Three to rule. Or so I try

Note: Continuation of poem "One to Live. Two to Die"

Again we meet, inside your dream
Your loneliness has summoned me.
I'm here to stay, and this you know
Though dawn may come I will not go.
I'm at your side forevermore
You've called me here, beyond death's door.

You’ve tried to live as best you could
You’ve loved them all. I knew you would
But still they lied and cut you deep
I've watched you cry, while you sleep
But here I am forevermore.
You've called me here, beyond death's door.

This life I gave was not enough
This world of strife is far too rough.
It shall not see another dawn
When you wake, it will be gone.
And at your side forevermore
We shall rule, beyond death’s door.

Yet still your soul is shining bright
I feel the warmth, the brilliant light.
Through your eyes, you see no wrong
Although the darkness is so long.
You’d leave my side forevermore.
If I end this world, beyond death’s door.

And through your eyes I finally see
What once was lost, return to me.
You know the world is good at heart
The pain you’ve felt is but a part
You’ll love this world forevermore.
You love this world, beyond death’s door.

And so this world shall keep its state
Untouched by me, a hidden fate.
And we shall live as mortals do
Live as if our years were few.
But we shall live forevermore
You and me, beyond death’s door.

One to live. Two to die.

Through death's doors you walk alone.
While I rule, a throne of bone.
A life so short and oh so sweet.
Far to soon for us to meet.
But here you are. A head held high
For me to judge, or so I try.

The joys you've had were oh so rare
All alone, with none to share.
Such pain you’ve felt, it’s clear to me
That this death, has set you free.
Yet here you stand, head held high.
For me to judge, or so I try.

If you could, what would you do

Tear it down and start a new?

Would you set the world in flame

Or let it live, despite the pain.

Here you stand, head held high.
I ask you judge, and so you try.

No no no. This should not be.
So much undone, so much to see.
I fear your light, a shining soul
Is doomed to darkness, this I know.
But here you stand. A head held high
My place to judge, but will not try.

Eyes so pure and heart so free.
You've known such things long dead to me.
My love is lost, my heart is black
These things and more, I truly lack
My throne is cold and oh so high
I've been judged, and yet you cry.

Your fate I rule, but I refuse
So much to gain, so much to lose.
So now I grant, a brand new life.
For you to live, that place of strife.
We'll judge the world. To live or die.
When next we meet. You and I.

Not on my watch

Light flakes of snow drifted through the evening air. Standing on the edge of a low cliff, a tall cloaked figure stared across an open field at a small manor overlooking the nearby town. With the sun setting to his right, bathing the sky in a deep red glow, the man turned to find a safe route down when a motion in the fields below caught his eye.

Someone, a man ill dressed for the cold, burst out from the tree line heading towards the town. Before he could make it more than a dozen yards an arrow shot from the woods, piercing his leg. Seconds later a half dozen other men casually emerged from the woods brandishing swords and axes. With a sigh and a quiet curse, the cloaked figure leapt off the side of the cliff, slid more than 20ft down a near vertical rock face and took off through the woods.

Gerald lay face down in the snow, panting. He could hear the crunch of snow behind him as someone approached. Desperately Gerald pushed himself up, trying to get to his knees, to get up and run. But before he could lift himself more than a few inches a heavy boot slammed into his back, blasting the breath from his lungs.

“Gave us chase there lad” said the man standing on Gerald’s back. “Name be Breck, and I be executioner tonight. But first, we got questions.”

Gerald gasped for breathe as Breck took his weight of Gerald’s back. “What. What do you want?”

“Tell us about old man in manor” said Breck, kneeling beside Gerald’s head. “You give good answer. Quick death. Throat slit. Nice and clean. Yes? Give bad answer.” Breck shook his head. “You not want that. I not want that. No one want that. So give good answer.”

Gerald franticly looked twisted his head, looking for some way out. But all he saw was Breck and the five grim faced men surrounding him. “I don’t know anything about the old man” he cried. “I’m just passing through! Honest!!”

Breck lowered his head and sighed. “That not good answer. Why you make me do this?” Breck asked, standing. “I not bad man. I good man.” Said Breck, as he plunged his sword into Gerald’s shoulder. Gerald screams, tensing with pain, but Beck continues as if he didn’t notice. “But old man make people angry. Powerful people. People who ask Breck to make old man go away.” With a sharp jerk Breck twisted the blade, sending fiery jolts of pain trough Gerald. “And these people. When they ask, you do.”

As Gerald desperately pleaded, trying to convince Breck that he knew nothing about the old man, the cloaked figure crept behind one of the outline bandits. In a single quick motion the cloaked figure grabbed the man’s hair and brought a long knife up to the man’s neck. “I shall give you a single chance to explain your actions” the cloaked man called out.

Breck looked up from Gerald. Squinting, he took a look around the field. Not seeing anyone besides the tall cloaked figure, Breck shrugged. “He alone. Kill him.”

“So be it” the cloak man muttered, slitting the captured bandit’s throat.

The four men charged, yelling at the top of their lungs and weapons held high. Breck turned back to Gerald, ready to continue questioning poor Gerald, but stopped as the field went suddenly quiet. Confused, Breck pulled his sword out of Gerald’s back as he turned again to face the cloaked man.

“Huh” managed Breck before a knife entered his skull, collapsing to join the four other warriors at the cloaked man’s feet.

Gerald groaned, barely conscious, as the cloaked figured carefully lifted him up. Breathing heavily, Gerald couldn’t make out the face under the cloak. “Who are you” he managed, his breathing short and laboured.

“Priest”, the cloaked man replied.

“Priest of what?” he tried to ask, but the siren call of sleep proved irresistible.

Off in the distance, the sounds of barking dogs could be heard. Priest smiled. At least the old man sent some sleds. Now, time to find out what the old man had called him for.

And then there was two

Crow perched on a small outcropping high in the torch lit cave, and smiled. Wrapped in the black feathered cloak that gives him his name, Crow was invisible to those below. He loved the rush of power he felt, looking down over his slaves pressed tight in the cages. Wild, fearful, pleading eyes peered from the faces of every kind of race, watching as the guards made their rounds.

Humans, dwarves, elves and things he didn’t even know the name of. All creatures have worth, whether as servants, entertainment or food. Crow didn’t care what his men brought in. There was always a buyer.

A shout from one of the guards in the corner drew Crow’s attention. His men had managed to grab a young feline and its containment was proving difficult. Brutally cunning fighters and incredibly stubborn, a properly broken feline can fetch a huge sum as a prized pet among certain noble classes. As difficult as it is to get a child away from its tribe, they were well worth the effort. Crow had lucked out with this one. Its tribe had faced a brutal winter, loosing most of its members during a extensive cold snap. Weakened as they were, his men were easily able to dispatch the few remaining tribe members. It was a shame the two other children didn’t survive. They were worth only a fraction as much as meat.

Leaning in to get a better look, Crow reached back to grab the rope he used to climb up for support. But instead of rough, thick rope, his fingers wrapped around smooth, cold chain. With a start, Crow let go and tried to spin around, but his foot slipped on the narrow ledge. Before he could even cry out, four ink black chains unfurled from the darkness above and wrapped tightly around him.

Crow tried to scream for help as a small, thin, naked man dropped from the darkness onto the ledge, but the chains had crushed all air from his lungs. He couldn’t move, scream, or even breathe.

The small man sat there hunched, staring at him, as Crow had stared at the slaves. The man’s pale skin was stretched tight over his ribs; his long dark hair was thin and greasy and reaching out from behind his back were six long, oily black chains. But worst of all was the man’s eyes. Open wide, his eyes glinted with a hint of madness and burned with a fire from deep within.

Silently, a chain rose to between Crow and this terrifying man. At the end of the blade was a smooth blade, the light of the fires below glinting off its metal. “My church has fallen and so have you” said the man, as the blade slowly drifted over Crow’s heart.

Desperately, Crow tried to struggle, tried to break free. But it was no use. The chains would not budge, and his lungs burned from lack of air. With one quick motion the blade sunk into Crow’s heart. As his vision faded, Crow could hear the man’s final words. “Your soul has been weighed. Your life has been judged. They have been found wanting.”

Po looked at the cooling corpse for several minutes before lowering it onto the ledge behind him. The guards must die as well, for there was too much blood on their hands to be washed clean. But first, Po must find the young feline. Before she died, Po promised the mother that he would save the child, and Priest would not forgive Po breaking such a promise.

First Priest of the Church of Retribution

It was a late night in a small tavern in a small town. The bartender was chatting with a patron. The kitchen busy cleaning the pots and grills. The dozen or so patrons relaxing after a long day. It was a night like most others, quiet but welcoming, in strutted a finely dressed man surrounded by six guards. At once, conversation stopped and an air of resignation filled the room.

"Mmmmhmmm. Mighty fine place you have here Roberts. Such a . . . quaint place."

"My lord Hendricks" sputtered Robert, scurrying out from behind the bar. "What brings you to humble tavern?"

"Oh, me and the gents were just returning from the Morgan's farms. Seems they lied about how much livestock they raised. And after going through the unpleasant business of confiscating their food stocks I figured the boys could use a good hot bowl of stew."

"But sir, the maids just cleaned the pots. There's no stew left."

"Well then, make some more. Lads, throw some tables together!"

Robert stated blankly as the guards dragged several of the patrons out of their chairs and swept the plates onto the floor. "But sir! The maids are tired!" Robert cried. "You can't. ."

With a loud crack Robert stumbled backwards, reeling from the the lords mailed back hand. Blinking, he staggered, tasting blood and feeling a sharp pain in his jaw. "Do not tell your lord what he can and can not do" lord Hendrick said with a snort. With a look of utter contempt he took in the shocked faces of the peasants. "I think we shall dine alone tonight."

Slowly Robert bowed, trying not to loose his balance. As the patrons carefully made their way around the guards to the door the kitchen staff, having seen everything, began preparing the kitchen once again. "As you wish." He said.

Within moments, the tavern was cleared of everyone save lord Hendrick, Robert, and hooded man in a back corner calmly eating his bowl of soup. While Robert was trying to remember who the poor fool was, a guard strolled up to the old man's table. "Dinners over drudge."

"Not done soup." replied the man, in a frail, quiet voice.

"Oh yes you are" said the guard, sweeping the bowl of soup onto the man's lap. At least, thats what the guard tried to do. Instead, without realizing how it happened, the guard was on his knees, screaming in pain as the man wrenched back a finger with his right hand. The hand that was holding the soup spoon. Calmly, the man continued eating, now with his left hand.

As the other guards rushed forward, the man released his grip. Gasping, he got to his feet, the other guards raising their swords to the sitting man.

"Wasting foods a sin." The man replied, calmly. "You aren't a sinner. Are you?"

The guards shifted their, looking between themselves. The subtle shift in the mans voice coupled with his perfect calmness signaled that primitive part of their brains that all men who fight, and survive, learn to listen to. And it was saying "DON'T SAY YES!!!!"

"What are you doing?" blustered lord Hendrick, far to slow to catch on. When the guards didn't answer, still unsure how to react, lord Hendrick shoved his way through his men, face redder and redder.

"What is the meaning of this! Do you have any idea who I am? Are you even listening to me?!?!"

*slurp*

Eyes bulging and face bright red, lord Hendrick pointed his finger at the man's temple. "Guards! Kill this. . . this. . . *gurgle*". A disbelieving hand shakily raising to the black pommeled knife protruding from his throat, lord Hendrick collapsed.

"Your life has been judged and found wanting." The man lowered his spoon into the empty bowl and stood. His body unfolded slowly and the guards had to look up into the face of this seven foot tall man. If indeed he could be called a man. His pale gaunt face framed was by his long grey hair. The man had a filthy grey, blood soaked bandage wrapped over his eyes, but still looked directly into the face of each of the guards.

Wordlessly he stepped over the fresh corpse, the guards stepped aside and quickly lowered their eyes and weapons. They'd all heard the stories. They knew they lived or died by this mans whim.

As the man walked by Robert, broken jaw slack, he dropped a heavy bag on the table. "Good soup."

The guards watched the man's back as he left, not one making a move for the throwing dagger at their belt. No one would strike a priest of the fallen church. Not even in the back.

What if you missed?

Beyond

The world is so small, so far away. The sun just another star in the endless black.

It's getting harder to breathe, precious air escaping through dozens of tiny holes. Small red droplets of blood drifting through the cabin, my partner motionless in front of me. I close my eyes, welcoming the coming darkness. I close my eyes and dream of those I left behind.

A weird dream

The alarm screeched angrily. With a groan, Jake lurched onto his side and bashed the clock a few times before silencing the infernal thing. Groggily, he gets up and looks out the window into blackness. Dark in the morning. Dark at night. Jake hates winter. Blinking the sleep from his eyes, the memories of last nights dream fade. It was weird, he remembers. Or at least, he remembers remembering it was weird.

Jake is in the kitchen. The cereal is stale and the milk is a little lumpy, but he doesn't notice. He hasn't noticed in a long time. The paper is on the table. The headlines proclaiming the rhinos declare war on the squids. Jake blinks and looks again. Thats not right. The pumas should do something about that.

The subway platform is crowded. It is always crowded. The great wurms traveling through there tunnels with a roar. As Jake's connection comes he and a score of others step to the edge of the platform. Almost as one, they step off the edge and are consumed by the gaping maw of the wurm as it speeds past, ground between its hundreds of gnashing teeth.

The alarm screeches angrily. With a groan, Jake lurched onto his side and bashed the clock a few times, narrowly missing its razor sharp teeth, before silencing the damn thing. He had a weird dream last night. Something happened.

The shower water is cold again. Its always cold in winter. Jake hates winter. But, today is important and he needs to be presentable, so he braves the frigid waters.

The streets are crowded again. Everyone racing around. The light flurries of snow are ground into a brown mush beneath the dozen feet of the giant insects battling down the narrow streets. Joining the mindless march of the hundreds of other people, Jake files down the sidewalks. The lights ahead are red, the insects shuffling, trying to get closer to the front. As a whole, the crowd of people file into the center of the intersection. When all that can fit are within the white lines, the lights turn green, the insects rush forward and the sound jaws grinding bones echoes through the streets.

The alarm screeched angrily. With a groan, Jake lurched onto his side and bashed the clock a few times before silencing the infernal thing. He remembers a dream. It was a weird dream. He had a friends. A family. Happiness. Jake shakes his head, banishing the weird dream from his mind and gets ready for the daily grind.

The end of one. . .

His body grows cold in my hands. I hold him close, eyes closed tight. Afraid to let go. Afraid to loose whats already lost. Slowly, his body lightens, begins to fade. No! You can't leave! Please! Don't leave!!! Please. Please. I don't want to be alone.

Its gone. Its all gone and I'm alone again. I pull my legs in tight, bury my face in my arms. I can feel the warmth of my legs against my chest, the icy cold of the void on my back, the horrible tight pain around my heart.

Alone I drift. I don't want to sleep. To dream. To see my love in my mind again, only to have him ripped away from my when I wake, wrenching open wounds anew. But I do, and it hurts.

Time passes. I have no way of knowing how much. But as it does, the pain and loss become a part of me. Slowly, reluctantly, I lift my head from my arms and stare into the void.

I try and remember the world as it was. The city, the streets, my home, my life. I try and return world as it was, but I can't. The skys are always dark. The cities grey and colorless. The people listless, empty husks.

Remeber the good times. Remember the love, the joy, the wonder. I force myself to see teh color. The sky will be blue. The night will come but dawn will follow. I make the world live again. But still, the people are husks. The spark that fuels the horrors and beauties of the world is gone. They are all as dead as I feel.

I let it all fade. I return to the comforting familiartity of the void, and remember. Our, my, wedding photos are before me. The are as brittle as burnt paper, falling to ash with the slightest touch, as fragile as my memories.

I remember our annaversary. I hold a frame in my hand. The once brilliant frame now rusted, tarnished, but the picture within is clear. We are together on the beach, the sun setting before us. I remember that night so clearly. The words he said. The truth of who he was, of what he suffered and why he chose the mortal coil.

I close my eyes, and remember words that were never said. I remember the things he wanted to say but couldn't. I remember the love he had lost. I remember the woman he lost so very long ago. I remember the loneliness and the suffering. I remember the eternities that he waited for her to return.

My eyes open to the void. I will find you again my love, but until that day I will be strong. With the surety of one who has seen eternity I speak into the void. Let there be light.

But what if it doesn't?

A groan escapes my lips. So tired. So cold. There are people around me. Lights. Sirens. Someone is yelling. A man, kneeling over me. A mask to my mouth. What is happening? Where am I? Birthday. My sons birthday. Forgot the candles. Was coming back from the store when. . . did I get hit?

The man, the paramedic? He's saying something. To someone. Can't think. So tired. So sore. Just want to sleep. Just for a minute. Darkness. Quiet.

My eyes open. I can see more clearly now. I shudder. No, not me. The bed. Yes, I'm on a bed. It's moving. There are people around me still. They look confused. Someone is getting up. A woman says something. A question. "What happened?" A man, he's getting up. A bruise on his head. He fell? He looks at me, confused. "We were at a hit and run. He" the man nods at me "suffered a concussion. Shatter glass deep in his chest. Was trying to keep him conscious and then, then . ." he trails off.

The others look around at each other. One says he was on his way to work. Another said she was having lunch, then heard a page. The woman, the first, shakes her head. Says she remembers, sort off. I start to move again.

My eyes are heavy. I want to say something, but can only groan. My vision blurs. Someone, the man who fell, shouts something. Stay with him. Stay awake. Awake. Why? I'm tired. Just let me sleep.

My eyes open again. There is a pain in my chest. People are around me. Doctors. Nurses. They have blood on their hands. They stand still, dazed for a few seconds. The doctor recovers first. Why does he sound nervous? Something about too deep. Can't do anything. Whats to deep? My son. Its his birthday. I grab his arm. I tell him I have to go. Can't be late. Need the candles.

At least, I try to. I cough. Something wet. Tastes like iron. A nurse wipes my mouth. The cloth comes away red. The people leave. All but one. She begins to clean. She doesn't look at me.

I stare at the ceiling. I try to think, but its so hard. Something is wrong. The world blurs. People come talk, and leave. I'm moved. More people come. My hand is held. Someone is saying something. Someone important. I see the face. She's sad. There is a boy. My heart aches, but why? I reach. My arm trembles. My vision blurs. I want to sleep. It grows dark. Sleep. I want to sleep. I want to. . NO!!!

I force my eyes open. I force my self to see. The woman, my wife, my love, my world, on my left. On my right my son, my. . . My son? Where is my son? My heart races. The pain in my head explodes. Where is he? No! No no no!!!!

My eyes sting. I have to get up. I have to see him. I have to see. . . someone. I feel hands on my head. Steadying me. I see eyes. Bright, clear green eyes, rimmed with tears. The eyes of my love.

My breathing hurts. Its getting harder and harder to take each breath. She's saying words to me. The words are meaningless to me, but they are important. I can feel myself drifting away. I can feel the end, but I cling to the sound of her voice, the smell of her breathe.

The world is fading. There are screams from out side my room. The lights go dark. From the corner of my eye, through the door to my room, I see people running, the hallway crumbling into darkness. The walls of my room peel away. My love steps off the floor as it falls into darkness. I hold her in my sight, in my mind. I can feel all other thoughts fail, but I will not loose her.

My mind is gone, my body is gone, but my love is eternal. My last breath I give to her. My world will go on without me.

A diner by the mountain

The clock showed a quarter to two as Archie pulled a massive pan of roasting lamb out of the oven. The sky was lit with a thousand stars, the moon hidden behind the sleeping mountain. Lazily, the bright neon lights of his diner flickered on. His father long since passed on, his sisters and brothers have all moved far afield, Archie felt a pang of loneliness in his heart.

With the quiet smoothness that spoke of a ritual performed countless times, Archie began preparing for his guests. A massive wooden table slid out of a narrow closet in the wall, the legs held tightly to the bottom, easily unclasped and folded out. He remembered installing the system with his father when he was twelve, reducing the hour long struggle to get the table placed to mere minutes.

The table set, Archie surrounded it with seven chairs. Unlike the ancient oak, the chairs were new. Made of light steel and thickly cushioned. Archie still got nauseous thinking about how one of the ancient solid oak chairs was smashed to splinters during an argument. When the anger had subsided, all he had was a newer stool to offer to the now seatless guest. The next morning he received a letter requesting similar seating for the other six.

The seats set, Archie placed seven deep bowls and seven large plates. The plates were nothing more than smooth stone. The bowls were yellowed and crack. Archie suspected they were skulls, but tried not to dwell on whose. The bowls he filed with dark, rich mead. The plates he piled high with roast lamb and seasoned potatoes. The spices were running low. He didn’t know what to do when they ran out.

The clock struck two and the doors opened without a sound. Seven large men entered, their faces black with ash and dressed in thick raw leathers. Some had great beards as thick as a hedge while others had not a hair on their heads, but all had sharp grey eyes and aged faces. Archie recognized all the men from the Sunday before, all but one.

Without a glance in Archie’s direction the seven sat themselves and began to eat. They ate more than any man should be capable, and while they ate they talked. As Archie moved to keep the plates and bowls full, he would listen. He’d listen as the men complained and gossiped about the fires of the mountain they tend. Of the arms and armour they forged. Of the gods and demons that requested their work. Of the woman that stole their heart.

For the full of the night the twelve men feasted and gossiped, until an hour before dawn. Slowly, the conversation ceased, until utter silence filled the diner. Then, the one Archie did not recognize stood. He raised his bowl and said something in a harsh language Archie didn’t understand, but knew by heart. Always when one was replaced, the new one would say the prayer, the words echoing in Archie down to his core.

Then, as the abruptly as they arrived, they would leave. As Archie held the door for the last man, he looked Archie in the eye. “You do your family proud Archie White, and we are grateful. May you find a woman to take your heart, as your ancestor took ours.”

The thing about Jack

Jack stared into the small spitting flames of the campfire, poking it with a long stick. The woman Jack called Mom was adding spices to a small pot hanging over the flames. The man Jack called father was playing some soft melodies on his flute.
He could hear the other children of the caravan playing in the night. The laughter from the other families drifting over from their fires.

"Jack" the woman says, concern in her voice, "why don't you go play? Gwen has been calling for you."

The man puts down his flute and smiles. "Why, if I didn't know better, I might say she fancies you boy" he says, trying to get some response out of Jack. But Jack doesn't move or speak. Jack just stares into the fire, eyes lowered. The man and women look at each other and go back to their tasks, hoping Jack will tell them whats wrong when he's ready.

A small part of Jack's mind feels guilt over shutting out his family. A small part feels awkward about Gwen, not willing to admit that Jack likes her too. But that small part is ignored, overwhelmed by the darkness that is enveloping Jack's mind.

The thoughts in his mind are not his own. They started out on his 13th birthday. Mere whispers on the wind to faint to understand. Now, they fill his mind, threatening to consume his. Their words are alien to Jack, incomprehensible. It's all Jack can do to keep his sens of self separate from the darkness. But what scares Jack more then anything, is the strange desire to let go. To surrender himself to the voices.

Lost in his own mind Jack did not hear the first scream. Only faintly did he register the man and woman jump to their feet. It was only with the screams that followed, with the man running off and the woman pulling Jack to his feet did he come out of his world and into this one.

Blinking, it took Jack a few seconds to understand that the woman was trying to usher him into the small covered wagon that was their home. Before they could move more then a few feet the women shuddered, her eyes going wide as the tip of a sword, glittering red came through her chest. Jack watched her fall to her knees. He listened to her final words "run" as she collapsed forward. Behind her a soldier. Armor dull and muddied, eyes grim and focused.

The man had killed the woman had called Jack had called mother for 13 years. The man had killed his mother. Jack's eyes came back into focus. He finally took in what his eyes and ears had been telling him. All around there were soldiers from the nearby town, slaughtering his friends and family. All around, the people he grew up with were dying.

Jack stood there, stiff as a statue as the soldier pulled his blade out of Jack's mother's corpse. Frozen, tears running down his cheeks, Jack could do nothing as the soldier took a step closer and raised his sword to strike. At the last moment someone to the soldiers left yelled. He looked up, and just managed to block a blow from his father's flute. Although taken by surprise, the soldier smoothly countered, gutting his father like a fish. His trance broken, Jack ran.

Jack ran from the death and screams. He ran until he couldn't breathe. Until he couldn't hear anything but the sound of his heart pumping in his ears. He ran until he collapsed and lay there, curled up on the ground, weeping. His mother, his father, everyone was dead. He was all alone.

Jack lay there as the night darkened, as the air cooled. Lost in his sorrow, Jack didn't hear the whisper at first. Blinking, he look up. The night was dark. Darker then it should be. He could see the moon above the trees but it might as well not have existed.

And he heard it again. A whisper like the voices in his head, but this time he understood it. It was his name. Jack shook his head, but he heard it again. The whisper, and not in his mind, but all around him.

"Jack. We've felt your call Jack. We've felt your pain. We're here Jack, we've always been here. Accept us Jack."

Jack blinked, his tears drying. He could feel the presence in his mind growing, pacing, waiting. He could feel a desire, a hunger. He could feel the concern within the darkness. Concern, for him.

"Who are you?" Jack whispered. "What are you?"

"We are your mother and father, your sons and daughters, brothers and sisters. We are you Jack. We've been kept away for so long Jack. Lost and alone, but no more. No more Jack. Accept us Jack, and we will be yours forever. Accept us and together, we will punish though who have hurt us."

Jack closed his eyes tight. His mother and father, gone. He felt the deep pit of sadness in him. He felt the gaping hole in his heart where his family was, and he asked the darkness to fill it.

Inspiring Meal

Mabel leaned back in her chair in a small club. A local band was playing to a packed crowd, the rhythmic rise and fall of the dancing kids and the sickly sweet sent of sweat and beer soothing her nerves. Throughout the throng she could pick out a couple blood suckers, hunting for their next meal. They were always so easy to spot, so stale and bland. Week old bread surrounded by a sea of delights.

One of the leeches started to make its way towards her, flashing what he no doubt thought was an irresistible smile. Rolling her eyes, Mabel tried to not to look at him, hoping he'd take the hint. He didn't

Seating himself next to her, he licked his lips. "Hey sweet thing. Whats a young doll like yourself doing in a place like this?"

With a sigh, Mabel looked him in his cold dead eyes. She could feel a flash of emotion well within her as he tried to enslave her mind. Feelings of lust and devotion grew, and were consumed. "You're new around here aren't you whelp?"

With a start, the boy sat back, confidence draining. This was a mortal he was staring at, no more then 20 years old. He could smell the her blood, her sweat. And yet she stared at him with sharp clear eyes, unclouded despite his power. "Who you calling a whelp?" he challenged, a distinctive edge of anger in his voice mixed with a hint of uncertainty. Her laughter, both so dismissive and full of delight only fed his rage.

If she has to deal with these things, at least she could enjoy it. She could feel the heat of his anger, the sharp taste of his indignation, and almost felt pity for the fool. If it was this easy to push his buttons, he wouldn't last long.

A smile on her lips, Mabel leaned forward. "Look princess, there hasn't been any talent this good in a while. Now normally I'd have no problem sucking you dry and leaving you as an empty husk, but then I'd just ruin my dinner". Mabel turned and scanned the throng of people. Their young free minds were just drinking in the songs. Their imaginations, their thoughts, dreams and hopes were positively glowing thanks to the inspiring music. "And tonight, its going to be a feast."

As night follows day

The two sat at a table, morning twilight filtering through the window. With sandy blond hair and wearing a crisp white tuxedo, he looked down sadly at his coffee. Across the table, with a worried frown on her beautiful face, sat a woman with a sleek sparkling dress as black as her long straight hair.

The two would have looked smashing at a high class restaurant. They would have stolen the spot light at a dance. They would have fitted in many places, but not the run down long closed dinner they currently sat in.

"Sometimes I wonder whats the point. Its always the same. I show up, do my thing, and leave. You have any idea the last time anyone said thank you and actually meant it?" said the man. "Sometimes I think no one would even notice if I didn't even bother to show up".

"You know that isn't true you dolt" she said, putting her hand on his. A small smirk spreading across her face. "Besides, there is no way I'm pulling a triple shift."

Ignoring her attempt at humor, he took a sip of his coffee. "Its easy for you to be cheerful. You've got romance, mystery and horror in your work. I have plants. Big whoop."

The woman shook her head and sighed. She opened her mouth to say something, but a glace at her watch. "Crap! You're late! Sol is probably wonder where you are. Tell you what, I'll pop by later and cover you for a short while. You and Sol can go grab a beer okay?"

The man sighed and smiled a little. "Yeah, that would be nice". Getting up, he gazed out the window for a few moments before straitening his suit and walking out the door. As he crossed the threshold the woman closed her eyes against the glare of the sun cresting the horizon. When she opened her eyes the man was gone.

Reaching across the table for the cup of coffee, the woman stared out the window, cradling the mug in her hands. She loved her husband with all her heart and understood where he was coming from. Everyone worshiped the Sun, no one praised the Day.

Going to take a sip, she paused as the cup reached her lips. Sighing, she put it down. It was going to be a long day with out any sleep. "I can't believe I promised that man an eclipse! Oh he better appreciate this or I am gone." But she knew that was a lie. She would follow him anywhere as surely as Night follows Day. Draining the cup, Night stood up and stepped out into the growing light.

The brighter the light

The darkness was stifling. The cold damp air was stale and putrid, reeking of filth. Laying in the corner, gaunt and pale, was a lone old man. The shackled binding his wrists and ankles, once tight, now hung loosely. If he had cared the man could have slipped from them easily.

Pale white hair reached down to his knees. Anyone looking upon him would mistake him for a ghost, so pale was his skin. He'd been here so long he had forgot what the sun looked like, forgotten his own name. But one thing the old man would never forget, was why he was here.

His family had starved. All but one of his children had died the year before and his wife would not be long for the world. All around him the people were starving. They were dieing, while the in their palaces the lords and ladies grew fat on their sins. No one had the strength to fight. They were to busy trying to live one more day, or so they thought.

He was from far away. Some place no one asked. His clothes were fine and his voice was strong. Tanas was his name, or so the people said.

Crowds flocked to Tanas. They rallied around his call. "Rise up" he would say! The lords tried to put down the rebellion but as long as Tanas lived, he would raise the call of freedom.

It looked like they were going to win. Tanas had organized the leaders of the many local groups. They were going to plan it all out. The final push. But some one had betrayed them. The lords and their armies came forth in the night. The old man was there, he remembered that night more clearly then anything else. It looked liked they were trapped, but the old man saw a way. He managed to distract the lords, and give Tanas a chance to flee. The old man expected death. Instead, they locked him in this hole to rot.

"You won" said a voice. A voice the old man knew.
"Tanas? Is that you?"

"Soon, the cell doors will open, and after 45 years you will be free" said Tans, with almost a chuckle.

"Tanas! You came back! I knew you would! I knew as long as you lived there would be hope!"

A dim red light began to bathe the room. The old man blinked. His eyes taking several seconds to focus on the form before him. It was Tanas. It was the Tanas he remembered. Exactly as he remembered. Almost

"It is you! Oh thank the Lord! But, you haven't changed? You haven't aged a day!?"
Tanas looked down at the pitiful fool and smiled. "It took quite some work to keep them from just killing you. Some times, a martyr is needed. But for this one you were worth more alive."

Tanas crouched beside the dazed old man. The red light glinting off Tanas' wickedly sharp teeth. Small horns just peeking above his sharp dark hair. "Soon, they will fling the door open. You will be a hero and a new age will be ushered in. A age of peace."

"What? What are you talking about Tanas?" cried the old man. This is what he had lived for, so why was it all so wrong? "You are the hero! I followed you! We all followed you!"

Tanas through his head back and laughed. A deep laugh that shook the old man to his soul. "Me? Oh no it was all you! You called my name. You gave yourself to me, in exchange to see an age of peace. Peace for your children, for your grandchildren and so forth. Shame none of them survived."

"I. I. I don't understand!!" cried the old man, burying his head in his hands.

"Oh, but you do! You just wont admit it! Face it my old friend. You made a deal with the devil. You asked to see an age of peace, and you will."

Tanas stood up and spread his arms, looking up at the harsh stone ceiling. "The forces of good will prevail. Love and joy will spread across the land." Turning to the old man, with the cruelest smile on his face "And they will grow weak and content. An evil will descend and they will be swallowed by darkness. A darkness all the more horrifying for the knowledge of the light that was lost."

A Slight Miscalculation

Amy blinked, dazed and winded, as the crowds shuffled by her. The noise of the tightly packed traffic and the din of the people echoing off the skyscrapers. The dark rolling skies reflected off the towering walls of glass. Stumbling, she leaned against sign displaying a large map. The words “New York Subway” printed in big white letters.

She glanced at the crowds of people streaming past on either side. No one noticed that she hadn’t been there a second before, or the odd clothes they’d no doubt think she was wearing. They were all trapped in their own little world.

“This isn’t right.” Amy said to herself, confusion mixed with anxiety.

Looking around for some reference to the year she was in, she noticed something caught in the grate below her feet. Reaching down to pick up an old newspaper she stared at the date, and cursed. June 23rd, 2010. Nine hundred years off. That last explosion must have damaged the calibration engine. These people would have never heard of the Collective, let alone the Ingrid armada.

Desperately, Amy racked her mind for what she remembered about New York city. Never the best student, she cursed herself for skipping those ancient history classes. Still, she remembered the name. “Something about an attack in 2001 and . . . . “ she muttered, “and. . .damn it, something else happened! What was it.”

Closing her eyes, Amy tried to remember. “In the summer of 2009, meteorologists were stunned when a sudden storm decimated the city of New York. It was only the first in. . .. wait, 2009?” Opening her eyes, Amy looked again at the paper in her hand as a fat drop of rain exploded on a picture of some school. She had to leave. Now. But go where?

Even if Amy could find someone who didn’t think she was insane, they’d be more concerned with the two Great Contagions and the Three Impacts. Let alone the resource wars soon to come. No, the world would survive those things without her, she new that. If the Ingrids are to be pushed back, it be up to her to get the world ready for them.

Saying a small prayer under her breathe, and thanking the maker for those life extending procedures she’d been granted, Amy set about getting off this island before it was to late.

“First stop, Atlantis” she said with a grin. That facility should give me the foothold I need. A glance at her reflection in the window made her change her mind though. “Clothes first, Atlantis second.”