by Steve Lang
The moment they walked into the clearing their boots were sucked down like glue, and with each step they could feel their energy being drained from them.
"Now I know why there's a carpet of bones leading across. It's a trap! Run! These people never made it through!" Marcus could feel his energy being sapped, and his vision wavering, a sound like angels singing filling his head. Ten feet, eight, seven, he drew closer. "AAAARGH!" Marcus screamed as he dove the last three feet into the cave’s entrance. When he turned, his men were right behind him. Marcus sighed with relief as he turned over on his back.
Filly was first behind him, and then Roderick. They lay there on a hard rock floor for a few minutes as the angelic singing faded, and their energy returned.
"That was quite an experience." Filly said.
"I rather thought it sucked." Roderick said.
Marcus rolled onto his elbows and pried himself off the floor. Above their heads attached to the wall was a wooden torch, and next to it on a shelf sat a clay bottle and mechanical lighter. Marcus stood, took the torch, and after sniffing the contents of the bottle, realized it was lamp oil.
"A small gift for our trouble?"
"Nothing on this quest has been a gift. I would not begin assuming such things now. It seems since we left the castle all we've managed to find is misery." Roderick said. Marcus shrugged, nodded, and then lit the torch.
"See, light. Don't be so negative Roderick and look at the bright side. That sour demeanor is going to get you into trouble." Marcus said.
Now that they could see, they noticed that they were at the top of a long path leading down into the cave.
"After you." Filly said. He bowed to Marcus and pointed toward the blackness beyond their torch light.
As they walked through the lonely tunnel, Marcus's mind turned toward people residing in King Edward’s castle, and how many of them would be dead by week's end if they were unsuccessful in this quest.
"There's a lot riding on the success or failure of this little jaunt. Let's stay sharp and make sure we get back to the castle in one piece." Marcus said.
"Marcus, I know this is probably an inopportune time to ask this, but as we have no idea what awaits us at the end of this tunnel. Are we good men?" Filly asked. Marcus was ten years his senior and had been a knight when they were still playing with wooden swords around the castle walls as child and teenager.
"What do you mean?" Marcus asked.
"Well, sir, we've killed a lot of people in one battle after another, and I wonder…"
"Spit it out, man." Marcus said.
"How many of those men deserved to die when we invaded their lands? Did we do what was right, or did we only follow the orders of our king who may or may not have been altruistic in his intentions? I see many of the dead in my dreams." Filly asked.
Marcus thought a moment before speaking, and measured his words. As a leader, his duty was to keep his men focused on the task and table all other discussions about morality, or non-important conversation, but today was different. The tunnel leading down had a finality to it, a foreboding aura, as if God were ready to conclude their story.
"I believe we've performed good deeds as soldiers of the crown, but my soul is heavy with the burden of so much death. I can't say everything I've been party to was honorable, but intuition tells me that if we do not save the people of our land from the witch, all of our bad deeds will outweigh our good." Marcus paused as he turned to face his men, his face taking on a more powerful, heroic look in the half light of his torch. "This is the time we find out if we're evil or divine. We are the last in line, the remaining three knights of our realm who will stand against the night and with our light we will shine until dawn, or break against the rocks like a ship lost at sea and face doom. We've fought together for a long time and I know that what we do now is just and good for our people, but not until we meet our individual ends will we have our answers."
Filly and Roderick nodded in understanding, and they continued downward into a building heat, until red fire light began to illuminate the cave. They stepped out into a vast cavern where a river of fire was running through the center. Lava bubbles popped and burst in long arcs across a stone bridge that would allow them passage. The odor of sulfur reeked and stole their breath with its overpowering fumes.
"Look, there!" Roderick gasped.
On the other side of the river of fire stood a twelve foot tall black winged, muscle bound, maroon tinted demon with one large onyx horn curling from the right side of his head. Before him on the floor was a large steel anvil, and behind a massive fireplace lit and ready for business. He was watching them, his head cocked to the side as if waiting for one of them to speak, but after a moment the demon grew impatient and grunted.
"We seek Mortis! We are knights of King Edwards's court…"
The demon cut them off. "That's me, what do you want? I'm busy."
"Mortis, we've been sent to have our blades re-forged on the Anvil of Dhampir." Marcus said.
"I’m not sure I want to help you humans. I’ve seen you perform more wicked treachery than I ever have, and I’ve been around a long, long time. Maybe this monster you fight is a sign. Go away."
"We have no quarrel with you, ours is with Dersha the witch. We need your help, please!" Roderick said. Mortis stood more at ease at the mention of her name, and laughed out loud.
"You’re going to fight Dersha? That is interesting. All three of you, or is there an army of millions waiting above?"
"She destroyed our army in the woods yesterday. You'll help us, then?"
"Dersha is a form of Dravix, and he’s a demon from the ninth level of Hell. You stand no chance of defeating him, and with my help the most you can hope for is returning him to his own realm. Dravix probably assumed you’d die in the quicksand out in front of my cave, or that I’d kill you, which was certainly a consideration when you stumbled into my chamber. Give me your swords and I’ll see what I can do." Mortis said.
Each man turned over his blade to Mortis, who looked them over with a frown.
"These are not bad. The steel is strong and I believe you've given me something to work with. We’ll know if it can be done in a short time." Mortis said and then began to work.
Marcus, Roderick, and Filly waited for hours as Mortis melted their swords, re-forged, and hammered the new blades into razor sharp weapons of pure destruction. Filly watched Mortis work with the fascination of a child, and saw that when Mortis had completed each blade, it had an aura about it. One aura was blue, another green, and the third purple. Mortis fashioned each sword with a new grip, a wolf's skull pommel, and a cross guard which curved outward into two sharp fangs. When his work was complete, he waved for the men to join him.
"These weapons will defeat any undead with a touch of the blade, and if used in battle against corruptible men, their bodies will burst into flames. They have each been infused with the eternal angelic energy of a living being sympathetic to your cause. These spirits will aid you until you no longer require their assistance; that is their agreement with me." Mortis handed the blue sword to Marcus. "This is Mercy." The green sword he gave to Filly. "She is Hope." The final sword went to Roderick. "I give you Faith."
"Thank you for your help, Mortis." Marcus bowed his head.
"You are the leader of these men?" Mortis asked Marcus.
"I am."
"Dravix believes I'll aid in his campaign to overthrow the world of men, however, even if I wanted to, there is a balance that must be maintained between Heaven, Earth, and Hell. If Dravix succeeds, he will tip the scales and create a power vacuum. Those swords will lay the walking dead to final rest, but are useless against demons, and he knows this, that's why he sent you to me. You'll need this to send Dravix back to hell." Mortis tossed a small wooden box to Marcus.
"What is it?"
"The power to transform negative energy. Do not open it in this place."
"Thank you." Marcus said.
"I'm not sure if I did you
any favors. Three knights against Dravix and a legion of the undead are bad odds on a good day, but when you see the chance to strike him down, don't hesitate for an instant. As you impale Dravix with your blade, point the ring at the space between his eyes."
They each bid Mortis farewell, he wished them luck and they walked up the long tunnel toward daylight. When they exited the mouth of the cave, a path opened through the woods and their feet stood on solid ground, but the rain persisted.
"If we never pass this way again I'll live the rest of my days in peace." Filly said. The other two nodded in agreement.
Marcus opened the small box Mortis gave him and marveled at the beauty inside. It was a ring crafted from jade in the shape of a demonic skull, and as he gazed upon it Marcus could hear it whisper into his mind. He shut the box, and when they returned to their horses he placed the box inside a saddlebag. They rode back to Warren with speed, and met Delio inside his inn.
"Welcome back, I’m surprised to see you! I was putting on a pot of tea, and you look cold and wet. Come sit by the fire"
"Have you seen any sign of Dersha?" Marcus asked Delio.
"Um, Marcus, you may want to see this." Filly said. He was standing at the door looking out of the window into a hard falling rainstorm.
"The undead march against us now!" Roderick said. He watched a horde of hundreds of lurching; wandering reanimated corpses come from the north.
"Well, Delio, it looks like we got here just in time." Marcus said. He turned to face Delio, but the man had vanished.
"Have either of you noticed how empty this hamlet is? I have not seen one person other than the innkeeper since we arrived. Not one shop keep, not a single person traveling from one house to another." Filly said.
"It is raining and he said many of the villagers had been disappearing for one reason or another." Roderick replied.
"No, Filly's right." Marcus looked out the window and realized for the first time that the houses of this little village were all shells of dwellings. The windows were all broken, and most of them had been burned in horrible fires. They were in a ghost town. "We've been tricked!"
"Delio is Dravix in disguise!" Filly growled.
"To arms, brothers! We fight for Nodd this day!" Marcus said. He was out in the rain before either of his comrades could act.
Marcus rushed into a herd of the walking dead, slashing with his blue blade into their bodies. As he touched them, they exploded into a rain of grey ash that covered the ground like soot. Filly ran into the fight and helped hack the adversary to pieces. As they defeated two, three more appeared out of the woods beyond the hamlet. The battle pushed them back into Warren, and although they were outnumbered now by four to one, none of the knights had taken damage.
"Filly, on your left!" Roderick screamed. A skeletal minotaur clambered after Filly. He dodged to the right just as a horn grazed his neck, giving him a minor flesh wound.
Filly threw an uppercut, knocking the minotaur backward and cutting him in half, turning the rotting skeleton to ashes.
"This could go on all day! Where is Dravix?" Roderick asked.
Marcus was struck by a sudden intuition and turned toward the direction of their castle. The rain had stopped and they could see sun on the horizon and a column of smoke.
"Our castle!" Roderick yelled.
"I think I know where Dravix went. Let's get moving." Marcus said. The urgency in his voice electrified his brothers, and they raced for their horses.
Leaving the horde behind, they rode as if their lives depended on it, knew their friends and neighbors lives did. The castle grew closer and the three riders could see the flames rising from behind the castle walls. People the size of dots from their distance were running from Dravix's demons.
"He left the undead behind to keep us busy while his demons attack the fortress." Marcus said. He reached into the saddle bag and retrieved the little box. With one hand he opened it and took the jade ring out with his teeth. Removing a glove he placed the ring on his finger with as much care as possible. Fury beat in his heart, and fire roiled though his veins as the jade skull glowed with bright green luminescence.
They rode up to the castle gates as winged demons harassed the fleeing townspeople from behind the once protective walls of their home. The knights had drawn attention, and as a winged harpy swooped down for an attack with her clawed feet, Marcus slashed up with his sword, decimating her. Filly and Roderick did the same to the foes that approached them.
"Do not stop riding until we get into that castle. We have to protect the king." Marcus yelled.
They thundered across the drawbridge, blasting through a wall of fire blocking the entrance as terrified villagers ran by them in the opposite direction. Bodies littered the streets as demonic forces slaughtered humanity. Marcus, Filly, and Roderick began to slice and hack their way through the village as they headed for King Edward’s castle. Dersha greeted them at the castle entrance in her maroon robes, and instead of the usual crone appearance, she assumed the façade of a beautiful young girl in her mid-twenties.
"You're late! Did you three have fun with my walking dead?" Dersha said.
"You'll pay for your mischief, witch!" Filly said. His eyes burned like fire for a moment, and then turned to pained surprise as a forked tail exploded through his chest. In an instant he was carried away by a winged demon and dropped from two hundred feet onto a cobblestone street.
Roderick leapt from his horse and was confronted by a large red demon resembling Mortis, but this one wielded a double bladed battle-axe, with fire dancing in his eyes. Roderick rushed forward with his sword held out in front of him like a battering ram. Marcus tried to scream for him to stop, but it was too late. The demon sidestepped his attempt and used the battle-axe to separate Roderick's head from his shoulders.
"Noooooo!" Marcus yelled. Dersha laughed at him from where she stood, mocking his pain.
As Roderick dropped to the ground in a pool of blood, his head rolled down the street. Marcus jumped in the air and kicked his brother’s murderer in the chest with both feet, knocking it to the ground. Dersha stopped laughing and began to conjure a spell as her hands wound around each other. Marcus kicked the demon as he was regaining his feet and ran past him, and then threw his sword at a surprised Dersha. She had no time to put her hands up or react before the blade was buried deep into her chest. Then Marcus remembered what Mortis told him, and pointed the jade ring at Dersha's forehead. She screamed as if on fire, and dropped to her knees. The façade of a young woman vaporized as her true form took shape. Dravix was a hideous misshapen abomination resembling a half human dragon. The jade ring pulled his life force out in a green vapor trail, and as he burst into white flame the demonic ring glowed with brilliant light. Marcus looked down only once, and was blinded by the sight.
Dravix exploded into ashes and the demonic army, now without their leader, turned into white vapor and vanished into the mid-afternoon sun. The kingdom was safe once again. Marcus stood over the body of his headless friend and wept. King Edward approached Marcus and embraced him as a brother.
"Marcus! You are a hero to our people!" Edward said.
"Sire, my sole priority is your safety. We raced back once we saw the flames and smoke." Marcus said. He released his embrace of the king and stepped back.
“You and Filly will command the army as we rebuild. I am sorry to see Roderick was killed before Dersha could be defeated, and the loss of each of my men at the hands of that witch is a weight on my soul.”
“Sire, we will do what we must and defend our town against any foul demon that passes this way.” Marcus said. He turned his eyes to the east, and perhaps it was a trick of sunlight in the clouds, but Marcus could see the smiling eyes of an angel looking upon him with approval.
sun king
Some days begin with a foul stench in the air, and you know you’re headed for trouble. This was just one of those days for Warner Collins.
My name is Warner Collins, and it’s well into
the twenty-first century. The world's become a chaotic maze of confusion, violence, and economic slavery for many, many people. It all started earlier this afternoon. My mind is tired as I lay on my ratty old couch, the one with blood stains on it from god knows who. I bought the couch from an old hippie, and he said the stains were there when he bought it from a drug dealer. Dark blossoms spread across the left cushion like modern art, soaked so deep they may have come from the factory that way. When you don't have money it's amazing what you can get used to.
I’m staring at the ceiling as a podcast comparing the United States and Chinese viewpoints on the New World Order drones on. This week China's against it, last week it was Russia, and India. In another week rumors of Russia warming to the idea will begin to float around the press. The United States steadfastly denies globalization, while at the same time insisting that the NWO will save the world from fascism, and undemocratic policies held by US interests.
Takers.
NWO, a new word for hate.
The news is nothing more than electronic static designed to keep humanity from thinking about real world problems. Hell, much of the world doesn't have clean drinking water, and it's getting worse. World leaders are all in bed together, like one giant orgy ushering in their new Pharaoh in Washington. World politics is the kind of confused ordeal when you don't know where assholes end and mouths begin. Politicians and corporations alike have become war pigs spreading fear for profit, and they do it all while keeping you controlled.
My phone rings. What day is it again? Oh, right, Tuesday. I'm meeting Peach at The Burnt Bean coffee shop today at two. I'm looking over at my latest unfinished oil painting with disinterest. A grove of trees hidden behind some unnamed lake where a half painted blue boat sits motionless, resembling a child's toy, and I want it to sink. I imagine there are tiny people on board going down with it. The work is a commission once finished, but painting water and trees holds as much interest for me as a small child being forced to watch paint dry while the other kids play outside. I wanted to paint the existential horror of it all. Really shove it in people's faces, you know? Get them to think for once. But that won't get you paid. Besides, I see the blank look in people's eyes as they pass by on the street, doe-eyed, slack-jawed, and completely done from working their J.O.B. Thinking is work for which you don't receive a paycheck anyway, which is why most people don't do it.
