by Robert York
“Stupid!” I snarled.
I allowed myself to become distracted, letting him get to close. The creature’s momentum sent it barreling past me. I went down on one knee gasping in pain. Droplets of blood dripped onto the snow freezing on contact. I must’ve gotten popped harder than I thought. Through a dizzy haze, I watched the creature turn in the snow, kicking up a wall of drift twenty-feet high. It skidded for fifteen yards before it’s hands and feet gained purchase on the frozen ground. It raised up on it’s hind legs beating its chest with huge balled fists letting out an ear splitting roar as it leapt forward charging. I shook my head trying desperately to clear it.
Everything around me was out of focus and seemed to be moving in slow motion. I didn’t have the time or the focus to let loose with another magical strike, the creature moved too fast and would be upon me in moments. I didn’t think I could clear my head in time to gather the magic I’d need. Struggling to get on my feet, I realized that I’d inadvertently moved into a deeper drift. My attempts at regaining my balance only managed to cause me to sink deeper into the snow. There wasn’t much I could do except die. I know that’s an overly dramatic statement, but when you’re in a situation like this you have few options.
Wait.
There’s one thing I could do that might keep me alive. I needed to work fast though. The creature closed the distance quickly. When it was about five yards away it leapt into the air, it’s tightly clenched fists raised over its head in a (I’m going to pile drive your ass into the ground) sort of posture. Taking the end of the battle staff, I drew a rough circle in the snow around me, about thirty-six inches in diameter. I planted the shaft of wood into the snow next to me being careful not to mar the ring I’d made. I hurriedly pulled the glove off my right hand, held it over the circle with out stretched fingers uttering the Latin phrase “Propinquus Orbis” closing it. A distant snapping hum, audible enough to hear over the storm told me the shield went up. The sound and fury of the storm immediately died away. I’d gotten the shield up in time.
Barely.
The creature hit the shield hard like a pigeon smacking against a newly washed plate glass window. I could feel the impact inside the circle, however it was greatly diminished in strength given that the invisible barrier of magic protected me. The creature slid down the curved invisible wall of energy into an unconscious heap not more than a foot in front of me. A trail of drool streaked down the outside of the barrier ending at the creatures open lip where its head lay against the circle. Shallow puffs of breath escaped its nostrils, it wasn’t dead, but I knew it was going to be hurting with a hell of a headache when it finally came to. The great beast lay motionless, sinking into the soft drift of snow.
I gasped in pain and frustration, taking stock of my injuries. The creature’s fist had scraped the entire left side of my face, from ear to lips. Part of the skin over my eyebrow was torn and bleeding liberally. Not too bad I thought. The sword was still a light casting a welcome, warming glow in the dank forest. I scanned the area around me as far as my eyes could peer through the raging storm. There was the faint diminishing glow of the other creature’s body being reduced to ashes off to my left. Then something caught my eye over to my right. I thought I saw something, movement of some sort. I jerked my head in that direction. Shadows, three distinct shadows moving among the trees. I was certain of it. One of the forms appeared to be carrying a Wizard’s staff. Was someone else here watching the scene or were they possibly responsible for these creatures being here. I inched forward squinting my eyes trying my best to discern more detail. The shadow with the staff halted. It appeared as though whatever it was had locked eyes on mine and was staring back at me. I strained to look closer; my eyesight however went out of focus. Fatigue was setting in, my balance wavering. I shook my head to clear my vision. When I looked back where I thought I saw the shadows, they were gone. Maybe my mind was playing tricks on me. I did after all sustain a staggering blow from the beast. The pain of my injuries started to trickle into my awareness, making certain I was acquainted with its presence. My first thought was to find my pack and take a few aspirin. I think I discarded it a ways back in the haste of escaping my attackers. After that, I’d find a place to wait out the storm so I wouldn’t freeze to death.
I took another long look at my surroundings, satisfied that there’d be no threat from the third creature or the shadows, I ran the handle of my sword across the line of the circle, breaking the spell. The magic melted away and the stinging bite of the storm came rushing back against the exposed skin on my face. I pulled the other end of the staff out of the snow. Using that and the unmoving body of the ape creature I managed to free myself from the snowdrift. Sitting a few feet away from the creature, exhausted and gasping for air, I took a good look at my attacker. Its face was turned toward me. My eyes stared unblinking at it for a few moments. I was right in my initial assumption, the creature was ape-like in appearance.
In some weird fashion I’d hoped that these things would turn out to be people in elaborate costumes, like the villains in Scooby-Doo cartoons. Sadly however this was real life and not Saturday morning when I was a kid. My eyes continued to rove over the body. If I didn’t know any better I’d say the creature was Bigfoot’s cousin, the Yeti. While distracted in the midst of my zoological pondering, a great hand closed over my head squeezing it, a large finger covering my left eye. I went rigid; the hand lifted me off the ground turning me in mid air. It was the third ape I’d overlooked; it held me in its right hand. You’d think something this large would make some sort of sound creeping up on a person, but it didn’t.
The creature eyed me. The way a cat corners a mouse right before it eviscerates it. Breath billowed out of its nostrils in quick angry huffs. This smart bastard stayed away from the scene of the action waiting for me to make a mistake, which I ultimately did. Obviously, this beast was the brains of these creatures. The creature simply glared at me, I think daring me to do something, anything that would be provocative. It finally opened its mouth letting out a roar of anger that almost made me lose all my bodily control. The breath of this creature was foul. It smelled bad, like rotten meat mixed with the pungent aroma of Limburger cheese and a hint of high school locker room after a football game. This thing needed a breath mint in the worst way; correction breath mints - plural - one wouldn’t do the job. It was at this moment that I remembered that I held a magic sword. Lifting it, I drove the point deep into the creature’s left shoulder. It growled in agonizing pain. The hair and flesh around the wound burned and blistered.
Only beings from Mid-Realm reacted in such a way to magical blades. It was one of their few weaknesses in the mortal realm. Ten millennia ago the temporal barrier between the mortal world and Mid-Realm was fluid, meaning that beings from either reality could pass between worlds without any trouble. Which is where many of humanity’s myths, legends and folklore originated. As time passed, the borders between our worlds solidified preventing easy access from one to the other. There are a handful of doorways around the world remaining to this day, which allow passage between realms. We hear about these doorways occasionally through stories or eyewitness accounts such as weird goings on in the Bermuda Triangle, strange colored lights in the sky or tall mysterious beings lurking in wooded areas.
Great... I thought, what the hell were Mid-Realm creatures doing here?
The creature moved in a blur of motion, grabbing the blade of the sword with its freehand, hurling me away from itself with the other. I flew through the air like a limp rag doll landing in the snow cutting a long path through the drifts not unlike a path a plane might make crash landing back to earth. Luckily I missed hitting the trunks of two rather large trees, coming to rest on my back between them. Snow packed into the neck of my coat, covering my shoulders and part of my head.
The pain was excruciating. Everything hurt, but I managed to raise my head just enough to watch the creature pull the dimming sword from its shoulder, discarding it petulantly in
to a nearby snowdrift. The creature turned in my direction. Our eyes met. His were filled with unbridled rage. He crouched into a tight ball, launching himself at me. In two mighty bounds he was on top of me. His ponderous weight pressing down on my chest.
Damn. This thing weighed a lot.
The creature glared hatefully into my eyes. Blood from its wound dripped into a pool beside me. The drip... drip... drip... pattering sound was maddening.
“Hey there buddy.” I said in an absolutely terrified tone. “Nice day huh?”
O.K. you try saying something witty with a thousand pound Mid-Realm gorilla beast sitting on your chest bent on killing you. I bet you would’ve failed as spectacularly as I did just then. My heart thumped furiously against my sternum as I watched in helpless horror. The creature growled, opening its mouth wide, with a quick movement of its head and upper body, it leaned its cavernous mouth down over my face. I felt its large canine teeth sink into the soft flesh of my scalp, its jaws closed around my face and head. The beast gave his head a savage jerk. I felt and heard the bones in my neck shatter, splintering into tiny fragments.
My throat began to close up. I choked gasping for air; I wasn’t able to take another breath. I’ve never felt pain like this before. I started to panic, but all I could do is watch and listen. My vision began to lose focus then, slowly faded to black, I fought uselessly against the encroaching darkness. My hearing failed me. I could hear everything clearly then, poof. Nothing. It was almost like someone slowly closing a sliding glass door to drown out unwanted noise. Then the moment I was dreading happened, I could literally feel the life draining out of me. Escaping. There was no light to guide me to the next life. There was no out of body experience. There was only the feeling of complete and total nothingness. I was dead and that’s all there was to it. Eternal sleep fell about me like a warm blanket and I knew no more of the world of the living.
Chapter 3
“Solomon...”
Iheard my name. It was a faint, but tangible echo in the deep recesses of my mind. Almost like hearing your name in a hazy dream, far off yet drifting on a wisp of wind. That was impossible. Wasn’t it? How could someone be calling my name? I died. I know I did. My lifeless body lay in the middle of that forest. The snow has probably covered my body and it wouldn’t be found until the spring thaw if at all. That is unless the snow creatures - the remaining ones that is - devoured me as one final indignity. As far as I knew, there’s no possible way to converse with the dead. Right? So how could I be hearing my name?
“Solomon...”
There it was again.
My name, I heard it. I was sure of it this time, louder, more clearly. Yet, somehow the voice was familiar, heard through the lifting haze in my mind. Maybe my neck wasn’t the only thing to be savagely mangled. What if for good measure, the ape creature decided to eat my face off? Leaving me not only broken in the snow with shattered bones in my neck, but with an exposed skull to look at for the rest of my life. That definitely would be the cruelest joke fate has ever played on me and let’s face it, fate has played some real doozy’s over the years.
“Solomon, my boy... Wake up.”
My eyes snapped open, adjusting to being abruptly brought back from sleep. I inhaled deeply looking around me. I didn’t die. I was alive. I lifted my hands touching my chest and face making sure there were no injuries. I was alive God dammit! Alive and intact.
I stood behind the front counter of Blackmane’s Magic and Potion Shop. It was December fifth according to the calendar on the wall and I was alive. Familiar aromas came flooding into my nostrils. Such as the sweet and metallic smelling potions brewing carried up from the basement through the heating vents. The aroma of well aged oak wood, a smell that permeated the entire shop because every cabinet and shelf was made from that very material. The odor of all the different ingredients wafted about me overwhelming my sense of smell. Ingredients like stagnant cypress stump water, shavings of rainbow bark or the briny tang of Dead Sea water along with the smells of various roots and plant clippings, some smelling pleasant like newly mowed grass or lilac. While others tended to be more foul smelling like the scent of unwashed armpits or beer-soaked ashtrays.
I looked to my left. On the wall hung the same old woodcarving I’d seen many times over the years depicting King Arthur pulling Excalibur from a squat stone while the Wizard Merlin looked on. Within the tarnished etched silver frame arranged over the scene in an arch were eight emerald green stones roughly the size of U.S. Quarters. Above the framed woodcarving hung an extremely old yet somewhat creepy wooden gothic style German cuckoo clock. Instead of the traditional cuckoo that popped out marking the top of the hour this particular clock had a dragon’s head which burst angrily from it’s lair bellowing a deep threatening roar, spitting plumes of fire. The clock chimed a sullen tone to all who were within earshot that the time was now twelve-thirty in the afternoon. A dawning realization came to me. Slowly, but it came nevertheless.
Damn it! I thought.
I fell asleep again. It was all just a dream. A freaky real feeling messed up one at that. Thank God! A relieved smile crept onto my face as I turned back to the counter. Standing on the other side were three people. Well, two people and a Troll. The first person was a short stout man, Oswald Gleason. He had a concerned look on his face. Standing directly behind Oswald to his right was Glum, Oswald’s Troll. The second person I mentioned was Orm, a good friend of Barnabas Blackmane, the owner of the magic shop and a friend to Oswald Gleason as well.
The first two were an odd contrast to say the least. Oswald was short as I’ve said, around five feet tall and plump. He once remarked to me “That he never met a meal he didn’t like.” Judging by the size of his midsection I didn’t have any doubts about the truth of his statement. He had a broad face, wide set eyes and a thin pair of lips, which stretched nearly to both of his ears when he smiled. He looked an awful lot like a frog that had just caught and eaten a nice juicy insect of some sort. His skin was pale in color, not a sickly pallor just that of someone who tended to shun sunlight and Wizards quite often did just that. His white hair, which was thick for man his age - five hundred and thirty two his last birthday - was combed back into a neatly kept ponytail. His style of dress never varied much in any noticeable way reminding me of an eccentric late eighteenth century villain dressed all in crushed black velvet. The only splash of color he accented his outfit with was a red and gold vest he wore under his long coat.
Glum on the other hand was nearly eight feet tall. He was usually dressed in loose fitting sweatpants and hoodies. Today however he wore a Detroit Lions jersey that was almost too small for his ample frame. On his feet was a pair of shoes sized thirty-eight specially made by an Elf family. I haven’t any idea how much they cost to make, but I know they weren’t cheap. His skin was ashen gray in color. He looked like a typical run of the mill Troll, large hairless head, protruding brow ridge and a pair of deep-set black eyes, which seemed tiny when you looked into them. His shoulders were broad, which made him appear even larger than he actually was. If you were to lay eyes on Glum you’d swear he was dangerous with his huge powerful arms and legs. However in reality Glum was quite gentle. Unless of course you decided to make trouble for Oswald, then he would tear you apart.
No questions asked.
You’d have to meet Glum to understand him; he has the mental maturity of a ten year old. He loves and worships Oswald, the way a son loves and worships his father at a very young age, when the veil of innocence is still intact. It’s an unusual sort of relationship, but it works and they’re both happy.
Orm, the third person I mentioned was as different in appearance as a watermelon is to a banana. He’s tall. Not as tall as Glum, closer to average NBA tall as well as being rail thin. If he ate a grain of rice right now I guarantee there’d be a noticeable bulge under his tight fitting shirt. He’s one of those people that could eat copious amounts of food, yet never gain an ounce. His long face was framed by thick jet-black
hair that fell just below his jaw line. His hawkish nose perched atop his thick brush like mustache. He paid me little attention as he checked his list to the ingredients Barnabas collected out of the magic shop’s inventory.
“Are you alright?” Oswald asked concerned.
“Yeah,” I replied through a stifled yawn. “Sorry, Barnabas kept us out late again last night. A character building exercise he called it.”
A knowing smile played in Oswald’s features.
“Ah... Looking after the needs of Abner Dempke and his followers again… Barnabas pushes himself far too much, I fear he’s spreading himself thin.”
“You could say that, but as you know it’s his way. We didn’t get back until nearly three a.m.” I said in a complaining tone. “You’d think Abner’s people would learn by now to lay off that stuff.”
“Werewolves are creatures of excess, you know that as well as I do. Asking them or trying to make them give up addictions is like asking a fish not to swim... It’s in their blood.” Oswald said philosophically.
Abner Dempke - in case you were wondering - is the alpha male or leader of a small pack of Werewolves that reside here in Detroit. There are fifteen in his pack all together. They’re nice enough folks, hard working and full of the joy of living each day like there’s no tomorrow.
About two years ago half of Abner’s pack was infected with a disease called the Bane. Being a Werewolf and long lived with a very high metabolism they can’t get drunk or high on all the normal drugs that humans take for granted. That makes them essentially immune to most if not all diseases known to man. Hell, even tranquilizers formulated for big game like rhinos and elephants can’t easily put them down. So, for recreational enjoyment Werewolves have turned to ingesting Wolfsbane to get a buzz.
Wolfsbane to humans and other animals is poisonous, but to a Werewolf its like taking heroin or crack with similar effects. The Bane is a disease that only affects Werewolves. The disease exists within the cellular walls of the Wolfsbane plant. When the plant is ingested the disease goes to work destroying the digestive system causing the one infected to essentially starve to death no matter how much food is eaten. It’s an exceedingly nasty disease. About forty percent of the world’s Werewolf population died off because of the Bane disease. There’s a lot of speculation of its origin and many in the magical community believe that it was developed specifically to target Werewolves.
