Lucid Waking

        I didn’t know what happened to her until very recently. I had heard songs about people going up in a blaze of glory or walking away, leaving. In fact, she was just missing one day. One gentleman had seen her to bed and then no one saw her the next morning. Or the morning after that. They found her almost a year later walking near the edge of the frozen sea in January, but that was it. Police gave up the case and now she’s a ghost story. I’m the only one that saw her after that day and even I don’t know where she is.
        I was one of her many gentleman callers, and she’d always been non-decisive about anything I threw her way. She never said yes to a second date, flowers, candy, or marriage. She never really said yes to anything. She was enchanting, bewitching, but she never said anything of real merit. The more you shared about yourself, the more she’d agree, but the less you knew about her. I was naive and connected with her the longest—seven months. It was only after spotting her with someone else at the movies that I finally gave up. It was a week after that when she disappeared.
        I remember one night when we went walking through the forest. She was more of a mist gliding through than actually walking at my side. I remember thinking she seemed possessed by the full moon. She never connected with me and wandered listlessly through the trees. She was wearing a white sweater, so she was easy to spot when she wandered into the darkness but at certain points her legs and head would disappear and she became a floating torso with porcelain hands. She usually had her hair licorice hair in a bun. Her green eyes were lifeless, but she was alert. I asked her if she wanted to go back, but she declined.
        “I’m all right,” she said, but she didn’t smile. “But can’t you hear the screams?”
        The forest was silent, so I said I couldn’t.
        “Oh,” she said quietly. “Am I crazy? I keep hearing cries of help.”
        “No,” I said. Shivers went up and down my spine. I reached for her hand, but she moved away to the side of the path before I could reach it.
        “It gets louder when I go this way.”
        “Then why are you going that way?” I said, irritated. I was scared, but I didn’t want to admit it. Part of my irrational thinking was that I, the male, should not be scared while she, the female, was obviously not frightened about the voices in her head. I heard her foot snap a twig and then a groan of creaking wood. I called out her name, but she didn’t answer. Her sweater was a gray shadow in the darkness. I told her we should leave, but there was silence. I couldn’t see her. I called her name again, but I was greeted with the same silence. Then an owl hooted, a wolf howled, and the strange creaking sounded again. A twig snapped near me. I called her name cautiously into the dark, but nothing answered me. Not even the wind. Then I turned around and ran. I ended up in the police station, panting, and tried to tell my story in a sane manner. They said they would check for her in the morning, but they ended up finding her in her house fast asleep. She never brought up why I left her or what happened, and everything seemed to go back to normal.
        Then she disappeared. I read about it in the paper. The man who had last seen her was suspect for her kidnap, but I knew him and he wouldn’t have even considered it. He had no motive and no ideas on how to go about such a thing. Then I heard about her on the beach spotted by two lovers who were out that night. It happened to have been a full moon.
        The next month I went back into the forest. It was during the day when I estimated where I had stopped and ran back. With the sun streaming down, it was nothing special. I knew if I could conquer my fears during the daylight, when I saw her ghost at night, I we be calmer.
        A little ways off from the path was an old oak tree with scarlet leaves. As brown is usually the color of oak leaves, I stepped forward and touched the bark. It didn’t feel different. Acorns were still surrounding the roots of the tree and a squirrel looked down at me when I looked up into the foliage. I considered that it was the tree asking for her help that night, but it didn’t speak to me. It didn’t even say anything to me that night when I approached it again with a flashlight. The acorns, however, did glow with their own inner light looking much like a Christmas tree.
        “Oh, hello Robert,” the familiar voice said from behind me. She came up and leaned her head on my shoulder. “Isn’t it pretty?”
        “Yes,” I said. Then after a polite amount of time had past I asked, “Where have you been?”
        “Nowhere,” she said, surprised.
        “Is this the tree that was in pain?” I asked.
        She smiled. “You still remember that after all these years?”
        She moved forward and reached for my cheek.
        “It’s good to see you,” she said.
        I didn’t know what to say. “Why don’t we go back?”
        She shook her head. “You haven’t changed a bit.”
        She stepped forward towards the tree and started to sing. The wood creaked and a crack in the bottom of the tree that I hadn’t noticed before spread and widened so that it was a doorway. She stepped inside of it and then turned around, sadness obvious in her eyes.
        “I always loved you most,” she said. “I’m sorry to see you go.”
        “What do you mean?” I asked stepping forward to grab her arm one more time as if touching her would fix all of our problems. Even if she didn’t think I changed, she certainly had and I longed to start over. But I didn’t reach her before the tree shut and cut off the space between us. I stood there reaching for the tree for a few seconds, my spirits dropping and my ears soaking in the silence. The acorns still glowed blue even at my feet. I tried to sing what she had sung, but the tree wouldn’t open for me. So I left. A few sequential months after that I went back and tried to see her again, but that was it. I hadn’t said the right things, amended things, changed. I wasn’t who…or what…I was supposed to be.
        It’s not really my fault. I’m still not sure what it all means. But I’m still trying to figure it all out.

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        “What are you smiling about?” Libby asked. She stared at the strange woman more harshly than she meant and longer than was polite, but there was something about her guest that rubbed her the wrong way. She couldn’t figure it out—in fact refused herself to think about it for very long. Her body would ache and her hands would tremble if she let herself contemplate too long about this woman who just showed up at her house one day.
        She didn’t speak; Libby didn’t know her name. She had never seen her before. The girl was beautiful, but her clothes were close to rags. She wore everything gracefully and her days were spent perched on the couch as a statue of temptation. Libby wanted to take a hammer and knock of the girl’s head. Her sons would often watch TV with her when they should have been doing their chores. But no one thought this strange girl was a big deal. The police didn’t see anything wrong with it and no one was reported missing. So the girl stayed. She didn’t eat or take up space. The only hassle she presented was the space she took up on the couch. Libby’s friends had since given up with asking about the girl, though they often didn’t stay as long as they used to at her house for various reasons.
        The girl had always had a straight-faced stare. Libby used to think the girl was watching her about the house, but after weeks of waking up to see the girl still staring at the sleeping television, she since gave up that thought. But no matter how much she tried, she couldn’t get the girl to move beyond the first steps she took into the house and onto the couch. She had toyed with the idea that the girl was a robot, but refused to have anyone search her for a switch. "It’s a cruel trick,” she had said to her husband. “And I just hope she leaves soon.”
        But the girl didn’t leave. She sat collecting dust. Libby turned of the television that had somehow been turned on and as she moved to the dining room past the girl, she noticed something different.
        “What are you smiling about?” Libby snapped. The girl didn’t move. Libby walked over to the dining room and glanced behind her shoulder instinctively. The girl was staring at the blank TV.
        “I really don’t see anything funny,” Libby said turning back to the dusty table she had come to clean. She felt a hand at her shoulder. Her heart leapt and she spun around. The girl smiled and slapped Libby across the face. Then she went to the kitchen and turned on the burners of the stove as high as they could go. She opened the oven door and turned it on. She threw something into the microwave and turned it on. The kitchen sizzled as things heated up.
        “What are you doing?!”
        The girl turned to Libby and laughed. It was the first sound she had made since her arrival. She dove into the refrigerator and started to eat. Libby could hear the girl’s jaws smacking against each other. Libby flipped the door of the oven closed and shut it off. The girl reached for a knife in the knife rack, but a little too slow. Libby had reached her hand in two strides and pushed the smiling girl against the table.
        “Next time, ask.” Libby took the rag in her hand and tied up the girl’s hands. She struggled with her to the door and then pushed her out with the rag, leaning all her weight on the door and shutting it with a slam.
        The house was silent except for the whisper of gas from the stove. The smoke detector went off and Libby ran to the kitchen to shut off the stove while whatever was in her microwave spit out black smoke. She glanced towards the kitchen window then decided against it and went up to the second floor and opened the windows there. She wet a rag with water and turned on all the fans in the house. Then she opened the microwave door.
        She couldn’t see right away if there was fire as the black smoke billowed out. Libby shot to the floor and breathed through the rag as all of the air was circulated and dispersed through the window up the stairs. Then she checked to see if there was a fire in the microwave and perhaps recognize what it was the girl had thrown in there. The only thing left was a small copper frame from a cheaply framed picture that had said: home sweet home. It was located in the entryway and had been there most of the day. Libby didn’t know how it got in the kitchen, but she tried not to think about it long. She ran up the stairs to the upstairs window hoping to close it and stop up any vulnerability that her house had to the strange visitor. But as soon as she had bounded up the stairs and into the room, there was the girl. She was sitting on the bed, but she wasn’t smiling. She didn’t move when Libby came in.
        “What do you want?” Libby asked, close to tears.
        The girl turned to her; the first sign of recognition of a voice since she had arrived. She pointed to pillow on the bed and lie down.
        “Go ahead and sleep, then,” Libby said. “I’ll wake you in a couple hours.”
        The girl stared at Libby until she left. What a strange girl, Libby said taking a shaking breath and continuing down to the kitchen to clean up the mess. But as she reached the microwave to grab the burned picture frame, she noticed it was clean. The picture frame wasn’t there, either. She glanced around the kitchen and noticed that the haphazard mess that had been there before the girl’s arrival was cleaned up. Libby went to the dining room and noticed her rag sitting on the table next to the can of dusting solution. Not know what else to do, Libby continued dusting.
        Hours went by and there was no movement from the bedroom. Libby cautiously climbed the stairs, broom in hand, pretending to have taken a break from sweeping. But Libby was more afraid of what the girl might do to her than any interest in house cleaning. As soon as the door was open, the girl woke up and sat on the bed with a refreshed smile.
        “What now?” Libby asked. The girl pointed at Libby and when Libby didn’t move, got up and pushed past Libby to the bathroom across the hall without a word.
        “Well come on down when you’re finished,” Libby said, shakily. She went back to the kitchen to replace the broom and then started gathering things for dinner. The girl was on the couch in no time and Libby could hear the television going in the other room. She kept her eyes on the knife in her hand as she chopped vegetables. Her hands were shaking, but when she glanced up, the girl hadn’t moved. Finally the television shut off and Libby looked up just in time to see the girl standing in the kitchen doorway.
        “Hungry? Dinner is at six thirty,” Libby said smiling, then remembering the fiasco added, “but if you’re hungry I can pull up a small snack. What would you like?”
        The girl pointed to the pantry.
        “Do you want to get it yourself?”
        The girl shrugged and got a box of cereal. Libby got a bowl down from the shelf and handed it to her with the milk and a spoon. The girl smiled and poured herself a bowl of cereal. Libby listened to the clink of stainless steel and china as the girl ate, keeping a close eye on the knives. Finally, the bowl clinked down into the sink. Libby turned to the girl once more, but she had gone.
        Libby put the vegetables she was chopping in the frying pan and tried to search the house with one eye on the vegetables. But the girl wasn’t anywhere to be found. Shrugging, Libby went back to cooking dinner just as the door opened and shut and her husband called out to her.
        “Hello,” he said, kissing her on her head. “How was your day?”
        “Strange,” she said.
        “I see our visitor is gone,” he noted as he walked past the couch with dishes to set the table.
        “I don’t know about that,” she said. “One moment she was a holy terror and the next she’s gone.”
        “Well, good riddance,” he said. “I can finally watch my television in peace.”
        “I suppose,” she said, thoughtfully. Then struck with an idea, added, “Why don’t we invite Ellen over for dinner? I can add more ingredients so we’ll have enough.”
        “Why?”
        “I don’t know,” she said smiling, “I just feels good to be hospitable.”

Filed under: Fantasy, Horror by Bri
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        Taralee was sitting in her moss garden outside on her roof, her feet dangling to the water below. Her pet carp, Syl, was resting by the rocks, swaying with the current of the river. She sighed and looked up at the perfect blue sky. The air was full of water and she could feel the imminent rain.
        “Good morrow, Taralee,” a voice behind her said cheerfully. She closed her eyes and tried to see who was behind her. She saw him before he sat down next to her. It had been a while since she was able to speak to him calmly and without a fight.
        “Hello, Damascus.”
        “Sorry to interrupt,” he said. She waited for his next words, but they never came. She found herself smiling; it was something that he did often. But? she prompted him. She opened her eyes and glanced at the newcomer. He was perched on the rock next to her looking over the river to the other bank. He was patient, and watching something that she knew if she glanced that way, she wouldn’t see. He wasn’t in armor, like she was used to seeing him, but he still had an air of business and superiority. She knew that wasn’t his fault; he always stepped up to what was expected of him and a lot was expected of him. But his unconscious attitude and polite manner bothered her sometimes.
        “What brings you here?” she asked after moments of silence. They sky was getting grayer as they waited and she didn’t want to be stuck in the rain. Which is strange for you, she thought, you’re a water fairy.
        “You’ve heard about the Fairy Guardian, haven’t you?”
        “Only that she’s gone.”
        “Well, I need your help.”
        “Don’t tell me the oracle thinks you’re the one to save her. If you say yes, I will forfeit my faith that she really does love you.”
        He sighed, but he didn’t laugh with her. “No, I need a good mage just in case anything happens. She predicted a young boy to be the savior. A flower fairy.”
        “That’s how it always goes, doesn’t it? Well, then…tell me, why didn’t you pick a fire fairy?”
        “Maybe because I think we’ll be traveling through forest most of the time.” She could feel the hint of irritation and hostility in his voice. She had never heard that from him, even on the battlefield. It scared her a bit, but she kept her cool and said:
        “All right, I might as well go.”
        “Then prepare yourself and we’ll meet you here in two days.”
        “That seems a bit slow.”
        “I want the boy to get used to traveling.”
        “All right,” she said. She stood up and got ready for a dive. “You’d better hurry back. It’s going to rain.”

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        Everything was beautiful in Eversummer. The leaves were so rich a green they looked like velvet, the snow sparkled silver, and the magnolia trees bloomed early and their blossoms stayed late. Every tree had a story of the town’s highly attractive residents and were more than happy to give the ripest fruit in the largest quantities. People came and some went, but most stayed where they were finding true love and prosperity in their childhood town. It was young and vibrant: everyone was kind to one another and the animals that coexisted with them. Never was a hearth empty and never a heart too full. The fish in the town practically jumped upon the river bank and no fisher ever took more than his fill. There was never a drought or a flood; the rain came and went when it pleased, but it always came back for the same kindness the people gave it. There was no intolerance, violence, or bigotry. Eversummer had whispers about its name as heaven on earth.
        “And why is it so perfect?” Retha asked, opening her steno notebook quickly and placing her pencil on the page.
        The man laughed. “Why it was blessed by the fae, marm. Everything about it was just the way people wished to live.”
        “But every blessing comes with a curse.”
        “No, they were open-minded about things. For every small misfortune, there followed larger fortune and people here are born with enough sense to count their blessings well. Besides, the man who founded the town was extremely intelligent; he knew how to ask things of the fae.”
        The door opened and the young woman who had agreed to board Retha came in with tea. She smiled and apologized for interrupting. Retha told her it wasn’t a problem and the old man thanked her for the refreshments.
        “If you don’t mind me asking,” the old man said once Retha’s landlady had left, “why exactly do you want to know about this place?”
        “I’m afraid I’m a bit curious about things,” she said. “When people eat more, they get larger. So anyone would expect that with the other towns getting smaller, Eversummer would get larger. But this isn’t the case and I want to know why.”
        “Part of what makes Eversummer perfect is that it isn’t too large or crowded.”
        “I understand the theory. And believe me, this is a beautiful town. But neither of those things explains where all the people have gone. Do you know, Mr. Apricot?”
The man looked abashed. “No one has gone missing. The whole town would know who did!”
        “I’m not accusing anyone of anything,” Retha said taking a sip of her tea. “I’m just a curious person. You have to be to be a journalist.”
        Retha stood up and thanked Mr. Apricot for his time. He told her it was his pleasure, though she knew her answers to his questions were not pleasurable in the least. She went up to her room and opened her log book, making more notes on his answers and stance. Then she recorded hers. Perhaps, she thought, they might be useful if I could see what I said at the beginning of this mess. Well, she added to herself, I hope it won’t be a mess at all.

(Listen to it)

Filed under: Fantasy, Mystery by Bri
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        The Sanguine River was more beautiful than it’s name implied. It ran well over half the country and even traveled between the Angora Mountain Range in the north. The river was a fortress wall for many civilizations and extra protections to most. It ran through several farm fields and guided many others to where they needed to go. The river and its tributaries were the best modes of transportation second only to the main highways on land.
        North of the Angoras and a little south of where the river ended was a well-known bridge spanning a rather seldom traveled part of the river. It was known as Riveria as it was itself a town for the little folk. In order to appease the river fae, the King of the North built the bridge as a town where they could stay. It grew to be a much larger town than anyone had supposed and still allowed boats to travel by—as long as they paid a toll—unscathed. The river ended in a waterfall at the Fae Grove and the fairies of Riveria were close enough to that main spot to live industriously and happily.
        Cassy was knew all the traditions of Riveria, as she was the main traveler between the fae and the humans for as long as she could remember. When she was too young, her brother and her parents went. Finally, she had inherited the title. Her cargo was small this time around and her pay not quite enough to pay the toll. Luckily, she wasn’t planning on passing through. She stopped her boat against the shore before the bridge and walked right on top of it. The bridge was strategically large enough for a small cart and she pulled a pinecone out of her pocket and let it drop down below. She waited a few seconds before she noticed the upper ledge of the bridge slip away and climb higher and higher into the sky. Suddenly she noticed a small door in one of the supporting poles open up quickly and a fae dressed in dark blue come out frowning.
        “Are you trying to mock us?” he said sternly. Then he recognized her and his expressions became puzzled. “Oh, hello, Cassy.”
        “Hi,” she said. “I have a delivery for you. I need to talk to someone in charge if possible.”
        The guard smiled. “Glad it’s you, the town is a bit in a party mood, I’m afraid. We just don’t want to deal with a cheeky human. Well, follow me.”

This won’t be finished, but I’d love to see what sort of ending you come up with. If not, just imagine something.

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        It was a plain wooden box with sturdy iron side straps. There was no handle, but there was an ornately decorated lock with a rather large keyhole in the middle of the seam. Or he assumed there was a seam. It was practically invisible if it was there at all. He had also assumed that the box would open with a simple persuasion but his broken thieves picks were evidence that wasn’t true. Some of them had just disappeared if they didn’t break first and that’s when he knew he had to ask the Wizards for help.
        It wasn’t that he stole the box; it was rightfully his. His grandmother had died of natural causes and gave him her hut in the woods along with everything in the attic. Unfortunately for his brother, most of her magical belongings were in the attic and he was just about done sifting through them when he came upon the box. Not being able to open it and ignoring his internal warnings that Pandora’s box shouldn’t be tampered with, he had sent a note to a local guild specializing in magical boxes in order to get someone to open it.
        So he wasn’t surprised when someone knocked on the door saying that she received his note and was willing to open up his box if he was willing to lend it to her for a little experimentation. What he wasn’t prepared for was her answer when he asked her for guild identification.
        “I don’t work with a guild,” she said. “But here’s my card. I’m certified with the government.”
        He checked it over and it looked authentic.
        “I’m Carolyn Gray (which you can see by my card) and I work with solving keeper boxes.”
        “How did you get my name?”
        “I volunteer to take some of the new referrals from a friend of mine. It’s difficult working on the referral receiving line as well. Mind if I come in?”
        “Not at all. I’m Luke Hunt, by the way.”
        “Nice to meet you.”
        The hut’s one room was sort of crowded, but Luke easily cleared off a chair for his guest and sat down in one adjacent to her.
        “So, what is the principle behind the locks?” he asked.
        “Every keeper box has a spell attached to it that has to do with the nature of the secret inside. The key is animated and created with the correct spell to open the lock. If the incorrect key is used it will dissolve and may damage the box, until the lock is so deformed no key will open it. Therefore, if you have something important to keep, a keeper box will maintain that not just anyone can get inside and if you find one or steal it, it’s to your best advantage to keep it locked until you find a key or your chances of getting inside are gone.”
        “What makes you think that you can do this for less than a standardized guild?”
        “I don’t work for anyone. Besides, what you’re paying for in the guild is a flat fee. You pay for about one hundred keys to dissolve and all the worst repairs to be fixed. You also provide food, shelter, firewood and any other supplies the business needs. Your box may not use one hundred keys and if your box is never broken, why should you pay for repairs of the worst kind? You pay for the worst-case scenario, even if that never happens to your box. Time is also an issue; I can also guarantee that this will be done in the least amount of time. Professional guilds have hundreds of people with boxes to be solved and if you go to one of them, they’ll just take your money and stick you to the back of the line. It can take a week to figure out a box, and that’s only the simplest ones with one spell. Imagine hundreds of people, each who’s box takes a month to figure out. You don’t have that time. I could start on it today.”
        “How much do you charge?”
        “Fifty gold per key. We’ve got to use star metal and it’s not cheap. We’re running out of metal before we run out of keys.”
        “Actually, that’s quite cheap.”
        “I’m the best in the business, too. I ran away from the guild because of the politics involved, not because they forced me out.”
        “How would you go about doing this?”
        “The first step is meditation. I’ve got to focus on the box and search it to find it’s fundamental theme. On a simple box, this could take two hours, complex, five days. Then, more meditation to figure out a gist of spells. Finally, key experimentation. Like an artist glances at their subject before painting and goes back and forth to see that they’re getting it right, I do that with the box as it whispers hints. Once the key is weaved, we test it out and if it doesn’t work, it dissolves and I try again. If it fails, I check the box to make sure it isn’t injured and go back to my tools to make another key. If we find the right key, both the key and the box are yours, as well as anything inside it. Most guilds don’t guarantee that everything inside box is returned to you. That’s another thing I didn’t like: thievery.”
        She raised her eyebrow at the broken thieves picks. He blushed.
        “Hey, I don’t ask questions,” she said after noting his expression.
        “I didn’t steal this box, if that’s what you’re implying.”
        “I’m not implying anything. You get income your way, I get it my way.”
        “Does this arrangement include food and board?”
        “No, I’ll camp outside. Or deduct that from what you’re paying me if you want.”
        “If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather you sleep outside.”
        She smiled. “Fair enough.”
        “Well, are you sure you want to start today?”
        “Sure, I’ll start now.”
        “That seems pretty soon.”
        “I told you I work fast. I’ve got nothing else to do but to go back and find another commission. It’s your choice, though.”
        He handed her a bag of money. “Fifty gold, then, and you can start right away.”

Filed under: Fantasy, Science Fiction by Bri
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        The last thing I remember before I lost my sight was silver wings. I had been an avid bird collector prior and had my own aviation house. But I had never seen a shine so vibrant in feathers that were not metal. There was never a bird alive with a silver sheen. But I don’t suppose you came calling to learn of my interests. You’re looking for the man responsible for the fire.
        But what if I told you it was a woman? Would you believe me? I know a man might be more likely, but… Well, you can’t really say she started it, but it will be the closest you get if you want to catch someone. I saw her sneak into the neighbor’s barn last night. Sarah Miller. She was a very pretty girl; it’s sort of a shame. I can’t really say what she was doing there, but I have reason to suspect she was cheating on her husband. That’s really another unfortunate story that you don’t want to hear. It’s much too tragic.
        Anyway, I was awake reading because I couldn’t sleep when I notice a bright light from my window and when I peaked out, I noticed the barn next door was on fire. I assumed it was an accident; a lantern could have easily been knocked over if no one was careful. Luckily, Masterson had managed to get his horses out in time, but they had a lot of trouble finishing off the fire. The flame had a sort of purpleish hue to it, but I only realized that after the event; we were much too panicked at the time to really notice such details.
        The fire had caught the branch of a nearby tree, which happened to be on my property. As the fire licked the side of the tree, it caught my aviation house. I did the only thing I could do: I started breaking the glass and I opened the door. Masterson’s boy tried to help me, but pretty soon the fire was too much for either of us. Suddenly another bird I had never seen before flew out of my house. It was bright silver with dark blue eyes that looked like an eagles. Because it passed in front of me, I didn’t notice the branch fall and swing forward to hit me in the nose. I’m pretty sure I passed out because I don’t remember anything after that.
        But isn’t it funny? No one has ever seen a bird like it anywhere. Maybe it was fate that I loose my eyesight. Everyone thinks that’s horrible, but it didn’t hurt and if I have any structural injuries I won’t see them. Maybe the bird was my vanity leaving me. I’ll never know, will I?
        Well regardless, you might want to question Sarah Miller about the fire. I heard that she managed to get off free, though she was present at the scene of the crime. I’m not saying she did it, but she might be able to tell you more.
        …Anything for the good of the order. Good night.

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(Remember the original Madren’s Choice? Well, this is the beginning. It might make things a little clearer, but don’t read the other one unless you want to know what happens in the end before you find out what’s happening now. More will be added later.)

        “It seems like such a terrible waste,” Madren said, “of such a beautiful day.”
        Her sister, Mara, brushed a piece of gray hair out of her eyes. “Well if you would work faster, we’d be done quicker.”
        “Spoil sport,” Madren said, bending over to pick some more weeds out of the family vegetable garden. “What’s got you tied in knots?”
        “I don’t want to be stuck doing chores any more than you do,” Mara said.
        Madren smiled. “You told Sam you’d be there at three didn’t you?”
        Mara looked up quickly. “Don’t let mom know!”
        Madren pulled up a small tree that was growing in the yard and pretended to ignore her sister. Mara just sighed and continued raking. She was two years older than Madren and the oldest girl in the family. Her hair was charcoal silver, but her eyes were an electric blue and very striking.
        “When do you think these tomatoes will actually grow?” Mara asked, incredulously. “They’ve been flowering for months with no fruit!”
        “Pretty soon. That one has a little green—”
        Madren was cut off by a loud boom behind her and both girls dropped their things and turned to the noise. The screams of people and livestock along with yelling filled their quiet neighborhood. Smoke rose up from a house on the hill and the commotion was easily seen from their position below. Madren and Mara hopped their small log fence and ran to help.
        It was unclear what was going on and people were running back and forth shouting out orders and shoving buckets of water on the cottage. The lady of the house was running towards the town hall with her children, while her husband and other men who were around tried to put out the fire. Madren saw her brother and their father running back and forth from the stream in their field to the house. Even their youngest brother, Jacob, who was only ten years old, was struggling under the weight of a full water bucket. Madren ran to grab an empty bucket, but her eldest brother grabbed her wrist before she could fill it up.
        “Elix, what’s happening?” she asked.
        “Probably just an accidental fire. But stay with mom in case there are raiders.”
        Mara caught up to them and put her hand gently on Madren’s shoulder.
        “Take Jacob with you,” Elix ordered before another crack of the collapsing house sent him running back with a full bucket.
        Suddenly there was another crash and crack farther in towards town. Madren turned her back on it and ran to her house, with Mara close behind carrying Jacob. Someone yelled out “raiders” before Madren and Mara had reached the house. Jacob was crying.
        Madren shut the door and locked it, breathing a sigh of relief, but Mara was already searching the ground floor for their mother.
        “Mom?” Mara called out. Silence answered her call. Mara crept upstairs towards their bedroom. Madren heard her sister call out again, her voice trembling. Jacob started sobbing louder.
There was a crash of glass from another house nearby; the loud noise made Madren jump and Mara quickly descended the steps to the ground floor.
        “They’ve started burning the barn,” she said. She could barely keep her voice in control.
        “Let’s go down to the cellar,” Madren suggested and ran with her sister to the stairs in the kitchen. They had gotten the door shut just in time for their kitchen door to slammed open sending hundreds of dishes on a shelf crashing to the floor. These people were laughing and their voices were low. The humans went through her house, crashing things to the ground and pulling down tapestries off the wall.
        Jacob was too terrified to do anything and he sat in Mara’s arms staring at the wall over her shoulder. Mara moved silently and quickly behind their jam shelf and sat down on the floor. Madren quickly followed her. They listened to the noise above their heads in silence.
        “Stupid elves,” someone standing next to the door shouted.
        “Ah, but they have the best mead,” another answered. The group laughed and banged through the kitchen some more. Madren could feel her heart beating in her throat as she prayed they wouldn’t come down to the cellar. She heard the heavy footsteps of the men go upstairs and other leave to terrorize other areas. She could hear malicious laughter outside with the sudden cracks of burning wood and incessant screams. She could almost taste the blood and she realized she was biting her lip hard enough to make it bleed. Mara was pale, but calm and strong. She rocked Jacob back and forth gently.
        Finally the men left and the roar of fire was almost gone. Madren tentatively climbed the stairs. She knew Mara was too scared to object. But just as she reached the door, there was a blinding flash. She could feel the color green and then, her eyes saw black. She opened her eyelids.
        Nothing had changed. She looked around. The jars were still full on the shelves and nothing had collapsed. Outside, it was bright and sunny. The village was quiet and still. There were no more screams or crashing and silence filled the space.
        “I’m going to look around, Mara,” she said. Madren opened the door and stepped into her kitchen. She dodged broken bottles and shattered dishes to glance out the window to what it really looked like outside.
        The ground was covered in blood and ash. She couldn’t see who was killed, but the human men who had raided her village were carrying several bodies towards the center of town where she assumed they would set up a burial pyre. Her stomach tightened. The elves believed in reincarnation and the worst anybody could do for the dead was to cremate them.
        She was about to head back to the cellar when the door into her kitchen burst open again.
        “Hey!” a tall, auburn haired man called out. “What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be dead.”
        Madren turned to run, but he grabbed her arm and a fluid motion, slung her over his shoulder.
        “The General will sure be happy to see this little squirmer.”
        She smacked him with her fists hard, but he didn’t seem to notice. He brought her past dozens of houses towards the center of town. She saw shops burnt and livestock killed in the ensuing fight. She tried not to cry and focused on the ground at the man’s feet. Even the grass was completely gone and there was nothing left but barren earth.
        When he set her down she saw that the town hall had been kept in tact, but there were scorch marks on the outside of the building. The bodies of the town’s inhabitants were piled next to it, in front of the blacksmith’s shop. Smoke barreled out of the latter building, a sign she knew as a burning forge. One of the guards saw her and laughed at her before motioning for another person to join him. He whispered his orders before letting the second man go and crouched down to her level.
        “Don’t know how you slipped past,” he said starting to tie her hands with rope. She kicked him in the jaw and he fell backwards. Suddenly she was grabbed by at least half a dozen other people all pulling her in separate directions.
        “Fiesty one, huh?”
        She couldn’t tell where it was coming from, but she felt herself dropped and as she looked ahead again caught eyes with someone who was obviously in charge. He looked down at her and turned his head and spit.
        “Alive? That’s not right.” He kicked her hard in the ribs.
        “Maybe, the Lady’s—”
        “Don’t finish that sentence if you want to live,” the General said. The recruit who started the statement stepped back quickly to the ranks.
        “Call the Lady over here and tell her it’s an emergency,” the General said. “Now what to do with you,” he said stepping over Madren so he could seem taller. She shot out her tied legs into his shin.
        He laughed. “Nice try, you worm, but I’m not as weak as my captain.”
        He smacked her across the face.
        “What in the world is going on here?!” A woman on a silver white horse came galloping into the clearing. Her slanted eyes were tiger-lily orange and she wore a rather tight green leather armor. Her hair was blood red and was pulled up into a rather large bun. Protruding from her back were two large butterfly wings, which rustled in the small breeze.
        “One of my men found someone alive in the houses, my lady.”
        “Pah,” the woman led her horse forward. “All this trouble because of a live one.”
        “You had your promises.”
        “I intend to keep them, if you keep yours. Continue stacking bodies and then we’ll deal with this one special.”
        “You ugly spider!” Madren yelled. Everyone turned to her, some of the men close to laughter. Madren knew the fae loved their looks and even the best among them were terribly vain. Looking at this beautiful butterfly woman, it was the only thing Madren could think of to really sting. The woman on the horse turned bright red.
        “You little maggot!”
        “The same to you, mirror breaker.”
        The woman raised her hand and smacked the air. “That’ll teach you to sling insults at an upper fae.”
        “You—” Madren croaked and coughed. Her throat seized up and suddenly, became still. She tried to speak, but the words weren’t being formed and all the breath she pushed past her voice box became colomns of air.
        “That witch,” the upper fae said, spraying the ground with spit from her pronunciation. “Burn her alive.”
        But just as one of the near soldiers reached forward to grab Madren there was a gunshot. Everyone paused and in the following stillness the recruit that reached to grab her fell. Madren followed the line of motion, her heart beating fast. In the sudden silence, the fae had disappeared along with her silver steed.
        The General recovered first and turned towards the noise. “Ah, Mr. Aberdeen. Nice of you to arrive.” His voice dripped with superficial politeness and sarcasm.
        “Thank you, General.” The man was tall and cloaked. His gun disappeared quickly into the folds of his robe as he walked forward into the circle. His eyes were dark jade and his hair a chestnut brown. He glanced down at Madren before helping her to a standing position.
        “What do you think you’re doing?” someone yelled from the middle of the ranks.
        “Taking what the General owes me,” the stranger said.
        “You idiot,” the General said. “What makes you think you can barge in here and take this one? I’ve got orders to kill every last person in this stupid town and you’re not going to cause me to lose my head.”
        The stranger laughed. “Tell your employer one won’t make a difference in her calculations. But if you prefer, I could tell the gremlins you’ve been denying them payment for that favor they gave you.”
        The General cringed ever so slightly. “You! Cut her bonds,” he ordered. The stranger stood where he was. “I hope you realize I’m putting my life on the line.”
        “You should have remembered that before you made pacts with gremlins.”
        The General scoffed and waved his soldiers to continue salvaging for bodies. The stranger pushed Madren in front of him and continued walking down the road leading to the town. They walked until the day turned to dusk and Madren’s feet were cramping. She tried to get the stranger’s attention, but her voice wouldn’t work for her. Suddenly he pulled her off the road and through the forest to a large pine tree. He lifted up the bottom branches and pulled out his backpack. Then glancing at Madren’s weary expression, he sighed and broke of a couple of branches near the bottom of the tree in order to make room for them underneath it.
        “Sit down,” he said. Madren followed his orders. He pulled out food from his pack and handed her a small portion.
        “First I want to make it clear that whether you like it or not you’re property. Ever since your village has been sacked. Now, you belong to me so you’ll follow no ones orders but my own. Got it?”
        Madren nodded.
        “Don’t speak until spoken to and you’re going to sleep outside the shelter. I’ll feed you, but if you can catch game, all the better.”
        Madren stayed silent. She ached everywhere especially when she realized that this man who had saved her was no better than the General and his higher fae. At least, she thought, he wasn’t going to kill her.
        “What’s wrong?” he asked breaking her thoughts. She opened her mouth to say something, but nothing came out.
        He reached over to pull her chin closer. “Hmmm. That’s what I thought.” He chuckled. “You must’ve gotten Lilly very angry indeed. Never insult a higher fae.”
        Madren rolled her eyes.
        “Well, we might as well start lessons. You’re going to learn to speak through telepathy. If you want to know how it works, ask a wizard. All I know is it’s very useful if you don’t want anyone to eavesdrop.” He chuckled at his own joke.
        “The technique is called Ped-ore,” he continued. “Have you heard of it?”
        Madren shook her head.
        “I’m not surprised. Just think of a sentence.”
         Ok. I’m cold, she thought.
        “You’re not thinking it hard enough. Everything you say has an emotion and when you’re just starting those emotions have to be strong to come through. Try again.”
        I’m freezing! she thought. She pulled the frozen pain from her toes and fingers and tried to add the worn out feeling in her legs and feet.
        You’re what? His voice echoed through her head. She shook it violently and thought again.
       I’m cold.
        Oh. Well too bad, he returned. He turned towards the base of the tree and leaned against it. Go to sleep.
        Madren tried to roll up in ball to conserve her body heat. She could barely feel her nose and she wondered why it was so cold.
        Because we’re getting into Northern territory, her companion said. The higher fae of this land is Shannondoa and she’s an ice fae. Not quite as angry as Lilly, but don’t go insulting her.
       I didn’t think you’d eavesdrop, Madren returned bitterly. But he didn’t seem to hear her.
        Go to sleep and don’t worry about it.
        Madren tried to use the leaves as cover, but it didn’t seem to work. Slowly, she let her natural instincts down and drifted off to freezing sleep.

Filed under: End of Childhood, Fantasy, God Teacher, Hero Cycle by Bri
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        “Now please stop the two playing,” said his mother said as she put a sizzling pot down off the stove to cool.
        Colan sighed and walked reluctantly toward the playpen.
        Screening was expensive and when Colan’s father was alive he helped the family squeeze just enough money for screens on the doors and for a playpen. Then, only Colan was a baby and even so the family was in debt for over a year. When Colan’s grandfather and father went with the army to get water for the town, Colan’s grandmother, mother, and aunt managed to get the family to rights again and out of debt. Soon after that the battalion came back, but only Grandfather returned to the family. No one exactly knew how his father disappeared, including his grandfather, who had lost sight of his son in the middle of a battle. Now, the playpen was old and had holes in it, but it would take a fortune to fix it.
        Colan went and picked up his cousin, Vick, trying to wrench away a little ball from his hands that his grandfather had brought him one day after returning from a water trip. Vick loved the ball and would often spend hours of time just rolling it between his hands. He was always a quiet child, but curious and even before he could walk the family had often found him somehow out of the playpen and crawling about the house. Since he learned how to use his legs, he was always wandering around the house and getting into even more trouble. When Grandfather brought the ball home, he gave it to Vick to hold onto, never intending for the boy to cling to it and never share.
        Colan sighed and watched Vick play for a while. Colan laid his hand on Vick’s forehead and quietly chanted the bliss hymn to let him be. There was an unspoken rule that his grandmother would never be satisfied unless he had done something to every child, though Colan didn’t know why. He wondered guiltily if he needed to chant to Grandmother more than the children.
        Kelly, his third and youngest cousin, was almost as grumpy as Grandmother in Colan’s opinion. She was having a temper tantrum for some reason unknown and beat Colan with her tiny fists when he held her to his chest for full effect of the hymn he was about to chant. Kelly was another child that no one could quiet, except for Colan and his father. Colan debated on what hymn to use and decided on his usual combination. First, he slowly started the silence hymn just starting with the introduction. Then, doing a transition that he improvised every time, went into the bliss hymn while etching horses and sunshine in her mind. Finishing off with the sleep hymn, he laid Kelly down in the playpen.
        By then his aunt and uncle had returned home, tired as always. His grandfather came sauntering into the house as soon as dinner was placed on the table. Colan admired his perfect timing, if not much else. His grandmother opened her eyes and wheeled over to the head of the table.
        “Mother,” Colan’s mother said testily. “Please don’t sit in Daniel’s spot.”
        “I’ll sit where I like,” his grandmother retorted. “You’ll say nothing of the sort.”
        His mother rolled her eyes, but said nothing more as she placed the steaming hot vegetable and lamb bowl in the center of the table. After retorting that Colan had taken too much to eat and not to be so greedy, his grandmother started off their dinner conversation, as she always did, with a little gossip.
        “Mother please,” Colan’s uncle said.
        “Nonsense,” she said, “what’s the use of being able to commune if you can’t use it?”
        Communing was a common trick that elderly witches who couldn’t use their powers in service often did. They were able to talk without ever leaving their houses and could do so silently without eavesdroppers. His grandmother had used her power as a fortuneteller and quite a famous one at that. She had worked in the service being able to accurately predict the motives and moves of the opponent they were fighting. She could predict the future and read minds, which Colan was sure hadn’t gone away. Luckily for her, she had gotten so well at her art, she needed to only concentrate to be able to perform a spell.
        Colan’s uncle rolled his eyes.
        “Silvia is looking for new nursemaids,” Colan’s grandmother said looking at her younger daughter-in-law, “no one knows how she got pregnant, but there are some rumors.”
        “Her last husband died from pneumonia, didn’t he?” Colan’s mother asked as she spooned out more dinner onto hers and Colan’s plates.
        “In that last rainstorm, yes, he did,” his grandmother answered back. “Jenna, you might want to look for a job, there,” she said to her younger daughter-in-law.
        Colan’s aunt blushed. “I don’t think so, mother.”
        His grandmother opened her mouth for a witty retort, but stopped herself and took another bite of food.
        “There seems to be quite a demand for young recruits,” Colan’s grandfather said turning to Colan. “There’s one place you haven’t looked and they’re looking long and hard for magis.”
        “Don’t be ridiculous, Charles,” his grandmother said, gaining her speech again. “You can’t possibly expect the boy to go into the service. He’s not even trained in his art and besides,” she said taking a sip of milk from her wooden goblet, “he doesn’t have the build.”
        Colan blushed.
        “Furthermore,” she continued, “I don’t think it would be good for him to march right into a death trap. The only reason they’re asking for more recruits is because there seem to be more fire dragons and dust wolves than ever before and they keep losing people in the fight.”
        “So you don’t just get gossip from those little chats of yours,” Grandfather said under his breath. But it didn’t matter how loud he said it, she still turned red and huffed out angrily.
        “I’ll help you clear the table, Maggie,” Aunt Jenna said rising from her chair and grabbing a couple plates that she could reach. Her stomach bulged under the blue dress she was wearing ever so slightly, but enough for her step to become cumbersome. She smiled at her husband as she walked towards the kitchen with their plates.
        Colan started to get up, but his grandfather stopped him and put his hand on his shoulder. Colan’s uncle got up from his seat and walked towards the bookshelf where their prayer books were held. Almost as important as the meal itself was the prayer afterwards in thanks for it. The service seemed the only thing keeping the family together, Colan remarked, as his grandfather opened up the books once everyone was seated again and began speaking in the ancient desert tongue various words of faith to their goddess, Alorian. She had supposedly saved the world from destruction by covering it with sand, the one thing the demons could not stand because whenever they looked up at the humans above to play tricks on them and kill them, it would get in their eyes and they were blinded. Colan had always wondered why she had created the dust wolves and fire dragons if her sand would be enough protection. And why her other creatures had to kill the villagers to be able to survive. But such talk was sacrilegious and would most likely get him punished severely by more than just his grandmother.
        When they finished everyone got ready for bed. His mother placed a plate of food outside for the desert spirits, guardians, and holy subjects of goddess Alorian and then went to her room with the other children, alone as always. Colan listened at his thin door as she shut the door and blew out her candle. He had listened to her tell countless stories to his family, but tonight, for some reason, she did not bother with her usual evening ritual. Close to getting out of bed and going down the hall, Colan heard his grandmother get up and go to her daughter-in-law’s room and shut the door.
        His grandmother must have performed a silent charm because he did not hear their voices, though he knew the walls were not thick enough to cover them up. He was afraid of what they were saying: that he needed to find an apprenticeship before he was too old. He also knew shortly after that, he was going to be pressured to find a wife and the prospect of both, scared him just a bit. He knew he had to grow up, but he wasn’t sure he was ready and with his father gone, completely lost as to how he was suppose to get there.

Filed under: Fantasy by Bri
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        He was supposed to be inside helping his mother with the housework, but it was too tempting and too easy to sneak out of the busy house. He sat down on the ground and stared at the open expanse of the desert he loved. He eyed the sunlit purple mountains covering the horizon longingly, shooting up into the rainbow painted sky as the shadows fell down to the base of the range. The wind rustled his short brown hair lovingly as small cloud of dust flew playfully across the ground several miles from his position. Faintly someone called to him above the usual evening din of the town.
        “Colan!” his worried mother called.
        Colan got up slowly and turned around towards the village. He knew that he shouldn’t have wandered from home, especially with all the trouble that his mother had been having trying to raise a family on her own. But it was more interesting out there than in the village. The expanse of the desert was much more seductive than the daily life of the town.
        He slipped through the marketplace where people bustled to and fro with their last minute shopping before the shops closed. A man held up food to the light and complained of the price. A mother bounced her child on her hip trying to figure out if she could afford cloth for new clothes. He could practically describe what daily life was in his sleep. Every day was cliché and he was tired of living the same basic hour over and over again.
        He entered the residential district and went around the edge. Colan wasn’t in the mood to go down the main street and talk, especially since he was most likely pulled away for chores and needed to get home fairly quickly or else he would punished for dawdling. He slipped through the front door of his house and winced at the noise. It was the typical sight: three screaming children and two playing, his mother preoccupied by cooking and trying to hush the children, and his grandmother meditating on the rocking chair in the corner. His grandfather had probably gone to the pub only to be home at dinner, his aunt was helping the weavers at the small factory, and his uncle worked at building more structures wherever the government saw fit. In any case, the only person to notice his arrival was his mother, who brushed a piece of dark brown hair out of her sweaty face and frowned.
        “Come please, Colan,” his mother whined as she pushed a boiling pot off the stove to keep the fire burning, “Help, with the children and aid grandmother’s head ache.” The house was hot and sticky and the smell wafting out of the kitchen was barely recognizable and most certainly not appetizing.
        Colan sighed and expelled his emotions with his breath. He picked up his baby sister, April, and bounced her up and down on his knee. He recalled the day she was born, the first of April, and he had first seen his baby sister; clean from the bath and rosy pink. He had wanted to name her, but his parents both insisted that they stay with traditions and name her after the month she was born as all the other children were who were born on the first of the month. It was considered lucky and the children who were, often had special festivals hosted by the government in honor of their birthday. Colan sighed and brushed April’s hair out of her wet, tear-stained face. She was almost two years old and knew nothing about her father. But none of them did; Colan didn’t even remember him very well any more.
        Colan’s only true connection to his father was through the ancient meditative hymns that his father had taught him. Every magus had a different requisite for which they can perform magic. Colan’s father could heal through music and Colan was lucky enough to inherit his father’s ability. He knew not every child born to a magus inherited the gift, but gifted though he was, it was not honorable to have to use his ability so often for such menial tasks.
        Colan closed his eyes and cleared his brain, focusing on April’s tired cries. Rule one, he thought, clear your mind. Rule two, focus on your goal. Carefully focusing on sleep, he placed his hand on her forehead and started to hum. He could feel the music came from his soul and exited through his hand. April’s blue eyes closed gently. He placed her down carefully; praying that the remaining noise and heat wouldn’t wake her.
        Next, Colan picked up Sandborn, his brother. Sandborn was always very fussy, but didn’t misbehave. His sister’s fussing was enough to set him screaming and crying for attention. Yet, Colan seemed to be the only one who could quiet him, which caused many problems when Colan was away from home looking for an apprenticeship now that his father was gone. Colan again cleared his mind and tried to use an easy trick to distract Sandborn. He reached over and laid his hand on Sandborn’s forehead slowly manipulating his younger brother’s mind’s eye to see small colors of light flit in and out of his vision. Sandborn was not truly upset, as Colan supposed, so as soon as Colan had him distracted, he was silent.
        Finally, Colan picked up his cousin, Sabra and easily put her to sleep.

Filed under: Fantasy by Bri
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