Ben wandered. He had always enjoyed walking to nowhere in particular, being alone, a sort of self imposed isolation. As a child he had been content to play by himself in and around the house while his mother looked on. By the time he was nine, he had discovered a tree on his family’s property that was to become like a second home to him. A mammoth oak that seemed to stretch its branches forever, it was the perfect refuge for a lonely boy. Most of his spare time was then spent in and around the tree, hanging from its limbs, leaping over the gnarled roots, climbing so high he thought he might touch the clouds. Occasionally he would awake under the tree, the sun having already set, and he would scurry home to be chastised by his worried mother. He smiled at this thought, remembering how innocent things had been then, how carefree. As he walked along the rolling hills and fields that would one day be his, he thought it strange that the memory of that tree would come to mind so easily, as if he had been there just yesterday. He thought back to when he actually had been there last, but could not remember a specific date. As he searched his memory further, he realized he could not even pinpoint the exact year he had last seen the tree. Odd, he thought, I’ve been away at college for the past five years and yet I can’t say for sure that during that time I did not see that tree. Maybe I saw it last Christmas vacation or something, he mused. Well, I’m headed that direction anyway, I might as well see if the blessed thing is still standing or not, he thought to himself. He continued on with a quicker step now, a destination having presented itself. It was only 4:30 in the afternoon and he was, quite frankly, bored and had nothing else to do. Tomorrow is like today was yesterday, he thought, with nothing planned and certainly no surprises.
He felt a small shiver of anticipation run up his back as he crested a small rise and finally caught sight of the tree that had been his friend and companion throughout his youth. Wow, he thought, I don’t remember it being THAT big! The oak was the epitome of majestic, with a huge trunk splitting into 10 or 12 main branches in turn flowing into thousands of limbs with millions of leaves weaving what could only be called a crown beautiful enough to sit upon the head of the most reagent of kings. Ben stood in awe, trying to calculate the sheer magnitude of the structure. 150 feet tall and 200 feet edge to edge, he guessed.
He covered the last few hundred feet to the base of the tree and hung his head back, looking up at the matrix of branches crisscrossing the leafy green expanse. He was nearly six feet tall now, far taller than in his childhood but it seemed that the lower branches were exactly the same distance from his outstretched arms. At the thought of his childhood, memories of his youth filled him and he stood mesmerized, his eyes following the trails of limbs that led off in a million different directions. His mind’s eye revealed himself climbing, swinging and scurrying about the tree, never fearing the great heights he dared to reach, somehow knowing that the great oak would always keep him safe from harm. He smiled as he remembered his recklessness, his daring as he would leap nimbly from branch to branch, always finding sure footing amongst the boughs. Always underfoot the limbs seemed to follow his movements, almost showing life, as if they moved to catch him. Even now as he stared up into infinity he could almost imagine the tree reaching down to him, trying to touch him, inviting him to climb up into its waiting arms and play as he had done so many times before. Instinctively Ben reached out and gently laid his fingers upon the bark of the enormous trunk. A warmth filled him, that certain feeling a newborn receives when cradled in its mother’s arms. He pressed both of his hand onto the bark now and could almost hear his childlike voice laughing and shrieking out as he played his boyish games.
Ten years.
The thought came to him suddenly, as if whispered in his ear. Ten years had passed since he had left for the city, working in the steam rooms of huge skyscrapers and deep in the earth burrowing tunnels for the underground trains. It had been hard work, but the pay was good. He had worked like a dog for five long years, living like a miser so that he could afford his one dream: To attend college and earn a degree. Growing up on a farm had taught him many things, including hard work, honesty, and a love of life and the land. But no lesson had hit harder than the truth about his future: He had none. Farming was neither prosperous nor completely fulfilling, and his inner desire to make something of himself left him with no alternative but to forsake his heritage and strike out into unknown territory. So he had scrimped and saved until he could finally afford to attend school full time. A wry smile appeared on Ben’s face as he recalled the day he had entered the Applications office to begin his college career. He had filled out the necessary forms without a hitch until he had come to the question of his desired major. He decided to leave the space blank, thinking he would decide that later, after he had experienced some of the courses firsthand. After completing the rest of the forms, he had handed them back to the admissions officer behind the desk and apologized for not knowing what he wanted to major in. The officer had scanned the application and informed him in no uncertain terms that if he was undecided about it then he should not have written "History” in the space, he should have written “Undecided.” Ben had stared at the person behind the desk, knowing that he had left the space intentionally blank. With a heavy sigh the desk officer had begun to cross out the word “History” when Ben impulsively said, “No, History will be fine.” To this day Ben, with a Master’s degree in History, could not determine what had obliged him to choose that particular discipline. But in that moment of confusion a clear and compelling voice had spoken, a voice that sounded from deep within his mind. He had never once regretted his decision, but sometimes wondered to himself why he had written history down in the first place.
His decision to leave the city after graduation had not been a hard one. Various institutions had offered him lucrative teaching positions, but he had come back home to clear his mind and reach a decision on what his future held. He was certain that he did not want to teach in the city, as he did not readily get along with city people. He had considered teaching in rural areas, but that did not necessarily appeal to him either. He was at a crossroads and really did not know which way to go.
I knew you would return.
The voice struck him from out of nowhere. He snapped open his eyes and looked around, suddenly confused. He realized he was laying down now, his head cradled against the gnarled roots. Someone had spoken but as he scanned the area around him he could see no one. He raised his head slowly and cast furtive glances here and there, only to be met with silence from the sea of grass surrounding the hilltop. Then a thought occurred to him, and he smiled. He jumped up from his supine position and ducked to the other side of the tree, trying to surprise the young child he knew would be there playing games with the older and somewhat slower Ben. But no grinning face met his, no taunting laugh erupted to stem the wave of fear now slowly crawling up his back. He looked up into the canopy above him, scanning quickly from left to right, certain that someone was toying with him. Five minutes later Ben gave up searching, his mind trying to repress the anxiety he felt and at the same time recall exactly what he had heard. “Well, you were asleep and when people sleep, they dream!” Ben reasoned to himself. Yes, that was it, he thought. “I dreamt of the past and of my leaving and of school, and now that I’m back I simply stated the obvious to myself, that I always knew I would one day come home!” he concluded. “So why are you talking to yourself?” he mused. “At least no one is around to hear you going insane.” He laughed now, the anxiety he had felt replaced with the comedy of the whole situation. With a spring in his step he began the long walk home, a slight breeze picking up as he crossed the threshold from shade to sunlight. He laughed again, bemused by his own imagination that could still create ghosts and ghouls for him to battle. He started down the hill against the wind, the same wind that caught his laughter and swept it away to echo among the leaves which bounced and swayed, it seemed, to the rhythm of his voice.
The path home was as familiar as the face Ben saw in the mirror each morning. The landmarks and features were remembered as if he had walked the trail just yesterday, yet he knew now that it had been many years. He paused as he left the open green field surrounding the tree and the hill it sat upon, hesitating briefly before entering the forest between the grassy plains and his house. The dark woodland with it’s eerie sounds and shadows promised to deliver at least one shiver down anyone’s back if they risked a journey through, but Ben reasoned that if he as a 10 year old could brave the dense foliage then surely he as 185 pounds of muscle could tally forth without cause for concern. However, he thought, the sun will be setting soon and it is slightly darker than when I came through earlier, so perhaps I won’t linger here thinking about it. Without further ado he proceeded into the timberland, ignoring the curious sounds and odd shapes seeking to distract him. One half of a mile later he broke free of the woods into the cleared are surrounding his house, looking back over his shoulder out of habit, just checking to see if anyone, or anything, had followed him. He chuckled to himself as he relived the days of youth, his custom of glancing over his shoulder after leaving the woods, just in case. During most of his trip through the woods he had felt relatively secure, but he recalled clearly the place in the woods where he had always felt the most vulnerable. It was the perfect place for an ambush, that place where the winding trail crossed a wide creek. With slippery footing, dense underbrush on all sides and no place for him to hide he had always felt that if ever something wanted to get him it would happen there. He laughed at his childlike fears, and recalled how he had hidden a weapon there among the thorns. A modern reproduction of the Japanese fighting sword, a Katana, he had carefully wrapped it in plastic and placed it among the roots of a particular dogwood tree, just under the topsoil. He wondered if it was still there.
He turned his gaze to the white clapboard house that he had so missed while away in the city. Although somewhat drafty in the dead of winter and definitely to hot in the summer, Ben loved everything about the place that he had grown up in. His eyes examined the rambler as it stretched from one end of the yard to the other. Ben could almost picture himself and his father putting the family room addition on, then building the tool shed, and finally building onto the back of the house where they had relocated the kitchen with it’s own door to the outside. His eyes watered as he remembered he and his father’s private joke: that the kitchen needed a door so that mom could have somewhere to fan the smoke after she burned dinner. Then suddenly he sprinted across the front yard and around the side of the house, ending up in the backyard where his mother had hung out the laundry to dry in the afternoon sun. It was nearly six o’clock now and Ben knew his mother’s habits well. Dinner would be in a few minutes and if he was late she would have a few choice words for him. He dashed into the house just as she was closing the refrigerator door.
“Where have you been all afternoon, Ben?” she asked. “I could have used your help putting out the clothes.”
“I was just out walking around, mom.” he replied cheerfully, thankful he wasn’t late. “I’ll take them down off the clothesline after dinner, if that’s okay.” he suggested, not really looking forward to it but knowing that her arthritis got to her sometimes.
“That would be great, but don’t you dare try to fold them,” she joked, the two of them laughing together as Ben set the table. Years of living on his own had not improved his ability to either wash, dry or fold clothes, and he inevitably ended up with wrinkled shirts, pants that had shrunken to half their original size and currently owned only he 3 socks.
After a hearty meal of salad, baked potatoes and sirloin steak, Ben excused himself from the table and collected the clothes from outside, putting them all in a basket for his mother to sort. He laid the basket just inside the kitchen door and headed for his room at the end of the hallway, his mother humming softly to herself as she began to separate the clothes and lay them out on the kitchen table. It had been a long day, his first day back since graduation, and he was exhausted. He laid his head back against the pillows and stared at the ceiling, all the cracks and lines exactly where they had been the last time he had been here. He tried to muster a serious, contemplative thought, but none issued forth from his relaxing brain. He felt his eyelids becoming heavy as he looked up, and he wondered briefly about tomorrow. Doesn’t matter, he thought, it will surely be the same as today. Some things never change.
Ben awoke with a start, frantically trying to stave off the feeling of cold death which sought to dominate him. He knew where he was, but even his own bed did not seem safe after having this particular nightmare. Always the same, this nightmare and its supporting cast had never changed as far back as he could remember. He placed a hand over his heart, his chest still sore from the touch of the phantasm in his dream. He wondered what the dream meant, had wondered for many years. He was always in the same strange place, a large dark room with blackened windows, no doors and filled with horrific laughter. Chained upright to a section of one wall, he could not move if he had wanted to. Flickering torches on the walls provided the only source of light, although light at this point was not his friend for with it he could see the other captive occupants of the chamber. Some were near death, some were half dead and others had just begun their terrible journey. But all in the chamber wished they were dead already, save the two jailers who moved about the room freely. Grotesque and misshapen, their vaguely human shapes wandered about inflicting pain and agony wherever they went. The screams of the tortured were met with maniacal laughter from their handlers. Shuffling from one hysterical prisoner to the next these dealers of death would shred, rent and tear the very flesh and limbs from those they serviced. Blood and entrails flowed freely from “operating” tables onto the floor, and the sickening slap slap of the maulers feet as they waded through their macabre work caused Ben to vomit. One of the prisoners was shackled by his feet only, having slipped his bloody stumps through the arm chains after his hands were severed. This same wretched soul was staring blankly at his open chest cavity, laboriously trying to collect his intestines and force them back into his body. A wave of nausea swept over Ben and he vomited again, wretching so violently that his head grew light and he slipped blissfully into unconsciousness.
A split second later, as dreams go, he was awake. No longer bound to the wall but still standing in the same room, he realized the chamber was now empty. The bloody carcasses were gone along with their tormentors and the floor and walls had been meticulously cleaned, with not a drop of blood or even stain evident. It was then that he noticed the other figure in the room. Wrapped from head to toe in flowing black robes the form seemed to float rather than walk towards him. The very air found it necessary to part in front of this being, not out of awe or respect, but more so out of fear. It was this fear that Ben now felt creeping around him, permeating him, entering the very pores of his skin. He resisted the urge to scream and run, instead deciding to back up slowly and look for some means of escape. As he glanced around in search of some kind of exit, he took a small step backwards. Or tried to, as he felt the unfamiliar sensation of immobility. His legs and feet remained stubbornly fixed to the stone floor, refusing to move even the slightest bit. His eyes flashed to the lower half of his body, staring in disbelief for only a split second before returning to the black form hovering only a few feet away. Silently the black robes flowed towards him, the unnatural stillness in the air so palpable Ben could only guess what dark arts this creature controlled. He could only see the vague outline of a face, and unconsciously knew that he must not look into the murky depths that would be considered the eyes. And yet the black emptiness he knew would greet him if he did look was an inviting thought, a thought which grabbed his curiosity and compelled him to look, look, look! His eyes took on a will of their own, moving slowly from downcast, sliding ever so slowly up from the floor to almost meet the piercing gaze Ben felt probing his body, mind and soul. The form stopped its forward movement, waiting, as if considering what Ben was thinking. Then suddenly the room erupted with piercing laughter, a demonic shriek that combined the sadistic mirth of a thousand murderers with the death cries of a thousand innocents. Ben could feel the blood draining from his face as his head slumped forward, the realization that this being could, at any time it chose and in any form or fashion it desired, take his worthless life from him or even force Ben to end his own pitiful existence.
“This is the one?”
The question posed by the robed form originated at once from all points above, below and around Ben, even from within his own mind. Filled with loathsome disdain and contempt the words reverberated with a persona of their own, echoing with a not quite human resonance.
“This is the one we are to fear?”
The crazed laughter started again, continuing on and on until Ben thought his very head would be crushed from the forces outside or explode from the pressure within. The figure in black quieted after a while and Ben could feel the scorn and mockery emanating from the entity in front of him. He saw a long, bony finger appear out from under the robes and stop just inches from his chest, held there without the slightest tremor.
“Before you decide, remember my touch.”
The finger moved forward and touched Ben over his heart, sending searing pain throughout his body. Ben would have doubled over in agony but the lone finger held his body in check, as if waiting for something to happen. And then he felt it. Like an explosion in slow motion Ben could feel his heart expanding, getting hotter, pushing towards the surface of his chest, his heart pressing against the bone and stretching the skin, cracking his ribs, his flesh expanding outward further and further until a small tear appears, his searing heart pushing against the tear which grows larger and larger until...
He wakes up. Always in the same state, with sweat dripping from his body and his breath coming to him in short, ragged gasps. The pain in his chest slowly subsides and soon there is no physical reminder of the horrible dream but Ben remembers it completely. The room, the occupants, the black form, the words... Wait, he thought. The thing had spoken this time. Ben thought back to the many other nights he had dreamt this same sequence of events and could not recall there ever being speech involved. The dream had changed! But not, Ben cautioned himself, for the better.
Ignoring the nightmare for the time being Ben slid out from under the blankets and moved silently across the hardwood floor. He cracked open the door to his room and listened for any signs of life in the house but heard none. Assuming his mother was still sleeping he tiptoed down the hallway and through the kitchen to the backdoor. He slipped into a pair of sweat pants and sweatshirt from the folded piles on the kitchen table, grabbed his shoes and headed out across the backyard. He went straight into the barn where he had kept his weight lifting equipment since his fourteenth birthday. He stretched his arms skyward to loosen his stiff joints and jogged briefly in place to warm himself up. Laying down on the padded boards his father had made for him Ben grabbed the benchpress bar suspended above his head and nearly choked to death as years of accumulated dust settled on his face. This drew a small chuckle from the still shaken young man as he stood and blew away the remaining years buildup. Returning to his lifting, he managed to work out for an hour before he heard his mom calling him from the kitchen with news about breakfast. Before his mother had even finished her sentence he was at the back door, smiling and holding out a grubby paw as if begging for food.
After breakfast Ben headed for the tool shed to respond to a request his mother had mentioned while they had eaten. He grabbed the double bit axe hanging from the wall and headed out for the woods, looking for the small clearing he had created over the years chopping firewood for his mother. He found a suitable tree and proceeded to chop some wood for the fireplace. Winter was still a few months off but his mother wanted to take advantage of the fact that her son was here and really had nothing to do. After two hours of constant chopping Ben dropped the axe beside him as he laid down to rest. His eyes flickered gently, then fell as sleep took hold of him. Ben was not aware as his body twitched suddenly and then stood upright and began to move itself through the forest, heading in the general direction of a particular grassy knoll and the huge oak tree standing at it’s zenith.
Ben stood almost alone now, watching, listening, trying to understand. The tree had always been there. For ages untold and beyond the memory of any living soul in the valley the tree had stood, alone in the vast field of green, detached and apart from the rest of the world. In his childhood it had seemed to his young mind to be a sentinel, a guardian, manning its post for eternity against what he could only imagine. And imagine he did, playing amongst the limbs stretching forever outward to touch the unknown. He waged his own battles there, nestled in the branches of the great oak. He had vanquished many a foe with his make-believe sword, his make-believe armor, and the tree as his make-believe castle. He had never lost a battle under the canopy of leaves, always standing victorious in the end with the tree standing in silent admiration. A rustle of leaves blown by the wind, a stirring among the branches, and the boy imagined that the tree approved. Little did the boy know the truth, the truth about how the tree did admire him, did approve of his valor, his cunning, his courage. The tree had waited for him, not knowing if he would come but knowing that none of the other generations of children that had ever played amongst its limbs had been right. It had spoken to the boy in his youth, a whispering in the leaves that the boy understood but did not recognize. It taught him, creating the images at first, provoking the boys’ own inner desire to triumph. The boy’s imagination and the tree’s memory were one, and the boy learned. But now the young man, ever the boy, searched his feelings and listened to the tree. He realized that the tree was alive but old, far older than anyone could imagine, and as is inevitable with every living thing the tree had reached its limit. It knew that it could go on no more, that it could not continue its vigilance against the forces that it held back. Soon the bark would crack and peel, the limbs would rot and the leaves would no longer bud in the spring. But even before the tree showed the outward signs of death, that which it held in check would be unleashed into a forgetful world. The young man recognized now that he had been prepared, trained, practically drafted into something he did not understand at all. The tree, always his friend, had tricked him into becoming some sort of protector, a warrior to fight battles not his own. What forces would the tree soon surrender to? What part of this game would the young man play? He was already the pawn, the fool, the joker, he thought. Now he was to be the knight, the hero? He shook his head violently from side to side, trying to remove the voices, the memories, the visions of things past and of things to come which emanated from the tree. The spell broken, he tore from the tree as fast as his strong legs could carry him. He ran like a madman, as if being chased by a devil. He ran until his sweat blinded him and his hair stuck to his face. He could hear his heart pounding in his ears and his lungs gasping for air, but still he ran. Over fields he flew, through the deep woods to the place where the path crossed the creek. A twinge of anxiety, and he was through, hurtling through the remaining underbrush until he reached the house his father had built. He burst through the door into the kitchen where reality struck him like a fist.
“Where have you been, Ben?” his mother asked, confused at his abrupt entry. “Why, you’re sweating like a pig!” His mother was staring at him, talking and fussing at him as mothers do. “You look as if you’ve seen a ghost!” she said loudly, and continued, “And just look at your clothes! I don’t think I’ve seen that many tears in your jeans since you were nine years old.” Ben looked himself over quickly, taking in all of the small rips in his pants and shirt. He didn’t remember getting them any particular place, but suddenly realized that he had run the half mile from the tree to his home at full speed and probably got them in the woods. The tree! He remembered, and quickly became sullen. It had been so real, the voice from the tree. How could it be that real and I not be crazy? Well, at least insanity isn’t painful, he thought. Then his mother’s voice broke through again, and now she was irate.
“Are you listening to me?” she asked. “I asked if you were hungry”, she repeated when she saw Ben’s eyes focus on her. Recognition replaced confusion in her son, and she continued, “Well, go clean up for dinner before it gets cold.” She turned to finish her work, putting the three place settings on the table as she always did. Ben hurried to his room to change clothes and ran a hand through his now tangled hair as he tried to remember exactly what he thought had happened under the tree. He looked closely in the mirror at his face and concentrated, following the strong line of his jaw up the side of his face and stared at his own eyes, trying to pierce the icy blue depths. Had he fallen asleep, perhaps dreamt the whole episode? He could imagine that it had been a dream, he rationalized, for in his youth he had many times fallen asleep in the strong arms of that very tree and dreamt of creatures both fascinating and horrifying. Dreams of valor and conquest, of righting wrongs and vanquishing foul demons. This must have just been a regression to his youth, perhaps a longing for the carefree days when he had been a child with no worries and no problems. Yes, he thought, it was just a dream. But how was it that he had traveled to the tree and didn’t remember the journey, he questioned. He remembered chopping wood and growing weary, then laying down the axe for a quick rest. Oh no, he thought, his mind forgetting the tree problem for the moment, I left the axe in the clearing. He made a mental note to retrieve the axe the next day as he finished washing his face and hands and proceeded back into the kitchen. His mother had just finished pouring milk into the three glasses on the table, and Ben felt that familiar twinge of sorrow. His father had been dead now for almost four years and yet his mother still put a plate full of food out for him, still poured a glass of milk for him and occasionally spoke to the chair as if he were sitting in it. She never spoke to her husband when she knew Ben was in the room, but there had been times when he had stumbled across her in the middle of a one-sided conversation with the chair, the sofa, or simply thin air. This distressed him, but he didn’t know quite how, or if, he should say anything. For now I’ll ignore it, he thought, but when she starts talking to Elvis in the drugstore I’ll have to say something. Dinner went on as usual, the normal talk being local gossip his mother might have picked up, and in general the downslide of humanity in the big cities. It was then, in the middle of dessert, that she noticed the ring.
“What ring?” Ben asked.
“What do you mean, what ring? That ring there, on your finger. When did you start wearing a ring?” she repeated. Ben looked down at a sight that slowly began to fill him with dread. A tarnished, well worn ring sat defiantly on the third finger of his left hand, a ring who’s shape was unmistakable. Fear gripped him in its iron fist.
“Who ever heard of a ring shaped like a tree?” his mother asked offhandedly. But to Ben the question pierced deep into his mind. Who indeed, he thought. Or what.
“I’m tired, Mom. I think I’m gonna hit the sack”, Ben said as he pushed off from the table. He headed for his room, the speed of his steps increasing with the anxiety building within him until he practically exploded through his door and slammed it behind him. He sat down abruptly at his bureau and looked tentatively down at his left hand. The ring sat there passively, doing nothing, and yet causing as much fear in Ben as to make one think it was filled with poisoned needles that were ready to impale him. He attacked it, pulling and straining until the skin of his finger turned white. Changing strategies, he went into the bathroom adjoining his room, lathered up the offending ring and continued twisting, tugging and yanking until he thought he would draw blood. It was all for nothing, for in the end the ring remained stubbornly attached to him. Frantic now, he raced to his window, opened it and climbed out into the chill night air. He sped across the side yard to the shed where his father had kept his tools. Sweat slid down his face, not from physical exertion but from fear. Ben was scared, really scared. He knew the ring had something to do with that damned tree, and although he refuted the idea that anything real had actually happened earlier that day still he desperately wanted the ring off his hand so he could think about this whole crazy thing. Throwing open the shed door, he took the distance to the work bench in one gigantic stride and spied his tool of choice. He ripped the hacksaw from its place on the wall and dropped it on the bench while he cranked open the vise. Placing his finger in the open maw of the vise, he turned the tightening arm until the ring and his finger were held firmly in place. With his right hand, he picked up the hacksaw and began to cut. At first slowly, keeping in mind that a slip could mean a serious cut to his finger, he sawed away at the tree ring. After 15 minutes of cutting with no observable results Ben was forced to throw caution to the wind. After 30 minutes the saw was moving back and forth with such force that a slip now would have cut half of his hand off. Another 10 luck filled minutes later he stopped, despair and exhaustion overwhelming him. He stared at the ring, not wanting to believe what he knew to be true. The ring was not damaged at all, not even a scratch. He removed his finger from the vise and left the shed with a slam of the door. Despair turned to disgust as he arrived back in his room, and disgust in turn was replaced by anger.
“What the hell is going on?”, Ben fumed. He examined the ring again, looking now for some sort of mechanism, perhaps a special way to remove it similar to chinese handcuffs. None existed that he could tell. Apparently, the ring was here to stay.
Chapter 2
The tree that had been the place of so much joy shuddered fiercely and was still, followed by a great rending sound as one side of the vast trunk split open and a dark form leapt from the interior. The shadowy figure eyed the gray landscape briefly before lowering it’s enormous head to the ground and searched for the scent of it’s prey. Satisfied with what it found, it lumbered away from the site of it’s appearance and towards the tree line in the distance. It walked upright but would not have been mistaken for anything that had evolved naturally, if it had been seen. The body was bent and ragged, although it did not lack for size. Huge muscular arms hung from the seven foot obscenity. Large powerful hands ended in black, blood encrusted claws, obviously capable of tearing a man’s head from his shoulders. It’s strong legs carried it swiftly across the field and it entered the woods without a sound, once again becoming shadow.
The clouds had formed overnight, overshadowing the dawn and delaying the light of day by a few hours. Ben had overslept, only to be awakened by the distant sound of wood splitting as if hit by lightning. No rain was yet falling, but he guessed that it would in the next few hours. Throwing on sweatpants and a t-shirt, he decided to run a quick mile or two before the rain started. He told his mother of his plan and left by the front door, angling away from the woods and heading down the long driveway towards the main road.
Motionless in the dense foliage, the creature peered out at the strange building that appeared to be it’s destination. The structure was all white, like the color of snow. It sensed no danger and proceeded across the front of the dwelling and then down one side, still following the scent it had tracked to this place. The trail ended at a door in the rear of the house and the hunter moved swiftly and silently inside.
Two cloaked runners slow for an instant as they meet at the crossing of two roads. The taller one wears the green and brown weave of a woodsman, the other a drab gray covering traditionally worn by mountain dwellers. They turn from their respective paths and run together, their pace quickening under twin moons.
Ben’s mother’s thoughts were on her husband the instant before her corpse slumped to the kitchen floor in a sitting position, blood still bubbling from the stump that had once supported her head. The hunter had killed, but the primeval yearning for blood had yet to be satisfied. The main objective remained, and quickly the stalker explored the rest of the house. Finding no other living things it left through the bloody kitchen, glancing only briefly at the head of Ben’s mother as she stared grimly through sightless eyes. The beast picked up the scent again outside the door and followed it to a small outbuilding, which was empty except for strange shaped objects hung from the walls. Leaving the small shack, the beast searched the grounds surrounding the two structures. It discovered a much larger building for housing animals, but it was empty as well. I will wait, it thought, and it retreated to the woods, once again becoming one with the shadows.
Ben reached the half way point in his run and turned back. He figured two miles total would be enough and started jogging in the direction he had come.
The two cloaked figures arrive at their destination in the forest. A great, huge oak tree, larger than anything the companion in gray had ever seen, rises up from the ground to dominate this part of the woods. The tall one utters a single phrase and the trunk of the tree opens up, enveloping the two in a bright light before closing back in on itself. The woods are empty now, save for the woodland creatures who observed the disappearance of the two visitors but do not understand.
A distant noise was picked up the creature’s sharp ears. Waiting eagerly, the sound of a two legged being running towards it became clearer as a human rounded a turn in the rocky path leading to the white structure and came into view. The manhuman was breathing heavily, but more importantly, loudly. In an instant the creature was up and moving swiftly through the trees and underbrush, not bothering with silence now, confident that the manhuman would not hear anything over the sound his own breath.
Ben’s nose wrinkled as he caught a whiff of something rank, like an animal decomposing in the woods nearby. He instinctively drew in his breath and held it, wanting to breath as little of the putrid odor as was possible. In the sudden quiet he heard the sound, an animal moving almost silently in the woods to his right. He guessed he must have stirred some gentle creature from sleep, perhaps a deer. He glanced to his right, expecting to see the white blur of an upraised tail. Instead he saw an abomination, an abhorrence, a huge pig like creature that ran upright, a thing with wild red eyes and short tusks growing out of it’s frothing mouth. The sight filled him with such shock and repugnance that he tripped and fell face down, skidding on the pea gravel driveway. The thing was all over him in a second, shredding his t-shirt with huge clawed hands, the razor edges biting into the skin of his back. The same foul stench he had noticed earlier filled his nostrils completely as the creature picked him up off the driveway and held him overhead briefly before slamming him brutally to the ground. A clear pop sounded in Ben’s ears as his left elbow struck the earth under the weight of his body and a searing pain raced through his arm. Without hesitating the pig-thing wrapped one huge hand around Ben’s neck and picked him completely off the ground again, bringing them face to face with barely inches between. Ben’s feet dangled uselessly above the gravel road as he stared into the soulless depths of his aggressor, trying not to breath the noxious vapors that flowed from the drooling mouth opposite his. A thought rose to the surface of Ben’s befuddled mind, and he impulsively struck out with his right leg, catching the monster fully in the groin. The pig-thing twitched suddenly, the leathery body constricting against the blow, then relaxed as a twisted smile arose on it’s horrid face. Ben looked down and noticed too late that the creature lacked the proper equipment for his strike to have been effective. With a noticeable lack of effort the long, hairy arm hurled Ben fifteen feet away to land with an audible thud in the grass between the woods and the road. His head clearing slightly, Ben jumped to his feet and ran, heading in the general direction of the woods where, he hoped, he could find a hiding place and collect his thoughts. The creature waited a moment, prolonging the anticipation it felt, then raced after it’s quarry.
With a flash the two hooded figures appear on a hilltop, standing next to a tree identical to the one they had entered. They scan the area quickly, noticing that in this place it was day, not night, and that they are no longer deep in the woods but in the middle of a grassy plain with this tree at the center. They see the huge tracks immediately, the clawed footprints unmistakable as they form a clear trail heading away from where they stood and towards a tract of forest. Concern crossed the bearded face of the one cloaked in gray as he examines the tracks, and he spoke with a troubled voice.
“A Wereboar. We must be swift.” No more was said as they raced off the hill and into the trees.
Ben ran through the woods, his feet following the familiar paths he had known in his youth. His head was clear now, but he did not understand any of what was happening. His left arm hung uselessly at his side, the elbow obviously broken, but by what? he thought. A hairy, pig faced giant had attacked him out of nowhere, and attacked with intelligence and cunning. This was no animal, Ben thought as he dashed through the trees, this thing has reasoning and conscious thought. Realizing he needed a weapon of some sort, Ben turned sharply to his left and headed for where he had so carelessly left his axe the day before. He heard a crashing sound behind him and knew he was losing ground quickly. He soon broke into the small clearing and spied the axe leaning against a tall stump. He yanked the blade up with his right hand, raising it over his head, then spun around to strike the monster he knew was right on his heels. The creature, just a few steps behind, halted briefly, then simply moved forward with one huge arm raised over it’s head to block the obvious attack, confident now that the puny human had no experience in battle. But Ben had his own ideas about fighting, and the beast paid the price as Ben swung the axe down and unexpectedly away from his opponent, spinning his body completely around clockwise and sinking the axe bit deep into the leathery skin covering the right knee of his astonished attacker. The metal blade struck the delicate joint and smashed bone and cartilage, toppling the great beast as Ben had toppled so many trees in the very spot they now occupied. With more confidence now Ben rose up and stepped back, not wanting to overextend his advantage and make a mistake as his enemy had. The foul beast thrashed on the ground for a moment, howling in pain, before crouching low in a defensive stance, it’s crippled right leg bent inward at an impossible angle. Ben could see the burning hatred in the squinty pig-eyes and knew that before long, one of them would lay dead. Strangely he felt no fear, only cold logic as he contemplated his next move. Then the beast was moving, using it’s long arms and one good leg to propel itself towards Ben’s position. With astonishing speed it cleared the distance between them and lunged, to be met with the flat area of the axehead as the handle twisted in Ben’s one handed grip. Ben recouped quickly, and struck again as the monster turned itself around to face him. The axe head buried itself deep in the left shoulder of the creature and it screamed in pain, but Ben had compromised his distance advantage and the beast slashed out with one brutal arm, it’s long claws ripping across his chest, covering the two opponents in blood and torn flesh. Ben leaped away quickly but lost his footing as he landed and fell to the ground, the precious axe slipping from his bloody grasp. He scrambled to his feet and ran, the beast moving after him with amazing speed. He had run perhaps a hundred yards into the woods with his relentless pursuer still close behind when he realized how much blood he was losing. It flowed freely from the deep cuts on his chest, and he was becoming lightheaded. At first hopeless, then seemingly winnable, the tide of this battle had once again turned and the future did not bode well. Ben could feel his strength waning, his steps becoming slower, and his limbs were growing heavy. His pursuer was gaining rapidly and Ben frantically searched his mind for a solution. Then it occurred to him, and the irony of it almost caused him to smile: The one place he had always feared the most in the woods would be his salvation. He cursed himself for not checking on the Katana he had laid at the base of the dogwood many years before, but knew he would find out soon enough if it was still there. He moved on with conviction now, heading for a tall hill in the distance which, at the bottom of the opposite side, he hoped to find victory.
The race was won at the summit of the hill. The beast had gained ground steadily all the while and had finally caught Ben just as it seemed he might escape. With one final lunge the pigthing had hurled it’s body across the span of distance separating them and caught Ben by his pants leg. Ben felt the tug and lashed out, kicking furiously at the foaming mouth, but the monster ignored the blows, knowing that it would soon feast on the warm flesh of it’s victim. It pulled Ben’s flailing body towards it and grasped his right leg with both hands. With an audible crack it snapped the leg cleanly in two, and Ben’s scream was silenced as he was brutally lifted up by two hairy paws encircling his head and covering his mouth. The pain was agonizing, but Ben saw his last opportunity for life while both of the creature’s hands were occupied. Shutting out the pain he struck swiftly with his right hand, his index finger extended, and met no resistance as he plunged it deep into the soft eyeball of his foe. Blood spewed forth from the socket as he was dropped to the ground, and an instant later he was crawling away, dragging his crippled leg behind him. He would live, he thought, he would rise as master and spit on the rotting corpse of this reject of nature. He would chop the hairy fiend into tiny pieces and mount the head on a fencepost for all to see. He would... The thought was stopped short when he saw the hairy, clawed foot just inches from his face. Somehow the beast had passed Ben’s crawling body and Ben looked up into the face of his conqueror. The thing looked at him with one good eye, the other dangling from it’s socket by thin bloody ligaments. With agonizing slowness the creature picked him up easily and hurled him with tremendous force towards a large tree growing at the top of the steep hill. It gleefully awaited the sickening crunch the frail human would make when it struck.
The two figures ran like the wind, knowing that much depended on their speed. They perceived a struggle slightly to the south among the trees, about 200 yards away. They heard a human cry which ended abruptly, and they sped on with a new urgency.
The scream had barely left Ben’s throat before it was cut off as he struck the tree full on. The loud cracking sound of his left shoulder and most of his ribs when he collided reaffirmed his belief that he had lost this battle. He hit the ground and unintentionally rolled downhill, the slope of the ground and gravity moving him like the dead weight of a log. At the bottom, Ben encountered a flat area which halted his motion and left him in a bloody heap, the life flowing out from his broken body. He looked to his left and could see a dogwood tree, larger than he remembered but the same, and among it’s roots he caught sight of a bit of plastic. He had been right to come here, he thought, but even as he attempted to move in that direction he knew it was too late. All desire to fight back had left him and he awaited the killing blow, the blow that would release his crippled body from its torment and he could slip peacefully from this world of pain....
The fiend followed Ben’s descent down the steep incline and found him lying in a pool of blood by the bank of a wide creek. What a pitiful opponent, it thought. I will slay a hundred million humans before I am finished but I will always remember this one, the one that could have stopped us....
It occurred to Ben’s fading mind that it had started raining. What a strange thought to have at this point in time, he thought....
The monster was above him now, smelling victory in the air. It could sense death racing to the scene as it raised one hairy, clawed hand and held it aloft, suspending it for a lingering moment above the prone form, savoring the conquest of the frail human it had been sent to destroy.
The rain fell. Ben could feel the random drops falling here and there on his face and body, his thoughts floating away to be with his mother and father when they were younger....
The creature screamed jubilance before sending razor sharp talons slashing down to rip the throat from it’s victim. A flash appeared momentarily out of the corner of it’s eye as it anticipated the taste of human blood that would surely spray into it’s open mouth as it’s claws swung down to shred....
....Nothing. Astonishment emerged on the half-boar face when no feeling of slicing flesh met it’s swinging arm. Astonishment turned to shock as the momentary flash appeared again, this time clearly connected to a grey cloaked form holding the sweeping sword that had severed it’s right arm. The blow connected in the thick muscles of the beasts’ neck, cutting cleanly all the way through chest, ribs and various organs to exit just above the opposite hip. The creature seemed to stare for an instant in disbelief at a grinning, bearded face to it’s right before the upper half of it’s body parted and then fell away.
Chapter 3
Ben opened his eyes. He knew he was dead, but he was not impressed with how death felt. He was extremely disappointed with the fact that he could still feel the cuts on his back and chest where the thing had clawed him, and was sure that the pain in his leg was a direct result of the doubling of the number of separate bones in it. His body felt as if someone had dropped a large oil tanker on it and he desperately wished someone would remove his throbbing head from the rest of his body so he could think clearly.
“So ye wishes that I cut your head off, eh?”
The voice caught him off guard and he bolted upright in surprise, causing what blood was left in his body to rush to his head. A million tiny stars suddenly blocked his vision and a searing pain shot up his left arm, so Ben decided it would be better to lay back down again and slowly lowered his upper body. The muscles in his back protested his slow descent, however, and they released him abruptly to land with a thud on a soft cushion. He heard a deep, roaring laugh from the right side of his prone position and felt a strong hand on his forehead.
“Ease up, boy.” A gravelly but firm voice spoke. “You’ve had quite an experience today, and even Elan here has his limits, though I’d wager 100 years of my old age that you’ll be up and about by tomorrow!” The voice seemed to find humor in this and the laugh erupted anew, stopping only as a new voice sounded.
“Quiet, my bearded friend. The young one must rest or the cure will not take.” This second voice reminded Ben of the wind, audible but not quite within reach. The windvoice spoke again, this time close to his ear. “Relax, my young warrior. You must not move until you are completely healed, for the ways of magic are strange here on your world and I do not wish to tempt fate.” Ben tried again to move but his body refused, the pain too great. He remembered some things about the struggle earlier, but his mind was fuzzy and he didn’t recall fully the experience that the first voice had mentioned. His thoughts wandered and he drifted off to sleep, the last thing his mind picturing was the awful visage of a pig eating from a trough filled with human remains.
Ben awoke from a deep sleep, the morning sun shining through the open blinds covering the window in his room. His muscles ached, and he thought it odd that he would still be sore from his workout the other morning. He flung away the blanket covering him and stepped onto the bare floor, the coolness of the wood causing Ben to shiver slightly. He stepped lightly over to his bureau and threw on a turtle neck shirt and a pair of bluejeans. It was as he was pulling on his pants that he noticed the ragged scar on his right leg, and suddenly he remembered. He ripped off his turtleneck and the underlying t-shirt and stared in horror at the deep grooves that had been carved into his chest. Barely healed, they ran from one side of his body to the other, and he remembered the monstrosity that had formed them. The sight of it’s vicious pig face appeared in his mind and he shouted out, the past and the present becoming one for an instant in his confused brain. He had barely regained his composure before the door to his bedroom swung open and a short, stocky figure leapt into the interior, a brutal looking axe held high above the head of the intruder. Dark eyes scanned the room in an instant, ultimately coming to a halt to stare directly at Ben’s shocked face. The axe was lowered quickly and slid into a loop at the waist of Ben’s unexpected visitor, and a loud voice echoed in the confines of the small room, a voice Ben recognized but could not place.
“So, you’re finally up and about, eh? How’s about a bite to eat? You must be starved, oh Mighty Warrior!” Ben detected friendly sarcasm in the last sentence, and unconsciously understood this person was not his enemy. But he kept his guard nonetheless, keeping close to the window should a hasty escape be in his immediate future.
“And you are...?” Ben asked, waiting for this almost humorous figure in front of him to finish his query.
“I am Rijah, of the clan Kneglan. I am descended from those who conquered the great Aargwon mountains and made it their home. I am a Dwarf.” The figure stood proudly, both hands on his hips, the bearded face tilted slightly upwards in a defiant and completely hilarious posture. Ben could not control himself any longer and burst out laughing, nearly falling on the floor as he held his sore ribs with both arms. The dark eyes of the dwarf fell upon Ben with a scowl as Ben regained his self-control and quickly uttered an apology.
“Forgive me, Mr. Kneglan. It’s just that I’ve never met a dwarf before. In fact, I’ve never even heard of dwarves before, except in books. What is it exactly...” Ben stopped in mid sentence, suddenly aware of the fact that there was a strange person in his house. His persona changed instantly from amused to cold and distant.
“What are you doing in my house?” Ben asked bluntly, losing all sense of cordiality. His mind turned again from angry to worried, aware that his mother was somewhere nearby, maybe even held hostage. Ben’s worried look was picked up by the dwarf, and Rijah spoke quickly.
“Your mother is safe from harm now, Ben, but you are not. The one you battled three days ago is but the beginning of what is to come. It was by sheer luck that we found you in time to stop your impending death, although you had inflicted substantial damage to the foul beast yourself,” the dwarf said with a smile, his voice gaining a tone of respect. Ben thought back, but could not remember the final outcome of the battle with the creature.
“I don’t know what finally happened.” he conceded, his body slumping into the chair next to his dresser. “You saved me?” It was a question Ben feared the answer to, not wanting to believe what he already knew, that in the end he had given up.
“The Wereboar had beaten you, yes,” Rijah said, “but few beings exist on this world that would have given it the fight that you did. And yes, we did slay the monster in it’s moment of victory, but that is the way of victory: Always short lived and sometimes more bitter than defeat.” The dwarf looked over his shoulder and Ben followed his eyes to the doorway, where a tall figure now stood.
“This is Elan,” Rijah said, “and he is the reason you are here to ask these depressing questions at all.” The form called Elan bowed slightly, and spoke, almost in a whisper.
“How is my young patient today?” Ben recognized the windswept voice from his subconscious and without thinking, replied.
“Fine, thank you, but my chest is a little sore. Are you a dwarf as well?” The bearded Rijah guffawed thunderously at Ben’s reply and spoke as though it pained him to utter the words. “His chest is a little sore! By the Gods, Elan, the youngster has just come from sipping ale with Death itself, and now he complains of a sore chest!” The dwarf roared his amusement, his head flung back as he lost his balance and fell with a clatter to the floor. Ben stared at the laughing, bearded face, now colored a strange purplish red, and stammered at the one called Elan. “I, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, I mean I only thought...” His words trailed off to be lost in the raucous laughter emanating from Rijah, now curled up in the fetal position on the floor.
“The boy speaks wisely, Rijah, for if he is still hurt we must be made aware of it now. Time is short and we have a long journey ahead of us. In answer to your query, I am definitely not a dwarf, rather I am of Elven descent.” Elan spoke softly but his words carried power in them, a strength which made it impossible not to listen. Ben stared at them both: The tall, mysterious Elan dressed in brown and green clothes, his short, jet black hair cropped close to his somewhat pointed ears, green eyes bordered above by slightly upraised eyebrows which punctuated an almost plain countenance, fair of skin but radiating a strength Ben had not encountered before; and the bearded Rijah, clothed all in gray and carrying a huge axe on his belt, standing about five foot two inches, his width more than half his height, and suddenly Ben could not contain his thoughts and he spoke in a rush.
“Who are you people, where did you come from, what do you want, where is it you think “we” are going, what the hell was that thing that attacked me, how is it that my leg isn’t broken anymore, and just what the hell is going on?!” It was Ben’s face that now turned a bright shade of red, his anger rising in him, making his body quiver with the rush of adrenalin and the urge to fight. “Easy now,” Rijah spoke gently, “we have much to explain, that is true. But circumstance dictates that we explain as we go, for it is not safe that we remain here. We are here as your escort, and as necessary, your protectors. The beast you fought three days ago was called a Wereboar, a shapeshifter, one who walks by day as a man but at night becomes a creature of death. It stalks it’s victims relentlessly and kills without mercy or thought.”
“But it attacked me in the daytime,” Ben protested, confusion showing on his face.
“True, and it puzzles us as well.” Elan spoke now, his voice like blowing leaves on the wind. “The Wereboar is a creature of the night, and should have reverted to it’s human form once it came into this world and your sun shined upon it. But I have discovered that many things do not happen on this world as they should.” A slight chuckle arose from Rijah now, and he said,
“Well spoken, Elan.” He turned to Ben and said with a wry smile, “Elan was caught off guard by his initial spellcasting, and nearly killed you even as he tried to save your life.”
“The magic works strangely in this place, Rijah, and I will be much happier when we have returned to our proper environment.” Elan replied, a scowl forming on his fair visage, apparently not enjoying the ribbing he was receiving from his short companion. He turned to Ben and asked, “Are you well enough to travel, Ben? We have far to go, and our journey has not yet begun.”
“Now wait just a minute,” Ben responded. “I’m not going anywhere with you two. I...” His voice was cut off by a sudden knock at the front door, causing them all to freeze in place. Ben was the first to move, turning towards his window, and he looked out at that part of the front yard that was visible. The front half of a white sedan was blocked from his view by a corner of the house, but the rear half, with the letters “LICE”, was clearly visible.
“Oh no, the cops.” Ben muttered, thinking of his two strange looking guests, and turned to tell his visitors to stay hidden and let him answer the door. But the room was now empty and Ben’s heart leapt into his throat at the arrival of this new problem. He ran silently through the house to the front door where he found Elan patiently waiting, his slim form leaning casually against a wall, holding a small flashlight in his hands and turning it over and over, a perplexed look on his face.
“What a strange weapon.” Elan said. “I do not understand how it is activated. Is there a certain command word to invoke the magic?” Ben stared at the questioning face in front of him and his jaw dropped, dumbfounded. He grabbed the flashlight from Elan’s hands and slid it into his back pocket.
“No, there is no magic. There’s just two cops at my front door and two weirdos in my house.” Ben said roughly, then noticed there was actually only one weirdo that he could see. Very slowly now and through clenched teeth, Ben asked, “Where is Rijah?”
“He has gone outside to dispatch with our two uninvited guests.” Elan replied nonchalantly.
“Dispatch?” Ben screamed, “Dispatch? You don’t just go around ‘dispatching’ police officers! And dressed the way he is, they’ll shoot him down before he gets within 50 feet!” Ben was frantic now, the situation having gotten completely out of control.
“What is a ‘police officer’, Ben?” Elan asked. Ben thought for a second, then tried to explain in generic terms.
“A police officer is an authority figure. They enforce laws and ‘dispatch’ with evil people, especially strangely dressed ones.” Ben said, hoping his message would get through.
“Oh, you need not fear for Rijah, although we should probably stop him from killing the ‘police officers’.” Elan said, and abruptly turned the front doorknob. He swung open the door, revealing two blue uniforms and behind them, as yet unseen by the officers, the low crouching form of Rijah, his vicious battle axe poised to strike.
“Good morning, ‘police officers’. Have no fear, for we have been instructed not to harm you,” Elan sang cheerily, the two officers staring at him with amazement. In an instant their guns were out and they were ordering Elan onto the ground, and Ben felt the tenseness in the air. He watched for Elan’s or Rijah’s next move, uncertain of what he should do, fearful of what new calamity would arise, and suddenly Elan was mouthing words, barely audible, his lips moving at tremendous speed. Ben felt a force gather in the air quickly, the hairs on his neck standing on end as Elan finished his incantation and the officers fell to the ground, snoring peacefully. Elan looked down at the two sleeping forms, and a frown fell upon his face as he spoke.
“They should have simply been immobilized, frozen where they stood but well aware of what was happening around them. Now I cannot explain to them what our intentions are,” he complained, stepping out of the house and prodding one of the forms on the ground with his foot. “I do not understand this world of yours, Ben, and I would be loathe to stay here any longer than is necessary.” Ben closed his open jaw for the second time that day, staring at Elan incredulously. Finally Ben shook his head and stated simply, “I’m going to eat breakfast.”
Chapter 4
Ben had just entered the kitchen when the feeling struck him, a cold sensation of aloneness that he had not been aware of before. He looked around, half expecting to find a cause of some sort for the aura he felt, but there was none. With a sudden sense of foreboding he ran from the kitchen and into his mother’s room, swinging open the door with too much force and stepping in as it slammed against the wall. His eyes scanned quickly and revealed nothing. No sleeping form, no sound of a shower being taken in the adjoining bathroom, no one-sided conversations being held with the mirror as his mother would sit and brush her hair. He bolted from the bedroom and into the living room, the one room remaining that he had not been in. Again his eyes met with nothing, and he choked back the urge to cry out her name. He spun around quickly to leave the house and check outside and they were there, Elan and Rijah, standing silently in the archway which led from the living room back into the hallway.
“She is not here, Ben.” Elan said, a grim and almost sorrowful look on his face. “Before the Wereboar found you, it found your mother. We do not believe that she suffered.” he said simply, his eyes revealing the pain he felt for Ben and Ben’s loss. Ben’s mind exploded, the shock of what he had been told shaking him furiously as he stood staring at Elan. Tears welled in his eyes as he thought of his mother, now truly safe with his father, that much was true. He slumped to the floor, his legs suddenly without strength, his world laying shattered like so many bits of glass, irreparable, never to be the same again. His thoughts raced through time, remembering occurrences in the past as if they had happened yesterday. Ben alternated between crying tears of joy and tears of anguish, and they flowed uninhibited down his face. He pictured her standing in the kitchen, humming quietly to herself, perhaps preparing a cherry pie for the oven or drying the dinner plates with a towel, when an uninvited thought forced it’s way into his brain. He could envision the back door swinging in quietly and a dark, drooling form with hairy face and fangs bared, stalking silently in, his mother’s back turned to the danger, the form’s long, festering arms reaching out and grabbing his mother, she uttering a scream that echos in his mind, reverberating and increasing in volume until Ben jumps up from the floor with fists clutched tightly in front of him, his breath coming in ragged gasps through clenched teeth. Red was the color Ben now saw; the red of blood, of fresh death, of hatred burning so deep that there seemed to be no end to the internal pain that ripped his guts from their foundation within and tied them in knots around his soul, his heart melting around the fiery core of hate and mixing in the black mire of his sorrow to slowly cool and harden, leaving behind a hard, gray stone.
“Why.” More a demand than a question, Ben confronted Elan and Rijah as they were trying to figure out where the water originated before it left the faucet.
“Why me, why now, why do you keep speaking of ‘my’ world, and basically, what is going on?” Ben asked, and it was Rijah who replied, his voice as gentle as the gruff dwarf could muster.
“There is no easy answer to your questions, Ben, though I truly wish there was. You were chosen by a great race of beings who dabble in the ways of magic to assist us in ridding our lands of a great evil. You were chosen by nature of who and what you are, and by the fact that you are from a world where magic is suppressed, unlike our own. Our worlds are very similar and connected in more ways than your people would accept, I fear. The tree that you remember so vividly is a mamber of that great reace, and is a living thing, more so than you might imagine. It acts as a guardian of sorts, and also a doorway from our world to yours and vice versa. It is many thousands of years old, and before it assumed the shape and being of that which it is now, it was something else. The spirit of the tree is ancient, even to a dwarf, and was here long before you or I or any of our ancestors even possessed conscious thought. It stands between worlds, existing in both or in neither, as it wills. Almost 700 years ago we first approached the tree, and not long ago it decided you were the one best suited to our needs.”
“Dwarves have long memories and patience from beyond the grave,” Elan inserted, then bowed his slightly to Rijah as if apologizing for the interruption.
“As I was saying,” Rijah continued, “a scant 28 years ago the tree summoned our spellcasters to inform us that one had been born with the qualities necessary to endure the hardships that would lay ahead. It stated simply that it would begin your training soon and would update us occasionally. It was only a few days ago that Elan and I were urgently called before separate gatherings of magicians and informed that something had forced it’s way into the corridor stretching between our worlds and would soon exit at the doorway on this world that you recognize as the tree. It was revealed to us that your life was believed to be in danger, and we were sent here to protect you. We met along the road and traveled here together, but I’m afraid we were not swift enough.” Rijah’s head bent down, his eyes to the floor, cursing himself silently and blaming his own actions for the loss of Ben’s mother. Ben caught the unspoken reference to his mother but chose to ignore it, instead asking, “But why me? What’s so special about me?”
“You are a unique blend of qualities which would raise you up above the common man even here, in this world.” Rijah continued, “Traits such as honesty, integrity, above average intelligence, but also cunning, stealth, and the fighting spirit.” Rijah paused for a moment, then said with a grin, “This spirit no doubt comes from your dwarven bloodline.” Ben stared at Rijah for an instant as if not hearing what he had said, so the dwarf repeated, “Yes, you are descendant from dwarves who once came to this world in search of adventure and riches. Many thousands of years ago, a long time even in dwarven terms, people and trade flowed freely between our two worlds. Some of those that traveled from our world to this place chose to settle it, but as time went on the magic left them, and some among them grew bitter at the loss. Magic is not natural to this world, and it seems to disperse from any source which enters this domain. Also, because magic is not a part of this place, when it is used sometimes the effects are, shall we say, unconventional.” He said this with a smile and turned to Elan, who greeted his smile with a sullen expression. Rijah ignored the look and continued.
“Some of those who craved the magic tried to return, but could not. It appears that once the magic has left someone from our world they cannot return, for our world rejects them. The world we come from is a living thing, not unlike the tree you played with in your youth, Ben. It is aware, sometimes helpful, sometimes not, never really interfering with the struggles of our population but occasionally affecting the outcome of events. However, as far as our scholars can tell, our world would not accept those that had rejected it. And so they either stayed here or died after their return, but those that were forced to stay grew jealous and warlike, their leaders declaring that others from our world were trying to make them weak and powerless, more or less slaves. The peoples here began to rise and the wars began, with tens of thousands dying on either side. Eventually our magicians closed the paths between the two worlds, and we were separated.” Rijah sat down now, his face taking on a look of weariness.
Elan picked up where Rijah had stopped, saying, “Almost a thousand years ago, in what humans call the Dark Ages, a clandestine connection between our worlds was again made by a rogue group of magicians, ones who sought the power of your minerals and technology. They acted out of selfishness and greed, and hastily erected a portal with which to sally forth armies to plunder this world. But the world they discovered had changed considerably. Our ancestors had mingled with the original inhabitants of this world, evolving into what is considered here as human today. What humans had lost with respect to longevity, they more than accounted for in numbers. Whereas in our world one child every 150 years is the norm, at that time in this world’s history four, five or six children over a 20 year span was not unusual. And so the invasion was repelled by sheer numbers and forgotten, the war having destroyed all record of the invaders but that which humans call ‘fairy tales’. Forgotten, that is, in this world. There are still those in our world that would have what is not rightfully theirs, and a plan to further those desires has been long in the making.” Elan stopped and he too sat down, as if exhausted. Rijah spoke again, this time remaining seated.
“So it is time, and you have been chosen. The decision is yours, but heed my words: Gold and silver are not the only things desired from this place. The reason for the initial defeat was studied intensely for many years, and it has been determined that humans are now more passive than in their history, and the numbers by which the population grows could be put to good use. . . as slaves.” Rijah finished his speech with brooding eyes locked onto Ben’s, as if trying to hammer his words home by the power of his mind. Ben averted his gaze, turning instead to Elan, who only met his look and shook his head up and down. Ben thought of all the questions that came to mind, and knew that answers would be forthcoming, but as he looked at Elan’s face he noticed that it was paler than before.
“Elan, are you ill?” Ben asked, suddenly concerned at the elf’s appearance.
“Not ill, Ben, tired. Your world drains me, sucks the very essence of myself from me, and I am weary of the battle.” Elan replied.
“What he means, Ben,” Rijah explained, “is that the magic is leaving him, as well as myself, to a lesser extent. Elan is well versed in the ways of sorcery, but both of us are from a place where magic pervades everyone and everything and when that is lost, we are found lacking. Elan is more affected than I because his essence depends on the magic flowing through him in greater quantity, whereas I tend to rely more on the magic of steel.” Rijah grinned broadly now, and deftly held up his great battleaxe with one hand.
“I still don’t understand one thing,” Ben said as he began to pace the floor, trying to digest all that he had been told thus far. “What is it that I am supposed to do?”
“In our world there is a being known only as Suhet.” Rijah continued, “It means ‘One who gives Life’ or ‘Lifegiver’ in some ancient, forgotten tongue. This entity was discovered eons ago, hidden deep within the body of our world and through it flows the magic, the lifeblood of our civilization. We do not understand the Suhet, but it is vastly powerful and has existed, we believe, since the creation of our world. The Suhet may be a God, for all we know, but even as we believe it possesses conscious thought, it does not act.”
“So where does that leave me?” Ben asked, still not understanding his place in the scheme of things.
“Seven hundred years ago the Lifegiver was, for lack of a better word, stolen.” Elan said, the seriousness clearly evident in his face. “It was removed from whence it had stood for tens of thousands of years and taken to a place where it’s power is being manipulated. The quantity of magic that flows from it is unchanged, but over the centuries the Suhet has been encompassed by a barrier, an evil aura which the lifeblood must first flow through before it is absorbed by our world.” “
”Ben,” Elan said slowly, “our world is changing.”
“So why don’t you just go and get it back?” Ben asked, and instantly wished he had not asked such a mundane question.
“We have tried, my friend,” Rijah sighed, his shoulders sinking as if under a heavy weight. “Both dwarves and elves have sacrificed many in the quest for the Suhet’s return. But because of the enemy’s close proximity to the source of magic in our world, we have failed. Their magicians have increased in strength, while ours have diminished. In addition, many of our numbers have fallen to the lure of the black magic, switching sides even in the middle of battle. We are creatures who for eons have lived with magic in and around us, and the closer we come to the source, the more we emulate it. It would be impossible for anyone from our world to even touch the Suhet now, much less move it.” The dwarf paused for an instant before finishing. “You, however, are not of our world.”
Ben stared at the dwarf, the words sinking slowly into his brain. As the reasoning became clear to him, Ben spoke.
“So you need me to run into some dreary castle somewhere, grab this ‘Lifegiver’, and put it back where it belongs, right?” A chuckle arose from both elf and dwarf, and Elan spoke first.
“Something like that, yes. Although we doubt that it will be as easy as that. The Suhet is guarded well, and it will be difficult to obtain.”
“What if I refuse?” Ben asked directly, his eyes locking onto Elan’s, then to Rijah’s.
“Then both our worlds are doomed.” the dwarf replied, staring back at Ben. “Our enemies are wise, for the longer we wait, the stronger their position becomes. As the black magic is absorbed by our world it changes, so do it’s people. Once the populations have succumbed to the evil, the enemy will have an instant army under it’s control with none of the side effects normally encountered by a conquering force. An entire world with it’s inhabitants will be at their disposal, and the advantage in population your world once possessed will be gone. As I said before, this plan has been long in the making.”
Ben stared in disbelief, trying to absorb all the information that had been relayed to him. He rose quietly and said simply, “I need to think about this. I’ll be in my room.” The others nodded their affirmation and Ben walked slowly down the hall to his bedroom, shoulders hunched slightly as he contemplated his choices. I could leave, he thought as he entered his room, just climb out the window and disappear. But the idea left as quickly as it came, and he knew that was not an option for him. To run and hide was not in his nature, and he silently cursed the tree-thing for choosing him so carefully. He stared out his window, longing for past days when his mother’s voice would awaken him for school, remembering the firm hand of his father upon his, yearning for the long walks the family would take together in the woods. Here he had been happy, and now it had all been destroyed. There was nothing for him here, he decided. No family, now that his mother was gone. His childhood friends had all disappeared over the past ten years, and his friends from college had gone their separate ways. The feeling of aloneness once again flowed over him, and he sighed heavily, the decision having been made for him. He would go, he thought, and do what he could to help his two new friends. After all, he said to himself as he smiled, they did save your life, didn’t they?
Ben took one last look out his window into the yard surrounding his house, the place that had been his home for so long, when a sudden movement at the edge of the yard caught his attention. Just inside the treeline Ben could see multiple forms rushing through the woods, and his heart caught in his throat. He could not make out the shapes entirely, but Ben did not believe that they were from his world. He turned to warn the others when Rijah came bounding into his room, eyes ablaze.
“We have guests, Ben, and they do not seek our hospitality. Do you feel up to it?” he asked, a questioning look ion his face.
“I feel as well as is possible, considering the circumstances.” Ben replied, his anxiousness evident in his face. The dwarf smiled, and slid one hand out from under his cloak. “You might need this,” he said simply, and tossed a long object at Ben. Deftly Ben caught the article in midair, and stared long and hard at Rijah when he realized what it was.
“How did you find my Katana?” he asked, amazement showing on his face.
“You showed us where it was, hidden below the soil.” Ben’s confusion was evident, and Rijah smiled as he continued, “After I slew the Wereboar, even as you lay unconscious on the ground, you continued to drag yourself towards the tree, using only your right arm and left leg. I have never in my centuries seen anything like it,” the dwarf said, admiration in his voice. “You would not give up.” he finished, then turn and ran from the room. Ben stood for only a second, considering the dwarf’s words, then a broad smile opened on his face as a rush of adrenalin hit his body and he sped from the room to deal his share of death.
The battle was joined even as he leapt from the front porch onto the ground. Nary had his feet hit the grass when he was blindsided from the left by a blur of fangs and claws. He hit the ground rolling and was on his feet in an instant, slashing wildly from right to left with his sword. The edge bit deep into a small, furry body and a scream of agony reached his ears as he followed through with his slash, cutting up and away and ending his attack with the Katana poised at his left, ready to swing once again. His opponent, about four and a half feet tall with a long snout and covered with fur, dropped to it’s knees and fell face forward into the soil, never to breath again. Ben stared in amazement at the creature, at his sword, and back at the creature, astonished at the speed at which death could be visited upon a living being. In that instant, out of the corner of his eye, Ben saw Rijah dispatching with another of the furry beasts.
“Manzurian Dogmen!” the dwarf yelled, not looking at Ben, “and keep a sharp eye out for their master, for they will not have been sent unaccompanied!” A growl sounded at his right, and Ben spun to face another of the short attackers. The beast leaped for his throat and Ben stepped to his left, sending his saber swinging down as the dogman passed by in midair. The sharp blade cut through fur, flesh and bone, and the dogman hit the ground with a thud, it’s body twitching silently in death. A sharp command issued from behind him, a voice of fearful power and strength which caused the hairs on the back of his neck to stand on end. Ben turned slowly, aware that the few dogmen remaining had turned and run in the direction of the shout, and his eyes widened at what he saw. Standing nearly as tall as the Wereboar that had attacked him, the creature Ben now faced had the body of a huge snake, at least three feet across, but stood upright on stout legs ending in hooves. The upper part of the snake body slowly developed into a vaguely human form, with muscular arms which both wielded long, wicked sabres. A long snake like tail trailed after the beast, whipping back and forth in the grass. But the most horrid feature of the snake-thing was it’s face: Huge, red, almost glowing eyes that seemed to stare directly through Ben were situated on a foul, misshapen head. The head seemed to have squashed from above by a heavy weight, the eyes, nose and mouth unnaturally close together, whereas at least a foot of space existed on either for the cheeks. The thing opened it’s mouth and roared, showing seemingly endless rows on tiny, razorlike teeth.
“We must be cautious of this one,” Rijah said, suddenly appearing at Ben’s side. “It is called a Demonsnake, and it’s bite is deadly. The various extremities you see are parts of it’s past victims, for it not only kills it’s opponents, it drains their soul and their form becomes a part of the ungodly whole.”
“Any ideas?” Ben asked sarcastically, moving his Katana slowly from left to right, trying desperately to look fearsome.
“Not really, except to stay away from it,” came the amused reply, but the choice was made for them as the Demonsnake roared it’s challenge and moved forward towards them.
“Split up and attack from the side,” Rijah bellowed, “and beware of it’s tail!” The dwarf was already moving to his right, his axe held in front of him defensively, trying to keep as much distance between himself and the monster as possible while he maneuvered into position. Ben barely had time to acknowledge the dwarf’s command with a hasty “good plan” as the thing crossed the gap towards him. Ben braced himself for the attack, rearing his sword back over his right shoulder, waiting for that instant the creature was in range yet before the beast had a chance to strike at him. Suddenly the thing was upon him, and their weapons clashed in protest. Not altogether quick or skilled with the swords it wielded, the monster however had a size advantage that Ben soon recognized. The Demonsnake beat down on him, raining blow after blow as Ben parried and weaved in and out under a barrage of strikes that occasionally made it past Ben’s defense. He was soon cut in half a dozen places, but the Demonsnake had felt the sting of the Katana as well, and both were wary of the other. They fought maddingly, attacking furiously while trying to parry blows and outmaneuver the other at the same time. Twice the Demonsnake had tried to strike Ben with it’s long tail but Ben had caught sight of the motion in the beasts hips and anticipated the sneak attack, instead twisting to meet the swinging, scaly tail with his slashing blade. Steel had met flesh, and the creature’s total length had been twice diminished in the encounter. But the stamina of the Demonsnake was ungodly, and Ben began to feel the weight of his blade, his actions began to slow by a fraction. The Demonsnake, upon seeing a slight delay in the movements of it’s lightning quick adversary, pressed the attack and began to force Ben back towards the house. Ben could feel the battle turning against him and he fought back with the fury of a cornered lioness, but the Demonsnake was to strong. The foul beast feinted left, then struck from the right with both swords, striking Ben’s almost too late parry at an off angle, causing the Katana to fly from Ben’s weary grasp. Ben ducked as the beast swung as if to behead it’s human opponent, then dove headlong to his right to where his sword lay in the dirt. Ben hit the ground and rolled, picking his weapon from off the grass as he whirled around to meet his attacker once more. There was a sudden ‘thud’, followed by two more ‘thud’ sounds in quick succession, and Ben saw where three arrows had struck the Demonsnake, one in the stomach and two in the semi-human chest. The beast reared onto it’s tail, and Ben saw his opportunity. He launched his whole body into the air, the gleaming Katana held out in front of him like a spear, and a gasp to escaped from the creature as Ben’s weapon plunged deep into it’s body. Ben knelt down now, his back to the creature, and he cut up and away with the sharp blade as he drew it from the monster, slicing it from abdomen to chest and bringing the dripping blade to a temporary stop in front of him. Instantly he was spinning to his left, pivoting on his right knee and slicing the Demonsnake across it’s abdomen, intersecting the previous cut and forming an upside down ‘T’. Two more arrows flew over his head to strike the nearly dissected beast, impacting with such force that they knocked the now dead fiend over onto it’s back. Ben looked up towards where the arrows had originated and he saw Elan, kneeling on the front porch and holding a gently curving longbow, with a dozen arrows fanned out in a semicircle in front of him. No words were spoken but a message was clearly transmitted between the human and the elf as their eyes locked, and never again would they look at each other with less than respect. Suddenly Ben remembered Rijah’s ‘plan’, and he jumped to his feet, furious at having battled the Demonsnake alone. But he had barely taken a step before he realized the truth: Not one hundred feet from where he stood lay another Demonsnake, different but similar to the one he had slain, it’s head separate from it’s body and a grinning Rijah sitting majestically on it’s scaly chest.
“Looking for someone, are you?” the dwarf teased. “Well, I believe you have found him!” he laughed, leaping down from his gory throne. “And Elan!” the dwarf continued, “If you scream ‘Ben, duck’ one more time I do believe the boy will sprout wings a large yellow bill!” Ben turned to face Elan again, confusion in his face as Elan explained,
“You evidently could not hear me calling out. I was in good position the entire time you battled the demon, but you are too quick for your own good.” The elf smiled gently and continued, “Every time I saw an opportunity for a clear bowshot, some part of your body would impose itself between my arrow and the demon, and I could not risk hitting you. If at any point you had simply stood still, I could have wounded the beast and the length of your battle would have been shortened considerably.” Ben looked down at the ground, shaking his head slowly from side to side, a smile forming on his face.
“Sorry, Elan, next time I will not be so selfish.” Ben said, and the trio laughed heartily at themselves, oblivious now to the death they had wrought in the grassy yard.
An hour later they were ready to leave, Ben having packed his duffle bag quickly and in solitude in the privacy of his bedroom. Hiking boots, various clothing items as well as his toothbrush and toothpaste, it appeared as if he were going on a camping trip as opposed to leaving his whole world, perhaps indefinitely. Ben created no false hope of ever returning, for he now had begun to understand that he was involved in a life and death struggle, a struggle that could ultimately lead to his demise. He had also packed pictures of his mother and father, mementos of another time and another place, and he felt their bulk in his bag nestled safely in newspaper and packed in a small cardboard box. He had also stuffed a flashlight, plenty of matches, a good supply of paper and pens, various medical supplies that he had dug up from around the house, and some collapsible plastic containers. He took a final tour of his house, imprinted it’s every detail into his mind, knowing that this may be the last time he would ever look upon it. Then, a single tear slowly trailing down his left cheek, he locked the front door for perhaps the last time and joined his companions outside.
“I am ready,” he stated flatly, and no more words were said as the three companions, obviously different from each other but bound together by their history and experience, walked away from the white rambler and headed off into the woods.
They soon broke out into the grassy plain, the sun shining brightly overhead and the soft chattering of birds echoing over the field as the trio arrived at the site of the great oak. Ben noticed the terrible split in the trunk and questioned his companions about it.
“This is where our visitors entered this world from our own,” Elan said, “but they had to force their way through. The tree would have resisted, but their kind are not warriors and have no means of fighting back. This one lives still, but it’s life force grows weak.” Ben put a gentle hand on the rough bark and a connection was made, Ben’s mind aware now and open to the spirit of the tree. A feeling passed between them, a gentle emotion that made Ben feel happy and sad at the same time. He knew that even as the spirit left the tree it did not die, but would issue forth to take on another form as it had done so many times over the millennia.
“We will meet again,” Ben whispered, and the familiar movement in the leafy canopy above affirmed his statement.
“We must hurry,” Elan said, holding onto Rijah for support. “I grow weak and cannot stay here much longer.” Quickly they stood together as Elan uttered words under his breath, and a blinding light flashed briefly and then was gone. No trace of the travelers remained, and the world did not note their passing.
They appeared instantly in a dark forest next to a mammoth oak tree, nearly identical to the one they had traveled through, and Ben was astonished as he looked around at what was visible. Thousands of stars shined dimly above bright, twin moons. Like the eyes of a god, the cosmic spheres stared down upon the world below, never blinking, observing quietly all that transpired over the ages. The forest itself seemed alive, each growing object a separate entity yet intertwined, the mystic current of life coursing through the very ground and flowing into each object, from the mightiest fir to the lowliest fungus growing on the side of a rock. As he stood there in awe, his feet rooted to the soft pine needle floor of the
That is section 1. If you would like me to post sections 2 and 3 please let me know.
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