by Colin Ososki
Abraham walked slowly around the large stone table. “From what we know, thanks to Oslo,” He nodded to one of the armored lynxes that sat on the table. Oslo was also quite a large lynx, almost to Abraham's height. He was brighter colored than the others, and seemed to have more spots on his fur. Abraham continued, “In the morning of two days from now, the metal men will be ready.”
Oslo spoke. His voice was very sharp. “We will bring forth every armored lynx and every human in the encampment, and we will strike his forces down at the Hall before they depart. It will be quick.”
“Do we know if Charlie plans to take part?” asked Rezzifer.
“We believe he will be inside the Hall at that time,” said Abraham.
“If we kill him,” said Tarrian, “There will need to be another election, and that might take weeks to organize, although if he is left alive, no one can be certain of what he will do.”
-----
After discussing the situation for more than an hour, Allomus, Rezzifer, Oslo, and Tarrian left to return to their homes. Abraham, Lyrah, and Milo stayed in the large house for sleep. Milo didn't get a chance to speak with Rezzifer, but decided he would try again before he left. Abraham simply curled himself up and lay in the corner, while Lyrah and Milo lay in their own beds made of hay. With the incredible stillness, Milo was able to think. Millions of thoughts raced around his mind like hornets. But his thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a familiar voice in a whisper.
“Milo.” It was Lyrah. Milo lifted his head from his bed and looked at her. She was sitting upright.
“What is it?” He replied.
“I can’t sleep.” She said.
Milo sat upright in his bed. “I’m having the same problem.” He looked up at her. “Is everything alright?” She looked into the fire. He looked at her scar again. Milo opened his mouth to say something multiple times, but the silence took over.
It was silent for a while. They could both hear Abraham’s soft purring in the corner. Then Milo said, “Can I ask you a question?” The first response was her voice in his head, accompanied by a smile. Remember what I told you? Some questions are not meant to be answered. Milo smiled back.
“Sure,” She said, “What is it?”
It was a few moments before Milo asked, “Why did you find me?”
“What do you mean?” She asked.
“I mean,” Milo paused, uncertain of how to form his question. “When you came to the dinner hall on the night of the election, did you know you would meet me?”
Lyrah thought for a moment. “No, I don’t think so.”
CHOICES
The battlefield was just below a cold, shallow sky. Massive clouds of black smoke had drifted all over the area, completely blocking the sun or any other beauty from entering one’s gaze. Milo was holding an incredibly heavy blade in his hand while walking in the smoke. Perhaps not a blade, for it was cubic rather than edged. The weapon was crafted of a metal-like material, but rather bizarre. He had never seen or felt something like it before. It was not unthought-of of, though, that the blade was made of immensely strong bone-splitting elements, brought together by a blacksmith like no other.
This was a dream. Milo realized this as he awoke in Abraham's house. It was still night time, for everyone was still asleep. The fire had dwindled away to a soft orange-red glow from the remaining embers, lying in white ash. Setting his head back down, Milo began to close his eyes once more, but then remembered something. Lyrah had told him of her sleeping troubles just hours ago, and Milo confessed to a similar problem. How did I fall asleep? I suppose no one remembers when they drift into it, better just try to get more rest. Before attempting to sleep again, Milo turned over and looked at Lyrah, who was turned away from him, motionless in her straw bed. From any person’s eyes this would have seemed like she was sleeping, with a calm mind at rest, but Milo knew, even at this hour, she was awake.
He did not bother to talk to her. Instead, he closed his eyes and tried to fall back asleep. He tried to return to his dream, curious to know what a torn battlefield had waiting for him. As he fell back into a soundless sleep, the machines in his mind began to work more efficiently and the foggy images of the dream returned.
Blood painted the dirt in a hair-raising spray. As the smoke cleared, Milo noticed the bones on the ground. The bones were not fully intact; they had been crushed, cracked, and blown across the ground in a white dust. In a dreadful realization, Milo confirmed that these were the remains of human bones.
What happened here? He walked for what seemed like an hour, discovering nothing in his path but bones and things that looked like they were once plants. Floating in the air around him were ashes and sparks; the result of a risen fire. Milo suddenly noticed that the smoke and fog had been getting thicker the more he walked. He stopped and took a moment to look around. He saw nothing but the same as before.
Then came a voice-like noise. It was a strange yelp, coming from the distance, and it sounded human. It was a person, calling out somewhere. Milo began to circle, seeking a shadow or figure that would reveal the person, but saw nothing. It came again. It was an eerie sound, something that made Milo’s ears twitch in fear. It came again, but this time it did not stop. It was the continuous shriek of a person calling for someone. The echo began to form a familiar sound –Milo. My name?
“MILO!” It was a low, powerful voice full of anger that rushed through the smoke and fog, revealing a tall man with a golden blade in his hand and a blast of red sparks trailing behind him. The man, Milo saw, was wearing a dark cloth concealing his face. The man stepped towards Milo and raised the blade in his hand up high.
In a blurred light, Milo saw Rezzifer with Lyrah and Abraham near the stone table in the center of the room. He rubbed his eyes and blinked rapidly to regain focus. Lyrah was looking at him, and Milo shook his head violently to rid his head of the daze left behind from the dream.
Rezzifer was talking to Abraham. “Has Allomus finished my new set of plates yet?”
“I spoke to him just before you arrived, Rezzifer. He said that they would be done by midday.” He said. He turned from the fire and looked at Milo. “Milo, you must be getting going. Lyrah will tell you how to get to the place. It seems a few recent events may have given us more time. Rezzifer and I have to go now. There is much to do.” And with those words, Abraham and Rezzifer left with a few sudden leaps. Milo looked at Lyrah, who was still wearing the distant look she had the night before.
“Lyrah?” he asked, “are you alright?”
She looked sick. She responded, “Yes. I'm just not feeling good. Did you get any sleep last night?”
Milo remembered. “Yeah, a little bit. I had a strange dream that woke me up in the middle of the night, but I fell back asleep okay. What about you? Did you have any troubles?”
“A little bit,” She said. “What was your dream about?”
Milo tried to remember, but now it was difficult to pick out the details. “I’m not sure, exactly. I was walking through destruction. There was fog everywhere and I couldn't see a thing. And then I’m not really sure what happened.”
“Weird,” She said, looking away from Milo. “So Abraham told you what’s happening, right?”
“Yes, I’m supposed to find one of your allies. Who is it?”
Lyrah pointed to the stone table. On the surface of the table, carved into the stone, was a map of Pæraleth. Milo hadn’t noticed this before. She moved her finger to Havensheil. “Here is where we are now,” Then she drifted her finger across the map down South of Salem to the Lazrai Plains. Her finger landed on a small tree that was drawn on the map, in the middle of the plains. “And here is where you need to be. The man who lives here is a relative of Mr. Alwin. He lives in an old wooden house.”
“Abraham said we may have gotten more time,” Milo started, “exactly how much more time?”
“I don’t think we have more than a week,” said Lyrah.
“Why me?” asked Milo.
; “What do you mean?”
“Why am I going away, and nobody with me?”
“If you’re quick, you won’t draw any attention. Charlie’s focus right now is on us –he thinks you’re here.”
“What happens then?”
“At some point, Abraham will need you back here. I don’t know what for, but you won’t be out there for long. They told me the man there will have something for you.” Lyrah said, “I wasn’t told what exactly.”
“Can you think of anything I could expect?”
“From him? Not really.”
“You know him?”
“I talked to him once,” Lyrah’s words broke when the door burst open. Inside came several lynxes chatting away. “We should go,” said Lyrah.
-----
Milo and Lyrah stood on top of the hill that they had crossed when they arrived at Havensheil. It was time for Milo to leave. There was no snowfall this morning.
“Are you going to be fighting with them?” Milo asked. Lyrah still looked sick and pale.
“Not unless I have to.” Lyrah said. She looked around at Havensheil as she spoke, “I don’t let anyone boss me around, but my abilities are useful to them, and they provide a home. I would go with you if I could.”
Milo felt the darkness creeping back again, weaving its way through the most intense strings of his mind, ripping at his feelings of hope.
“I will see you again,” said Lyrah.
Milo gripped the discomfort in him and tried to kill it mercilessly. But when he looked at her, the discomfort fought back. Her scar and those wild, dark eyes –there was so many questions he had for her. But she won’t. Without much to think about left, Milo turned his back and began to step in the snow.
-----
Milo ran as fast as his courage carried him, and did not halt for a second. He dashed through the trees of the forest, slipping and sloshing through the snow, which left him in an empty, windy, openness when he reached Salem. Trudging left, he took to the East side and ran further. Who could this friend be? It seemed as if Milo was nearly always asking questions, and the answers never got to him the way he wanted. But he was quick to decide that it didn’t matter –he was now a part of something that he couldn’t control.
Salem’s sky was getting dark. Milo hopped a fence that lead into a rough area of the East side of town. He crawled around the side of a family’s home, which was splattered with dirt and torn flowers. He came around the front and spotted an old chariot, half-covered in dirt. Milo reached into the rebellious area of his mind and pulled out the guts to smash the chariot’s window, and jumped in the vehicle a moment later. He stopped to look back at the house; the lights had not come on, nor at any of the other houses. Nobody had noticed. Milo started the engine and pulled out into the street.
He drove forward slowly, still keeping an eye on the house. Paranoia crept in. Milo neared the gate at the South end of Salem. Another chariot was on its way in. Milo did not look at the driver. Instead he remained focused on the land ahead of him, the Lazrai Plains out South. After a slow few minutes of passing through the gate, undoubtedly with eyes on him from the town, he made it through. About a mile outside Salem, Milo raised his head from its previously turtled pose, and he drove faster.
SHADOWS
Mr. Charlie stepped out onto the balcony that overlooked the courtyard of the Minister Hall. Following him was a Parliament member. The courtyard was a massive dome of glass surrounded by gold, and inside was an angelic garden filled with flowers and trees. One tree, in the center of the courtyard, grew to be almost as tall as the glass would allow. Small animals roamed free inside the courtyard, bringing a warm comfort to the area.
“Are the shades ready?” Mr. Charlie asked the Parliament member, Edgar.
“Yes, they are ready,” he said.
“Which ones were selected, Edgar?” asked Mr. Charlie, keeping a strong gaze on a spider that was climbing the biggest tree in the courtyard.
“We selected the two that you had suggested. They were the most brutal during observations. They should get the job done quickly.” Edgar replied.
“Perfect. And the metal men?”
“We had some trouble with one in particular, but the rest of them are on their way to hangar 12, as instructed.” Edgar said.
“What kind of trouble?” Mr. Charlie asked, taking his gaze away from the courtyard to look at Edgar.
“It was fighting back. We had to put it into hibernation, and then we sent it off to Fort Goldiris.”
“The name?”
“93, he said.” Edgar replied.
“We will deal with it later then. Edgar, can you prepare a chariot?” Mr. Charlie still watched the spider. “Tell the shades to get going.”
“Right away, sir.” Edgar’s footsteps leaving the courtyard were heard before he finished speaking. Charlie’s spider climbed and climbed.
-----
Artimus heard the clash loud and clear. At this time of night, he had been writing in his attic. He wondered what the sound came from and looked out the frost-covered window. What he saw outside his window stopped him suddenly. He took a large step back, running towards his desk. When he reached his desk, he swiftly opened the drawer and pulled out a silver dagger. He turned back to the window, holding the dagger in defense.
Across the street, standing on Dr. River’s roof was a shadowed figure. It was human, but very tall and menacing. The figure threw something at the edge of the roof and there was a flash of flying sparks from the impact. Then the figure sprinted and thrust itself off of the roof in a ludicrous leap, but was equipped to swing back on a rope and was flung back at the house, blowing right passed the glass window and entering the house. The figure disappeared, but moments later, shadows appeared in Dr. River’s room. Seconds later, Artimus heard a scream, but this was coming from the house of Dr. Williams.
Another moment passed, and then came a figure in the window in front of Artimus. The figure shattered the window in seconds and entered the room. It spoke. “A dagger isn’t going to help you.”
Artimus was hesitant to respond, “Do you need some sleep?”
The figure stepped forward; it was a hooded man, and in his hand was a large blade. “Your wit won’t save you.”
“Be gone, assassin,” said Artimus. It was quick –he leaped forwards, driving the dagger into the hooded man’s body. They both stumbled towards the window. The assassin, struggling, obtained grasp of Artimus and pulled back, pulling them both through the shattering glass. They fell to the snowy ground and there was a loud cracking sound upon landing. The assassin had been stabbed in the lung and had a broken rib. He staggered when he tried to stand up, bleeding heavily from his injuries.
Artimus stood and picked up the dagger from the bloody snow. “Mr. Charlie shall receive a message from me,” he began. His breath was visible in the chilling moonlight.
Another voice came from the darkness. “Why not deliver the message yourself?” Coming forth from the shadowy mists was Mr. Charlie. He stood by the assassin with Edgar at his side. “Doctor!” shouted Mr. Charlie. He approached Artimus and stopped dreadfully close. “This world was always on the brink of its downfall,” he said.
“Why push it?” Asked Artimus. “Is there a purpose to all this madness?” He staggered.
“Purpose? Of course, Doctor.” Mr. Charlie wiped his hands on his coat, and spat in the snow, as if just finishing a distressing job. Another person came forward in the fog, Edgar. “But madness? Wrong word, I’m afraid. It’s an alleviation.”
“Why shouldn’t I kill you now?” Artimus asked, still holding a tight grip on his dagger, now standing fully.
“I’m curious, Doctor,” Mr. Charlie began, “How is your fear of death?”
Artimus looked directly into the enraged eyes of Mr. Charlie and replied. “I would not fear death, but what comes after.”
Mr. Charlie took a step back. “And what do you suppose that is?” He motioned with his hand telling the assassin to c
ome forwards. As he did so, Artimus answered.
“I’m not certain, entirely.” He took a heavy breath, for the wind was cold. “But I can tell it will not be in your favor.”
Mr. Charlie raised his chin, in thought. Moments later, he turned to the assassin and said, “Kill him,” and stepped back, towards his chariot. Edgar followed, and started the engine. The assassin nodded and began to walk forwards towards Artimus.
Artimus gripped his dagger tighter and raised it. Suddenly, the assassin halted. His swift movements became rigid jerks, and he stood still in front of Artimus. The blade fell from his hand. The assassin was shaking now, uncontrollably, and Artimus could see a dark fluid deluging from parts of his face. Artimus took a step back, horrified. The assassin dropped dead in the dark red snow.
Artimus was struck, frozen. He looked around him, and found that behind him in the snowy fog, the shape of a girl was coming forth. Soon after the blurred sight revealed Lyrah, standing in the snow beside the lynxes Abraham and Oslo, dressed in their vibrant metal armor.
“In need of assistance, Doctor?” Oslo asked, leaping ahead.
“Oslo! Abraham!” Artimus cried, dropping the dagger. He stood beside them, looking at the body. Mr. Charlie’s chariot had left. “Who’s this with us?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at this bizarre girl.
“This is Lyrah,” Abraham said, “You should thank her. We need you for an important task, Artimus.”
“Sorry, I am not prepared for-”Artimus stopped and looked at Lyrah. “Lyrah?” He asked. “Did you write me that letter?”
“Yes,” she said, “I am a friend of Milo’s. I’m sorry, but we are in a bit of a rush; we will talk later.” She quickly turned to Abraham, “I will be back. I have to do something.” Abraham nodded and Lyrah started a feverish sprint down the dark road.
“Abraham,” said Artimus, “I’m afraid it has begun.”
