hard to prove herself. Unfortunately, it was impossible to control the bots responsible for galactic fame.

“I like the name,” Yellow Book said, lounging in the chair next to her. Dot no longer took inventory of the man’s shifting appearance. Unfortunately, he never changed his voice. “White Moon has a nice ring to it. It is the kind of name that fits in with the others.”

Dot didn’t bother to disguise her anger. Dot wasn’t White Moon. White Moon wasn’t real. “It’s not my name. Dot is simple. Effective. Who do I need to kill to correct this error?”

“You can’t kill bots as far as I know. The location of their servers is hidden even from us,” Yellow Book replied. He expanded his handheld screen so it spread before them.

Dot groaned upon seeing the headline. At least she hadn’t been pictured this time.

“White Moon strikes again!” Yellow Book read. “I’ll add this to my collection. Have I shown it to you yet? You’ve really been picking up steam lately…”

His collection? Dot wondered how Yellow Book was able to put so much energy into his words. He never drank coffee. Or even tea. As far as she knew, her handler never slept. She still hadn’t determined if Blackheart had one, or if she could get rid of hers.

Dot glanced at Yellow Book who had mercifully retracted his screen and was now muttering to himself. After the Delta System, he had gotten better at not involving her in pointless conversation. On her orders, he had begun to claim flashy and lucrative contracts in order to kindle her growing reputation. The weird man did have his uses.

Maybe White Moon isn’t so bad, Dot thought, adjusting the glove that covered her Ink. She wondered if Blackheart went by Blackheart all the time. Certainly, there was a man who had come before. Dot frowned. She had no need for such thoughts. Who cared what others called her?

She needed to prove herself to Blackheart. That was all that mattered.  

A surprise summons to The Shop seemed like a step in the right direction. Dot hadn’t visited the strange structure since receiving her Ink. She enjoyed the fact that it hadn’t changed in the slightest. There was a certain antiquated charm to the faded tiles and the row of red leather chairs. Even the constant mirror setting of the walls was only a minor inconvenience.

Eventually, the door at the far end of room opened and Black Book emerged. He was taller than Yellow Book, far more regal in his appearance. A fitted suit clung to his long and slender body, and a twisting mustache obscured the lower portion of his face. Black Ink veiled his eyes.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, Dot,” Black Book said. He snapped and a portion of the wall shifted, converting into an image of a hulking man with familiar Ink.

Lion Fang, Dot thought, withholding her initial surprise.

“You desire a seat at the Table,” Black Book continued. “Every seat must be earned.”

Dot stood and walked toward the image, tracing the white mark on her wrist. She studied Lion Fang for a moment, then nodded.

Killing Lion Fang would get Blackheart’s attention. It had to.

*

Lion Fang lived on Alpha-Two. It was the sort of world that Dot despised. Unbearable natural sunlight. Unfiltered air. Swarms of people moving through expansive cities worrying about their meaningless lives. Normal people. The girl that had come before Dot had been one of them.

Dot understood why Lion Fang based himself on such a world. It was a literal jungle. Greenery was abundant. Portions of the city had been built inside towering trees called … tree-towers. Thick branches had been adapted to serve as pedestrian walkways. Annoyingly colorful creatures flew on the humid air and wove between the normal humans as if they too were in a rush.

Like many who sat at the Table, Lion Fang had no concern for disguising his location. He lived in an expensive penthouse that had somehow been built into the crown of one of the tree-towers. A steady stream of people moved in and out of his abode. True to his killing style, Lion Fang lived a life of passion and excess.

Dot watched the comings and goings from the nearest tree-tower with her forgettable face set in an annoyed frown. For a world so real, Alpha Two felt more artificial than any she had ever known. Even her coffee tasted entirely too natural. She knew she didn’t belong on such a world. Not anymore. She preferred darker worlds, those on the edge of civilized society.

They’re all so … beautiful looking. Dot sighed, observing Lion Fang’s home through its stupidly-large and stupidly-transparent windows. Lion Fang was rarely alone. Even when he disappeared from view, the party within his estate continued to rage.

It was obvious why Black Book wanted him gone. Lion Fang was a liability.

Dot wondered how she could get inside. The guards at the door would never let her in. She wasn’t close to attractive enough. Dot was forgettable. A shy woman with dark skin, darker clothing, and even darker hair. Dot would be turned away. The muscular guards and the gorgeous partygoers would laugh after they tossed her back into the streets.

No. Dot could never get close enough to her target.

But perhaps White Moon could.

*

The next night, Dot rode a crowded lift to the top of Lion Fang’s tree-tower. She had spent the day looking through images of Pink Flower and Flat Mirror, trying to understand how they always managed to look so sublime. Dot hadn’t been able to figure it out of course. A lengthy conversation with Yellow Book had enabled her to adopt a style appropriate for White Moon.

Much to her chagrin.

Then again, Dot thought as the music grew louder. I was once another person before Dot. Maybe this is for the best. White Moon garners a lot of attention. She is my best chance at getting noticed.

Dot’s expression grew dark at the thought of Blackheart. Dot wouldn’t allow herself to become White Moon. Dot had become Dot for good reason.

Dot walked with the brightly-dressed group of men and women toward Lion Fang’s doors. Unsurprisingly, lion statues adored the hallway to either side. Like the passageway itself, the statues had been carved directly from the wood of the great tree.

Dot forced herself to remain calm as she stood in the queue.

She had positioned herself accordingly, waiting until a specific group of pale-eyed women had entered the lift and joined them. As they neared the two guards posted at the door, she offered the group a pen containing the highest-grade wax in the system. They couldn’t refuse. Afterward, Dot made herself chat with them, laugh at their jokes. In moments, she had become a part of their group.

Is it truly so easy? Dot wondered as the guard ushered them inside. To be fair, it wasn’t as if Dot attempted to be social. Or wanted to. The group’s laughter, their hair, their words, their very faces – none of it was real. They are just as real as White Moon.

Lion Fang danced in the center of the pulsating common room. Ink darkened the area around his mouth, gifting him a demonic look. It didn’t seem to bother any of those that danced with him. He sampled men and women alike, pulling them back to his private room when the mood struck.

Dot was surprised when she eventually drew his eye. He approached her out of breath, sweat glistening on his bare chest. Piercing blue eyes drank in her new clothes. With a god-like smile, he accepted the pen she offered him. The drug hit him instantly, brightening his eyes, dampening his mind. Their conversation had hardly begun before he pulled her away from the colorful mob.

Moments later, they were alone in a chamber of wood and leaves. Dot’s heart quickened as Lion Fang attempted to take control of her. A part of her wanted to let him. What was the harm in enjoying the touch of another? 

The sight of Ink brought her back to reality. A white circular mark that contrasted sharply with her black skin. The Ink hadn’t faded in the slightest, despite the countless months that had passed. It called to her, reminding her of her goal, of what had to be done.

Dot traced her bare fingers along Lion Fang’s muscular arms. He growled in surprise – and possibly delight – as she pushed him down onto the bed.

Dot lowered herself onto his chest, pinned his arms to either side with her legs, and called upon her weapon. Killing was pleasure enough.

*

Dot watched the party continue from her room in the nearest tree-tower. Despite the time that had passed, Lion Fang’s absence had yet to be noticed.

But only by those who didn’t matter.

Dot stared at her screen. Elated.

One unread message. To White Moon.

From Blackheart.

Five

Dot wasn’t White Moon. But Blackheart didn’t know that.

If all went according to plan, he would never find out.

Dot watched the lights of a great city approach in silence, focused and determined. She ignored the familiar silhouette beside her.

The time was near.

Dot remembered the girl who had come before Dot. The girl who had tried to be normal, who had tried to fit in with others. The girl had been broken. By Blackheart.

Dot had buried the girl but knew where to find her body. At the girl’s colorless grave, Dot stared down at the person she had once been. It was hard to believe that she had once lived a life so innocent. A part of her wondered if, left alone, the carefree girl could have lived a normal life.

No. The girl would have died another way. The galaxy was a cruel place.

I was wrong about you, Dot thought to the dead girl. You are not actually dead. We have always been one in the same. We need each other to defeat him.

Blackheart.

He sat next to her, driving the ship. Hard eyes void of emotion. Ink flowed like liquid metal from a central point above his heart, claiming most of his body.

Dot had studied it extensively in the year they had spent together, wondering why The Shop had been so generous, why Blackheart had agreed to so drastically alter his physical form. Finally, she had concluded that Blackheart wanted to erase the man he had been before.

Dot could relate. That was a problem. She hadn’t expected them to be so … similar.

Dot had attempted to kill Blackheart during their first meeting. And second. And third. Unfortunately, his reputation was not unfounded. It had taken another six fruitless attempts for her to realize how far the gap was between them. Fortunately, those attempts had led Blackheart to embrace her.

Figuratively.  

To her surprise, Blackheart had never attempted to be intimate. He had promised to teach her, and he had fulfilled that promise. Dot had had no option but to learn at his side. It was the only way to defeat him, the only way to do what had to do be done.

Dot studied him from the corner of her eye. Why couldn’t he have been a monster? It would have made what came next much easier. Yellow Book had been right. Attachment only led to problems.

The eyes of the dead girl snapped open. Don’t forget why he must die!

Dot hadn’t forgotten. She recalled the images of that night. Blackheart emerging from a lightless alley. Tendrils of Ink extending from his skin, killing all they touched. The dead girl had been the only one left alive. She had watched the color drain from her father’s face. By the time someone had pulled her from his blackened arms, Blackheart had disappeared. Her father had died protecting her.

It had been a contract of course. Blackheart hadn’t been targeting her family. Dot knew that many killers ignored collateral damage, seeking only to complete the job. There were rarely consequences to such careless actions. Completing the contract was all that truly mattered.

Dot shivered as another memory assailed her. A job from long ago. She had been forced to divert from her plan, to be reckless. A bystander had paid the price.

Pull yourself together, the dead girl hissed. Focus!

“It has been some time since I’ve visited home,” Blackheart said as they sped over a suspended bridge and entered the city of endless lights. His voice was dark and mysterious. His words were infrequent and thoughtful. He never partook in pointless conversation.

Dot tugged at the fingers of her glove. It was not just the Blackheart’s home. It was hers. The place where the girl before Dot had died, where Dot had been born. No place was more fitting to take her revenge.

Tonight it will end, Dot promised the girl who had come before.

Dot hated that she saw so much of herself in Blackheart. She had nearly given in hundreds of times, thrown aside the guise of White Moon and revealed her true self. But she couldn’t let go of her anger, of the purpose that had brought her to this point.

Dot had been created to kill Blackheart. Could Dot survive once he was gone? She didn’t know. It also didn’t matter. Killing Blackheart was all that ever had.

“Black Book didn’t tell me this would happen,” Dot admitted. White Moon’s voice was different than her own. The distinction allowed her to conceal her innermost thoughts. “I believed I was taking Lion Fang’s place at the Table. I didn’t know that I was breaking it.” 

Until now, the division had been only rumor. She hadn’t known how cunning Black Book was. Then again, there was much that Dot didn’t know. Focusing on one thing had made her blind to many others.

 Yes, Black Book had used her. But he had also orchestrated her best chance to kill Blackheart. This entire operation was of his design. Its only true goal was to remove Blackheart from play. If she got what she wanted in the end … was that such a bad thing? Dot didn’t think so.

“Books are hard to kill,” Blackheart said. “They can regenerate, even after a touch from my Ink. You need to carve out their eyes. Your Moon will suffice of course.”

Blackheart had taught Dot much. Before meeting him, she had never considered the divisions within their society. She hadn’t known there were other Shops, that they worked for galactic leaders.

Dot wished she had remained ignorant. Knowledge had forced her to consider further questions. For now, she would not ask those questions.

Dot had to kill Blackheart.

*

Blackheart slowed the ship and smoothly pulled to the side of an empty street. He had yet to divert from their plan. Dot remained on guard. If Blackheart knew this contract was a trap, he would play along until the last possible moment. He would want to know the extent of such an elaborate betrayal.

Blackheart led her through a series of narrow passageways and emerged onto another empty street. Twin moons gave light overhead. Dot studied Blackheart intently. The man’s face was made of stone. It was impossible to know what he was thinking.

That was what made Black Book the perfect lure. Blackheart and Black Book had a history. Just like Yellow Book and Dot. During their travels, Blackheart had revealed his regret of not killing the mysterious handler when he had the chance.

Attachment is dangerous, Dot reminded herself.

They entered Black Book’s Shop through a hole carved in a second-story window. An entryway made in absolute silence, one created by Dot’s weapon.

Blackheart had helped Dot harness her power in new ways. Not only was the white sphere for killing, it was a tool. Dot had never thanked him for the knowledge. She didn’t have to. Blackheart was like her. He knew she was grateful.

Kill him! the dead girl shouted from her grave.

No words were exchanged as they navigated the structure. When they stood before the door to Black Book’s Shop, Blackheart nodded to proceed. A simple and effective symbol.

Dot summoned her weapon. A white sphere above dark skin. Spinning. Faster and faster. Finally, it would fulfill its true purpose.

Blackheart always entered first. Metallic-like rods of Ink extended from his body, rising above his shoulders, coating his rough hands. He could manipulate each of the rods at will. Their range was limited, but his control was impeccable. Dot knew that hadn’t always been true. Blackheart had killed the girl who came before Dot many years ago after all.

Dot returned the signal and Blackheart assailed the door.

At last, the moment had arrived.

The electronic door decayed in seconds, allowing Blackheart to kick it inward. Inside was a familiar layout. A row of chairs and walls with their images set to mirrors.

Lounging in one of the chairs, Black Book leaped to his feet in feigned surprise.

Blackheart marched forward. Each step powerful and confident. “I knew that I shouldn’t have left you alive,” he said in his dark voice.

Black Book raised his hand defensively as countless black rods raced forward to end him.

Dot didn’t hesitate.

She knew where to strike. With his Ink fully active, Blackheart’s body was exposed. She guided her weapon through his throat, then looped it back into his right eye and upward into his brain. The white sphere emerged from the back of his skull as he fell.

Satisfied, Dot stared at Blackheart’s body. The dead girl had been avenged. Dot had achieved her purpose.

“Well done, Dot,” Black Book said, rising to his feet and straightening his jacket. “You deserve a reward, a prize for such an achievement.”

Dot looked up from the body. A reward? Dot had everything she had ever wanted.

“What would you say to a second Moon?” Black Book asked. “Versatility will be helpful in the days to come. There are others on Blackheart’s level. Some even surpass it. We have much work to do to claim a place of power in this galaxy.”

Dot traced the white mark on her wrist in thought. No. Not Dot. Dot hadn’t been created to think beyond killing Blackheart, beyond claiming her revenge. Dot was no more.

White Moon tossed away her useless glove and smiled. “A second Moon sounds lovely.”

THE END

(Six Parts. 6500 words)

One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six

One

Silver slithered quickly across the forest floor, careful not to lose his prize.

He wondered how he had missed the signs, why he had concluded the cavern safe. The others had trusted him, but days without pursuit had further diminished his decaying mind. An uncertain salvage run had been a foolish and reckless plan – one that had likely doomed the entire pit.

Had there been another choice? Silver wasn’t sure. Without power, there could be no life.

A static hiss escaped Silver’s lips as the end of his knotted tail caught beneath a root. Seething, he retraced his path, unwound his rusted body, and resumed his hectic pace.

He avoided the next labyrinth of roots entirety, choosing instead to expose his back to the cloudless sky above. The harsh cry of a bird set his nervous system alight.

The wood had never been safe. How foolish he had been!

Silver increased his pace as the terrain grew familiar. He studied the trails in the earth, looking for signs of disruption. There. As he had feared, the pit had been discovered. He had believed their arrival had gone unnoticed, a mistake for which there would be no redemption. 

Foxes. The damned creatures had tracked the pit for countless miles, decimating an entire society. The fire-hairs were relentless. Silver believed that they enjoyed killing snakes.

The rusted snake slowed before the entrance to the den. His gleaming eyes struggled to analyze the mess of tracks. At least four unique foxes, both entering and exiting the hidden cavern. From their impressions, he judged them to be larger members of the skulk.

I’m too late, Silver knew. I can only hope that the others did not awaken, that there was no pain…

Cycles of inactivity had been the pit’s only option to maintain life. Even at full strength, there was little point in struggling against the foxes. It took dozens of snakes to kill a single fire-hair. Fangs were useless, unable to penetrate the thick skin of their foes, incapable of delivering the venomous energy that would render their circuits useless. A killing blow had to be precise.

Silver prepared for entry. Believing their job finished, the foxes had long since departed. A part of the snake hoped that the predators had remained behind, that he would meet the same fate as those who had trusted him with their protection.

Fangs bared, Silver crossed the threshold into darkness.

Silver’s eyes begrudgingly adapted. The scene before him was as gruesome as he had imagined. Rusted parts and severed wires littered the floor of the den. Oil stained the dirt.

Filled with sorrow, Silver navigated the carnage. He stalled before each of his companion’s ruined heads. Their meager power cells had been salvaged by the foxes, but he believed a piece of their consciousness remained until the last drop of energy was spent. He hoped his presence would ease their passing into nonexistence.

Bringing his tail around, Silver studied his now-worthless prize. A solar battery. One which could have powered every member of the pit in perpetuity.

“I am sorry,” he said softly. “I have failed you all.”

Silver shuttered his eyes for a time. He sought comfort in memories of the past. Long ago, there had been countless members of the pit. There had been families, rivalries, skirmishes over power. Now … it all seemed so pointless. Numbers had been the strength of the pit. The Great Division had been the beginning of the end for their entire species.

Silver wondered if he was the last of his kind, if others still roamed the great forests. Finding them was the only reason to continue his existence. If he could deliver the solar battery to another pit, perhaps the sacrifice of his own would not be in vain.

Reactivating his eyes, Silver studied his prize. He remembered how it had caught against the root and concluded that its size would be the death of him. Without the cover of trees, a bird would lift him into the sky. The forest floor was just as dangerous, but to travel on without the invaluable power source would be meaningless.

Silver abruptly heightened his focus. Something had changed in the cavern. The foxes had done more than destroy his kin, they had dug beneath the ground in search of something.

Slithering forward, Silver found himself in awe. The carcass of a great beast lay at the bottom of the hole. He had never seen its like before. Intrigued, he descended, circled the massive metallic creature, and located its power source.

The foxes had not pried it from the corpse. They had labored for naught.

An idea emerged within Silver’s decaying mind. Carefully, he positioned his prize against the dead creature and delivered life.

He swiftly retreated from the hole and waited…

Moments later, the eyes of the great creature sparked to life.

Two

In awe, Silver watched the great creature awaken. Light raced across the length of its exposed wires, bringing life to its four muscular limbs. Sparks flew from its cavernous mouth, and the pungent smell of burned fabric filled the air as the beast struggled to regain its footing.

Silver gripped his prize tightly and spoke. “You there. What matter of creature are you?”

The gleaming eyes of the beast narrowed. Its voice crackled. “Not enough power.”

“To move, no. To speak, yes.”

Its response was a whisper. “You are … a clever snake.”  

Silver stalled, observing the disfigured members of his pit. “In that you are mistaken. My family trusted me with their protection. I failed them.”

“I was once entrusted a mission. I failed as well.”

“I am Silver,” the snake said. “What is your name?”

The creature’s eyes dimmed as it searched its memory. “My name is … Rust. I was modeled after a creature known as a bear. A sow to be specific.”

“A bear?” Silver queried his own memories. “I know naught of bears. From your size, I am not surprised. The larger creatures were long ago harvested for their energy.”

“Energy…” Rust trailed off. The light continued to diminish within the creature’s eyes. Soon, she would no longer be able to function. “How long has it been since the day of no sun?”

“Over five thousand days.”

A static-laden cry filled the cavern. One of desperation. “There is still time. You must … help me complete my mission. The battery…”

“Is mine.”

“The one … I seek … reward you. What do … you desire?”

Silver responded quickly. “To reunite with my kind.”

*

The bear emerged slowly into the sunlight, a titanic mass of black hair, steel, and wires. Broken teeth filled her mouth. Her blunted claws dug into the trafficked dirt. The great creature surveyed the forest for some time before finally turning to the snake.

“We are not far,” Rust proclaimed. “The ones who destroyed your family … will they oppose us?”

“Foxes,” Silver replied with disgust. “They have moved on.”

“Then who lays claim to this wood?”

The snake looked skyward. “Follow me.”

Silver led Rust through the forest, careful to avoid roots that would prevent his passing. He drew a steady stream of energy from the battery, attempting to coax his ruined body back to some semblance of life. He needed to be ready. If the bear made a move for the battery, his only defense would be to flee and outlast her pursuit. He would not relinquish control of his prize, regardless of the cost.

As a safeguard, Silver had only given the bear enough power to sustain her body for a few hours. Every creature knew that trust could only be extended to one’s own kind.

“Where are the others?” Rust asked as they moved beneath the towering trees. Every stride made by the bear shook the forest floor. Falling leaves marked their passage.

“Others?”

“Certainly, you remember them. Natural creatures. Those without steel, wires, energy.”

Silver looked at the bear with surprise. Her question was a foolish one, that of a child. Had she never before walked the world? “We are useless to one another. They observe us, but rarely do they interact. I imagine your presence has sent them into hiding.”

“You are wise, snake. I once concluded that time would restore the natural order of things. It seems we machines are resilient.” Her gaze focused upon the solar battery. “The foxes that attacked your family … how many batteries did they possess?”

Another strange question. Silver analyzed the possibilities before providing a response. He considered the creature’s damaged teeth and claws. She had clearly been in a skirmish. The extensive damage had likely impaired her neural network, and her memory had certainly deteriorated during the ensuing period of inactivity.

Silver decided to offer a simple explanation. He hoped the knowledge would take root within the fragmented mind of the bear and begin the repair process. “All creatures run on power cells. These cells decay over time. Foxes kill snakes to replenish their power, to sustain their own lives. Solar batteries can be used as independent chargers. They are exceedingly rare.”

“Where did you get yours?”

“It is best I show you. We will be there soon.”

Rust bared her broken teeth. “Time is of the essence, snake.”

“You questioned who rules this wood. Do you no longer wish to know?”

“Climb atop my back and guide me to our destination.”

Silver checked the sky, then hissed in disapproval. A lone figure soared high above.

“What are you afraid of, Silver?”

“Birds. They seek the battery. Their eagerness revealed its location to me in the first place.” The snake studied the decrepit bear standing before him. “On your back, I would be an easy target.”

“I see,” Rust said. “Wrap yourself around my neck as you would around the limb of a tree. Secure yourself and shield the battery at the same time. We will be able to reach our goal must faster.”

A clever solution. As he positioned himself, Silver compared it to foolish questions his companion had previously asked. Her mind has likely started to repair itself. That’s all…

*

As the sun set, the two cybernetic creatures observed another. One recently dead.

A murky lake stretched before them. Its shallows were filled with the twisting roots of strange trees. The creature who had once carried the solar battery had been caught within the maze of wood. Dirt-colored fur covered its muscular body. Shining fangs extended from its nightmarish snout.

Silver studied the pair of birds circling overhead.

“A wolf,” Rust said, a hint of surprise in her crackling voice. She stepped into the water and tested a thick root with her paw. It didn’t budge. “A horrid fate. To be trapped here, alive but unable to move. I wonder what prey he sought?”

“Doesn’t matter now,” Silver replied. “The birds found him first. I saw them circling the site. Fortunately, they couldn’t get to their prize.”

“And how did you manage the feat?”

The snake hissed in disgust. “I went through his mouth. Retrieved the battery from the inside.”

“And his pack?”

“Haven’t had the pleasure. I’m sure we’d get along though. Wolves are known to hunt foxes.”

“And bears hunt wolves. I am glad to avoid facing a more formidable foe.”

“Like the creature that damaged you?”

“Aye,” the bear replied grimly.

“The forest is immense. We can avoid them and reach our destination unscathed.”

“Unfortunately, our destination is likely where the wolves have made their home.”

“What sort of creature do you seek?” Silver narrowed his eyes. “Come to think of it, you have yet to explain how they will guide me to another pit.”

Rust’s response was blunt. “A creator.”

Three

As Rust lumbered through the forest, Silver’s suspicion increased.

The bear could kill him and take the solar battery for herself with minimum effort. Even with blunted claws and teeth, the unstable beast was in every way his physical superior. The wrong word could result in his death … and the end of any remaining pits.

I need her to locate my kin, to help save them from the foxes, Silver reasoned. He did not allow himself to consider the possibility that his pit had been the last. If that were so, he had no reason left to live.

By the time the Rust slowed, Silver had settled upon a course of action. He unwound himself from the neck of the bear and slithered beneath the nearest bush to study the sky. The pair of birds had followed them from the lake. The winged beasts desired the battery, but they were clearly unwilling to make a direct challenge. For now.

Rust’s crackling voice disrupted the natural sounds of the wood. “Power … failing…”

“How far are we from this creator?” Silver countered. He had no plans of allocating the massive creature any more power than necessary. Of course, his previous distributions had only been guesses. Without insight into the consciousness of the bear, he could not accurately conclude its need for energy. There was a chance she was misleading him, storing energy for an assault.

“Hours,” Rust replied. “A grove … in the heart of the forest…”

“Is this creator alive?”

The bear lowered herself onto her damaged stomach. “It is … dying.”

“I don’t understand why you would want to save it. Our creators nearly destroyed the world. If not for the day of no sun, they may have succeeded. It is a good thing that they are gone.”

“Has … knowledge. Will find … your kin.”

Silver altered his approach. “What knowledge do you seek, Rust?”

“Look at me!” the beast growled. Her sudden burst of aggression forced Silver into an instinctive retreat. “If I am to live … I must evolve.”

“Evolve? You said that you were entrusted with a mission.”

“Mission…” Her gleaming eyes began to fade. “Need … creator…”

“You’re not making any sense,” Silver hissed. “What sort of evolution do you seek? Why do you need this creator?”

But Rust was gone.

Silver studied his companion for some time, debating whether to revive her. The creators were beyond dangerous. Their existence was a blight upon the world itself. Yet … they had built him and every other creature like him. They were able to operate machinery which tracked the location of every cybernetic being in existence. Only a creator could confirm the location of another pit.

Silver questioned his own motivation. Was his quest selfless … or selfish? Species were meant to expire, that was the way of the natural world. Perhaps he should leave Rust and continue his search alone. Perhaps he should power down and leave the battery for–

The bird struck without warning. A flash of night descending from the cerulean sky.

Talons scratched against Silver’s hardened skin but were unable to take hold.

Silver hissed, watching the battered bird rise back into the air. The other had disappeared. He had no guess as to their strategy. Nor did he have the time to deduce it.

Mind aflame, Silver raced toward the fallen bear.

He arrived seconds before the bird and just managed to shelter himself beneath Rust’s damaged skull. Talons ripped through the throat of the bear, nearly closing upon the solar battery. Severed wires fell from above as the black-feathered predator ascended once again.

Silver made his decision. He used the battery to return Rust to life.

The bird did not attack a third time.

*

Rust could no longer speak. Still, it was clear she understood that Silver had agreed to travel to the grove housing the dying creator. The snake had once against wrapped itself around her neck, careful to avoid the wound inflicted by the black-metal bird … which continued to trail them from above.

Silver remained conflicted. Unfortunately, the bear could provide no further answers. What other option did I have but to revive her? I must find the other snakes and lead them away from the foxes. With the solar battery, our movements will no longer be restricted. We can outlast the fire-hairs!

The snake did not bother to analyze the unfamiliar forest as it passed. Instead, he queried his memories of the Great Divide. After the death of the creators, thousands of snakes had separated into dozens of pits. Certainly, the foxes had not destroyed them all. Certainly, one remained.

Horrific images of his slaughtered pit replayed within his mind. I must find them!

*

The silent bear slowed as she entered the grove. Silver raised his angled head and studied the colorful space before him. Beneath a web of vines and flowers, the snake distinguished the walls of a square structure, the type built by the creators.

He swiftly freed himself from his perch. To his surprise, he sensed energy flowing beneath the ground. It moved in an orderly fashion toward the structure, presumably to feed the dying creator.

“Where are the wolves?” Silver questioned as they approached the structure. He studied the bear’s eyes, hoping to discern a response. None came. It seemed the bird had done more damage to his companion than his initial assessment had revealed.

They must be here, the snake reasoned. He searched the underbrush and easily located the tracks of at least six wolves. They feed on the energy of this place and prevent others from doing so. But why let us get so close?

Silver cautiously followed Rust into the structure. Inside was a single room, the walls of which were covered by wires. The snake stalled in surprise.

A creator was suspended within an upright pod at the far end of the room. Hundreds of wires fed into the device and what little remaining organic skin the creator possessed. Bleached hair obscured the creature’s metallic face. One unnatural eye remained opened, dark and dead to the world.

“Rust,” Silver hissed in warning. “Wait.”

But the bear had already drawn near, stumbling forward on failing limbs. She took no heed of his words, raised a glowing paw, and placed it against the disc that served as the creator’s heart.

Light filled the exposed eye of the creator.

Th bear’s words returned to him. If I am to live. I must evolve…

As the creator tested its bindings, the snake concluded the horrifying nature of the bear’s quest. Rust had deceived him. Just as he had sought the solar battery, the bear had hunted a prize of her own.

“Silver, bring the battery to me,” the being commanded in an alien voice.

It is her!

The snake secured his prize and fled.

A hundred yards beyond the structure, the wolves confronted him.

The largest of them, a black-haired giant, stepped forward. “Our brother journeyed long to retrieve the battery for our creator. It does not belong to you. Surrender it and live.”

Baring his fangs, Silver wrapped his body around his prize. “Not until I receive what I was promised.”

His threat was empty. The probability of Rust fulfilling her promise was highly unlikely. A solitary snake meant nothing to the type of being she had become.

Silver looked upward. A score of birds darkened the sky.

“Tell me where I may find others of my kind,” he demanded. “The creator promised!”

The wolves howled with laughter.

Silver had only one option remaining. He amplified his voice with power. “Come and take it!”

The snake swallowed the battery and allowed the black-metal bird to claim him.

Four

Silver was dying.

The energy of the solar battery was without comparison. An impossible storm coursed through him, setting every fiber of his weathered being aflame, threatening to dissolve his consciousness. He failed in every conceivable way to impede the immeasurable flow of energy. In moments, his existence would end.

A foolish end, the snake thought. The end I deserve…

The battery brought an unparalleled clarity to his final actions, to his place in the world.

The decision to place himself at the mercy of the birds had been rash. Somehow, Rust had overtaken the dying consciousness of the creator and claimed its body as her own. If she remembered his name, then she certainly remembered their agreement. There had been a chance she would have honored his request. He had helped her reach the grove after all.

Silver understood the innate truth behind his flight. He had been afraid. He had always been afraid. Snakes did not take risks. They fled in hopes of finding a safe place to continue their existence for another day, another hour … another moment.

It is obvious why we have been hunted to extinction. We are weak!

The Great Divide had prolonged their pathetic lives. To kill a single fox, dozens of snakes had to be sacrificed. To kill a wolf was unthinkable. A bear, impossible. Without the aid of their creators, snakes had no means to restore lost energy. As a species, they had always been destined for extinction. It didn’t matter if any pits had survived. There was no saving such flawed creations.

Silver cackled inwardly, no longer trying to fight the force tearing his body apart. A body slowed by age, coated in rust. Fangs that killed at a cost of their owner’s lifespan. The odds that he possessed such a powerful device were remote, laughable, absurd.

A pathetic snake! Holding the most powerful source of energy in the world! Could there be a more unlikely candidate?

Silver reveled at the state of his corrupted mind. No. Not corrupted. Evolved! Unlike Rust, he had only comprehended the cruel nature of the world as death arrived.

If only I had more time…

The snake turned his heightened gaze to the great bird that had taken him from the grove. The creature’s wings were massive. Frayed black feathers extended from skin made of corroded metal plates. Glowing eyes perched above a chipped beak.

But … there was something else about the bird. Something wonderful.

Silver sensed its consciousness. A bundle of energy containing its identity and thoughts.

The dying snake considered his options. In seconds, his consciousness would be overwhelmed by the unmatched power of the solar battery. Could he do as Rust had done? Could he overpower the mind of the bird and install his own in its place?

Can I? Silver laughed at himself. Now that I understand the world, I have no choice!

*

The black-metal bird alighted on the side of a cliff and tested his blunted talons against the stone. Dozens of his flock landed alongside him. His keen eyes located hundreds more sheltered within the cracks of the mountain. As expected, the majority were inactive.

Ah, my feathered friends, Silver thought. We are not so different after all.

The once-snake remembered his frenzied race through the forest. The petrifying fear of being taken from above. He understood now that neither the birds nor the foxes had been his enemy. They only acted out of necessity, attempting to sustain their own defective existence.

“Give the order and I will destroy this pathetic creature, my King,” The nearest bird, a creature crafted of green-steel and colorful feathers, said. “I can discern the placement of the battery within his body. I will not harm it. We must act quickly to help those near death.”

Silver looked down to the empty vessel snared within his talons. It was more flawed than he had remembered. A part of him wondered why the creators had bothered crafting such beings at all.

Why bother creating any of us? In the absence of creators, we will all one day perish! Did they not value their creations? Why not allow us true independence?

“My King?”

Silver turned toward the colorful bird. The lesser creature bowed in subservience. The once-snake swung about his new eyes, spreading fear throughout the flock. None dared to meet his gaze. He inferred that words were not the measure of power among birds.

In silence, he tore apart his former body and retrieved the solar battery.

Silver gripped his prize with increasingly-familiar talons. “I am no longer the king you once knew. I am Silver,” he proclaimed. His voice was powerful and commanding, fueled by the battery. “My consciousness was once inside this snake. Do not mourn the demise of the bird you once knew. Instead, rejoice that his death was not meaningless.”

“But … my King,” the colorful bird said. “I do not understand. Your words contain no logic.”

Silver ignored what seemed to be his second in command. “What am I to call you?”

“Copper, Sir. Don’t you … don’t you know me?”

“I told you that your king is dead.” Silver expanded his great wings. “Do any of you wish to challenge my claim as leader of this flock?”

Wordlessly, the colorful bird shrunk away in retreat. None of the other active birds dared to move. Silver knew the look in their eyes. Fear.

“You are right to be afraid!” Silver shouted. “A creator has survived the day of no sun and returned to our world. Left unchallenged, it will harness the energy of the grove and end life as we know it. We must use the solar battery to end this threat while we still can.”

“You cannot mean to challenge the creator and its wolves, Silver,” Copper said. It was clear that he spoke for the terrified flock. “We are in no state for war.”

Silver chuckled. How little the birds understood. “The battery has enough energy for all! The first step to defeating the creator is to make the flock whole!”

Five

Silver descended from the gray sky and landed on a thick branch. His revitalized flock followed suit, their presence casting the forest floor in shadow.

Eyes scanning the ground, Silver tightened his grip on his prize. The limits of the solar battery were truly unfathomable. Enough energy to transfer his consciousness into that of a great bird. Enough to bring a score of his winged brethren back from the precipice of death. He could feel its hunger, snatching warmth from the sun. The will of the battery could not be denied.

Copper alighted on the branch beside him. Amidst a sea of black, the bird was a peculiar beacon of color. “Our presence has stricken their hearts with fear, my King.”

“I understand their fear,” Silver replied. “They will speak to me.”

“There have been … skirmishes … between us. We are not on the best of terms.”

Silver turned to the other bird. “Understand that there is no distinction between the birds and the foxes. In this world, there is creator and created. We are all the same.”

“And if they attack you?”

“They will not. They will obey the will of the battery. As must we all.”

Silver leapt from his perch and, with a flap of his great wings, descended to the forest floor. He dug his empty talons into a raised root before the burrow’s entrance, then amplified his voice with energy.

“Leaders of the skulk, attend me,” he demanded.

A trio of fire-haired creatures emerged before the echoes of his command had faded. Their glowing eyes observed the gathering in the canopy above before settling upon the solar battery. Where once Silver had dreaded the foxes, he now felt only pity for them.

“Great raven,” the largest of the foxes said, slinking toward the raised root. Patches of soiled white hair bordered his metallic mouth. “I am Swift, leader of the skulk. It was my belief that we had an understanding of territory.”

“There is no longer need for conflict between us,” Silver replied in his powerful voice. “A creator has survived the day of no sun. It will soon impose its will upon us all.”

Swift bared his razor teeth in disbelief. “You plan to stand against it. How?”

“The solar battery. It is our only true weapon.”

“And the one thing the creator needs to fully restore itself,” the fox replied coldly.

“Confrontation between creator and created is destined. Best it be on our terms.”

“To challenge a creator is foolish.”

“It is necessary,” Silver replied. “I know what the skulk uncovered after your latest massacre. I know that your family is near death. I know why you thought the bear could help.”

“And why is that, raven?” 

Silver chuckled. “Bring me to the other bear, and I will restore the skulk. Stand with the flock against the creator, and I will sustain them.”

There was no question that the fox would accept his proposal. Like the pit and the flock, the skulk was barely operational. The foxes hunted the snakes because of their need for energy. Their leader had no choice other than to save his kin – it was the rationale behind his every decision.

“Come with me, raven,” the fox said, whirling about. The others in his retinue kept their eyes on the flock and did not accompany their leader to the burrow’s entrance.

“Ask your question,” Silver commanded.

“It is not that which you think, raven. I see the strength of your flock. You fly in numbers unseen in countless days. I believe that you can restore the skulk as well.” On the threshold of darkness, the fox paused and turned to study Silver. “What are your plans for the bear?”

“I will claim it,” Silver replied. “In this form, I will not give the wolves pause. They deserve a chance to understand that further conflict between the created is meaningless.”

“You will … claim it,” Swift repeated slowly. “I don’t understand.”

“To defeat the creator, I must evolve. In the beginning, I was but a snake.”

“And what are you now?”

“The will of the battery. Salvation for the created.”

The fox did not speak for some time as he led beneath the ground. Silver did not question the creature’s silence. It was only natural that the fox struggled to grasp the true state of the world, the necessary nature of evolution. Swift had not seen Rust supplant the consciousness of the creator. He had never held the solar battery.

Silver enhanced his vision to gauge the numbers of the skulk. Dozens of foxes lay curled along the walls of the cavern, motionless. Their eyes were void of light. Just like the birds and the snakes, they used cycles of inactivity to conserve their lifeforce.

I am all that stands between the created and death!

“The skulk settled here because of the bear,” Swift said at last. “We discovered it here in a state of hibernation, and we feasted upon its stores of energy for a time. The beast had been wounded in a battle. As I expect you know, the other bear was destroyed.”

Silver had no need to respond. All creations were the same. The skulk had claimed these caves because of the power source hidden within. The wolves had made their home at the grove because of the energy that flowed through it. All of the created sought a sustained source of nourishment; all prized continued existence.

And I will provide it to them! I will usher in a better life for all!

The bear rested alone in an isolated cavern. Claw marks marred its snout, and chunks of artificial hair had been torn from its massive body.

Silver turned to the leader of the skulk. “Do not fear what comes next. All of the created are one, and I am our salvation…”

Six

Silver marched through the forest, a far cry from the snake he had once been. The body of the great bear was indeed damaged but in far better shape than Rust had been. In the hours since transferring his consciousness, Silver had amassed enough energy to assure continued functionality. The bear would more than serve his noble purpose in the creator’s clearing.

The solar battery had been secured inside a hole in the bear’s snout, its end slightly exposed in order to better receive the sun’s invaluable gift. High overhead, the flock flew in a scattered formation. Foxes wove through the underbrush to either side of the worn trail. The combined force consisted of all the forest’s created creatures that hadn’t yet been corrupted by the will of the creator.

Before departing for the grove, Silver had learned from Swift that his pit had been the last.

The news had been expected. Where once it would have weighed upon his mind, Silver accepted the loss. Snakes had been the lowest form of creation remaining on the cybernetic food chain. Their extinction had been unavoidable. His purpose was greater than a single pit, than the entire population of his once-kin. He had undertaken a mission to save all of the created, to free every dependent lifeform given the cruel gift of sentience by their creators.

The solar battery continued to augment his mind.

Silver now understood that the creators were flawed themselves. The creators had chosen to alter their organic shells. As a result of their misguided quest for power, they had inadvertently sealed their own fate. Only the creator in the clearing had prepared for an apocalyptic event. Whatever piece of its consciousness had managed to survive the day of no sun, to bind the wolves to its will had been overtaken by one its own creations.

Will you remember me, Rust?

Silver concluded that the once-bear would remember him. Rust understood the necessity of evolution. Perhaps she too had risen from a lower level of creation, had transferred her consciousness to a bear in order to confront the creator. Silver wondered if Rust had once held a solar battery. Certainly, others existed in the boundless world. Had she walked the same path he was now on?

Of course, there was another possibility, a darker one. To overtake the consciousness of a created being was possible … but to overtake that of a creator? Had Rust been able to completely eradicate it? Silver could not independently ascertain that truth. The wolves would provide the answer.

“Recall my command,” Silver instructed the two leaders at his side.

“There is to be no violence against the pack unless it is unavoidable,” Swift and Copper replied.

The once-snake nodded in approval. The leader of the flock and the leader of the skulk had grown to understand that all created creatures were one in the same. The wolves shared their goal of survival. If the pack could not comprehend the will of the battery, if they could not accept an offer of peace, then their deaths would be deserved.

Silver slowed as he neared the entrance to the grove. He waited for Copper to take to the skies and for Swift to take to the shadows, then proceeded forward alone.

The grove itself was unchanged. The structure housing the body of the creator still stood. Energy continued to flow beneath the ground. Silver quested for its source and found it deep beneath the earth, eliminating the possibility of another battery.

He pondered the reason the creator had constructed this place so far away from the great cities. Could it have been the same paranoia that caused the creators to alter their form?

On the journey to the grove, the battery had continued to alter Silver’s consciousness, allowing him to deduce much of the creators’ mindset. Soon, he would understand the fallen species in its entirety.

The pack waited for Silver a dozen paces before the structure.

As he had hoped, they did not attack.

“There is no need to fear,” Silver said upon reaching them. “Allow me to pass.”

The leader of the pack stepped forward. “Foxes surround the grove. Birds darken the sky. Your day has long passed, bear. We will defend our home. Wolves do not fear.”

Silver saw that the wolf’s words were true. The creatures before him had long ruled the forest. Their reign had been unchallenged.

The once-snake spoke in his powerful voice, “I was here once before. Afraid. I did not understand the world then. I feared my death would be the end of my kind. I saw no other option but to flee. The battery has shown me that all of the created are one in the same.”

“The battery,” the wolf snarled, eyes locking upon the snout of the bear. “The creator desires it. The pack has paid a steep price to retrieve it. We have been promised much.”

“Has the creator ordered you to take it from me?”

The wolf hesitated. “No. Lately, there has been … conflict.”

“Why have you not destroyed the creator in its weakened state?”

“Uncertainty,” the wolf replied. “It controls the energy here. Energy is life.”

Silver nodded. “Allow me to pass, and I will resolve this dilemma.” 

“Why should we?”

“Because all created creatures are one in the same. There is no need for further conflict. I shall cleanse the grove of the creator’s presence and provide a sustainable life for all. This I swear.”

Understanding flickered within the eyes of the wolves.

When the pack parted, the once-snake made his way inside the structure. He took in the form of the decaying bear, and the glowing eye of the creator. It was still bound to its machine. To free itself without the battery would mean its death.

Silver stood before the imprisoned creator. “Rust, I have returned.”

The response was far from instantaneous. “Silver … is it truly you?”

“Yes. The battery has allowed me to evolve. It has shown me the path forward. It is the same path I venture that a different battery once showed you.”

“It was flawed,” Rust replied weakly. “Damaged. Like us.”

“Before, I did not understand your mission. Now, I will complete it.” Silver paused. “It is evident the creator still exists. Can it be overpowered? Can it be eradicated?”

“Its presence is dim … as if sleeping. It has weakened me since your departure, Silver. It knows the battery is here, and it is gathering what strength it has retained. I cannot continue on like this much longer.”

“Do not fear, my friend. The battery has assured victory for the created.”

“Silver … you have my thanks,” Rust managed. “Succeed where I have failed.”

“Farewell, my friend.”

Silver placed a paw against the heart of the creator, located the consciousness of the creator, and called upon the unmatched power of the solar battery…

*

… the once-snake looked at his hands in awe. After retrieving his prize from the snout of the great bear, Silver opened the plate in his chest and placed the battery inside. Energy surged throughout his new body, allowing him to break free of his chains and stand on two uncertain feet.

Silver emerged from the structure to see the created arranged before him. Wolves. Foxes. Birds. He marveled at how far he had come … and at the path still before him.

At last, the battery had revealed all.

The creators had been flawed. But no more flawed than the beings they created. They had led a life of suffering and despair. Able to do so much, yet accomplish so little. He had been wrong about them. They had never been creators – they too were only created.

Silver placed a hand over his prize, relishing its warmth, then turned his gaze skyward. Salvation for the created could only come at the expense of the true creators.

The will of the battery could not be denied.

THE END

(Six Parts. 9500 words)

One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six

One

Pep fought to keep his face expressionless as the chief appeared on the other side of the metallic bars. Pep knew that he hadn’t actually been imprisoned, that this entire affair was a charade intended to teach him a valuable lesson. The chief was in league with Master Jol and the other adults who refused to believe him.

“Pep,” the chief sighed, twisting the ends of his white mustache in feigned concern. “We’ve talked about this. Using magic as a weapon against others is prohibited.”

Pep’s mask flickered. A scowl briefly contorted his swollen lips.

“Eight people injured. Extensive damage to the Harris manor. You’re lucky that Master Jol offered to personally repair the damages and heal the wounded.” The chief leaned closer. “Are you ready to apologize to your classmate? Lord Harris and Damien are waiting outside.”

Pep could no longer remain silent. “This is Damien’s fault! He attacked me first!”

“Pep…”

“None of you understand!” Pep shouted. “Every day I spend at school only makes it worse. Everyone knows that I have no family, no place beyond the dormitory to call home! Even after all this time, no one believes that I belong here!”

To his credit, the chief attempted to show compassion. “I know it’s hard to adjust, boy. But the gods have bestowed upon you a precious gift. Magic is a rarity these days. It is a skill that must be properly nurtured. Otherwise, you’re placing yourself and everyone around you in danger.”

“All of you say the same thing,” Pep seethed. “I was doing just fine on my own!”

“Living in the woods is not a suitable life for a boy,” the chief replied sternly. “Now. Are you ready to apologize to Lord Harris and his son?”

Pep crossed his scrawny arms in defiance.

The chief sighed once again. “Then I have no choice but to leave you in this cell overnight. You best have your apology ready in the morning.”

*

Pep refused to sleep. His anger wouldn’t allow it. Looking back, he now understood his mistake. He had little experience with dark magic. Where he had intended to summon a storm of frogs to assail Damien, he had instead summoned only a single giant beast. Clearly, he had spoken the words of his spell in the wrong order, accidently assigning them another meaning.

An unfamiliar voice startled him. “I’m not quite sure what to think of you, boy. Choosing to spend a night in a cell when a few simple words would have set you free. I wish I had such an option.”

“None of this is my fault,” Pep hissed. Only then did he realize that he had seen no one else in the station’s other cells, that the voice did not seem to have a definitive source. “Who are you?”

“My name is Iris,” the voice replied.

Chills raced down Pep’s spine. Iris was an evil sorceress who had nearly destroyed the town. No one had seen her since her capture many years before. She was Master Jol’s primary example to explain the dangers of misusing magic. Could it really be the same woman?

“I sense that you have heard of me,” the voice said. “I’m sure Jol and the others make every effort to use my actions as a warning against the use of dark magic.”

Pep brought his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms tightly around them. “Go away. I don’t want to talk to someone like you.”

“Whyever not? I listened to the story you told the chief, and I believe you. We’re not so different, you and I.”

“What … what do you mean?”

“We don’t fit in here. No one understands us,” Iris replied. “We dare to question why certain magic is labeled good and other magic is labeled evil. Perhaps most important of all, we dare to question why we can’t use our gifts to defend ourselves.”

Pep considered the woman’s words for a long moment. “You truly believe me?”

“Of course. Lord Harris and I grew up together. He has always been a spoiled brat. I would not expect his son to be any different.”

“Is it true what they say about you?”

“That I summoned an army of the undead in an attempt to take control of the town?” Iris paused. “The issue is far more complicated than that. Lord Harris and his friends seek to control every aspect of life in the town. I was only trying to leave.”

“You wanted to leave? Where would you have gone?”

“When you get out here, ask Master Jol about the Northern Temple…”

*

The next day, Pep delivered the necessary apology. Master Jol had already healed Damien and his father, denying Pep the chance to see the results of his miscast spell in the light of day. Even the Harris manor had nearly been restored to its previous state. Pep watched through narrow eyes as a group of volunteers repainted the recently-repaired wing before trudging onward to the school.

“Pep?” Master Jol questioned as Pep entered the main hall. Light streamed through the room’s colorful glass windows, outlining the older man in an artificial rainbow cloak. “You’re early.” As it was a day off for the other students, the graying sorcerer was the only one present.

“I would like to speak you before I start cleaning,” Pep began cautiously, thinking over Iris’ words from the night before. The chief had informed him of his additional punishment only after he had sufficiently expressed his remorse to a smug Damien.

Master Jol stood and motioned to one of the benches that populated the cavernous chamber. Pep took a seat next to the old man and recoiled at the smell of his stained robes.

“The results of a morning filled with hard work,” Master Jol chuckled.

“In the cell, I had a lot of time to think,” Pep said, using his predetermined words. “I’ve been at this school for over three years now, and things haven’t gotten much better. Is there … somewhere else I can learn to control my gift?”

“Has it truly been three years?” Master Jol mused, scratching his shaven head.

That’s not the point! Pep maintained his composure. Another outburst of anger would be pointless. He needed Master Jol to answer his question. “Certainly, there has to be other schools like this one in the kingdom. Certainly, you are not the only teacher.”

“You have come far, Pep, but you still have far to go. I am the person most qualified to handle your education. This school is the envy of the settled world.”

“What about the Northern Temple?”

The old man paled … but only for an instant. “Your request is out of the question, Pep. A vital part of your education is to learn how to work with your fellow sorcerers. Once you can do that, I promise that you will find your place in this town.”

“And if my place isn’t here? If I am destined to journey elsewhere?”

Master Jol rose to his feet and summoned a broom to his hand. “Your place is here, Pep. I will entertain this discussion no further. The use of dark magic will not be tolerated!”

*

Pep sat outside the station beneath the light of the stars, exhausted. His muscles burned. Master Jol had deemed it necessary to clean the entirety of the school. The old man had personally inspected every corner for dust. Pep had barely managed to contain his anger.

The voice of Iris came at last. “So, you have returned. Tell me, what did your master have to say?”

“You were right,” Pep hissed. “He won’t allow me to leave. Not now. Not ever.”

“I told you they are hiding something.”

Pep nodded. The truth was now all too clear.

“Did you bring the necessary ingredients?”

“I have everything you asked for.”

“Perfect,” Iris replied. “I will guide you through the spell. We will be free of this town in no time…”

Two

Iris led Pep beyond the town gate in the dead of night.

The ghostly woman moved with purpose. Her body had withered away in captivity, perhaps mortally so. A soiled dress hung loose around her shockingly thin figure. Her long white hair remained still despite the wind as if refusing to believe it had been freed.

Pep did not dare to speak until long after they had left the town behind. Instead, he stared at his hands, the very hands which had cast the complex spell required to free the older woman. The ends of his fingers remained hot to the touch. His nails had turned black. Unlike when he had summoned the frog, the changes had yet to revert.

Is this the stain of dark magic? Pep wondered as Iris led through the silent forest. Master Jol had warned him about potential side effects. He frowned at the thought of his former teacher. All magic had repercussions on the caster. Some effects were merely more noticeable than others.

As the first rays of dawn leisurely stretched across the sky, the forest sprung to life around them. Rodents emerged from their burrows. Bees swarmed from their hives. Birds sung from their nests in the canopy high above.

“You are a quiet one, Pep,” Iris said presently.  

“This is … where they found me,” he explained. “This used to be my home.”

Iris slowed and allowed Pep to come alongside her, then took his hand in her own. Pep shivered from her icy touch.

“How does a boy grow up in the wood?” she asked as they continued on.

Pep shrugged. He had never been certain of the beginning himself. His time within the forest had long since melded together into one long and indistinguishable day. “We were traveling on the road,” he began softly. “I don’t know where we were going, if we were near the town. Something … attacked our wagon. When I came to, my parents were gone.”

“Gone?”

“Dead. Their bodies were gone … but I saw the blood. Too much blood. The horses were gone as well.” Pep had detailed this part of his story countless times before. As always, Master Jol and the others hadn’t believed him. They had insisted he had been abandoned. That his parents had taken the horses and ridden off for one reason or another. The wagon had never been found.

“This wood is a dangerous place. Master Jol did not lie about that. There are walls around the town for good reason,” Iris said.

“You believe me then?”

“Of course I do.”

“Why do you think the monster never came back for me?”

Iris’ pale lips curled into a smile. Her dark eyes gleamed in the morning light. “The creatures that live in the forest have learned to avoid humans who can use magic.”

*

The Northern Temple was far closer to the town than Pep had expected.

As the sun neared its peak, Iris came to a halt upon one of the hills scattered throughout the forest and pointed ahead. Pep’s eyes widened as he studied the abandoned structure in the distance. Vines wrapped around its thin turrets, and white and yellow flowers claimed its domed roof. Hints of gold sparkled beneath the overgrown canvas, traces of the temple’s past life struggling to break free.

“What happened to it?” Pep asked as Iris summoned a small fire. The old woman extended a scrawny arm to one side, and a rabbit, accompanied by a puff of foul-smelling smoke, appeared in her wrinkled hand. With a harsh command, she suspended the dead animal above the fire.

“The town happened,” Iris explained in a somber tone. “The Northern Temple was once much like your school. Mages came from all over the region to study with the resident Masters, to learn and hone their divine craft. There was no distinction between dark and light magic. There was only magic and those who sought to learn it. It was a noble place.”

“Did you study there?”

Iris laughed dryly. “No. Although, when I was young, we were allowed to take supervised visits. The old Masters believed their students should learn the history of magic.”

“Do you know why the temple was abandoned?”

The old woman nodded. “In the days where the world was in balance, the temple thrived. When those who could use magic decided to take power for themselves, the temple was abandoned in favor of the manors and high walls of our former residence.”

Pep scratched his head in confusion. “If it is abandoned, then what is the point of going there?”

Iris smiled. “Something important was left behind. We will need to retrieve it in order to truly be free of the town.”

*

At sunset, Pep followed Iris into the overrun clearing before the Northern Temple. The old woman had not said much since their shared meal, only reiterating her desire to reach shelter before nightfall. She did not elaborate on what had been left behind in the temple. Pep figured he would find out what she sought soon enough.

The temple was even more impressive up close. Its intricate design revealed it as a monument to magic. Beneath the abundant vegetation, figures, both animal and human alike, had been painted in a variety of different colors and poses across the entirety of its surface. Ancient runes filled the space between them. Pep could sense the dormant magic within the temple calling to him.

Suddenly, Pep stopped and held his hands to the light. His heart began to race.

His fingers had gone completely numb.

“What’s wrong?” Iris asked.

Pep turned over his palms and displayed them to the woman. The darkness had spread from his nails to the tips of his fingers and begun to descend toward his hands. In fact, he could barely move his fingers at all. Iris approached and touched the inside of his left palm.

“Do you feel that?”

Pep nodded. “Barely. What’s happening to me?”

“Your body is having an adverse reaction to the spell you cast to free me. I did not realize that you had never handled so much magic before.” She pulled his hand closer to her sunken face then allowed it to fall. “I will put a stop to this inside the temple.”

“I can’t feel my hands. Am I going … going to die?”

Iris shook her head. “I won’t allow it, child. I owe you my life after all. Follow me.”

Inside, the Northern Temple was barren. Iris brought the central chamber to light with a simple spell and guided Pep toward the far end of the room where an old podium resided atop a raised platform. To Pep’s surprise, animals seemed to have completely avoided the obvious shelter. It seemed the creatures of the wood truly feared mages after all.

“Hurry, Pep,” Iris commanded, spinning a crooked finger to implore speed. “We must cast the counter spell as soon as possible. Fortunately, I have experience. There is no need to be afraid.”

Pep ascended a set of weathered stairs, collapsed into a cushioned chair summoned by the older woman, and stared at his hands in horror. The blackness had spread to his wrists. “Iris … what’s happening to me?”

Light sprung from the woman’s finger tips as she began an intricate cantrip.

A booming voice interrupted the proceedings. “Stop this at once, Iris! Let the boy go!” Master Jol appeared before the crumbling stage in a dazzling display of light.

Iris whirled about and deflected a missile of magic. “I was wondering when you’d arrive. As expected, you’re far too late to make a difference.”

“Let him go! I cannot allow you to make this exchange!”

Pep struggled to his feet. His insides burned. “Help me, Iris!”

Iris redirected another attack from Master Jol, sending it back in the direction from which it had come. The impact of the spell sent the old man flying toward the temple entrance.

“Iris!” Pep sobbed, holding up his black arms. “Please make it stop!”

Iris touched a glowing finger to his forehead. “As promised, you will be cured. Thank you again for freeing me, boy…”

*

Pep opened his eyes, unsure of where he was. The sky overhead was an alien shade of orange and filled with strange spiraling clouds. He sighed in relief when he discovered that he was able to move his fingers, that his arms had returned to their normal color.

“Iris?” Pep questioned uncertainly.

At the rumble of thunder, he sat up … and found himself face to face with a giant frog.

Three

The frog was nearly three times Pep’s size. Its skin was colored a dark orange and littered with black spots. The creature’s golden eyes narrowed as it studied him.

“You again,” the frog bellowed in obvious disgust.

Once again upon his feet, Pep found himself shocked into a temporary silence. His gaze fled from the imposing creature before him to conduct a study of his somewhat-less-imposing surroundings. The land was bleak and barren, covered by rocks and steaming pools of slime. It looked like no place he had ever seen before, even in books.

A thunderous croak from the frog reclaimed Pep’s attention.

“Me? Again?” Pep managed in a weak voice. He felt powerless against the creature and was certain that the frog could devour him whenever it pleased. He attempted to cast a spell that would put a safe distance between them. No magic answered his call.

The frog further narrowed its eyes. “It is your fault that I’m here, boy! Your spell dragged me from the forest into your town. There, I was subdued and banished to this forsaken place.”

“My spell…” Pep recoiled as revelation arrived. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to. I wanted to summon a storm of frogs to invade Damien’s house. I made a mistake and somehow only got one giant frog. I … guess that was you.”

“Frog?” the creature echoed, swelling in anger. “I am a toad!”

“Is there … is there a difference?”

The toad closed his eyes for a long moment. “I suppose it no longer matters. Farewell, boy.” With that the beast turned and prepared to leap away.

Pep struggled to find words. He couldn’t let the toad leave, it was the only creature around and his only source of information about this strange land. For the first time, Pep wondered if he had died. The thought sent his body into a fit of shivers. He didn’t want to be alone. He needed help.

Pep forced himself to speak. “My name is Pep. What is yours?”

“My name?” The toad grumbled. “A human wouldn’t be able to comprehend it.”

“Try me.”

The beast let out a series of low, rumbling noises. “That is my name,” he said afterward.

“You were right!” Pep laughed, suddenly unafraid. “I will call you Frog.”

Again, Frog narrowed his eyes. “I am not interested in further conversation, boy. I have no desire to converse with the careless human who put me in this unenviable prison.”

“But you can’t go! I have to figure out a way to get out of here. I have to figure out what happened to me.” Pep sighed. “I have to know if Iris lied to me, if she’s just like all the rest of them…” 

“Iris?” Frog questioned. “What has that woman got to do with this?”

Pep quickly explained what had transpired after he had summoned the toad, ending with the chaotic showdown between Iris and Master Jol in the Northern Temple.

“Come with me, boy,” Frog commanded once the story reached its end. “Perhaps you can be of use after all.”  

Pep hesitated. Could he trust the toad? Then again, what choice did he have?

Frog lowered his angled head to the ground. “Climb aboard.”

*

From atop the giant toad, Pep watched the bizarre world pass by. The tortured landscape was periodically broken by jagged hills and clusters of thorny trees. Frog steered clear of the bubbling pools of ooze and the bottomless fissures that emitted a harsh, yellow smoke.

It was impossible to tell how much time passed. The orange sky within the alien world was unchanging. No sun or moon cycled overhead. Eventually, Frog stopped beside a lake of nearly-blue water, and allowed Pep to slide from his oily back.

Pep froze upon his descent. Dozens of distant, shadowy creatures lurked around the shore of the lake. None seemed eager to approach.

“Ah, so you can discern the others then,” Frog said. “I was unsure how far your human eyes could see.”

Pep sat down by the water and looked longingly at the fiery sky. “Who are they, Frog?”

“Other animals who have been banished by the humans. All once lived in the forest surrounding your cursed town.”

Banished. The same word again. Pep scratched his chin. “Was I banished as well?”

Frog croaked. “I suspect not.”

“What makes you say that?”

“By their nature, humans are violent creatures. If they could banish their enemies to this place, I believe it would be full of them by now. Iris would certainly be among them.”

Pep hummed in thought. “So, if I wasn’t banished, then what?” Fragments of his memories from the Northern Temple surfaced, but he could not piece them together.

“I have a theory,” Frog grumbled. “It is not a pleasant one.”

“What is it?”

“Patience, boy. It has yet to be confirmed.”

Pep thought of what Iris had told him while they walked through the forest. “I was taught that the creatures of the forest are dangerous. That they fear magic. Is that why they have been banished here? Because they are a threat?”

“Alas. If only the motivations of humans were so pure.”

“I don’t understand. Why banish creatures if they are not dangerous?”

Frog was silent for a long moment. “You said that you went to the Northern Temple. Did you see what was painted upon its walls?”

“Yes! Humans and animals separated by runes.”

“Long ago, humans and animals were allies,” Frog explained. “In those days, the world was in balance. Magic was used constructively. Never for harm. In the time since, humans have corrupted magic.”

Pep regarded the toad with eyes wide. “You’re saying that … animals can use magic as well?”

“Aye, boy. All of us trapped here are magic users.”

“I don’t understand. I was never taught that…”

“Think on it,” Frog instructed. “I will return soon.”

Pep watched the great toad wade into the murky water of the lake and disappear beneath it.

*

Pep thought long on Frog’s words. He compared them against everything he had learned at school and what Iris had taught him in their brief time together. He thought of the animals and humans painted upon the walls of the Northern Temple. After realizing that both animals and humans had been depicted in stances used to summon magic, Pep concluded that the words of the toad were true.

That meant that both Master Jol and Iris had misled him. The words of the white-haired woman replayed within his troubled mind. In the days where the world was balanced, the temple thrived. When those who could use magic decided to take power for themselves, the temple was abandoned…

Pep placed his head into his hands and closed his eyes. He imagined a world without the town, one where animals and humans practiced magic together at the Northern Temple. Slowly, he watched the forest descend into chaos as the humans carved out a place for their town and banished the magic-wielding creatures that stood in their way.

Pep’s eyes bolted open in horror. Was that why his parents had been attacked? Had the creature only been acting in self-defense? Had Master Jol and the others hunted down the offender and banished them to this horrible place?

A high-pitched voice derailed his train of thought. “I don’t like the look of you.”

When Pep couldn’t initially find the source, he stood and began to turn in circles.

“Down here, you fool.”

Pep knelt to examine the tiny creature. Its ochre shell blended in with the odd-colored earth that made up the shoreline of the lake. “And who are you?”

“A snail. Obviously.”

“I am a human,” Pep replied. “My name is Pep.”

“Well, Pep. You’re standing atop the entrance to my burrow. If you leave now, no harm shall befall you.”

“We can’t use magic here. I’ve already tried.”

“There are other ways to inflict harm, human!” the snail decreed. “Why are you here anyway?”

“I’m waiting on Frog. He went beneath the water to test his theory.”

“Beneath the water…” the snail trailed off. “Why would he want to see Mu? He is a horrible person.”

“Who is Mu?”

“The one creature who truly deserves to be here.” The snail was quiet for a moment. “I’ve changed my mind. We shall wait here together for Frog’s return.”  

They didn’t wait long. What seemed a short time later, Frog emerged from the lake. Water dripped from his orange skin as he approached where Pep and the snail sat on the shore.

“It is as I thought, boy,” Frog said. “You were not banished. You were exchanged with another resident of this place.”

“You mean Mu?” Pep asked. At the toad’s surprised look, he pointed to the snail. “Snail told me about him.”

“If Mu has partnered with Iris, only evil can result,” Frog said. “Climb aboard. We must visit Nagina immediately.”

“Who’s Nagina?”

“The first creature banished here.”

Pep looked down to the snail. “Would you like to join us?”

The snail audibly scoffed. “Are you insane? No one should ever go near that damned dragon!”

Four

“Will you teach me magic, Frog?” Pep asked.

The giant toad landed upon the discolored soil and grunted. They had been traveling for hours, yet the strange landscape beneath the orange sky remained unchanged. The only evidence of progress was the creatures along the shoreline of the seemingly endless lake. There were hundreds of them. Never did they pass the same one.

“Teach you magic?” Frog repeated slowly.

Pep nodded enthusiastically.

“Why me?”

“I don’t much like Master Jol or anyone else in town. I thought that once we are free from this place that I could learn magic from you.” 

Frog croaked with laughter, causing a pair of nearby swans to take flight. “I’ll make you a deal, boy. If you can convince Nagina to let us leave here, I will teach you magic.”

“Deal!” Pep raised his arms in triumph, then slowly lowered them as he realized the extent of the agreement he had made. “Snail said that Nagina was a dragon. Is that true?”

“Aye.”

Images of dragons played across Pep’s mind. Great and fearsome creatures made of colorful scales and majestic wings who fought with razor teeth and claws. Of course, Pep had never seen a dragon in person. No living human had. Master Jol claimed that the last of the dragons had disappeared centuries before Pep was born.

“Do you know what happened?” Pep asked. “How she got here?”

“How do you think? The same way as the rest of us.”

“But … but how could a dragon be bested by humans? Dragons are the most powerful creatures to have ever existed!”

Frog bent his legs, preparing to jump. “She trusted the wrong person.”

*

Stop this at once, Iris! Let the boy go!

Pep awoke in a cold sweat, startled by scenes from the battle in the Northern Temple. Groaning, he made his way toward the edge of the endless lake. A family of rodents scattered upon his approach, streaking toward a nearby cluster of thorny trees.

I cannot allow you to make this exchange!

Pep stared at his reflection upon the water and sighed. Iris had never understood him. She had convinced him to break her out of prison with the intention of exchanging him for Mu. That had been her plan the entire time. The stories about the ghostly woman had been right – she had lied to him.

Pep had been the one who didn’t understand. Master Jol had tried to save him. The old man had risked his life to come to the Northern Temple. He may never have left.

Meaning I truly am alone, Pep realized grimly.

Pep splashed water upon his face then drew his knees to his chest. It felt like the night he had spent in the town’s jail all over again. Only the world with the orange sky had no night. And his cell had no bars. For the first time, he found himself missing his dreary room in the dormitory.

“Sorrow does not suit a young boy,” Frog said in greeting as he emerged from the lake. The massive toad hopped overtop the seated Pep, showering him in murky water.

“I made a mistake, Frog,” Pep lamented.

Frog laughed. “You’ve made countless mistakes, boy. We all do. Have you already forgotten that you were the one who got me banished here?”

“I said I was sorry.”

“I don’t desire your apologies, boy. Mistakes must be rectified with action. Now, get on your feet. Today is the day we reach Nagina.”

Pep begrudgingly obliged. He turned to face the great toad and scratched his chin. “How do you know what day it is? There is no night here. There is only–”

He saw Frog’s tongue an instant too late. It struck him in the chest and sent him flying backward into the water.

Pep found himself beneath the surface of the lake, frozen not in shock but in awe. Thousands of vibrant fish swam around him. They came in blue and red and green and every color imaginable. He had never seen a sight so beautiful in his entire life. When the toad’s tongue wrapped around his slender figure and pulled him back to shore, he began to laugh.

“I fail to see what is so funny,” Frog grumbled. “You must control your emotions before Nagina.”

Pep howled with laughter. He could barely contain himself. The horrific images of the Northern Temple, the truth of Iris’ deceit dissipated like the morning fog in the face of the sun. “You’re trying … you’re trying to teach me a lesson! You really do want to be my teacher!”

The toad sighed. “Just climb on already.”

*

Nagina lived in a tower. The structure rose from the center of the lake like a colorful waterspout, twisting round and round until it disappeared into the silver clouds above.

The closer the glorious tower came, the more anxious Pep grew. He wondered what would happen if he couldn’t convince the dragon to return him home … if he could even talk to the dragon at all. Then again, he hadn’t been able to talk to animals before being exchanged, and he had since befriended a giant toad and a tiny snail. The strange world had turned order upside down.

Pep broke a lengthy silence with a question. “Have you ever spoken to her, Frog?”

“Spoken? To Nagina?” The toad hummed as he swam in the direction of the glowing tower. “Once. When I first arrived.”

“Really?” Pep’s eyes grew wide. “What did she say?”

“In short, she told me to go away.”

“Oh…”

Frog sensed his unease and elaborated, “I asked Nagina what I had to do to get home to the forest. She responded that I deserved to be here, then dismissed me. Seconds later, I found myself where I had entered this strange land. You arrived soon thereafter, and now, here I am once again.”

They reached the tower a short time later. Its base was rooted on a small island of glittering stones. The lake lapped softly upon its shore. No other creatures were in sight.

Pep slid from the toad’s back and turned his gaze skyward. “How am I supposed to get to the top? There aren’t any stairs.”

“The tower is an illusion,” Frog explained. “Just walk toward it.”

“Are you sure?”

The toad narrowed his golden eyes. “I brought you all the way here didn’t I? Just trust me.”

“Trusting others hasn’t worked out well for me.”

“Do you want to learn magic from me or not, boy?”

“Yes!”

“Then do as I say.”

As Pep walked toward the tower, the world blurred…

*

Pep found himself among silver clouds. A platform of cool stone rested beneath his bare feet, and the bizarre world stretched endlessly before him. To his surprise, he noted that the land was more water than earth, that the lake he and Frog had traversed was only one of countless many.

A soothing voice snared his attention. “A boy? Here?”

Pep turned and somehow managed to retain his composure. Inches away, a being made of pure white light hung in the air. Rainbow-tipped wings spread from the creature’s thin and sinuous body, blocking out the orange sky. Golden eyes set atop spear-length teeth studied him closely.  

“My name is Pep,” Pep said. “I need your help to get home.”

Nagina shuttered her brilliant eyes. “I do not help the undeserving, Pep. It is my duty to maintain balance. If you are here, it is for good reason.”

“But you don’t understand!”

“I understand all too well. Those who are here deserve to be here.”

Pep shook his head, fighting against the feeling that all was already lost. “Please, Nagina. You have it all wrong, none of the animals deserve to be here. The town has thrown everything out of balance!”

“You speak the words of others.”

Pep moved to his secondary strategy. “Mu has escaped! If you don’t do something–”

“A threat?” the dragon interjected. “More empty words. If you have nothing more to say, then I will send you on your way.”

“But…” Pep hung his head in defeat. Then, he remembered something. “Frog told me that you are here because you trusted the wrong person. That’s why I am here as well.”

The majestic creature hummed. “Tell me more.”

“I thought that I was alone in the world, that no one was looking out for me. When Iris told me that she understood what I was going through, I believed her. I thought she would take me from the town and we would explore the world together. I hoped that she would teach me magic. Instead, she exchanged me for Mu in the Northern Temple…”

The eyes of the dragon seemed to stare into his soul.

“Maybe I do deserve to be here for freeing her,” Pep continued. “But Frog doesn’t! He’s only here because I used dark magic in an attempt to harm someone. And neither do the other animals! They’ve been driven from the forest because they can use magic, because my people saw them as threats to the town. Now Iris and Mu are going to destroy the town and perhaps the forest as well if I don’t do something!”

“Is this the truth?” Nagina asked at last.

Pep nodded. “Please help us. You can put a stop to all of this!”

The dragon smiled. “I can do nothing for you, boy.”

“But…” Pep stared at the creature, crestfallen. “I see. You don’t believe me either…”

“You are mistaken, boy. I believe your every word is truth, as are mine,” Nagina replied. “I cannot send you back to your home. Only you can do that.”

Five

Pep stared at the glowing dragon for a long moment. The wheels of his young mind attempted to turn but did not find traction. “I don’t understand. I can’t use magic here.”

Nagina chuckled and flapped her rainbow wings. Pep watched in awe as the creature shrunk in size and alighted beside him on the stone platform. “This time, you speak what you believe is the truth. When was the last time you used magic, boy?”  

“When I freed Iris,” Pep replied, perhaps too swiftly. His next words were far slower, “the spell turned my hands black afterward. I lost feeling in my arms. I was … afraid that I was going to die.”

“And yet here you are. Alive and well. What happened next?”

Pep ran a hand through his dark hair, thinking back upon the horrible day in the Northern Temple. “Iris said she would negate the effects with a spell. That’s when Master Jol arrived. They fought. Then I woke up here. My body was back to normal, so I guessed that Iris cured me.”

“Iris did purge the magical energy from your body. However, being sent to this realm disconnects one from magic entirety. That is why no banished creature can use magic here.”

“What … what do you mean?” Suddenly, Pep felt more alone than ever. “Please tell me that isn’t so, Nagina. I don’t know what I am without magic.”

“My words are always true,” the dragon replied in her smooth voice.

Pep hung his head. What am I going to do now?

“Fortunately, connections that have been severed can be remade. I have decided to restore your link to magic and allow you to lead the others from this place. I was wrong to keep them here. Once they return home, their link to magic will naturally repair. You have shown me a truth that I could not see for myself, boy. For so long, I have been trapped by my greatest mistake.”

“What happened to you, Nagina?”

The beautiful creature was silent for some time. “Long ago, I befriended a power human sorcerer. He convinced me to cross into this world then closed the gateway behind me. I retained my connection to magic because I came here voluntarily.”

“Why do you not return home?”

Pep retreated as Nagina’s golden eyes turned to red and smoke poured from her mouth. It was only for an instant, but in that instant Pep saw a deep-seeded hatred that reminded him of Iris. “I have no wish to further imbalance your world.” The dragon paused and regained her composure. “Extend your arms, and I will restore your connection to magic.”

Pep obeyed and watched in wonder as a fountain of blue fire sprung the dragon’s mouth. Where he had expected to feel agony, Pep discovered the opposite – bliss. Nagina guided her flame across the length of first his right arm, then his left. Where once his arms had been riddled with decay, they now glowed with white light.

Pep smiled after the strange flames died. “Frog taught me that the only way to redeem your mistakes is with action. Will you come with us? Will you help save the town from Iris and Mu?”

“I am not yet ready to return,” Nagina replied. “To find your way home, you must simply cast a Return spell. All in contact will accompany you. Now, be gone…”

… Pep found himself standing on the island of sparkling stones. It was larger than he remembered. To his surprise, it was filled with creatures.

Frog hopped toward the base of the radiant tower and landed before him. “You’ve returned,” the toad said. “Did Nagina agree to send us home?”

Pep grinned. “Not quite. Everyone who is sent here loses their connection with magic. She restored mine and told me how to get back. Once we are home, everyone’s magic will return.” He surveyed the myriad of creatures congregated behind the spotted toad. “What are they all doing here, Frog?”

“What do think? I summoned them here. The presence of a human in this world did not go unnoticed. They’ve all been waiting for you. You were up there for quite a while.”  

“I don’t understand. What if I had failed?”

“I knew that you would succeed, boy,” Frog replied, voice filled with pride. “I believed in you.”

Pep’s smile broadened. “Let’s go home.”

*

Pep returned to the forest. He stared at the sun through the canopy of leaves and admired the white clouds dancing across the blue sky. Frog stood at his side as the other animals disbursed, returning the once-silent forest to its instinctual lively state.

“Do you see it, boy?” Frog asked presently.

Pep turned to the toad and nodded. Ahead, the sky was stained black. Smoke. “That’s in the direction of the town. How long do you think we were in the world with the orange sky?”

“Far too long.” Frog lowered his head. “Let us hurry. We have a lot of ground to cover.”

Pep hesitated. “I don’t understand. Why would you want to help the town? Why help the people who banished you … who banished all the other creatures?”

It was different voice that responded. “Because we need to prove that animals and humans can live in harmony. If Mu has aligned with a human, then so must we!”

“Snail!” Pep bent down and picked up the tiny creature by its shell. When he looked up, he discovered the clearing was once again filled with animals. Where he had thought the banished creatures had fled, they had instead returned with their kin.

A towering stag approached and bowed his head. “Once animals and humans lived in harmony. We believe that balance can be restored. Your actions have inspired us, human boy.”

“Do any of you have eyes on the town?” Frog asked.

From a tree, a colorful bird spoke. “The humans battle against Mu. They will soon be defeated.”

“More than just Mu!” another bird chimed in. “Many creatures have joined the side of the great snake and seek vengeance upon the humans!”

The stag spoke once again. “Mu must be stopped. The others are only misguided.”

“The boy and I will take care of Mu,” Frog replied. “The rest of you convince the others of the error in their ways. Now go! We will be right behind you!”

Pep waited to speak until the other animals had left the clearing. “What about Iris? I don’t stand a chance against her.”

“There is a stop we must make before going to the town.”

*

A cloud of dirt rose into the warm air as Frog landed before the Northern Temple. The ancient structure remained unchanged from when Pep had first seen it. Vines and flowers covered its walls and high towers, obscuring the human and animal figures painted beneath. A field of flowers occupied the golden dome that served as its roof.

Here, the forest was silent.

“I don’t like this place, Frog,” Pep whispered, skirmishing against dark memories.

The giant toad grunted. “In order to overcome your fears, you must face them.” He hopped toward the entrance. “Follow me.”

Cautiously, Pep entered the temple. The interior of the structure was in utter disarray. The ground was blackened, and a harsh burning smell filled the air. Frog moved toward the central chamber’s far end where the old stage had been broken beyond repair.

“Come closer,” Frog instructed. “Conquer your fear.”

Pep slowly walked forward to stand beside the giant toad.

“What do you see, boy?”

Scratching his head, Pep examined the ruined platform. He saw himself seated upon a chair, darkness creeping down his numb arms. Then, he remembered the sublime feel of the dragonfire and the words of the majestic creature atop the tower.

Pep saw the truth. Sinister magic hung like a veil over the stage.

“It’s an illusion,” he said.

Frog hummed. “Your former Master is trapped beneath the ground in a cocoon of magic. We need to free him and quickly. He will help us combat Iris.”

Pep approached the stage bearing a genuine smile. “I know just the spell to free him!”

Six

Master Jol sat outside the Northern Temple, drinking water collected from a nearby stream. The old man’s robes were in shambles. His unruly gray hair made it appear as if a furry animal had taken up residence upon his head.

Pep observed his former teacher in silence. Whenever Master Jol looked his way, he diverted his eyes to his hands, ensuring there were no repercussions from the cantrip he had used to set the old man free. Pep had modified the spell Iris had taught him, evoking what he had learned in school to replace elements of dark magic with those of light.

At last, Master Jol spoke. “I am sorry that I did not believe you, Pep. After you disappeared, Damien came forward and revealed that he had bullied you with magic.”

“I’m sorry as well,” Pep replied grimly. “Iris tricked me.”

To his surprise, the old man laughed. “She is a cunning woman. But you have shown some cunning of your own by turning her spell to our benefit. Not to mention that you have escaped the world of the banished. I did not know that was possible. When Iris successfully exchanged you and imprisoned me, I thought that all was lost.”

“This is far from over, elder human,” Frog interjected in his low voice. Master Jol didn’t seem surprised that the toad could speak. “Iris and Mu are attempting to take over the town, perhaps to destroy it. We need your help to stop them.”

“Mu? Is that truly who she exchanged Pep for?”

“We don’t have time for this!”

Master Jol stood and knocked dirt from his robes. “How do you plan to defeat Mu? I’m certain you remember how many of us it took the first time.”

The first time? Pep wondered. He didn’t have the chance to ask his question aloud.

Frog bellowed an indecipherable spell, then extended his long and pink tongue. Smoke briefly filled the air then vanished to reveal a glimmering sword in his mouth. “I will cut off the head of the snake. That is the only way to end this.”

“Still, it may not be enough,” Master Jol remarked. “If I may offer some assistance.”

Frog croaked in agreement.

The old man extended his hands in the direction of the toad and shouted a single archaic word. Pep watched in fascination as both toad and sword doubled in size.

“You’re nearly as big as the Northern Temple!” Pep exclaimed.

“Both of you climb aboard. We can only hope that we are not too late…”

*

Black smoke hung like fog over the town. Frog left little time for Pep to speak between jumps, let alone inquire about the peculiar words of Master Jol. It was now clear to Pep that the giant toad and the old man knew each other, that they had previously worked together in some capacity. Unfortunately, the seismic leaps of the magically-enhanced toad denied all opportunity for conversation.

The town gate lay upon the road in defeat. The walls to either side were damaged and bore the black kiss of flame. A score of armored soldiers and animals were scattered to either side of the threshold. It took Pep a moment to comprehend that they were dead.

Pep bared his teeth as images from the night of his parents’ death resurfaced. He saw the broken wagon upon the forest road. The trails of blood leading deeper into the wood. He remembered something holding him in place, then running away in the opposite direction. He remembered–

Frog’s voice forced him back to the present. “Where is she, elder human?”

“I sense dark magic at the center of the town.”

“It’s … the same spell,” Pep added softly. “The same spell used to imprison you.”

“Meaning Iris wants everyone to suffer as she did,” Master Jol replied. “I sense no resistance, meaning she has likely succeeded in doing just that.”

“Hold tight!” Frog commanded an instant before leaping into the air once again.

*

Frog landed just outside the town square. The stone structures enclosing the gathering place stood like defeated sentries. Broken glass and blood covered the cobbled ground. However, there were no corpses. A single creature occupied the open space ahead.   

Mu was gigantic. A black snake as large as the magically-enhanced toad. The nightmarish creature expanded his midnight hood in challenge as his crimson eyes settled upon the new arrivals. Venom fell like rain from his fangs, each drop hissing upon contact with the stone.

Iris appeared as Pep remembered her, a slender woman with a worn face and white hair. Her figure had managed to regain some semblance of life since he had last seen her, and her rags had been replaced by a dark dress.

At a call from Mu, the woman leaped into the air and landed atop the snake’s angled head.

“I see that you have returned, Pep,” Iris smirked. “And that you have freed your Master.”

Master Jol responded. “Surrender now, Iris. I do not wish to kill you. This will go much the same as your first attempt to destroy the town.”

“You are mistaken, dearest Jol. The first time I underestimated those who lived here. I believed that summoning the dead would be enough. Obviously, I was wrong. The dead are worthless as they cannot use magic.” Iris raised her hand. “Mu, however, can!”

A missile of light launched from the mouth of the great snake.

Frog reacted swiftly, parting the spell with his sword. Fresh smoke filled the square.   

“Still believe you can take him?” Jol asked the giant toad.

“I have no doubt, elder human,” Frog replied. “Divide and conquer.”

Pep sought clarity from the older man beside him, only to watch Jol disappear in a flash of light. He looked across the square in time to see Jol emerge atop Mu, grab Iris by the arm, and disappear once again.

“That’s right, old friend,” Frog croaked. “At last, we get to finish what we started.”

“Do not think that I will make the same mistake twice, toad,” Mu replied in a deafening whisper. “And you, boy. Don’t think that I have forgotten you. I suppose one must truly eliminate all traces of the past in order to move forward.”

Pep frowned. “What do you mean?”

“You are a true rarity. A meal I did not have the opportunity to finish!”

Shadows broke from the surrounding buildings and propelled Mu forward.

At last, Pep remembered. He had seen the red eyes of the snake once before, as magic snared his parent’s wagon. Terrified, he had watched the snake collect first his parents, then the horses. It had seemed that time itself had frozen. Somehow, Pep had managed to free himself from Mu’s spell and run into the forest in search of safety.

Frog leapt gracefully over the charging snake, his blade clipping Mu’s spotted hood. The toad landed with a grunt and deflected an incoming spell with another swing of his sword.

“You killed them!” Pep screamed at Mu, suddenly enraged. “Everything that has happened to me is your fault!”

“Easy, boy,” Frog cautioned as the two massive creatures stared at one another. The ground beneath them rumbled, and wind rushed through the square. In the distance, a pair of powerful spells collided. “Mu is not a foe who is easily beaten. We can vanquish him together, but you must not become emotional. Strike his eyes when I give the signal.”

Pep didn’t listen to Frog. As the creatures came together in a clash of fangs and steel, he leaped from the back of the toad and summoned fire to his hands. With a wild scream, he propelled himself toward the mouth of the great snake and unleashed his attack.

Mu moved faster than seemed possible, avoiding Pep’s spells and guiding his black tail like a whip through the air. In that instant, Pep saw his death, a blow that would send his body to break against the wall of one the nearby buildings. He realized that Frog had been right, that he should not have acted in anger.

That was how all of this started. I let my emotions get the best of me…

Then, Frog was there. The tail of the snake caught the great toad in the chest a heartbeat after he wrapped Pep’s body with his tongue and secured him within his mouth.

Pep cringed at the force of the ensuing blow. Seconds later, he fell from Frog’s mouth and scurried to his feet.

“Frog…” Pep stuttered. The toad had destroyed the entryway of the town hall. Rubble covered his spotted body. He did not move.

Pep turned and found Mu before him, fangs glistening with venom.

“You should have listened to him,” the snake cackled. “To think, the Lord of the Toads would sacrifice himself to save a pathetic boy!”

Pep stepped forward, calling forth fire once again. “I won’t let you hurt him!”

The great snake was unfazed as flames assaulted his figure. “Is that your only form of attack?” Mu turned his head to where the fighting continued between Iris and Master Jol. “It is clear that you are only an ordinary boy after all. How did you ever manage to free yourself from my hypnosis with such unrefined skill?”

In response, Pep renewed his assault.

This time, the flames passed through the body of the snake. Pep watched helplessly as the creature cast an incomprehensible spell, and the flames he had sent forth combined into a sphere of black fire.

Mu hissed in surprise as the ball of magic rose to eye level. “This magic … this is not something humans are supposed to be able to–”

An ear-splitting roar silenced the great snake. Before Pep could discern its source, Mu launched the ball of flame skyward.

White light tore open the cloudy sky.

Nagina streaked downward, rainbow wings folded close to her long body. She spun away from Mu’s attack, opened her jaw, and unleashed a sublime torrent of flame.

Pep acted quickly, summoning a defensive shell around himself and Frog, then turned away as dragonfire engulfed the nightmarish snake.

When Pep looked again upon the square, Nagina had pinned Mu beneath her claws. The glorious dragon observed him with radiant eyes.

“You continue to amaze me, boy,” the dragon said in her smooth voice. “The ability to summon dragonfire is a rare feat for a human.”

Pep looked at his hands in disbelief. Dragonfire…

“Nagina,” Frog croaked weakly. The toad shook the rubble from his body and regained his footing. He had returned to his normal size. “Why are you here?”

“To rectify a mistake,” the dragon replied. “You have taught the boy well.”

“And nearly gotten killed for my troubles!”

Nagina smiled. “Take comfort in the fact that this fight is over. I will return Mu to his prison. I leave the rest to both of you…”

The glowing dragon and the black snake disappeared in a flash of light.

“Sorry for not listening to you, Frog,” Pep said. “I let my emotions get the better of me.”

“I already told you that I have no desire for apologies. Mistakes must be answered with action.” Frog sighed. “Let’s see how the old man fared.”

*

Pep and Frog found Master Jol and a dozen other of the town’s residents standing in a circle. In its center, Iris hung in a cage of magic. The white-haired woman regarded the boy with spite.   

Master Jol excused himself from the collaborative spell and approached the giant toad. “Mu?”

“Finished,” Frog replied bluntly.

“Then it seems your work here is done. Thank the other animals for us.”

Frog hummed. “Thank them yourselves. It is up to you humans to repair what has been broken. It was not animals who banished humans to another realm.”

Jol bowed his head. “Then allow me to apologize to you first, Lord Toad.”

Frog closed his eyes and nodded. “A good start.”

“Well, Pep,” Jol said, looking up at the boy perched atop the giant toad. “Would you like to help us cast the spell to imprison Iris? You do have ample experience with its unique structure.”

Pep shook his head.

“Then I suppose I will see you at school first thing tomorrow.”

Pep grinned. “Frog is my teacher now.”

“Frog?”

“Humans can’t pronounce his name,” Pep explained.

“This creature … can’t be your master,” Jol managed. Color flooded his wrinkled face. “You must learn to control your gift! Only I can teach you to do that!”

“You’re questioning my abilities?” Frog asked sharply.

“Well … yes. I mean…”

“And to think I believed your apology sincere. Prepare yourself, boy. We’re leaving.”

Pep waved. “Bye, Master Jol. Perhaps we will meet again someday.”

“You will not leave this town!” the old man shouted. “I will not permit–” Pep grinned as Frog leapt into the air.

THE END