Author's Torment

by Thomas Atwood

  As they traveled down the path, large crosses appeared on the side of the road. Men and women hung, nailed to the structures, moaning as they struggled to get free. Men in black cloaks roamed in front of them, their needle-like nails ripping into the flesh of the restrained. They sawed through their flesh as their victims howled and begged for mercy. Blood oozed from the wound, and the men would collect it in a small steel bowl. They’d nod and set the bowl at their victim’s feet before moving down to the next victim. Xie Fan’s jaw set at the carnage, and it took every ounce of willpower for him not to leap and slaughter the torturers.

  A massive tower rose in the distance. It sat on a small chunk of rock that was surrounded by a churning sea of lava. The heat bore down on Xie Fan as sweat rolled off him. He approached the tower, and a pile of rocks shuddered. They flew through the air, landing and forming a makeshift bridge to the tower. The smell of rotting eggs and burnt flesh pervaded the air as Xie Fan approached. Faces appeared in the lava as he crossed, each one stuck in a silent scream. He gulped and strode across the bridge as the massive steel doors opened at his approach. A sword sat, thrust into the volcanic rock in front of a throne.

  Xie Fan cried with glee as he rushed forward. Piles of glittering gold and gems sat in the recesses. Chests overflowed with sapphires and rubies, each one the size of a child’s fist. Jade statues stared back at the group as they walked past, each one a flawless piece of art. Xie Fan ignored it all. The wealth wasn’t what mattered. What mattered was the sword.

  The blade of the sword was a verdant green, and its polished surface reflected the image of Xie Fan and his friends as he approached. The hilt was ivory, and the image of a coiled dragon snaked up to the cross-guard. Golden rings pierced the blade and glowed with an intense light. Xie Fan’s heart caught in his throat as he walked over. He set his hand on the sword and pulled with a mighty shout.

  Nothing happened.

  Xie Fan looked down in frustration as he pulled with all his might. The sword remained lodged in the floor of the throne room, and its radiant light seemed to laugh as Xie Fan sighed. He walked to the far side of the room and hung his head in shame.

  “I…I don’t understand,” Sun Lao said, hanging his head as he looked down.

  “You don’t understand?” Raging Ox roared, glaring down at the man. “You stupid old fool! You’re the one who took us to this accursed place. You swore to us that this man would be the one to wield the sword. We’ve given you everything!”

  “But…but all the signs…”

  “The signs were the mad ravings of an insane old coot. I am tired of being the servant of a madman.” Raging Ox pulled the sword from his belt and swung it down with a mighty cry. Xie Fan shouted a warning, but it was too late. Sun Lao collapsed to the ground, dead.

  “Traitor!” Dancing Crane cried as she sent a dart at the other warrior. Raging Ox batted the weapon from the air and slammed the back of his fist into her. She collapsed near the sword, blood streaming down her face.

  “Why?” she screamed up at him. “Why would you kill Sun Lao?”

  “The Wei Emperor made me an offer,” Raging Ox bellowed, stomping toward her. “Kill Sun Lao and I would rule over a dozen provinces and have ten thousand weights of gold. I was going to kill Sun Lao when I heard of his prophecy. I stayed my sword, knowing that the emperor would pay ten times as much if I delivered the sword as well. I was going to offer you a place by my side. We could rule at the right hand of the emperor. You would be my queen, and we could have whatever we desired.”

  “Never,” Dancing Crane hissed.

  “So be it.” Raging Ox sneered at her fallen form and placed his foot on her chest. She cried out and clutched her ribs as the sound of bone snapping filled the air. Xie Fan rushed toward her as Raging Ox held his sword high over his head. He tackled the larger warrior, sending him sprawling to the ground. The two wrestled briefly, but Raging Ox tossed him across the room like a pillow. Pain surged up Xie Fan’s leg as the sound of snapping bone echoed through the room. Raging Ox grinned in triumph as he stalked toward Dancing Crane. She extended her arm, and the tips of her fingers brushed against the cold steel of the sword.

  The ground shuddered with a powerful force at the contact. Cracks ripped open on the floor of the temple, spreading to the center of the room. Jade Dragon tore itself from the ground, sending chunks of rock and debris flying. The weapon glowed with a brilliant, emerald light as it shone down on Dancing Crane. The blood that streamed from her nose was washed away in an instant, and an unseen force threw Raging Ox back. The weapon placed itself in her hands, a gentle hum echoing through it as she gripped it.

  “No!” Raging Ox shouted as he charged toward Dancing Crane. She flew up, batting away his strike. Steel crashed against steel as the pair danced across the room. Dancing Crane moved with the elegant grace of a dancer, evading Raging Ox’s clumsy attempts to cut her. She spun away, and darts flew from her sleeve, arching through the air toward Ox. He batted the weapons away, and everywhere the darts struck turned into cold, black stone.

  Xie Fan knew she couldn’t last, though. Each blow she parried caused her to wince, and a thin sheen of sweat covered her face. Xie Fan stood, only to collapse on the ground as agony shot up his leg the second he put weight on it. He scowled as he looked up at Dancing Crane. The woman smiled and jerked her neck in the direction of the recesses in the wall. A mad plan went through Xie Fan’s head, and he grinned. Dancing Crane pressed her attack, driving Raging Ox in the direction of the wall. Xie Fan ran forward, ignoring the searing agony of his leg as he slammed into Raging Ox. The impact jostled the temple’s treasures, but Xie Fan crumpled to the ground, his ruined leg unable to hold his weight. Raging Ox held out his arm and roared in laughter as a large gem fell into his outstretched palm.

  “That’s it? That’s your grand plan? You think a silly jewel will defeat me?” He beamed in triumph until a shrill scream shot through the air. Spectral figures filled the room. Each one wielded a massive scythe, and their bleached skulls leered out from white cloaks. They flew in circles around Raging Ox, their howling cries echoing off the walls of the throne room. They grabbed his wrists and pulled him into the air, cackling as he phased through the walls of the building. Dancing Crane walked over to where Xie Fan lay and helped him up, letting him rest his weight on her.

  “Are you all right?” she asked, smiling at him.

  “I’ll be fine,” Xie Fan assured her. “Are you?”

  “I’m fine.” She placed the tip of Jade Dragon on his leg, and the pain vanished as the sword mended his bones. Xie Fan nodded in thanks as he walked over to where Sun Lao’s murdered form lay.

  “He deserves better than to lay here for eternity,” Xie Fan said, picking him up. The pair walked through the door of the Citadel. An uncertain future awaited them, but Xie Fan knew one thing. As long as Dancing Crane, Jade Dragon’s true master, was beside him, they could never be defeated.

  A Greedy Gamble

  Dana Villa-Smith

  Growing up I was always fascinated with old black and white movies. The 1940's golden age of cinema captured my fancy at quite a young age. While preparing myself for this project, both to write outside of my comfort zone and in stretching my imagination, I hadn't expected how fun the story would be to write.

  The first scene came to me in black and white. I saw the shadows, the alert eyes of a desperate character, and then I heard the distinct voice of Sam Spade come to life and tell the story. I do hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

  When one is questioned in regard to their sense of morality, it goes without question that each person answers based on their own conscience.

  Take for example a recent case of mine. I like to call it the Greedy Gamble.

  Who am I? Well, my name is Mark Clergy. I know. Funny name for a PI, kinda gets under the conscience of no-good riff-raff who like to skew the lines of Justice. When they hear ol’ “Clergy” is on the case, it sets them back to days when their grandmo
thers would take them to church on Sunday mornings. Double crossing God seems to bother them, gets ‘em squirming a little.

  This particular case involves a nephew and his well-meaning uncle.

  You see, the nephew had gotten himself on the wrong side of gambling. Excuse me while I light a cigarette. You don’t mind if I smoke? No? Thanks.

  Anyway, the nephew is in financial trouble, and he knows his uncle is the proprietor for his mother’s estate. The nephew didn’t care for this setup, found it rather belittling being in the place of relying on the uncle to handle his money. I mean, come on, a guy with a gambling problem is surely capable of carrying his own pocketbook, right?

  Heh, I can see you know where this is going.

  Here, I’ll start at the beginning. It all started when Lawrence Daxley and his uncle Jonathan Guyer were having dinner with a new client. Jonathan had met Peter Moseby at an evening gala and, after finding they had several common interests – including the mansion of a house and its quaint little estate Mr. Guyer had just bought – Mr. Guyer invited Mr. Moseby for dinner. His nephew, of course, was there too, being an associate business partner.

  What? Yeah, that’s right, the Guyer Foundation. Pretty nifty gig too. Guyer was known for his affluent love for widows and orphans. Hehe, you see what I did there? Sorry. Ahem, anyway, so they’re having dinner at Mr. Guyer’s.

  Click. His eyes darted between the doorway and the metal box. Voices continued to carry from the next room.

  Shifting the lid easily open, Dax stared at the contents, aware of his heartbeat wildly thumping in his chest. Three stacks of bills and a loosely closed pouch of jewels rested quietly in the box. As beads of sweat formed on his brow, he scooped up the contents, stuffing them into his pockets. He replaced the cash with counterfeit bills and jewels with imitation glass.

  Finally, as he heard the conversation begin to die, he locked the box and replaced the key, stowing away all evidence he had been there.

  “Lawrence should be out by now,” he heard his uncle say, just as he turned off the desk lamp. “Come along, we’ll meet him in the hall.”

  With a new sense of alert, Dax jumped the coffee table, racing out the open doorway into the adjoining drawing room. He wiped his face with his handkerchief, moving toward the door just as his uncle opened it.

  “Ah, Lawrence. We began to worry,” his uncle said with a smile.

  “Yes, I got a bit lost. Such a magnificent house has many rooms. It’s easy to disorient.”

  “Quite,” laughed Peter, his uncle’s guest. “Your uncle struck gold when he bought this house from me, the old ham. I’m sure you’ll be finding secret spaces I never knew existed before the year is out. That is,” Peter leaned toward Dax’s uncle, “if my dear Jonathan has you here often enough. I say, chap, such a nice nephew you have. Next time you must bring your wife, good boy.”

  “Are you all right, Lawrence? You look a bit pale,” Jonathan asked.

  “Nasty cold in the house. Charlotte brought it home a few days ago,” responded Dax. “I’ve been feeling a bit unwell this afternoon. Perhaps I should retire?”

  “It might be a good idea. Should I have my doctor check in on you?”

  “No, thank you. I’ll be all right. Goodnight, sir. Thank you for having me to dinner. My driver will see me home.” Fighting the urge to clench his fists against the sweat gathering in them, he nodded politely.

  Peter offered a warm smile. “Thank you for coming, Mr. Daxley. Please tell Charlotte I look forward to meeting her.”

  “Of course. Goodnight, sir.”

  Dax opened the door and came in to find his wife pacing the room with her thumbnail in her teeth—something she did when she was anxious.

  “Have you got the money?” Charlotte asked in a desperate voice.

  His eyes briefly met hers as he made his way to an end table beside the couch. He emptied his pockets, revealing the wrapped bills and pouch of jewels.

  Charlotte peered around his arm. “Is this all of it?” At her full height, her head met evenly with his shoulders.

  “No. The rest is in the bank.”

  “Do you think it will be enough?”

  “It’s more than enough.” Dax counted the bundled stacks first, making sure each of them were complete.

  Charlotte reached for one of the gemstones. “These must be worth a fortune.”

  Dax nodded in tune with his counting. Satisfied, he put his hands together against his lips contemplating what to do with it. “They are. Mother only kept the best assets at her disposal. After my uncle closed the business with the rising costs of labor and regulations on mining, they held onto the last of the diamonds. Somewhere on the black market blood diamonds would fetch a remarkable price.”

  Charlotte shivered. “What a dreadful thought. Those poor dark slaves working under such harsh conditions.”

  “They’re Africans, Charlotte, they put up with much worse.” Dax came from a long family of slave owners.

  “Worse than dying in mines?” she questioned sharply.

  “At least they’re not Jamaican sugar fields,” he replied with a shrug. “Anyway, it’s closed now. These jewels will all be rare by the end of the century if the activists have their way.”

  “I hardly knew there was such a thing until I met you.” Charlotte looked down, tracing her finger on the edge of the table.

  Putting a hand on her arm, Dax kissed her temple. “Darling, you shall never have to be poor again. Now, I’m going to tuck this away in a safe place. You get ready for bed. I’ll be along in a moment.”

  Whatever happened next between them is between the covers.

  That night, Dax wasn’t the only one who had been sneaking through his uncle’s new estate. That’s where I come into the story. I don’t suppose you want a glass of water do you? No? I know I could use one.

  “Hello, Lawrence?” Jonathan wiped sweat from his brow, shaking as he held the phone to his ear. “Lawrence, now I have some terrible news. You must come over right away. No, it’s better if I tell you in person. No, no, you don’t have to bring Charlotte. Yes, yes, just be quick, my dear boy.” Jonathan nearly dropped the phone into its delicate gold cradle. “Robert? Robert, quickly please,” he called out for his servant.

  “Yes, Mr. Guyer?” The servant entered from the door to the hall.

  “Please have the staff take thorough inventory of all the possessions in the house so we know exactly what is missing. I must call Mr. Clergy and Mr. Moseby. I do hope Moseby is in.” Jonathan put his finger into the spinning dial. “Yes, Operator? Get me Greyson Court 6412.”

  Lawrence arrived first. He and his uncle were going over the lists of items missing and those accounted for by the time I got there.

  The butler let me in, escorting me through the lobby and then into a room beyond the hallway. It had a high-ceiling, a lofted hallway looking down over the room. The windows stretched from floor to ceiling washing everything in magnificent warm hues of sunlight. The amber staining gave the room a homey appearance. It felt ageless and kinda romantic, just like the Tudor structure of the outside.

  I noted to myself how easily this joint would burn down if it accidentally caught fire. Wooden hallways, walls, open beam ceilings… the very idea gave me the shudders.

  “Right this way, sir.” The butler escorted me into a room left of the windows.

  This room had bookshelves on one wall and a large fireplace on the other. Mr. Guyer and Mr. Daxley were standing at a desk behind the sofa when I entered. Mr. Guyer was understandably worked up, but right away something about Lawrence Daxley seemed out of place.

  “Ah, good, Mr. Clergy,” Mr. Guyer acknowledged, coming in quick steps to greet me.

  “Mr. Guyer, good to see you. I’m sorry it’s under such grim circumstances.” I shook Mr. Guyer’s hand.

  “Mr. Clergy, the most terrible thing has happened. We’ve been robbed.” Jonathan Guyer had a comical sort of alertness about him. The man was on the shorter side with a round, bald
ing head. His glasses were round, his body was rounded about the middle, and the poor man was so distraught, he hadn’t yet changed out of his dressing robe.

  I had to hide a smile as I slid my hands into my pockets. “What did they take?”

  “Here.” Jonathan handed me two pieces of paper.

  “What are these?”

  “A list of the items taken, and a list of the ones still here.” He turned to Mr. Daxley. “Lawrence, I’m so sorry they took your allowance allotment. I should have just given it to you already.”

  “Please, Uncle, I’m more concerned for you and your losses. Mother has plenty of money in the bank, but your heirlooms are irreplaceable.”

  “Thank you, Lawrence, only that isn’t the worst news. I bought the house from Mr. Moseby, and several of his possessions seem to be what’s missing.”

  “Oh dear!” Daxley exclaimed, his demeanor changing almost immediately. “Is Mr. Moseby on the way?”

  “Who is Mr. Moseby?” I asked, intrigued.

  “Peter Moseby, he owns Willis Motor Enterprises. I just bought this house from his estate manager. Then Mr. Moseby and I met at a gala last week, it seemed proper to invite the man to dinner.”

  “When did he have dinner with you?” I wrinkled my brow in thought, examining the lists closer.

  “Lawrence and I had him to dinner last night at 6 o’clock. Lawrence went home sometime after 8, and then Mr. Moseby left around 10. After that, I promptly went to bed, took my sedatives, and slept the whole night through. I woke up this morning when the sun came in – my window faces east, after all – and it was right before breakfast I noticed a Peruvian vase was no longer sitting on the hall table.”

  With a quick glance about the space around us, I asked which one.

  Mr. Guyer then walked me through the mansion, pointing to the various spots where things were missing.

  The home had two stories and a maze of rooms. Hallways stretched on with rooms moving each which way off of them. Rooms connected to other rooms, and finally when we were back at the staircase, I had a full recollection of the house logged in my brain.