As Bing stared into the milky-white orbs that bore down upon him, he knew that the stories were true and that now, he would be added to their tome. The Messenger placed a hand upon Bing’s back and the other upon his chest and began to press.
“I-I’m sorry,” muttered Bing. “I’m s-so s-sorry.”
“I forgive you.”
Bing felt the Messenger’s hand digging into his chest and gasped in pain as his ribs cracked. Sharp pain seared his chest and warm blood poured down the front of his shirt. The Messenger closed his hand around Bing’s frantically beating heart and then darkness enveloped Mr. Bing forever.
“Hmm,” groaned the Messenger. “I thought it would be black.”
He dropped Bing’s heart to the tavern floor and walked away, scattering a pile of blood-soaked, gold coins along the bar as he exited the tavern. Bart stood alone, behind the bar, rubbing a dirty rag against a dirty glass, muttering prayers with every breath he took.
Chapter 23: Hearing Voices
He had become a shadow in a world of darkness, walking across the land like a true creature of the night, smoothly, stealthily, unnoticed. He thought of the conversation in the tavern. One of them had called him a myth. He laughed inside of his head, a myth. Let them think that I am a myth. Soon, I will become a legend.
He walked through the blue smoke of his world as it whirled and bent itself to form the trees that surrounded him. Fluttering sounds came from above and he knew that they were bats; predators of the night, surveying the world below for food. The bats were killers, not murderers. We have so much in common, he thought. Murder was evil; killing was natural, and necessary. Only men murder, he thought. How have we become so flawed? How have we strayed so far?
He raised his hand and looked at it, framed in blue smoke, tiny wisps playing upon his fingertips. He could smell that evil man’s sickening blood still on his hand. He rubbed his fingers together. He felt dirty and he needed to be clean. He walked south until he came to a river and once he had disrobed, he waded in. The water was freezing to his skin, but it didn’t matter, he needed to be clean.
As the water rushed around his body, he watched it moving through his ethereal vision. This was one thing, he thought, that he would never get used to. The feeling was so familiar, yet the vision of this new water, rushing around his body, was so alien. It was like millions of snakes, slithering past him, against him, under him, over and through each other. He tried to stop them, but they always found their way around his reach. Slipping past as if they were on their way to something of far more importance, as if he didn’t even exist. He closed his eyes to stop the vision. It was beginning to make him feel nauseated. There were times, in the beginning, when his constantly moving world had made him sick. He had gotten over it. Now, only the water still held that sway over him.
He looked into the air, into the blackness. He saw no stars, no moon. The smoke didn’t travel that far. The sky was always a reminder of the limits of his new vision. He couldn’t complain though. The gifts the Holy had bestowed upon him were great, greater than he had ever imagined, and he found new limits to their potential with each new day.
The blue light that emanated from his hands came as a pleasant surprise. Reaching out one night, in pursuit of an escaping target, he had found that he had the power to stop people in their tracks. And the strength. He could run faster and jump higher than any man alive. He could bend steel and splinter wood. He didn’t even carry a weapon. Why should he? He was a weapon. He could put his fist straight through a man, and had. The first time he had done it, it had scared him. He had looked down at his arm in horror, his mind unable to grasp what his senses were transmitting. But he had gotten used to it. He had gotten used to a lot of things.
He finished washing himself and left the water. He put his clothes back on and continued his path west. West was where he needed to go. He just knew it. Communication with the Holy had not been at all like the experience he had had during that first encounter. It now came to him as more of an intuition, or often times, as a voice in his head. Though he heard it less now than in the beginning.
Closer to the beginning, he would spend large periods of time in conversation with the Holy. He had been very curious and eager to learn. Once, he had asked the Holy why there was so much evil in the world? It is the work of the Ancient Evils, replied the Holy, the creatures that I had banished so long ago. He asked why, if they were gone, did they still have the power to pollute the world? Their memory pollutes the minds of men, was the answer. We must erase their memory. How can we do this? he had asked. By showing people what happens to those with evil in their hearts, and by ensuring that the Ancient Evils can never come back. They can come back? How is this possible? It is not possible, as long as we continue to lead the world away from darkness. It had all seemed so easy, yet so complicated.
A deer walked out into his path. It did not notice him at all. I wonder, he thought. It was again time to test his skills, as he so often did, in an attempt to find the limits of his power. He picked a twig off of the ground and held it in his hands. Then, he snapped it. The sound of the breaking twig spooked the deer and it ran from him. He watched it momentarily, unmoving, and then began his pursuit. The chase didn’t last long and the challenge turned out to be a remedial one. He ran alongside the deer and slapped it on the back to alert it of his presence. The deer tried to change direction, but he was too fast and cut it off. The deer darted in another direction, but he cut that path off as well. This continued for a short time until finally, the deer gave in, it could not escape. The deer stared at him and he gazed back into the creature’s eyes. Why do you fear me? I can see it in your eyes.
He didn’t expect an answer, the question was to himself. He turned and walked away from the deer. He was wasting time, he must continue west. There was something to be done west.
• • •
He had walked all night and now the heat of the sun touched his face and the pangs of hunger stabbed his stomach. Food, he thought. Must I hunt? Is there a village near? There was no village near and he knew that he would have to hunt. The western path had stayed along the river in which he had bathed. Fish came to mind as something that would make for a nice meal. He walked south to meet the river and wondered to himself, when was the last time I fed on fish? Fed, he thought. When did I begin to call eating, feeding?
He found the river’s edge, disrobed, and again entered into the water. I should have done this last night, he thought. Wasting time. Within seconds, he had caught a fish and without moving to shore, he began to devour it, all of it. Has no taste, this fish. Wonder why? He caught another fish and began to eat it in the same manner. The second fish held no flavor for him either. He threw it, half eaten, back into the water. Not hungry anymore.
Intuition told him that it was time to head south, and in order to do so, he would have to cross the river. So cross the river he did. First, he grabbed his clothes from the shore and tied them around his waist. Then, he reentered the water and began to swim across the surface. If someone had seen him from a distance, they might have thought he was a small rowboat. His strokes were powerful and he propelled himself forward quite quickly. When at last he had crossed the river, he knew that he had expended a lot of energy and he would need to rest. So he lay down on the southern shore of the river and went to sleep, his soaking clothes still tied around his waist.
He woke to the jostling and clinking of a caravan, passing not far from where he slept. It was kicking up dust as it moved across the flat land, the driver showing no signs of having seen him sleeping by the river. He stood up and stretched his body. He was expecting to have to work out some sore muscles after his exertions, but that would also be something he would have to get used to. He was never sore. He brushed the dirt off of his body and dressed himself in his clothes that were still slightly damp. He wondered if he might purchase food from the caravan. He decided he would pursue it.
• • •
I hate drivin’ t
his caravan, thought Morduk. The land stretched out before him, for what seemed like forever, in all directions. He had good horses and they pulled the wagons quickly, but not quickly enough for Morduk. Shoulda gotten bigger horses, he thought as he swigged water from his canteen. His mind began to wander as he looked into the sky. I could probably take a nap, sittin’ right here, and still be on track when I wake, he thought, staring into the sun. His leg began to itch and he slapped at it. He turned his head to see if it were a fly that had caused the itch. Suddenly, there was someone standing right in the caravan’s path. Morduk pulled back on the reins until the horses came to a stop.
“Wot d’you think you’re doing?” yelled Morduk, taking off his large, brimmed hat and slamming it on the seat next to him. Morduk climbed down from his perch and began to walk out to the man. Morduk was a tiny man; only about as big as a child, but his bushy, red beard and mustache left no question to the fact that he was full-grown. He yelled again as he walked out to meet the stranger that was blocking his path. “You got a death wish, do ya?”
As Morduk approached, the stranger held out his hands in a sign of peace.
“My apologies. I had hoped that I might be able to purchase some food from your caravan.”
Morduk looked up at the stranger suspiciously and then looked all around as if looking for someone else to show up.
“You all alone out here?”
“Yes, I am a traveler.”
“What happened to your face?” Morduk was so small that the white hood the stranger used to shield his identity had little to no effect. He, in fact, could see right under it.
“Childhood accident,” replied the stranger.
“I suppose I could sell you some food,” said Morduk. “Wait here.” Morduk walked off to the caravan and rummaged around inside. After a minute, he returned with a hunk of bread and two sausage links. Morduk knew that no man in his right mind would pay any more than three gold pieces for the food, but Morduk was not the type to pass up an opportunity to swindle someone. “Ten gold pieces,” he said to the stranger, expecting some sort of argument. Although he knew that he held the leverage, out here in the middle of nowhere.
“Hold out your hand,” said the stranger. Without going into a pocket, he held his closed hand over Morduk’s empty palm and dropped exactly ten gold pieces into it.
“What did you say your name was again?” asked Morduk.
“I didn’t,” answered the stranger.
Morduk eyed the man suspiciously and nodded his head. “A man after my own heart, I can respect that.” Morduk ran his stubby fingers through his beard. “You seemed to come up with those ten pieces right quick. Almost out of the air. You some sort of magician?”
“No magician, I assure you,” replied the stranger.
“Where you headed off to then?” Morduk squinted his eyes. “What’s yer business?”
A voice crept inside the head of the stranger, whispering a message of one word. Hendrick.
“My business is my own. But I travel to the village of Hendrick, if you must know.”
“Well, well,” said Morduk grinning. “That be the way I’m headed. I’ll give you transport for twenty more gold pieces.” Morduk held his palm out and again, the stranger, without reaching into his pocket, dropped twenty gold coins from his hand. I’ve got a magician here, surely, thought Morduk. Can’t let him get away. Morduk pocketed the gold and extended his arm. “Right this way, my friend. You’ll find the back of the caravan most comfortable, I think.” The stranger climbed into the back of the caravan and Morduk rubbed his greedy little hands together. He walked back to the front of the caravan and climbed up to his seat. “Next stop, Hendrick,” he called out and then slapped the reins down on the horses’ backs. Morduk began to hum a tune as the horses took off, his beady eyes twinkling in the sun.
It was a rough ride in the back of the caravan. The wagon was being pulled at such a speed that every little bump was throwing the stranger into the air. He sat, his knees tucked into his chest, and began to meditate. He had been given a location and now he needed a name.
Images swam through the stranger’s mind as he sat, huddled, eyes closed. Not the smoke images that he saw through his milky eyes, but images like he used to see; images just like everyone else sees. He saw images of bears and of a cave. He saw images of a giant feather and of a stout man in a gray robe. He saw images of a blue crab and of a golden-bladed weapon. Then he saw the images of two distinct faces, hovering in his consciousness and the voice came back into his mind. Floyd, the voice whispered, Ben Floyd. The stranger repeated the name in his head. Tomas Floyd, the voice continued. Two targets. Brothers. These two men are evil, violent and depraved. They fight to endanger the soul of every person on the earth. As we speak, they come closer and closer to returning an Ancient Evil to power. They must be stopped at all costs.
The stranger opened his eyes as the voice in his head faded away. At all costs.
• • •
Hours later, the caravan came to a stop. We must have arrived, the stranger thought to himself. He waited a few minutes to see if it was just a momentary break. Once he had decided that enough time had passed, he put his legs out the back of the wagon and lowered himself down to the ground.
“Turn around very slowly,” said a voice from behind, once the stranger had fully exited the caravan. He turned to find Morduk standing with a long knife pointed at him. “You see, I never introduced myself proper-like,” said Morduk maliciously. “Morduk’s the name and your gold be my game. And I don’t lose, stranger. I saw with my own eyes as you conjured gold from the air, magician, and if you’d like to be leaving with your life today, you’ll be making it a third time. And Old Morduk thinks it better be to the tune of five hundred gold pieces.”
The stranger watched blue tendrils of smoke snake across the scarred surface of the little man’s face. “You’re a bandit,” he said.
“And a darn good one, I’d wager. Now stop stallin’, magician.” The stranger clenched his fists and they began to glow. “That’s it, magician, get my gold.”
Before Morduk knew what had happened, the stranger’s leg had darted out from under his robe and kicked the knife out of the short man’s hand. The stranger then shot his arm out and grasped Morduk by the throat, lifting the man so that their eyes were level. Morduk’s eyes bulged as he struggled for air.
“I don’t like bandits,” said the stranger, and with that he snapped Morduk’s neck. He dropped the body and faced south. No sign of the village. No matter, he thought and began walking south.
Why did you kill that man? came the voice in his head.
“What? That man was a bandit,” he said aloud in confusion. “He was evil.”
Did I ask you to kill that man? asked the voice.
He shook his head. “No, but was that man not evil?”
Who are you to decide what is good and what is evil? Who are you to judge fate?
His mistake became clear to him. “I am sorry, my Holy. Never again will I assume to know your will. Please forgive me, my Holy.” He dropped to his knees and bowed his head.
Let this be a lesson to you. I will not be so forgiving in the future. Never forget that it is I who has shaped, and will forever shape this world and all that walk upon it. I choose to work through you.
“Yes, my Holy.”
He stood and continued to walk south, knowing without being told that he would never be entering the village of Hendrick. He saw images in his head of the entrance to a cave and his feet knew how to take him there.
The Floyds, he thought. I must kill the Floyds.
Chapter 24: Taken
“I didn’t think that a place like this could be real,” said Riverpaw.
He and Evercloud stood, shin-deep, besieged in bog water. A chill climbed Evercloud’s back. He looked off into the distance, which wasn’t far given all of the fog, and what he could see wasn’t encouraging. The fog that hung in the air all around them was an ill color of green an
d smelled like old vegetables. Dead trees intermittently dotted the landscape, their jet-black bark matching the muddy water that the travelers stood in. Neon-green moss grew upon the trees like a disease and protruded randomly throughout the surface of the bog water. This world felt hollow.
“Should it be this cold?” asked Evercloud as he fought phantom shivers.
“This place is evil,” answered Riverpaw. “It’s sucking the warmth away from us.”
A vulture screeched high above them from its gnarly, wooden perch. Evercloud looked up at the vulture, bobbing its head in the tree, thinking that it looked like it was laughing at them.
“Did you say something?” asked Riverpaw.
“No. That was the vulture.”
“Not the vulture. I heard whispers.” Riverpaw watched the fog in suspense. “Listen.”
Evercloud focused his hearing out into the surrounding bog. He couldn’t hear anything. But just as he was about to tell Riverpaw that he couldn’t hear anything, the noises began to reach his ear. Quiet at first, like the breeze moving through the leaves in the trees. But there was no breeze and the trees bore no leaves.
“What is it?” asked Evercloud.
“Shhh,” warned Riverpaw.
The sounds were growing, swelling and rolling like barely-breaking waves; the beginnings of what could be voices. Small whispers, coming at them from all directions. They swore they could make out the words. Come this way, whispered the voices. Look out behind you, they teased. She’ll make soup out of your bones.
“Who’s there?” called Riverpaw.
“Shut up,” whispered Evercloud. “I don’t think we should announce our presence.”
“But the voices,” said Riverpaw.
“Probably don’t want to help us. I don’t have a reason for it, but I don’t think that we should listen to them.”
“Well, I suppose we should start moving.”
Everflame: The Complete Series Page 20
