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This is a short story inspired by the AWESOME art of Phandigrams  Xanda the Wyndmahn
He left the golden hall, turning his back on the Golden Empress of Padush. His robes billowed and his ebony wood staff hummed as he walked, the resonant sound echoing off the marble walls of the long hall. Colossal, white terraces opened up on either side, bathed in sunlight and arched to overlook the city below. The city cascaded off into the open blue sky along the jagged mountainside. He left the massive terraces behind and entered a long room that bottle necked into the High Stair. Sunlight shot into the enclosed space through slit windows where nothing but the sky above could be seen. The sound of his hard, calloused feet against the cold black marble boomed in his ears like a heavy war drum, as he ruminated on what the empress had said. He descended the High Stair and reached the White Courtyard. Pale pink, shimmering gold, and dazzling white leaves shone bright in the sunlit courtyard as rainbow trees waved in the soft breeze. He passed the ivory guards who stood to either side of the entrance. The two guards; who seemed to be in a sort of trance, suddenly stood at attention and gripped their spears tightly. As if his passing had awoken them from the stupor. One wiped his mouth free of spittel and yelled, “Yeah, and we don’t wanna see you here again, ya damned tramp!” A more hollow being, might have given the insult some attention but the guard might have as well have shouted at a stone or a tree; for he was more like one of those. He continued down the Golden Stair and into the Lord’s district. He stopped and stroked his nappy beard as he looked back and reflected on the long and pointless walk up and down the Golden Spear of Padush. His jaw clenched and he ground his teeth. He thought about all the places he’d been since the deep season of cold and now the trees along the road of the Lord’s District had begun to transmute once again. He’d ridden through the desert, to warn the kings of Kruul. He’d sailed to the far isles to speak to the Lord of Liedy. He’d descended the deep crater to converse with the elder of Jashish. Even flew to the cloud peaks to plead to the Council of Lovak. But no matter the language, the culture, or species; they’d all said the same thing. The Kings had whispered it. The Lord had painted it out. The Elder expounded upon it. And The Council… The council would still be talking about it even now and no closer to coming to a decision. He wondered if they’d even truly heard his warning. “The soil of Orb is dying.” He’d said. And each of Orb’s fairweather leaders had replied, “What am I to do?” Why lead if you see and think in the same way as those around you? He chewed on the thought. Useless! He spat upon the cedar street. He descended into the city proper, from the Golden Stair. He was deep in thought when the pitter-patter of small feet emerged from the hustle and bustle of the lively city road and caught up to his long, single minded strides. The presence said nothing but he felt the anticipation emanating beside him. The intensity grew and built before the high musical voice said, “Well? What’d she say?”. He was muttering to himself; a bad habit, he stopped and turned, looking at the little one. Her huge frog-like eyes stared up at him in wonder. His apprentice hailed from the brown bogs of Eteey and had the beautiful look of those folk. He had expected no more from the empress than he’d gotten from any of the others but even so, he could not say it aloud. His anger was building and if he spoke now… he simply shook his head. Her eyes dissolved into wells of disappointment at the realization. “But our leaders are supposed to lead us gently into change. That’s why they have the power of the people!” She said, her innocence pried the words free from his mouth, “They will do nothing!” The anger was rising in him as the words flowed. “It seems, elected or born into the station; these so-called leaders hold no respect for life and only seek to please the ones who secure their seat to power.” His staff began to emanate waves of heat and bent the air around him. “They will not suffer the consequences of their own actions and so they do not care!” His dark fathomless eyes lit with a fiery shock of orange. His anger was upon him now and would only grow, deepening its roots into his power. Smooth sailing clouds suddenly slowed, bulked, and began to grow dark in the midst of the clear and beautiful day. “Do the fools think the seats they sit upon were built in a day?! The cities? The roads?! The very fruit that hangs from the trees of plenty?! Did Orb herself sprout all these things in a day!?” Passers by and folk bustling about their business had begun to stop and watch or else walk widely around the odd pair. Some were pointing, making correlations to the storm brewing directly above and the ragged stranger’s anger. Wind howled, whistling through the streets and alleys as the crack of lightning split the blackening clouds with purple and white veins. People fell to kneel and pray, some others ran and hid inside of buildings, abandoning carts, goods, and crying children. No one stood near Xanda the Windman, as his deep echoing voice boomed;each word bludgeoning the air itself. “Why have power if you will not use it!” He cried to himself or maybe… to someone else who wasn’t there: or else was all around. “We’ll all die for fear of action like FOOLS!” Thunder shook the mountainside-city and the streets began to rumble and shake. A sound like the tearing of roots echoed across the mountain range as his anger threatened to tear the city off its foundations. The wind whipped through the open road and sent debris careening through the air. His dark eyes were flaming with anger. Anger led to madness, a quenchless, hungry, frenzy of flame. He’d break this world wide open. He’d tear it all down and have the people start again. Maybe the next time they’d get it right. He held his staff aloft and gripped it tightly in both of his big calloused hands and at the precipice of smiting the ground beneath his feet, he felt a soft tug on his robe. His eyes flicked down to the forgotten Eteeyan, her huge brown eyes and innocent face filled with the beauty of clear and conscious ignorance. She saw him, through all of his maddening fury, she saw him and her eyes seemed to say; “What is the use of great power if you use it to expedite the destruction of all you love?” Then she said, with a smile as soft and gentle as a dreamless sleep, “What can we do Xanda?” The wild and twisting flames in his eyes guttered, then died and fell from his eyes in a blink, as liquid gold tears. His dark eyes stung and his fingertips threatened to burst with black electricity. But her clear presence and musical voice had cut a silver lining into the dark sky. Light began to bleed through the darkness and fell in sheets onto the street. Xanda only stared into those huge eyes full of wonder and possibility and those eyes looked to him for guidance. Him, who was ready to destroy everything to start anew, even her. He would be no different from the leaders of Orb, he saw reflected in those eyes. He sighed and steam and smoke ran from his mouth like a great white river and flooded the streets with a dense smog. He sighed again and closed his eyes. Rain began to fall, pebbling on the girl’s hood and gently washing the smog from the streets. It cooled his wrath and soothed his pain and shame of anger. A final grace-filled sigh sunk deep into his body, grounding him to Orb in all her beauty and power. He placed his staff onto the ground, so gently, and knelt. “We will do what is needed,” he said. She searched his eyes then and asked. “Will there be joy?” “There will be. And pain and loss.” “Then why should we do anything about it?” she asked, with all of the purity of Orb and beyond. A corner of his mouth slid upward as he said, “Because we love.” She let the words sink in. “Because we love.”, she repeated and the rain stopped. Giving way to calm, clear, open skies once more. The sun rose from behind a cloud, as did Xanda the Windman and he said, “Come Yiri, we have much work to do.” “Then we shall do it joyfully!” She gave him a huge smile. He smiled back, his white teeth shining as bright as the sun. Then he heard the clanking of metal feet marching down the market street toward them. He picked up his staff, his smile had fallen, as a troop of ivory soldiers came closer to surround them. “Because we love…” He said, closing his eyes. And when he opened them again he said, as if to someone who wasn’t there: or else was all around him. “Because we love.”
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He drug one foot in front of the other, as the weight of the heat danced on the distorted horizon. On and on the figure marched through the sweltering heat of the day. He had been walking for… He wasn’t sure. It had been two and a half days in truth. But the unrelenting sting of the sun had burnt the truth out of his mind. It had burned away the thought of her green eyes, and the last night he had spent in the company of humans. It had burned away the nightmare that was the last two nights. Burned away the glowing white eyes in the darkness of the decrepit buildings they had taken refuge in. Burned away the screams of the children and the horrible thrashing and tearing sounds that echoed out of the darkness after they were silent. All of it, burned away by one of the only real things that existed here. Heat. With all of his thoughts gone there was only to walk. One step. Then, one step. On and on until… He thought he saw a tree.
He visor'd his brow with a dry and ashy hand trying to see clearly past the dancing horizon. He could see it there, in the distance. A tree meant shade, meant relief, meant somewhere to sit...somewhere to die. He licked his lips and felt the sharp edges of peeling skin resisting against his dry tongue. He knew it was no use, but he licked them again. He took one step and then another. He took one step more, then his foot caught on less than a crack in the hard dry earth and he crashed to his knees and crumbled as his left arm failed to catch him, so he lay awkwardly with his face in the dirt. He could feel his knees ache with a pain so sharp that it could only mean he had broken skin. He winced as he tried to lift himself and an electrical rippling of pain shot from his left arm to crumble him back into the dirt. He looked at it, almost as if it were someone else’s arm. A bone had been torn through his bicep to stick up like some white flag pole through a bandaged arm. When had he done this? Suddenly, flashes of a pale humanoid hand reached out to him, grabbing his arm and wrenching it to bend the wrong way. Shocking him into a backward scramble, then he was standing and huffing with a sudden burst of energy. The image was gone just as soon as it had come and he was back, in the burnt shade-less landscape with nothing. Nothing, but heat baking his skin and the echoes of a child’s screams ringing in his ears. He blinked in his surroundings as if seeing them for the first time. Where was he going? He couldn’t remember. He felt something hot and heavy laying against his chest. At first it angered him and he reached to tear it off of his neck but the chain it hung on simply dug into the skin between the bones of his spine. He gasped with pain and almost collapsed again. He steadied himself and looked down to his neck and saw a black heart shaped locket. He grimaced and could feel where his skin had begun to meld with the metal of the chain, peeling away when he lifted it from his neck. The locket felt so heavy in his hand. When... where had he found this? It was plain as far as he could see. But seeing, was becoming more difficult. He blinked with rapid savagery, trying to force his vision back into focus. He swallowed a hard dry swallow and closed his eyes for six seconds. He wasn’t sure why six. But when he opened his eyes he thought he could see a bit better. He looked the locket over and flipped it in his hand and saw where the backside flipped upward. He pressed open the back of it and saw a small...well he wasn’t sure what he was looking at. At first he thought it might be a bright stone. But upon further inspection it swirled and danced with a strange light. A light that poured from it’s center and off of it’s edges like water, then disappeared as it fell away. Light, like something from a dream pulled at the edge of memory. The light reminded him of something. The lights had been bright that night. “The stars are out tonight, huh?” His wife Anna was walking over to him with a cold bottle of cider in hand. He could see the condensation misting the apple shaped label. “Daddy, is that it?” He was holding his daughter Aurora propped in one arm as she pointed to the bright night sky. She had two big puffs on either side of her head and her signature blue and yellow overalls and she was pointing with little fingers he felt very tempted to nibble on. He wrapped her up in his arms and proceeded to playfully nibble on those cute little fingers and listen to her scream in delight and surprise. “Come on now you two.” Anna said as she jabbed at his side with the cold bottle. “She did ask you a question.” “Ahh yes!” he said, placing her down and looking at his daughter in an overly serious manner. “What was your question again young lady?” She giggled and repeated, “Daddy, is that it?” He turned and looked into the part of the sky she was pointing to. “Yes, that’s Gemini. You can tell because it’s made of six stars and one of them called Castor, I think, is one of the brightest stars ever.” Her eyes lit up and grew wide with amazement as she stared into the starry night. “The fire is ready for smores, if you guys are ready for them.” Anna said, nodding toward the campfire. He turned to his wife as Aurora danced and sang her way over to the campfire ahead of her parents. “This was a great idea babe.” Anna said, looking at him with her green eyes. Her lightly freckled cheeks were bursting with approval and appreciation. As he reached a hand into her back pocket and squeezed her butt. She did the same for him. “Daddy?” Aurora’s voice was suddenly worried. “What’s that?” He and Anna turned to look into the starry night to find more than stars. The sudden light brightened the world into a mock daylight. But the light poured from a source of pale milky brightness that seemed to be descending from nowhere. The sight captured their whole being. Birds were chirping and cawing wildly as crickets and frogs sang a raucous chorus and Aurora was saying something over and over and over again but all of it was barely audible over the visual spectacle of what they were witnessing. Neither he nor Anna could speak as they watched the light descend onto the world changing it from day to some strange alien brightness. Then just as suddenly as it came, it vanished. Silence. “What the fu-” “Six! Six! Six!” Aurora was screaming now and staring at where the light had seemed to land. “Aurora, Aurora honey what’s-” Anna was suddenly transfixed on a spot just outside of the light of the campfire. He was peering where he thought she might be looking but everything in the shadows seemed to be darker than it had been somehow. Much darker. All he could see against the flickering darkness beyond the trees were pale glowing dots. He was blinking furiously trying to get the dots to go away when Anna grabbed his arm, hard. He looked over at her but he couldn’t see her face past her afro but could see her lips. She was saying, “Get the gun.” He looked back into the darkness confused. Had he missed something? The dots were still there... but then it clicked. Those weren’t dots. They were eyes. Strange eyes, all around them in the darkness. He looked back up the hill to the cabin lights which seemed to stretch further away as he looked. He pulled his pistol from the waist of his pants and cocked it. He was breathing hard and could hear the thud of his heart in his chest, there were no other sounds. The pale wobbling circles began to dart around, always just out of view. “Six. Six. Six” Aurora said transfixed on something neither of her parents could see. “Grab Aurora.” He whispered to Anna. She grabbed up her daughter with a smooth calmness he knew she wasn’t feeling. They turned and ran! The light of the campfire at their back no longer lit their way forward and so they knew it was gone, swallowed up by the darkness. They ran against the hill and he fired shots behind him, never quite looking to see if, or what they hit. They had finally reached the cabin and the lights were on just inside. He took the four porch stairs in a leap, Anna jumped but the last stair caught her leg. She fell awkwardly twisting as she shielded Aurora from the ground. He reached down for her and she screamed as a pale hand with impossibly long black fingers grabbed the waist of her pants. She screamed and pushed Aurora into his arms. Then she was gone. He fired the gun, feeling like a complete fool for having not shot immediately. He couldn’t see anything and all he heard was his wife’s screaming, getting more and more distant. Another pale hand reached from the darkness and grabbed at Aurora. He grabbed his daughter and snatched the door open but couldn’t get inside. Something was holding him back. He saw that long black finger clawed through the loops of his daughter’s overall straps and his heart dropped into his feet. He pulled with all his might against that hand as she screamed “Six! Six! Six!” The black fingers had closed around her small body and began pulling with inhuman strength. He Propped his feet into the door frame and pulled with his entire body. He was gaining. “Reach for me baby! Reach!” Her tiny hand was reaching for him and grasping at his arm. He pulled harder and harder. Until a white hand grabbed his left arm from the darkness. He fell onto his back and passed out after his head snapped back to smash into the stone floor of the entryway. He dreamt then, of a strange face, with eyes like floating orbs of light and a mouth not entirely in use was telling him something. The mouth moved only in the center and whispers came from it. He couldn’t understand it and the face looked impassive, but the mouth’s movement’s gave a sense of urgency. “What!? What are you saying!” He yelled at the face as it shrank away into darkness and was replaced by the orb in the locket. The light was shining and swirling in it’s locket had brought all of this back to him. He didn’t know what the thing in the locket was for or even what it was. But he knew it was important. He thought of Aurora’s small fingers and of Anna’s green eyes. He closed the locket and squeezed it. He couldn't cry, the heat had taken his tears already. He looked up and saw, on the waving horizon more clearly than he had. There was a tree there. He clenched the locket in his fist and took a step. His legs were numb. He said to himself, in a voice deep and raspy of none-use “Keep your black ass moving. Just take one step more...” END He opened his eyes, blinking the world into view. He turned this way and that so that he could take it all in. He stretched his wings as he chirped to his neighbors. What few stirred told of a golden dawn and an open sky, perfect for the hunt. He fastened his trappings and prepped his feathers, hopped to the edge of his perch and looked to the silvery slice of light peeking over the horizon. A new mist hovered above the ground and a new wind whispered through the leaves. With his eyes closed, he took a deep breath and fell from his high branch. As he fell through the air, twisting and spinning, the ground burst through the morning mist and shot up to meet him. He spread his wings and let the air pull him up high until he leveled out. He flapped his wings and pushed higher into the treetops, bobbing and weaving through twigs and branches and shot through leaves like a bullet. He burst through the canopy and fluttered above the sea of green that stretched on and on into the breaking dawn. He stared back at his home as a strange thought overtook him. His mind couldn't entertain such thoughts though, for he was the early bird afterall. He glided through wisps of cloud and watched as the sea of green transformed below him into the brown lands. A wide open land sparsely littered with thin gray trees that scraped at the sky with thin twisted fingers and thorny bushes that grew as wide as a tree top. The muddy ground and deep puddles were fertile ground for the hunt.
He soared about the sky and found a good landing position below. He was excited to see that he was the only bird in the sky or on the grounds. The first. The earliest. His feathers rose a little in pride and he started to slow to begin his descent. He spiraled down into a particularly large thorn bush and laid out his tools on a dry patch of fissured earth at the base of the bush. As he pieced his spear together, something in the corner of his eye grabbed his attention. A dry, mummified mouse lay against the twisted roots of the bush, reaching out to the empty air. He wondered what the mouse was pointing at. He followed its reaching finger with his eyes and saw a small nest tucked in the lower branches of the bush. His curiosity overtook him and he fluttered up into the nest. It was empty except for a single dull black feather. He flipped it and saw its fluorescent underside, so colorful that it initially scared him. There was an expectation that it might blind him or be a trap of some kind. However, another moment passed and nothing happened. He blinked, enraptured with its beauty he decided it would come with him. Whether it was luck was uncertain to him. He swept it into his beak and tied it onto his back with a bit of leaf hemp he had on his belt. The sun hung low in the sky as he re-emerged into the open, a crow was poking about in the mud. There wasn’t any doubt for his catch; therefore, he quickly snatched up his spear to flutter to the open mud. His angry twittering was ignored by the black bird, making him twitter more. The crow cawed with dismissal of the tweet and continued poking about, his yellow eyes never leaving sight of the muddy ground. Offended, he flew a few flutters away to another spot. Little did the crow know, he was prodding the wrong spot. He began his toil shooting harsh and sharp glances at the black bird, but his gestures went unnoticed. As he pushed his stick deep into the mud and swiveled it around, he noticed a shadow emerge from behind. Instantly, he jumped, dropping his spear. It was the crow, standing and staring with his beak ajar. To what is the black bird staring at, he asked himself. The crow answered by nodding to the feather. He pulled it around to his front and looked at it clearly, the colorful side was exposed, appearing quite beautiful in the light. The crow cawed, receiving a tweet as a reply. The crow pulled up a satchel from under his wings and showed his shiny wares. Curious, he pushed his neck out in order to better see what all was in the sack. There were pretty stones, colorful buttons, bright strings, glistening beetles, and in truth, a wad of useless junk. The black bird pushed through most of it, shuffling the tangled mass about in the big satchel. His feathers were ruffled as he pulled out a small iridescent orb that glistened and winked in the pale morning light. As he looked into it, he felt as if he was pulled into a deep gust of wind. There was twirling and swirling in a flood of color and mute sound. He blinked. The world came back to him. The crow looked sure of the trade for he cawed its pleasure. He thought it over for longer than expected, but decided a bauble like that was more dangerous than useful; therefore, he declined with a tweet. With a shuffle and flurry of feathers, he hopped back to the spot where his spear laid pressed in the mud. The crow squawked its incredulity, but didn't seem disappointed. He left it there to stare into the orb squawking and cooing softly to itself. Some time passed and the mud began to dry and crack under the heat of the rising sun. It was imperative that he find it soon or else he would go home empty taloned. He poked around under the thin shade of a gray withered tree, when all of a sudden, something pricked at his senses, causing him to look up There, against the greying sky, perched on the only branch of the old tree, sat a massive holy bird. He bowed deeply to the bald necked holy one. A long and deep screech came from its curved beak. He didn't understand what it meant; therefore, he tweeted a question. A raspy arrrgh gurgled from its naked throat as it shifted its weight on the branch and stretched its massive wingspan to eclipse the sun. It was then, he understood. Nonetheless, he could not leave no matter the danger, for he was the early bird afterall. The holy bird's cold eyes shot to the feather on his back and another long screech broke the silence. It bowed to him before it smoothed its white collar against its black feathered body and jumped from the limb, sweeping over him in a gust. His eyes followed the holy bird clear over the empty blue sky as a boom of thunder sounded across the distant sky and moisture filled the air. He watched the bird disappear into the horizon and his eyes fell back to the ground where he saw a small lump in the mud. He hopped over. It was a satchel. The crow's satchel, he realized. He swiveled his head all around and saw a bush here and a tree there but no sign of the black bird. He picked up the satchel and shook it. Beetles, string, and other junk fell and plopped in the mud. He wondered about the orb as he slung the empty satchel under his wing and hopped away from the pile of crow junk. Suddenly, a drop of rain fell to the ground, gradually quickening its pace, and sending him toiling in the downpour. The heads of small soft worms wriggling about in the mud as it got thicker and harder for him to walk in. They would be easy prey and soon his thin toes would be packed with muck, but he pressed on for there were bigger worms to catch. He poked down this hole and swirled around that puddle until his spear caught on something, it was a ball of worms. Wrapped all about each other, he picked up the mass and wiped the worms clean of grime before swallowing them into that memorizing glint and flicker of the orb. He could not pull himself away. Somewhere he heard the splat of something hitting soft, gritty mud, yet the flashing colors kept him warm and all of his birdly troubles seemed to wash away like dirt in a stream. Until. A rumble snapped him out of it. The rain became harsh hard and the doughy mud was turning to soup beneath his feet. He snapped his head around, but there was no sign. He listened, but all he heard was the heavy rains.. He put the orb in his satchel. A deep earth churning groan shook through his hollow bones and a cacophony of muffled roots tearing, and snapping sent jolts through his feathers. The sound became louder as a dark mound slowly erupted from the mud in front of him. His body became still for he dared not move. Two stalks flipped up on top of the mound. One then the other. They were eyes. Deep black pools of savage hunger were staring right at him. His heart was pounding, the mound was three of him wide, and just as high. Large enough to eat him whole. He thought about flying away but the mud and rain would slow him and the commotion might get him eaten, so he dare not move. The stalk eyes were searching now, no doubt trying to discern him from the muddy background. Worms have terrible vision but their sense of vibration is beyond belief. Fear broke his eyeline from the stalks down to his talons, they had been swallowed by the mud but there he saw his spear. He flicked his eyes back up to the worm. The stalks were moving left and right scanning the area. The muddy mound began to descend, sifting back and forth through the mud and the stalks soon sunk out of sight. There was thunder in the distance. The early bird took three deep breaths and snatched up the spear. Already, he could hear the deep horrible rumble below growing. He drove the spear down into the mud and with all of his might pushed against it until one foot was wretched free with a sucking "thwoop". The rumble became louder as he began to pull until with a second "thwoop" which freed him. He flapped hard, but the rain was too heavy and his feet were covered in thick mud. With all his might, he tried to get away from the swell of wet earth and the growing growl that was getting closer. In his haste, he slipped and fell into a pool of dark, muddy water with a flat plate. As kicked and reached wildly, he began to sink, but there was no ground to gain in the muck. His world turned to black cold grit when suddenly, his leg was crushed by some great force. Short of breath and panicked he inhaled, the dark slurry filled his lungs. He was snatched up through the mud and into the air by something hard that knocked his lungs clear. He gawked for air and scrabbled, clinging to whatever he could. His eyes were closed, but he could feel the rain and air smash against his face. As he ascended, a familiar drop tugged at his gut. He opened his eyes to see the muddy ground rushing up to meet him. He let go and pushed away from the mass, expanding his muddy wings to slow his fall. The worm's massive body plummeted past him. It's small rear legs scrambled for purchase all while it's segments writhed. The worm crashed with a sickening crunch. He splatted flat into muddy ground and as he tried to rise his leg was engulfed in an electric pain. He fell to one knee and felt something pressing against his wing. His spear was still on him, tangled around the crow's satchel strap. He untangled the spear, pulled it up, and saw that the worm was turned around, staring at him fully exposed. Row after row of razor teeth sharp as spear heads littered the gaping maw of the worm. One huge claw like forearm was hunched close to the body and ended like a shovel, but the other claw dangled sickeningly from sinew. A series of cracks emanated from a large indentation on the forehead between the eye stalks that were angled down upon him and he knew they saw him clearly now. He rose to circle the worm, his spear out stretched. His leg was on fire, but he circled the worm as it rumbled and growled. At the time, his muddy feathers were unruffled and his hollow bones were unshaken. It slammed and drug its functional claw around the muck, flinging black speckles as it raged. He saw it was hurt and couldn't dig and it never made a move forward, but stood its ground. He tested it, stabbing at the worm's hard carapace and circling his foe all the while. It snapped at him and smashed its claw into the mud in rage as it missed. He jabbed the spear down a crack in the broken claw. In and out as the worm ducked and dodged the bird’s attacks.! He was behind the worm as it writhed in pain and the long pink tail whipped and caught him full in the chest. Knocking him off his feet and a good distance away. He sloshed around in the mud trying to get his bearings. He wiped the mud from his eyes and saw the worm charging him, mouth wide. The rain had stopped and there was a grey mist across the sky. He was tired, unsure if he could muster any more strength when he saw, caught among the sharp white teeth lay black feathers. The feathers gave him an idea and while he was too weak to do much more fighting. He reached into the crow's satchel, grabbed it and pushed the orb into the air. He dared not look into it but held it aloft and saw those black stalks gloss and lose focus. It stopped its furious charge, it slid forward just in front of him then was rooted. The scent of earth and death seeped from the gaping maw. He lowered the stone to the mud and watched the black stalks, they remained locked on it. He limped feebly over to his spear and picked it up as he climbed up the worm's back and stood between its eyes, driving the end of his spear down through the cracked indentation on the worm's head, and it broke like a fresh egg. A deep purple substance began to pool up from inside. The stalks dropped slowly, resisting here and there, but fell forward all the same as if to sleep. He slid down the worm's front and settled himself against the hard carapace. His breath rattled in his chest and his leg throbbed dully. He looked down at his chest at the feather he found. A ray of sun burst through the grey sky above and shined on his charm of luck. It looked more dull to his eyes now but just as beautiful. He tweeted his gratitude, untied it and let a sudden gust of wind carry it away. He pushed himself up with his spear and began to gather the three sharpest teeth from the worm. He hobbled around the back end of the worm and sliced off the soft, pink tail and packed it all up in the satchel. He fluttered raggedly away until he caught the wind. He looked toward the horizon, toward home. Then he had a strange thought: "Though you may wake today, sleep could find you in a different way and though you may hold a charm, it does not guarantee you from harm. However, one thing is for certain, in this world of twists and turns, the early bird always catches the worm." . As he flew into the mid-morning horizon, he tweeted with satisfaction. She stepped through the creaking door and came into a small classroom. The room was off center, the board was there at the front but all the desks were turned and somehow the sourceless light was shining all pointing toward a figure sitting facing the corner of the room. A dunce cap sat tall on the figure’s head and dull hum of mumbling bounced out of the corner he was facing. She stood watching the figure as her heart pounded in her chest and every moaning floorboard beneath her sounded as loud as the silence in her head.
The dull thudding in her breast was rising as she took another step closer, or maybe the room was shrinking and she was being pulled closer, she couldn’t tell. Suddenly she was right against the figure’s back and reaching out to him with a shaking hand as the muttering grew louder and more consistent. The figure jerked suddenly making her pull back in fear but her curiosity drove her hand automatically back. Her hand touched his shoulder and he turned, snatching around with a speed so sudden and terrible that she fell to the floor. The sourceless light in the room drowned the figure so that his shadow rose tall and bent in the light that swallowed all of his features except his outline. Now he was reaching for her muttering nonsense so fast it all bled together in a strange tone and intonation that it could have been some ungodly song. He got closer and closer as he grabbed her shoulders pulling with a firm strength. He leaned in and suddenly his face melted into all the features of a normal person. She could see he had bedraggled hair beneath the cap and a look as if he needed some sleep but he was a normal person. She stared into his eyes, broken and dismayed but filled with a desperate focus. Then she looked at his mouth. “Nopr-ever-nice-noper-forensic-nopreference-no preference. No Preference.” He held the last “sss” out for what seemed a long time. He let her go gently and returned to his seat continuing to mutter. It was then she realized she was holding her breath and began to breathe again before standing and reading the scratching on the chalkboard. “No PREFERENCE”. |
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