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j-eliasepp · 8 years ago

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Tentative Link

By: J. Elias Epp

A writing exercise

Three figures trudged through an expanse of rubble from crumbled buildings and roads. The sun set to their back, coloring the landscape orange where it touched, and black in the shadows.

The tallest of the three stopped and took his gaze off the ground. His tired old eyes searched the shadows of the sun.

The other two stopped as well. One was a young boy, the other a girl in her upper teens. Strands of her brown hair waved lazily in the breeze. She didn’t raise her eyes to look about.

There was a deep quiet that could be felt all the way to the horizon. The tarps of empty makeshift shelters flapped in the breeze. A building softly groaned as it settled. A pebble clattered as it fell, then echoed into silence as it disappeared into the jagged maze of rubble.

The sun sank, its last rays disappearing from the top of the hill of fallen buildings they faced towards. The sky continued to darken and the shadows deepened to an inky blackness.

Suddenly, a blue flickering light, like the light from a welding torch, lit up a hill next to the one they faced. It cast the shadow of a ruined building in sharp relief against the hill’s side.

They couldn’t see the source. The hill they faced was in the way. It flickered weakly, then stuttered brightly, casting the whole hill in front of it in a sharp silhouette. Then there was darkness.

“Eohin’s Gate.” The tone of the old man’s voice was matter-of-fact. He looked back down, he couldn’t walk in the rubble with the shadows so deep.

So, he didn’t walk. He sat down.

The other two did the same, looking at their feet.

The concrete they sat on had rebar sticking out of it. The slabs were angled in every direction like boulders.

The boy absently scraped his foot against them.

“Tomorrow,” the old man said. He rose and looked carefully in the faded light for the deepest shadow among the ruins.

“Come.”

The two young ones rose and followed the man, who slowly felt his way down the slope.

He reached the shadow and peered into it. Then carefully, very carefully and slowly while bracing himself, he lowered one leg into the darkness. His shoe scraped against concrete.

“Come.” He lowered himself more into the hole in the ruins, reaching out to find where the walls were.

The girl followed next, then the boy. In the darkness they found spots where they could set their backs against to sleep the night.

The sound of their rustling soon quieted to the occasional scuff.

The breeze whispered quietly outside. It gusted weakly, sighing softly.

Their eyes blinked slowly.

The faint blue of the moon glowed softly against the white concrete.

The old man went to sleep first. His quiet snoring became a soothing and reassuring lullaby.

The eyes of the girl and boy grew heavy. Their breathing slowed. Within moments their weariness pulled them into sleep.

Hours passed, the wind died down, all was quiet. A cloud passed over the moon, casting the land in its shadow.

The wind picked up and moaned softly.

The man’s snoring stopped and his sleeping face creased in a frown.

The wind moaned louder, closer.

His eyes slowly opened.

The wind softly moaned its low note and died away. Nothing could be seen in the darkness.

The man felt his pulse beat faster.

The wind picked up again, hissing against the bones of buildings. Its low moan started again, held, then the wind died and the moan separated itself from a far-off howl.

A shoe scuffed against rubble in the dark. The young ones were awake.

For a moment they all sat quietly. The howling came again, it didn’t sound closer or further away.

In the shadow, the girl stirred and pulled something from her small pack. A blue light suddenly lit her face in the dark.

“Elthia, is there anyone?” The old man asked. He hoped the howling would go by them like it had so many times before.

Elthia tapped buttons on the device and the light against her face changed color and brightness a few times. She shook her head.

Another howl from far off was carried on the wind.

They all stilled, waiting.

The howl died and there was silence again. For long moments they waited.

The moon came out from behind the cloud. A shaft of light shone into their little cave.

Elthia broke the silence. “You said it connects to someone in the past. Weren’t there more people then? Where are they?”

“There were more, not many were dying in those days.”

“It’ll save me if I die.”

“Yes,” The old man nodded reassuringly, “yes.” She had asked him this many times, as if it would suddenly change one day.

“Only if there is another connected to me.”

“Yes, yes.”

She shook the device.

“Elthia.”

She stared at the device. Her information was displayed on its screen. Name, birth date, height, weight, blood pressure, blood type, ethnicity, medical history, onset of lethal illness date…

“If no one from the past can help you, Eohin’s Gate will bring you to them.”

The howl came, closer, more distinct. Deep it started, with the faint reverberations of rapid clicking, then it rose slightly in pitch and the clicking changed into a high-pitched creaking.

They sat there in shock.

The wind whispered. There was no sound. No sound by which to know a location. Something was in the darkness.

Elthia slowly put the device away. Then sat stock-still.

The whites of the boy’s wide eyes reflected the glow of the moon.

The old man’s eyes gazed at the floor with an almost disinterested look. Within his chest his heart beat hard against his ribs.

Again, the howl filled the silence, closer.

Elthia tried to keep her breathing normal.

The boy’s jaw clenched and his fist grasped the end of a piece of rebar with white knuckles.

The howl came again. It sounded like it was atop the very hill of rubble they were in. The clicking and the creaking beneath the howl echoed within the rubble. It sounded like the very animal itself was scurrying about within the crevices of the concrete and all around their little cave.

Something clattered down the slope. A piece of rubble.

Elthia clutched her bag tightly to her chest. Her eyes were fixed on the opening of the cave.

More rubble clattered. Something could be heard shuffling up above them. It clambered over the ruins. Something sharp scraped against stone.

Tears dripped down the boy’s face.

The thing was joined by others and together they meandered down the slope.

Closer they came, bodies brushing on concrete. They panted, the sound growing louder towards the way they faced.

A howl. So loud it sounded like one of them had jumped right into the cave with them.

Scraping claws and thumps right outside the cave as the beast jumped from one slab to the next. The panting sound turned away, becoming quiet, then suddenly louder and closer.

A shadow moved over the mouth of the cave.

The man’s wide eyes bored into the floor of the cave.

Elthia’s heart beat so fast it hurt. She clenched her teeth like a cage for the scream in her throat.

The boy’s face whitened, his body rigid, then he slumped, unconscious from the fright.

The beast’s shadow blocked out the light of the moon. Seconds passed. Suddenly, there was moonlight again.

Claws scraped and grew more distant. The thumping of beasts running down the slope came and passed.

All was silent again.

Elthia didn’t remember how many minutes, or hours passed before the last howl could be heard. She fell into sleep.

Tomorrow, she thought, tomorrow I’ll be healed at Eohin’s Gate and leave this world.

***

Aeson sat in the waiting room bouncing his foot. He crossed his arms over his chest, left over right. His mother was on his left reading a magazine, his father was on his right with a stare that looked past the wall across from him.

Aeson switched his arms, right over left. The room was quiet, save for the occasional telephone ring or the receptionist and her talking. Old men and women sat in chairs waiting for their own appointments.

Unlike many of the waiting rooms that Aeson was accustomed to, this one didn’t have any toys for children.

Not that he needed them. He was seventeen. It’s just, there were no children playing. Even sick children playing with toys made a lighthearted atmosphere. This place…well, it had a feeling of somber resignation.

He shifted in his seat and winced at the pain in his side. Despite it being mid-afternoon he felt like he needed to sleep.

“Honey.”

Aeson looked at his mother out of the corner of his eye.

“Let’s get something to eat after this, okay? Whatever you want.”

He gave a nod and followed his father’s gaze into the wall. She didn’t have to act like she already knew the results. Eating out was usually reserved for celebrations. Times like birthdays or graduations or even having friends over. He wasn’t likely to have many more of those celebrations. Eating out after doctor appointments were always meant to soften pain.

The door to the doctor’s office opened and Aeson held his breath.

A male nurse walked out and stopped just outside the door.

“Aeson Nash?”

Aeson let out a breath and stood.

His parents stood with him and his father squeezed his shoulder.

The nurse led them through the offices which always seemed like a maze to Aeson. Instead of going into one of the examination rooms, they were led to Doctor Winter’s office. Aeson had already spent enough time in those rooms and being scanned by machines.

As they walked down the hall, they passed by a man and woman about in their fifties. Aeson noticed they had red eyes and crestfallen faces.

The nurse opened the door and ushered them inside.

There was a desk and three chairs in front of it. The room was larger than their living room. A spry man stood from behind the desk and motioned them to the chairs.

“Please, sit.”

Doctor Winter had a light voice and just as light a frame. He was skinny beneath his white lab coat, though not unhealthy.

To Aeson, the man looked like a tree without leaves draped in snow. The man’s appearance seemed appropriate for his name.

Despite his light appearance, the man’s voice held a tremor of gravity that made Aeson’s heart sink. His mother had started tearing up. He knew she was holding out hope.

Together, they sat down in front of Winter’s desk.

Winter opened a thick file folder and started flipping through it. He glanced up. “Mr. and Mrs. Nash, how have you two been holding up this past week?”

Aeson’s father cleared his throat. “Um good, we’ve been holding up just fine.”

Dr. Winter nodded and glanced up at Aeson’s mother.

She forced a smile with watery eyes. “Felton, please, just tell us the results.”

Dr. Winter nodded solemnly. “I understand ma’am, I just need to refresh myself on the particulars.”

He found a few printouts and pictures and looked them over. He glanced up at Aeson. “And how about you? How are you doing?”

Aeson swallowed. “I, uh, I bumped my shoulder against the doorframe two days ago. It didn’t hurt but I have a large bruise now.”

Winter nodded with serious eyes focused on Aeson. “So, you’re bruising easily then.” His eyes glanced at Aeson’s parents. He flipped through a couple more papers. “Yes, I believe the scans have shown us what is going on definitively.” He finished reading a piece of paper and set it down. He looked up and cusped his left hand in his right.

“Aeson, I don’t mean to cause you any alarm by saying this, but you have cancer.”

His mother sucked in a breath and clasped a hand over her mouth as tears ran down her face.

His father put an arm around Aeson and squeezed Aeson’s shoulder.

Aeson just said, “oh.”

Winter let out a breath. “There are options, of course. There is radiation therapy, surgery…”

Cancer. Aeson thought. What can I do about this? How long do I have? What about college? Could I do treatments and college at the same time? Will I have time to become a car engineer? “How much time do I have?”

Winter stopped in the middle of answering a question about treatments his mom had asked. He cleared his throat. “At this time, the best guess is…two years.” He bowed his head as if a weight had been added to it.

“Of course, this can be lengthened with treatments.”

His father opened his mouth to ask a question.

Winter held up his hand. “I should also tell you that this cancer isn’t a slow progression like many others. It has only started occurring in younger individuals over the past decade, but it has a tendency to rapidly accelerate in the second stage. Sometimes, a person’s estimation is shortened from five years to a week.”

“Then, how…” his father stammered.

“There is something we can give him for that. It’s a medical device that will give him a second chance. It uses Syndmell technology, so we may have to try out a few before we get one to work on him.”

Aeson’s father seemed to gain energy from this. “That tech is unreliable anymore. How can we trust it? The quantum entanglement across the space-time geography –”

“I know you’ve programmed for the technology, Mr. Nash, but the way the quantum mechanics work with this device means it either works or it doesn’t. If it successfully activates, then it will continue to operate until it is destroyed. It doesn’t use Syndmell tech in the way the spaceplanes used to. There won’t be a repeat of Wandon. Regardless, it’ll give your son more time.” His severity quieted Aeson’s father. He turned to Aeson. “Now, let’s get you fitted with a S.Q.E.D. shall we?”

Dr. Winter walked over to a side door in his office. The door looked heavy and had a flat black panel to one side of it. The door itself had no handle.

Dr. Winter placed his hand on the black panel and there was a click. He pushed against the door with his shoulder and the door swung inward to a narrow and long closet space. Along one side were shelves, along the other were what looked like safe-deposit boxes.

He swiped his finger on one and it popped open. He took out a roundish device about the size of Aeson’s hand with outstretched fingers.

He waved Aeson over and Aeson obediently stood and walked over. He found his legs were a little weak, but he was able to walk.

Aeson stepped into the closet.

“Hold this one.”

Aeson held the device. A progress bar lit up the screen with a “connecting” message displayed on it. They waited for a couple more moments, then the screen displayed an error message.

Deftly, Dr. Winter took the device from Aeson and put it away, taking out another just as quickly.

Aeson held this one too.

“Aeson.”

Aeson took his eyes off the S.Q.E.D.’s progress bar and looked at Dr. Winter.

The doctor’s eyes were soft as they looked into Aeson’s eyes. “What are you planning to do with your life?”

Aeson felt his eyes grow hot, but he couldn’t stop a tear from escaping. He looked down at the device. “I was going to go to college.”

“What were you going to go for?” The doctor gently prodded.

“I was,” Aeson breathed in, “I was going to become a car engineer.”

“Aeson, look up.”

Aeson looked up. Dr. Winter took the device from his hand and handed him another.

“You can live your life in many ways from here on. Some despair, others party until they can’t anymore, others continue like they always have as if nothing has happened. Some want to live in a way that will create a positive memory in those they leave behind.”

Aeson held the device awkwardly and thought. He do I want to live the rest of my life? He thought. He mused over the weighty question. He sniffled. The device wasn’t connecting. He would die one day, with this device or not. He looked up.

“I want to design a car.”

The device in his hand chimed and the screen flashed green.

Author’s Note:

This writing exercise is an exploration of an idea I had. Actually, it was primarily a dream I had. God blesses me with such vivid and interesting dreams! This one I was able to remember. In the morning after I had it, I tried to capture it in the same vivid way it was in my dream. Obviously, in dreams there are more abstract “feelings” of how things are than actual concrete details.

The main premise is two worlds. One is a functional world before the time of a ruined world. A character in each is linked by a device. If one dies, they are kept alive by the other. This only happens once for each though. The second time they die cannot be prevented. (I really haven’t worked out how this works, but hey, it just needs to do its job right?)

In any case, that is the premise, the challenge then is to create a functional story out of a dream that “made sense” at the time. To those of you lucky enough to remember a dream once in a while, write down what you remember and make a story out of it! Have fun!

#time #character #connection #link #decay #ruin #horror #beast #sickness #corruption #tech #journey #end #story #writing #reading #original #author # #oppeneppic #jeliasepp

#time #character #connection #link #decay #ruin #horror #beast #sickness #corruption #tech #journey #end #story #writing #reading #original #author #oppeneppic #jeliasepp

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j-eliasepp · 8 years ago

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Ara-Era Caskiri

By: J. Elias Epp

Illustration: Owned by Producers of Final Fantasy

(I don’t own any rights to the picture and am only using it for my hobby writing purposes)

The lights of the city of Caskiri glowed faintly in the early dawn through the cloudy mists of the Arnaw waterfall. The houses of Caskiri were hewed from the very stone of the cliff and only their windows could be seen on the outside. On the inside, the doors to the houses opened up into a large water-carved cave with a stream flowing down the middle of its elegantly long and curving passage through the mountain and exited some miles away in a waterfall of its own. This waterfall did not reach the ground but dissipated into mist and clouds.

The end to the Arnaw waterfall could not be seen as it stretched away into the horizon and fell with a greater roar than thunder to the sea miles below. Though Caskiri was a mile away from the falls the rumble of the water could still be felt in the stone and its dull throbbing sound burbled down the underground river cave. The lowering line of dawn caught the first dark eyes of the village’s face and it began to wake. Closer to the falls the dawn revealed steep terracing where the cliff’s sheer face gave way to sloping ground before sharply returning to its downward plunge. The mists from the waterfall constantly poured down on this terracing and on the plants that grew there. Small trees grew on the terracing with large leaves that formed a thick canopy. Beneath the shelter of the trees grew delicate blue grasses whose heads resembled fluffy clouds and the stocks resembled the green swathes of land below a blue sky. In the gaps between the trees were nestled large-leaved bushes with lush blue gold fruits ensconced in leafy cradles soaking all the moisture they could from the constantly falling rain of water. On some of the trees unharvested brilliant purple flowers could still be seen, their vibrant deep color in stark contrast with the leaves and grey mists around them.

Away from the terraces and waterfall something stirred in the opening of a cave by the village, caught by the first rays of the sun. A youth strode into the light at the mouth of the cave and looked out upon the world still dark far below him. He let the wind tease his hair and the sun warm his face. Another grand day. The whistle and blowing of the wind buffeted him and seemed to harmonize with the deep throbbing beneath his boots from the waterfall. He was going to enjoy staying dry and warm before another day of soaking wet had to pass yet again. The last of the Sorethyst flowers had to be harvested and processed before the week was out or they would lose their pristine value. Well, it wouldn’t be too hard if they didn’t experience any setbacks.

Something rustled behind him and he smiled; time to give his dearest friend a shocking wake up call. He hadn’t had one for a few weeks and another was in order. Kern Veda smiled as he stepped off the ledge and fell. Behind him he felt the sharp awakening and panic of his friend Mostyn and heard the first sounds of frantic clawings of talons on stone before the sound of the wind quickly grew to a deafening roar. Even through the sound of the wind he could still feel the dull deep throb of the waterfall.

He quickly righted himself and plunged headfirst, guiding himself with his arms and legs to dodge what trees and fauna had found grip on the cliff. He twirled left, then right, and left again. The thrilling rush of falling and the cliff whipping by only feet away only heighted his feeling of being chased and being the chaser at the same time as he closed in on the dawn’s light as it slipped down the cliff’s face. He could see the lights of another cliff-side village pass by his left and caught a glimpse of someone taking flight.

The edge of light was in sight now, so close he felt he could reach out and touch it. Suddenly, behind him he heard the sound of wind rushing over wings and talons. He dodged and twirled to his left just as claws snatched where he had just been. He splayed his arms and legs and watched as Mostyn whisked by with wings folded against his side and outstretched claws already being tucked back against his body. Mostyn snapped his wings open and slowed trying to catch Kern on his back. Kern could nearly reach the line of sun where the darkness still lingered. Kern tried dodging and succeeded in avoiding a collision with Mostyn’s wing and thought he was home free when Mostyn deftly grabbed Kern by sharply turning on his side and snatching at him with his claws. Kern reached out his hand and nearly broke the line of light on the rock with his own shadow. Kern’s vision whirled then straightened as Mostyn slowed and started pumping his wings to fly into the Blue’s updraft that would take them back up so they could start their day’s work.

Mostyn whuffed smugly. “You won’t be so smug when I finally beat you one day!” Kern said trying to shift in his uncomfortable position in Mostyn’s clutches.

Mostyn simply laughably warbled in his throat as Kern chuckled. Mostyn was gripping him on the verge of being squeezed. Kern grunted, “could you let up? I can barely breathe!” Mostyn responded by swinging Kern back and forth beneath him. Kern laughed and was about to start playfully beating on Mostyn’s claws when he felt Mostyn’s heartbeat pulsing rapidly. Mostyn was not only squeezing Kern with his claws but was also squeezing him against his leathery body and Kern could easily feel his pulse.

Kern quieted down and looked up at his friend. Was that a hint of worry that he felt under the playfulness? Kern felt a slight itching pain on his side and he looked down at himself. Mostyn’s talons had nicked him when he was grabbed. Mostyn was always very careful whenever they wrestled or roughhoused and Kern didn’t remember a time that he had been nicked. So, Mostyn hadn’t grabbed at him playfully? But Kern hadn’t even come close to hitting the ground that was still thousands of feet away. But it was no mistake, Mostyn had been truly worried for him. The realization came to Kern and he slumped in Mostyn’s clutches ashamedly.

Both kept quiet as they ascended and finally came to a rest in the cave that served as Mostyn’s stable. Kern dismounted and started mounting Mostyn’s saddle. He cast a questioning look at the dragon and Mostyn responded with sensations of trees and darkness and pain from running into something in the dark. Now Kern understood. There were trees that grew out from the cliff. It would be foolish to try a stunt that Kern did every now and then without the ability to see what was coming, especially when he was falling at the speeds he was.

He walked over and reassured the still quivering Mostyn by hugging him and telling him he was sorry. After this Mostyn seemed to calm down and forgive him and Kern went right to work saddling him up and getting his own gear together. Kern’s apparel were leather boots strapped tight, leather britches strapped tight over the tops of the boots, a jerkin strapped tight over the top of the britches, a leather jacket with a tight, high collar and tight sleeves, leather gauntlets tied tight over the sleeves of the jacket, and a leather helmet of sorts with earmuffs, a wide brim and a large back flap. A shadow brushed over the cave opening, then shortly after another. Everyone else was already heading off to finish the harvest.

Mostyn came over to Kern and nuzzled him. Kern smiled and petted him then took both his hands and gently pried Mostyn’s mouth open and looked at his teeth. Still healthy. Mostyn pulled away and made sounds as if he were trying to hack something out of his throat.

“Oh come on! My hands are clean!”

Author’s Note:

This is part of an exploration writing I did for a place in my fantasy world as well as an idea I had for the interaction between a person and a dragon and how to write that in a story. The dragon-rider trope has been done so many times that it is difficult to think up one’s own spin and twist on it to make it something unique. However, it continues to be a popular trope in stories. A dragon is power for a character, like wielding a sword, however, that power is sometimes fickle as the dragon has some degree of free will. The basic premise of dragon riding is “relationship with weapon” or “your weapon has a personality.” Weapons with personality show up a lot in anime such as Bleach. Anyway, enough of my ranting. I’ve been thinking of starting a blog on my writing philosophy, knowledge and journey but still need to make time for the rest of my writing as well.

#fantasy #dragonrider #dragon #story #art #writing #original #character #author #waterfall #experiment #exploration #place #reading #cliff #jeliasepp #openeppic

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j-eliasepp · 8 years ago

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Lost Founding

By: J. Elias Epp

Illustration:

“Sky Burial” By: Wayne Haag aka Ankaris

Jayden sat in the shade created by the enormous bulk of the star-home called Shade and mended the ragged tear in his only coat. Cooking smoke rose out of a hole in Skylock’s upper structure, the star-home across from Shade. Jayden was right across from Skylock’s back end with his back against Shade’s slanted side. He could hear dull thumping sounds from the rope bridges echoing through the metal. Sounds of hammering and voices came from the main doorway of Shade. The sun reflected dully from the dirt-caked metal of Skylock. Dry gritty wind rushed through the gap between the star homes.

The day was hot, like all the rest had been since Jayden's birth. Fortunately for him, the wind cooled as it swirled through the shade and its touch on him was sweet. It was cooler inside the star homes but there was also no wind inside. He could feel the cool of the star-home through his back and he knew the walls of Skylock were just as cool, even in full sunlight. Besides Shade and Skylock, there were no other star homes for many miles around. There was only desert.

"Ouch!" Jayden shook the sting out of his finger from the needle and hissed through his teeth. He resumed his work more carefully and payed more attention to it. He awkwardly maneuvered his fingers so the bead of blood on his finger would not touch the fabric.

Another 30 minutes passed before he finished his work and got up, brushing the sand from his pants. A few others had come out of the main doorway and were making a trip across to Skylock. One of the called out to him.

"Jayden! Where have you been?!" A young man trotted up to Jayden. The man had pants and a shirt far too large for him and a balaclava wrapped about his head.

"I tore my coat."

"Tor-roo has been looking for you, better go and see him." With that, the man rejoined the group as they entered Skylock.

Jayden flung his faded green coat over his shoulder. He walked along the side of Shade to reach the large main entrance which was at the top of a sandy slope. As he trudged up the slope his feet kept slipping from under him where the hard-packed sand gave way to his weight. He reached the top and stopped as he walked into the door's shadow to let his eyes adjust to the dimness. Here and there a beam of light shone brightly through rents in Shade's side. The beams of light made it difficult to see into the darker parts of the room.

His eyes adjusted and he was able to see various workstations clustered around these beams of light. Close to him was a table with women and children preparing food. Further on was a man busy fixing tools. The entire floor was slanted upwards and as people walked around they had an awkward gait because of it. Jayden walked between the beams of light, careful not to be blinded by their brightness.

He reached a stairs and walked up. From there he walked through numerous other passages and stairs pausing only briefly to deposit his coat on his bunk. Though everything was slanted his movements were familiar with the awkwardness. At one point he had to jump across a three-foot rent in the floor. He never liked that part. Through the rent he could see twisted metal below and other passageways. If he were to fall...he continued on. His long trip caused perspiration to break out on his forehead though it was quite cool in the ship, but as he continued upwards it got slightly warmer.

Eventually, he passed through several sets of thick doors that had only been partly opened, up some stairs and into a room with windows all around. The windows had crude shades on them made from clothing that was beyond repair. In the middle of the room on a raised dais were a small group of men. The dais had a table on it with chairs around it which the men were sitting in. The slant of the structure forced some of them to hold onto the table to keep their chair from swiveling.

"Where have you been? We need to hear your report now," one of the men said.

"It’s my fault, forgive me. I went on a scouting mission into the frozen parts of Skylock and tore my coat.”

"Did you find anything?"

"No, but we mapped out more of its passages"

The man sighed. "There may not be any more food down there. We can't wait any longer, we have to buy more time. Tacknot, you will have to lessen the food rations even more."

Every man's stomach in the room tightened a little more.

Another man spoke up, "We can't live here much longer."

The man who had spoken first, Tor-roo, motioned Jayden to sit down. "Tell us how your scouting mission went yesterday to the Long Valley. How is the water there?"

Jayden sat down. "The stream has gotten stronger." Jayden got up and reached over the table tapping on a simple map. "The stream now reaches here."

All the men bent forward and looked. "That is encouraging," said one.

"You're always the optimist, Beuht," said another.

"It does mean the stream is stronger further up though," said Tor-roo.

"We might die trying to get everyone there though."

"You're always the pessimist, Nir" said Beuht.

Nir chuckled.

"Did you find anything else?" Tor-roo continued, "Plant life? Greenery?"

Jayden sat back in his chair and caught himself as it almost swiveled. His eyes didn’t meet those there. "No, there was no plant life. Not even upstream where the water is fifty foot wide at places." He looked up, "That was in the first week of our mission."

The men leaned forward. One’s chair swiveled slightly.

"It was at the end of our first week, when we were planning our trip back, that we saw a man."

"A man? Was he alone?" said Nir.

"He was alone. He came out of the rising sun and we watched from a hill as he followed the river. We could not see his face because of a hood he wore and he had a bag. As he walked along the river he reached into the bag and threw something on the ground into the damp sand.”

“We tried to approach him to speak with him and yelled at him but he payed us no mind and we could not catch up to him though we ran. In the evening, he disappeared into the setting sun. The next day we saw him again, or one like him come from the rising sun, only this time he was on the other side of the river. And like the last time he threw what was in his bag upon the ground. We passed by him and called out to him again but again to no avail. Again, the man disappeared on the horizon into the setting sun.”

“On the third day after we started back here.” While we traveled we noticed something along the shore of the stream. There was grass. And at parts, there were the saplings of trees spouting up. Through the whole third day as we traveled, the growth along the shore grew taller and wider. By the time we had to leave the stream and travel the Slope back here, there were meadows and small thickets of saplings a foot high."

"Plants! You say there were plants!" Beuht had stood up and had both hands on the table.

"Yes there were plants, there were also people."

Everyone started at this.

Jayden tapped his finger on the table. "As we were trudging up the slope on the third day back we saw in the distance a small band of people traveling towards the stream. Our food was very low then so we did not try to make contact. They stopped by the stream and we don't know of their movements after that. But we did see a hooded man leading them who looked much like the one we saw earlier."

"Mmmmm, haaa, mmmm."

All the men turned to the one gray-haired one in the room.

"The man, the one who walked from and to the sun. I know his name. Hmmm."

All the men sat patiently. Tod was the only one left of the Awoken. Those who were the first to be birthed on the world and who remembered bits of what happened before the Awakening. His was of the generation who had found Shade and Skylock and saw them for the star homes that held food, water and shelter for survival.

Tod stroked his beard, what little there was that hadn’t fallen out. "I have a name on the tip of my tongue. Phone? No, that's...I don't remember what. Rocket? No that's...a ship...no, they aren't connected at all." The sun had finally fallen to the point in the afternoon that it shone through the window opposite Tod and struck him in the eyes as he stood up to pace. He recoiled from the sudden light and staggered on his old legs. His arm reached out and gripped the table for support. Then his head lifted into the sun's rays and he smiled. "Rawala! That’s the name! Our sun! Our star that shines upon us! Rawala is here to sow the seeds of his world again!"

Tor-roo closed his eyes. The others seemed to sit back a little in disappointment as well. This was not the answer they were expecting. Tod wasn't usually given to his fits of...crazy. It was only once in a while he would get very excited and spout strings of nonsense. His eyes would light up with the revelation and then they would dim when his memory simply ran out, he could not remember more. Usually he was very intelligent.

Tod sat back down but his eyes were still full of excitement. "The stars! Yes! I remember now! Rawala will take care of us. He knows what we need. We must all travel to the stream and settle there. It will be good for us."

Nir frowned. "What are you saying old man? That the man Jayden saw is...a star? Our sun?"

Tod's eyes grew dark, he hadn't heard Nir, his eyes were focused in the past. "They will come, the others. Oh how they hate this world! How they hate Rawala for tending it! They will come and try to destroy it just as their own were. The stars are coming to destroy just as we destroyed them." He trembled in his seat and gripped the table hard.

Tor-roo motioned to Beuht and he took Tod out of the room. "Come, you need rest now."

When he was gone and Beuht came back Tor-roo leaned forward. "Now, it is time we decided what to do. We cannot stay in this place much longer and we still need supplies to last us if we move and settle at the stream. We can't grow food if we die of starvation doing it."

Nir rubbed his forehead. "Like I said yesterday, we either take a greater risk scouting for other star homes in the desert or we try to survive at the stream. We will die here. We need to move."

Tacknot absently waved his hand in the air. "Can't we, I don't know." His hand kept waving as if grasping for something. "Out there, with our own shelters, it'll be hot, not cool like here. We could...you know." His hand waved higher then he set it in his lap."

Jayden spoke up, "There is a canyon carved out by the winds, we might be able to take shelter there. Not all of us but some. However, it is further away from the stream than might be practical."

Tor-roo stroked his chin. "Hmm, where is it?"

Jayden pointed. "Its about a mile from where the stream is."

Tacknot shook his head. "It is too far. To make the trip for water would be too much, it would have to be done at night."

Tor-roo nodded. "I agree, it is too much. Is there anywhere else that we could take shelter in?"

Jayden shook his head. "Not really, we’ve scouted the length of the stream on all our trips and didn't find many areas of natural shelter. If we move to the stream we may just have to take our own shelter somehow."

Everyone was silent for a moment. The afternoon sun was shining fully in the window now and heating up the room. Perspiration was breaking out on everyone's foreheads.

"See what happens when you don't make yourself available? We get hot." Nir said.

Jayden smiled but it was a wane one.

"We stay here we die, we move some of us will die. We can't win this." Nir said. "Someone will die because of what we choose to do."

Tor-roo stood up. "Tonight we start planning to move to the stream. Who knows if it will stay or be sucked up by the desert. We don't have another choice."

Everyone else got up, the room was getting warmer by the second and the metal the sun was shining on was getting hot.

Tacknot came up to Jayden. "I was thinking, what makes it so cold in the depths of the star homes? It must be something right? What if we could take that with us when we move?"

Jayden shrugged. "The problem is we still haven't found much in those areas. A few frozen men but not much else. Not to mention some of the doors are frozen shut. It will take more than a scouting team to really search the place." Jayden stopped. "Not to mention, we have already lost five people to those places."

Tacknot patted his shoulder. "Think on it, it may be worth it. I can't tell you how many people we may lose to the heat when we move."

Jayden grimaced. Together they went from the room and squeezed through the narrow gap of the thick door. As they made their way to their respective duties to see what needed to be readied for the departure, a child ran up to Jayden.

"Hey Palto, where are you going?" Jayden asked.

"I gotta tell Tor-roo about the strange man that came."

"Strange man?"

"Yeah, he just walked into Shade famished so we gave him a little to eat."

"Okay, I saw Tor-roo go to his room, you might find him there."

Palto ran off. When he was gone Jayden jogged down steps back to the main entrance, careful not to slide on the slanted slope. Who was this strange man? Was it the same they had encountered on the scouting mission? In five minutes Jayden was back to the main entrance. There was a small crowd gathered near the entrance. Jayden started jogging there but forgot himself and ran through a shaft of light from the ceiling. He stopped and blinked his eyes.

"Look! There's Jayden!" Someone called out.

Jayden's eyes cleared and he saw the crowd part and Hrote leading a man by the arm with a bowl sipping eagerly at it. The man's dress was nothing like Jayden had seen before. The man was wearing what looked to be finely formed plates of metal all over his body. The man's hair was long and unruly and it looked like someone had recently taken a knife and cut the hair's length at the neck.

"Who are you sir and where do you come from?" Jayden asked.

The man looked up at him over the lip of the bowl and took another long sip finishing the broth off. He nonchalantly handed the empty bowl to the nearest person to the side of him. "Yes, that is the question. Only who I am and where I come from is something none of you know nor will ever figure out." The man laughed and slapped his forehead. "That's the tragedy of it isn't it? They don't know! I guess I am nobody and from nowhere because those things that made me who I am and where I am from are no longer here. Ha! I'm nobody from nowhere from notime! Hahaha!" The man sighed and his face fell.

"They probably think I'm crazy now." He looked up. "Oh, did I say that out loud? I've just been alone for so long..." He sat down on the nearest table and clapped his gloved hands. "So, as far as I'm concerned in all my wanderings you are among the only people left alive on this planet." His eyes looked up. "Which, if we were going by my old directive I would be inclined to kill you all." He looked back at their shocked faces. Their hard life hadn't done anything to improve the hard countenances they now wore. They didn't know what to do with the man. The man could also see the suffering they were going through, the pain of lost loved ones, the uncertainty of life, it was painted on all their faces. The man sighed. "Well, I guess you saved me. Can’t go killing everyone on a whim. So, who’s the big boss?"

The sound of a sob came from in the crowd. Everyone turned. It was Tod.

Tod walked forward out of the crowd, his face streaked with a single tear. "Are, are you a soldier from before the Awakening?"

The man looked at Tod. "Old man, you remember?" “Yes, I really do.”

Note from the Author:

I apologize for the late post. I’ve been moving into the new house I bought! Yaaaay!

Anyway, this story is a blast from the past during my college days. It ends rather abruptly but that is because I was writing about an idea I had to flush it out a little. It is about the remnants of a multi-galactic civilization after a seemingly universe-wide cataclysm that changed everything. The short story explores one place where people remain and what kind of people and struggles would remain after the cataclysm. This is also a test for how these broken origins can determine future culture.

#jeliasepp #millenniummyths #mywriting #fantasy #scifi #reading #writing #cataclysm #shortstory #spaceship #ruin #desert #lostmemories

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j-eliasepp · 8 years ago

Photo

The Star of the West: Chapter 1

By: J. Elias Epp

Illustration By: Xu Zhang, Ubisoft Senior Concept Artist

(I don’t own any rights to the picture and am only using it for my hobby writing purposes)

Skah stared at his ox in a half-crouch, sweat dripping from his bare chest.

The ox stared back, muscles tense.

Skah glanced at his goal, the large water jars the ox was carrying on its back.

The ox glanced at the sword at Skah’s side, even sheathed it still gave off heat waves that distorted the air.

The ox took a step back.

“Nah.” Skah held up a finger. Steam rose off the puddles around him.

The ox took another step back.

Skah wagged his finger. “Naahh,” he said louder.

The ox wheeled away from Skah as fast as it could down the muddy path.

“Hey!” Skah took off after the ox, making no headway for a split second as his running feet slipped on the mud. The mud flung up behind him steamed like smoke.

Though off to a great start, the heavy water jars slowed the already fat ox.

Skah gained his footing and gave chase. Mud flew up behind him and spattered his back. Mud kicked up from the ox splattered his front.

“Blech! Chase you dumb ox! Get back here!”

They passed a man leading a donkey who raised his hand against the spattering of mud as they passed by.

A small village appeared ahead consisting of wood houses covered in thatch.

Skah was gaining ground now. With one last spurt he leapt and grasped one of the ropes tying the water jugs. His feet slipped out from under him and he face-planted onto the road.

He kept his grip though and was dragged through the muck.

Chase lowed as he ran into the town, scattering everyone in his way.

***

Meanwhile, on the other end of town a waist-high fog slowly preceded a walking figure. Despite the warmth and humidity of the weather, the figure wore heavy dark clothing. The only part that could be seen were two sharp eyes peeking out from beneath the heavy cloth. A slim white-furred sheath held an orange-handled sword at the person’s side.

Where the stranger stepped, the mud froze solid and ice crystals formed atop puddles. A light rain began falling, clouding the vivid green trees and crops with its gray mists. Where the rain fell over the stranger it turned to snow. The sparkling white drifted slowly, then melted when it touched the ground.

A farmer saw the stranger approaching the town and he cried out in dismay and fell backward.

“Witch! Wizard!” He cried and scrambled to his feet.

Other people of the town noticed and cried out in dismay as well. A few gaped in astonishment before running away, looking behind them as they ran.

“Wait!” The heavily clothed stranger raised their hand, then let it drop. “I…I just want some food.” The stranger held a hand to his stomach. “I won’t get a meal at this rate.”

After a moment the stranger continued walking into the town.

The townspeople had called out their guards and were huddled behind them in the muddy town square by the time the stranger drew near.

A cold breeze blew over them. The fog drifted towards the guards.

“Don’t come any closer!” The guard’s spear trembled. He stepped away from the fog.

The stranger irritably mumbled something under his breath. Then spoke up, “Sell me food and I’ll be on my way.” The voice came out muffled from the thick scarf wrapped about the stranger’s head.

The guard hesitated.

“Don’t listen to him! It’s a trick!” A townsperson said. “The trick of a wizard!”

The guard nodded, his nerves steeled with a crowd at his back. “You heard im! Get on your way!”

The stranger threw up his hands in exasperation. He looked around himself but was unable to find any food left out nearby. His eyes turned back to the guard, then folded his arms in defiance.

The guard gulped.

The rain pattered against the people there as they watched. Someone coughed.

The guard took a cautious step forward and threateningly jabbed with his spear. He swallowed. “C-come on.” He motioned with his spear.

The stranger held his ground even though he was a hand span shorter than most of the women.

The people tensely watched.

The guard motioned to his two other buddies and took a breath as he prepared to advance.

“You fat-farting jerky! Stop I said!”

The guard paused.

People mumbled in the back of the crowd.

The guard felt a wave of heat on his back. He turned as the crowd parted and an ox barreled its way through, dragging the form of a shirtless man through the mud.

The ox stopped and the man let go of the rope he’d been holding onto and slumped on the ground. “A drink, that’s all I wanted, a drink! Why does it have to be a fight every single time!” The man got up and looked around at the people. He was covered from head to food in mud and was a whole head taller than anyone there. The mud on him and around him steamed as did the rain that fell on him. Standing near him was like standing by a bonfire.

The rolling fog curled away from the heat.

The guard slipped on the mud and scrambled away. He brandished his spear. “Wh-who are you? Get out of here!”

“It’s a demon!” A woman screamed.

Pandemonium broke loose as everyone scrambled to flee.

“A wizard! A demon! We’re dead! We’re dead! We’re cursed! We’re cursed!”

The people ran.

With no crowd to back them up, the guards ran as well.

Skah watched them go. “Its like this everywhere I go.” He sighed.

“That sword…”

Skah turned and finally took notice of the person standing about fifteen arm spans away.

Chase was standing near the stranger and whisking his tail happily as he enjoyed the cold air.

The stranger put his hand on the pommel of his sword. “I am looking for worthy opponents. Will you fight me?”

Skah’s jaw dropped a little at the sight of the falling snow and fog wrapping around the person’s feet.

Skah glanced at the remaining townspeople watching from a distance. He looked at himself, covered in mud. He wiped it from his face and flicked it off to the side. He was dirty, sticky with sweat, and most of all, thirsty.

“Nah, I’ll pass.”

The stranger gripped his sword handle tighter. “You would dishonor my invitation?”

Skah raised an eyebrow and dried mud flaked off his face. “You sound like you’re no more than fifteen years old, don’t look much taller either.” He calmly walked over to Chase.

As Skah drew closer he felt a cool breeze on his skin. He turned to the stranger and pointed at the his sword. “Is that-”

“Yes. This is Adhiam, the fourth sword of the Snow Ridge blades to be made. Among its brothers are-”

“It’s the source of the snow? It isn’t magic?”

The eyes frowned at him angrily. “It’s from the sword.”

Skah nodded and mud fell from him. He walked to Chase and lifted one of the jar’s lids. He took a ladle hanging from the jar and splashed himself with water before taking drink after drink. When he was done, he nodded in satisfaction. The cold air and the drink had refreshed him.

The heavily clothed person tapped his fingers on his sword impatiently. “Are you quite done ignoring me?”

Skah looked at him for a moment, then turned away and belched. “Nah.” He could feel the glare on his back.

“Hmph, I’m sure you couldn’t beat a kid like me anyway.”

“Yah.” Skah checked the knots on Chase by trying to pry them apart with his fingers. They all held.

“I could stab you right now.”

“A kid like you who asks for a fight? Doubt it.”

A pause.

“I’m not a kid.”

Skah rested his forearms on Chase’s back facing away from the stranger and grinned. “You’re right, sorry, a child.”

A foot step crunched on the frozen ground and Skah turned. The stranger had taken a step forward and had one hand on the sword as if to draw it. The stranger’s eyes glowed with anger.

“Tsk, a noble warrior such as yourself being goaded into stabbing a man in the back? Tsk, tsk, tsk.”

“You would be dead if I didn’t have to kill you in an honorable duel.”

Am I the one looking for a fight? Skah thought. I need to back off before I do get stabbed. “Nah, you won’t find an honorable duel here. Hey, that sword of yours, where’d you get it?”

“I haven’t recognized you as worthy. Only then can you ask questions.”

Skah shrugged and smiled.

The stranger waited for Skah’s response.

Skah waited in silence.

“Well?” The stranger asked.

Skah looked side to side and waggled his eyebrows. “What?”

“Ahg! Will you fight?!”

“Oh! Ummm,” Skah stroked his beardless chin and looked the stranger up and down, “nah. You’re not worthy to ask questions.”

The skin around the eyes turned red. “Then why don’t you leave?!”

Skah motioned to the stranger’s sword. “The chill air feels good.” He cocked his head. “Aren’t you getting warm?” He patted his own sword.

“No! I…” The stranger looked away.

Skah raised his eyebrows as if to say, “and?”

The stranger gathered himself and faced Skah again. “You will fight me.” The stranger unsheathed his sword in a flourish and a blast of frigid air buffeted everything around him. The sword was straight and slender with one edge and an angled point.

“Ooooohh, oh that feels, oh…I think I’m going to take a nap.”

The stranger blinked as Skah and the ox slumped to the ground together. Skah rested his back on the ox and their eyes began to grow droopy.

“Hey!”

“Huuuh?”

Ice crystals were forming on the puddles up and down the street. Fog rolled out from the town as tall as one’s waist, just above the knee if going by the local height average. If one didn’t know better, the small town looked like it was in the middle of a strange winter snowstorm. However, around Skah everything was lukewarm and the snow dissipated into a fine mist.

The stranger fidgeted angrily. He even made a few feints in attack toward Skah. Skah didn’t respond to any of them.

Skah let out a snore.

The stranger made a movement to put his sword away but stopped. “If you defeat me, this sword is yours.”

Skah’s eyes slowly opened wide. He hesitated a moment, then leapt to his feet and shook out his arms and legs and rolled his shoulders. “Yah yah? You don’t have any buddies around?”

“On my honor.”

“You don’t have much left after talking to me.” Skah rubbed his hands together. “May I ask why you want to fight me so badly? Nah, that’s right, it’s a question.”

“No, I’ll answer that. You have the right to know as my opponent. I have been sent on a mission to prove my honor. Part of that mission is to defeat one hundred swordsmen. I have defeated ninety-nine.” The stranger settled into a stance. “You will be the one hundredth.”

Skah grinned and lowered his chin, then drew his sword from its broad sheath. The air around him wavered from the heat and a cart near him started smoking as its wood started turning to charcoal. He held a glowing white blade almost too bright to look at. It was a strange shape, starting out straight, curving in a shallow half-crescent and ending in a point that hooked backwards.

A strong wind suddenly blasted from behind Skah, whipping and snapping the stranger’s clothes like flags. Above them a cloud formed that slanted upwards away from Skah and towards the stranger. Lightning arced through the cloud and a blast of thunder shook the homes around them.

Skah pointed his sword at the stranger. “I will be taking your sword. And when I do, I’ll take a nap with it.”

The stranger’s brows raised. What have I gotten myself into?

Author’s Note: I hope this’ll be a fun series of stories that both my readers and I can enjoy. My family has always liked the idea of these two characters and some of the scenes I’ve described with them. I plan to release these short “chapters” about every month. In between I’ll release my usual random short stories.

My idea for this stems from a long bunny trail of ideas. First, it was a “cool” idea from the creation years of my universe. I took one of the ideas from there and put it into a fantasy context which is where the swords come from. Then I gave the swords to two characters. One of the characters ties back into some other stories…well, we’ll see how this goes. :D

Anyway, thanks for reading! Like, share and leave a comment!

#fantasy #swords #jeliasepp #serial #humorous #funny #shortstory #reading #mywriting #animalfriend #magic #adventure #character

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j-eliasepp · 8 years ago

Text

The Mask of Space

By: J. Elias Epp

A young man leaned against the balustrade of the opulent staircase and viewed the ship’s mess hall before him. The man wore a smart suit of black with a gold tie. Not a mess hall, he reminded himself, a dining room. A fancy one at that. Cruise ships didn’t have mess halls or galleys. They have dining rooms and bakeries. So sophisticated. He smiled.

A fake smile. He didn’t have many real ones.

“No lounging.” Came a voice from behind.

The man straightened himself and turned as a middle-aged man with gray hair walked up to him “Excuse me?”

The man was Memard Ridardton, Chief Officiator of Nebula Dawn General Affairs. He smoothly strode up to the man with hands clasped behind his straight back and with a politely slight smile upon his lips. “Heed the predicament you fashioned for yourself,” he stated. Ridardton was dressed in a plain black suit with only a red tie to mark his status. “One becomes staff of the Nebula Dawn only if they are millionaires with repute or career servants from the most distinguished schools of etiquette. Fortunately for you, the board has determined your false identity, Arthurst Learhart, to be pivotal to the experience of some of our customers and you will be allowed to serve as part of the staff for the remainder of the voyage.”

Learhart’s jaw dropped slightly. “Excuse me?!”

The slight smile left Memard Ridardton’s lips. “This is one of the most distinguished cruise ships in all the worlds. We serve nothing less than royalty and trillionaires. Do you think we would not notice a con-artist…no, too refined a description, a stowaway to operate amongst our midst?”

Learhart swallowed, “I suppose you have guards nearby?”

The slight smile came back to Memard Ridardton’s lips. “Guards? I suppose special forces could fit that role. Your first duty will be to replace Urdnund Lucha and clean this dining room by breakfast.” With that, Ridardton swiveled smoothly away and strode from the room.

Of all the **** **** times to be ******* caught! Learhart slumped against the balustrade. He checked his watch; it was 9:38. He slowly turned and looked at the dining room. It looked spotless. How…how was he supposed to clean what was already clean? He walked down the sweeping stair and checked under the tables, nothing. The tables were clean. Immaculate. He checked the wood trimming on the walls for dust and found the lingering scent of lemon oil. More importantly, how could he get away? He thought as he made his inspection. His training and experience had allowed him to regain his composure. They weren’t shooting him yet.

He stood in the middle of the room and looked around himself. And just what am I supposed to clean here? He sat down in one of the chairs and tapped his fingers. His answer came after ten minutes of him thinking in frustration. A small group of passengers came into the far side of the dining room and sat at a table. A waiter soon came to them and they ordered.

The kitchen was open this late?! Learhart put two and two together and covered his eyes with a hand. The dining room is open all night long and here I am to clean up after everyone. He stood, took off his jacket and stood close to the group ready to clean up a spill or take dirty plates. Naturally, the high-bred people didn’t make a mess. Learhart didn’t expect them to. The wine was served. As the people joked and laughed together one of them reached for his glass without looking and knocked it over.

Learhart cringed. The silk tablecloth was stained bright red. What idiots! He moved forward in a flash and caught the spreading liquid before it could spill onto the man.

“Many thanks.”

Learhart smiled graciously, “It is my pleasure.” These people are getting a little tipsy. After cleaning the mess as much as he could, he returned to his post. The people got more tipsy and spilled more and made more of a mess as they ordered more food. They finally left, leaving smears of food on the carpet, stains, and even a broken glass. And a nice tip. Perhaps I should get into the waiter business.

Learhart surveyed the wreck. So this is what it is going to be like. All, night, long. Already, he could see another group coming in at another entrance. He sighed and continued cleaning up and correctly treating the wood beneath the tablecloth. Good thing I have experience from those days at the hotel. He was so focused on cleaning as quickly as possible before the other group made an equally sized mess he didn’t notice a woman approaching him.

A voice chuckled. “Arthurst? May I ask what you are doing?”

Learhart looked up; it was Kim Rayick. Well this is just great. To think I had been flirting with her just a few hours ago. Not to mention she was one of my more promising marks. Her family likes to carry a lot of cold hard cash around. Strangely, she was wearing jeans and a simple T-shirt. Well, ‘simple’ wouldn’t apply here. The T-shirt was made of bullet-proof material. He smiled. “Good evening Kim Rayick, what may I do for you?”

She raised an eyebrow and smiled. “So formal! Tell me, why are you cleaning like a servant?”

Learhart’s stomach turned inside him in disgust at the thought of his predicament. He had to fight curling his lip. What happened was a smirk. “I am a servant. It is something new Nebula Dawn is testing. Some of us go undercover amongst the customers to keep your stay here entertaining. Just don’t tell anyone okay?”

Kim’s eyes narrowed and she leaned forward over the back of a chair. Which was a feat for her, she wasn’t too tall. A loose strand of brown hair fell over her face and she puffed it to the side. “Mmmhmm, sure you are.” She smiled, “I’ll play along, come, let’s look at the stars from the big windows.”

“I have a job to do.” The sounds of laughter floated across the room to him. He ran his hand through his slicked hair.

“Yes, you do. Isn’t it the Nebula Dawn’s motto to always serve the customer their needs? I say I need you to escort me and give me friendly company.” She upturned her nose. A nose some women would say was too large.

Learhart thought it was just the right size. Ah, forgot about the Nebula Dawn’s near-crazed motto to please the customers in every possible way. Wasn’t that the reason why he was still here and not locked up? He glanced around the room. Another group had already come in and sat down, and still another was being seated. His job was going to stack up fast. Yet, he knew he had to fulfill his duties as a temporary servant of Nebula Dawn. “Then, madam, I shall escort you.”

“Ugh, so formal! Come on.”

Hadn’t she acted just as formal at the ball? Now that she wasn’t in a dress her formality filter had turned off. He started walking out of the room and she followed. He felt like a dozen invisible eyes had their piercing glare upon him. He knew the guards were still there. “Tell me, why do you need an escort to look at stars with you?”

“Oh, I don’t know, to keep other men from getting ideas about a lone woman looking dreamily out upon the expanse of space. It’s romantic you know.”

“Uh huh.” Just as they crossed the threshold out of the dining room, both of his shoulders were tapped on. He looked back but no one was there. He gulped. What a creepy way to remind him they were still watching. He suppressed a shiver and turned forward again. Kim was looking at him.

“Are you worrying about your,” she held up two quotation marks, “work.”

“Nothing of the sort.” He said smiling. Yep, nothing of the sort. More like worried about a bullet in the back.

She sighed. “This is your work right now, escort me to the window, worry about that.” She looked at him. “Or I might lodge a complaint.”

This elicited a smile from him. A real smile, he thought.

They reached the viewing room and looked out of the massive windows into the depths of space and clouds of nebulas surrounding them on every side. There were a few other people there, mostly couples. The silence was filled with whispers adding to the mystic quality of the view.

She slid her arm through his and he led her to the edge where glass replaced the floor. She hesitated a moment before stepping over the threshold onto the glass. Then they came as near to the wall of glass as possible, so the ship wasn’t in their peripheral. For awhile they looked at the endless depth of the nebula and stars in silence. She pressed her head into his shoulder. He could see the entire nebula and beyond it to the star-speckled depths of space. He could see all the million suns and the gasses they lit, but he knew he couldn’t see the trillions in the dark of space beyond his sight. The Galaxy showed its fake face here and hid its thoughts in its blackness. He felt as if he might float into the depths of space. Whether that was from the view or her or both, he didn’t know.

If only he could stay like this forever. Well, not forever. The silence was getting awkward. His phone buzzed and he took the opportunity to check it.

It read. “Don’t take too long. Memard Ridardton.”

“Who texted?” Kim asked, leaning over. Her eyes widened. “Who uses a phone anymore? Where’d you get that? A museum?”

Learhart pulled the phone from her view. “It’s nothing, just my boss.” He took the chance to open the profile he had made on her when he had still been planning to swipe her money. He read a few entries then put the phone in his pocket. “So, tell me something about yourself.” He changed the subject from the phone. He actually had gotten it from a museum. After some modifications, it became a stylish status symbol for his undercover identities.

“Oh, there isn’t much.”

“Of course there is, your family must be very rich. You’re on this ship after all.”

She nodded, “I’m not a daddy’s girl like some think. I earn my own money. I help him in his Artificial Intelligence programming.”

Learhart whistled, “Rich and smart.”

She knuckled him in the ribs and he winced. She had hit a rib even through his toned muscle. “I said I help him in programming; I don’t do any programming myself.”

“How do you,” he held up quotation marks, “help.”

She pulled away from him and sat on the ground. “He makes AI personalities based on mine.”

“That must be cool.” And this is why she was a good mark. The AI business was huge and reaped a ton of profit.

“Hah!”

This startled him.

“I got you to chill out! You said ‘cool.’” She laughed at her own joke and rolled back on her haunches a little.

He really couldn’t complain. She is pretty entertaining. He was having a good time. His phone dinged and he checked it. He had set his phone so it would ding only if a message from the syndicate came through. The message read:

“Boss has other plans for your mark. Get ready in 10 secs for extraction.”

“Another message?” Kim asked.

He frowned. “Uh, yeah. Pretty important one too.” How could he prepare with guards watching him?

Kim craned her neck and looked up at the stars.

“I have to get back to work now.” He said.

“Do you have to? Is this boring you?” She sighed “Fine, I’ll go with you. May as well keep you company while you work.”

Time was running out. He had to go, now! No, no. Keep up appearances. He helped her to her feet. And she put her arm into his.

“Thank you.” She said.

They walked back towards the door. He had to keep his body in check from wildly running towards the escape pods.

“So you’re really a servant?” She asked.

“Yes.” And no, and yes again. Not an official servant here, but made a servant. Yet also a servant to the syndicate. It felt like the furious pumping of his heart was blowing his chest up like a balloon.

They reached the doorway and were making their way down the hallway.

“When do you get off work?”

“Before breakfast.” Learhart had to fight clenching his teeth. Whatever was going to happen was going to happen soon.

“I’m always working.”

Learhart looked at her. “You work a lot of hours?”

“Its not so much that, I literally work all the time. It’s how my job works.”

Here it comes!

Learhart breathed in. Nothing happened. As he kept walking forward he felt Kim stop as she tugged on his arm.

He looked back at her. “Something wrong?” He glanced at the hallway behind her and then back the way they were going. Nothing. He looked back at her face. Her eyes had a far-away look and her mouth was open a little. Her body was in mid-stride and he wondered if he let her go she would fall.

“Hey.” He waved his other hand in front of her face.

“I…I…I lost…I lost connection.” She finally breathed out.

He looked at her stupidly.

Slowly, she started to sink to the floor.

What was this? What had happened? He couldn’t worry about this. He had to go now! He let her sink to the floor gently, feeling her soft limp hand. He tried to go but couldn’t let go of her hand.

Pounding footsteps sounded in the corridor and a group of armored men with guns rushed around the corner. He was in for it now. They rushed up to him and one gathered Kim in his arms.

“What is going on?” Learhart asked.

One of the men flipped up his visor. “Lin you fool! We gotta go! What are you doing standing there like a frog? Let’s get moving!”

Learhart squinted. “Terk?! What’s going on?” They were moving back down the hall again with the group of soldiers at a fast clip only hesitating to check corners. “And quiet down on the Lin, my name is Learhart here.”

“Don’t matter. It’s make or break now dude.”

“Just tell me why we’re kidnapping Kim!”

“That ain’t Kim man. Advanced AI. Constantly updated with the experiences of the real Kim. That’s why boss wants this thing. You practically make clones of yourself. We already nabbed the real Kim and put jammers on her.”

This Kim wasn’t real? He had a real smile with her though. Genuine. He felt a tear welling in his eye. Why did everything have to be so fake?

Author’s Note: This is an older short story of mine from back in college days. I find it interesting to look back at what I’d written once and where I’ve come since then. It’s encouraging.

I believe this particular story was based off a prompt to create a character with a secret. My classmates at the time encouraged me to write a scene that would have happened before this beginning. It would have been a classic scene of a ballroom party. If I ever brush this up and put it in an anthology, I’ll be sure to add that scene into the mix.

#writing #shortstory #reading #Sci-Fi & Fantasy #millenniummyths #jeliasepp #mywriitng #artificial intelligence #ai #secret #con artist #space #spaceship #future

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j-eliasepp · 8 years ago

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Grave Digger

The mountain beneath his feet shudders with each stroke of his pickaxe. He glances up at the dull gray of the coming storm and redoubles his efforts. His limbs tremble from the cold and his teeth chatter. He hears a clattering and a rumbling and turns quickly about. A rockslide on a nearby slope sends up dust and makes the ground beneath him tremble.

He wears two cloaks about him against the cold. The one on top is a woman’s cut. Both of them are ragged and dirty from many nights spent sleeping in the streets.

Bone chips away in splinters from the hip bone. The monstrous form of ribs rises far above him. A hundred years stale stench wafts on the winds as the youngest generation of vultures circles the rotting corpse.

His donkey shows as many ribs as the giant.

Your bones will be broken,

The shingles of your homes shall clatter to the boulevard.

The sound of the pickaxe pings against the pointed sides of the mountains. It is answered by the rumble of thunder. The clouds broil and glow like a fire has been lit within them by the setting sun.

Lone clouds slowly move by, low in the sky.

The sword trembles with the mountain and vibrates in the wind. It tones a low thrum he can feel through the wraps he calls shoes.

The weapons you forged will become your tombstone

And your grave will be defiled by insects.

Finally, he breaks into the marrow of the bone and reveals the gold blood that once flowed through the giant’s veins. He widens the hole greedily as the rockslide calms down and the storm nears.

The blood has cooled now but he easily scraps it out into a sack. In his head, he is already figuring the portions between them when he gets back. His portion is the largest.

The mountain groans and the bones moan and creak, shifting their enormous weight. The donkey brays.

The flame you took down from the sky to warm your hearths

Will eternally burn your foundations.

He’s gathered up as much as he can hold and he strains against the glittering metal’s weight. He puts it on the bare donkey’s back and he unties it from the bush, the rope chafes against his chapped skin. The donkey brays and resists.

He huffs from the exertion and tugs on the rope.

Other holes have been chipped in the bones. Other men’s bones lie by the giant’s bones. Some of their bones are broken from falls, cracked from the cold or by men’s forged steel.

Suddenly, the wind blows harder and the storm looms higher than the bones of the giant. Lightning flashes across the sky and cracks the air with its shout.

The rains your children played in will turn to ice.

Your crops will never grow again.

The donkey lurches forward and jogs over the stones past him. He struggles and stumbles over the rocks to keep up as they head back down the path. Part of it is covered over now with the stones of the rockslide.

His mind turns to the sheltered alleys of his home. Small walkways between buildings where the wind could not come through one’s already thin clothes.

Your blood shall flow through the ruins of your homes,

The streams will carry it down your rubble-strewn streets

He rushes from before the storm into the valley. It is almost upon him now and the first few flakes of a blizzard fall.

He spurns himself on with the thought of what he can buy. He could afford a fireplace, food every day, clothes to warm him…and a bed! A bed!

He passes a small cluster of violet flowers in the cleft between two boulders and he remembers his promise. The gold was for himself and the others, but for the owner of the top cloak, the only request was a flower that only grew on that mountain.

The forest isn’t far away now. The trees mean wood for fire and shelter from the wind quickly numbing his limbs. He is counting seconds now till he freezes. He would have frozen a lot sooner with only one cloak.

Your wealth and power shall disappear

Like the glory of summer with the coming of winter.

He scrambles over the rocks with numbing limbs and reaches the flowers. He scraps his arm, drawing blood as he reaches for them. He has to watch his numb hand to see it grasp the flowers. Petals bruise beneath his grip as he tears them from the dirt.

He hurries back to the donkey and they huddle against each other as they stiffly walk down the slope and into the trees.

He gathers wood as he walks, gripping the sticks in the arm opposite the flowers. He pushes through a thicket, barely feeling the branches brush against him. In the midst of the bushes, with snow gently falling, he attempts to make a fire.

Instead of leisurely thinking of life

You shall try to grasp it by force at the heel.

He warms himself against the donkey, then tries again.

Finally, smoke lifts from the sticks and a flame lights. He greedily stokes the fire with larger and larger sticks until he can feel the heat, then, he warms himself before gathering more wood.

After he has enough stocked beside him, he picks up the flowers where he dropped them. Their color is richer than even the gold in his bag. He gently takes those bruised ones and tosses them to the side. He holds up the only two that remain and keeps them near the fire.

Night falls. Snow gathers over the land. He takes some of the snow and melts it in his hands to fill his water skin. He puts the flowers in the neck of the skin so they can drink, then falls asleep after stoking the fire.

He dreams not of warm halls or choice foods, but of a smile that could only come from the giving of a flower.

You shall fall and rot, never to rise again,

But with the coming of every spring,

Something far cheaper than your grand halls

And more easily lost,

Will carry words worth more than your king’s summons,

Be dressed more elegantly than your wives,

Be worth more than all your riches,

And outlast you more than all your years.

Author’s Note: I wrote this story strongly based off inspiration from the picture. I looked through my Pinterest photos of fantasy landscapes and this one jumped out at me. It plainly needs a story attached to it. My attempt with this story was to create a feeling of mysticism with a different narrative voice and style while still writing something with a central storyline. In this case, a poor man trying to reap the riches of an open grave.

As per usual, this story is loosely set in my creative universe. While I attempted a different narrative voice with this short story, I kept the world building aligned. It is a “true” story in my fictional realm.

#millenniummyths #jeliasepp #shortstory #mywriting #mythical #giant #manvsnature #worldbuilding #poetry #fantasy #narrative

#millenniummyths #jeliasepp #shortstory #mywriitng #mythical #giant #manvsnature #worldbuilding #poetry #fantasy #narrative

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j-eliasepp · 8 years ago

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A Time To End

Peter completed teleporting and settled on his feet. Darn that Keijay. He thought. Wasting my precious time with his philosophical ideals. I’ve already wasted a week of my vacation. “Who cares if I use the word ‘time’ interchangeably with ‘change’?” He said out loud.

He checked the time. It appeared in his vision at the same moment the information was sent to his brain. It was 8:00 in the morning, November 8th, the year 2589 R.C., the age of Heaven’s Rule. Currently, local time was in perfect sync.

Everyone else had already been on vacation for a week. He’d had to stay an extra week to polish up on details. He sighed and stuffed his hands in his pockets.

Seven days from now the time machine would revert to this moment. Seven days from now Peter would help…he might…he might put an end to the time machine forever. This vacation might be the last he would use the machine’s powers, and perhaps the last he would see his family.

Peter looked around himself. He was on a dirt road at the top of a gently sloped hill. The sun was low in the east, casting long, deep shadows across the land. In those shadows the dew looked like sky blue snow on the grass, melting to glowing sun drops where the light touched. Fog clung to the winding stream flowing from the hill to his left and down into the shallow valley. The fog glowed where a ray of sun touched. In the shadow, the fog still slumbered in twilight.

This is why he always picked this spot to teleport to before walking the two miles to his parent’s home. He could see the land all around and their house on the other side of the valley.

He began to walk the shallow decent into the valley. His tennis shoes made a soft crunching sound as he walked.

Peter breathed in deeply, and his chest swelled against his T-shirt. That was the smell of night rain upon dirt and fallen leaves. He could still feel the cool humidity against his skin. A chill breeze began to pick up with the coming of the morning, rustling drying green leaves. The forest’s bright yellows, oranges and reds were doused blue in the shadows but burned brightly in the sun.

Peter smiled. His walking was easy going downhill. At one point, the path curved to one side to avoid a bulge in the stream. Peter kept walking through the grass and along the bank of the stream. His jeans became wet with the dew and a few chill drops from the trees above landed in his short hair. He shivered.

A week’s vacation was barely enough time to cool his nerves. After working through the ranks from a Special Field Agent to a Senior Narrative Engineer for millennia, a week felt like a day. He shook his head. Don’t think about work. You’re on vacation. Just don’t think about it.

The chirping of birds caught his attention and he stopped, watching them flit about the trees. He continued forward and stepped on a stick, making a loud crack.

The red and white coat of a fox caught his eye further down the hill. It bounded casually between the trees and through the wisps of fog. It stopped around the edge of a bush and eyed him for a moment. Then it sprang away, fading into the fog. Peter’s last sight of it was when it jumped through a ray of sunlight, its coat flashing for a moment before it was gone.

Peter looked after it, wondering if it would show itself again, but it didn’t. He looked around for other stirring wildlife, but he couldn’t see any.

Peter brought up the interface for the time machine into his vision. He couldn’t feel the full body scan to confirm his identity, but he knew it happened. Like anyone else at his level of work, he had access to localized time reversion. In this instance, he was pre-cleared to revert everything within the fence around his parent’s property back to the moment when he first completed teleporting.

A 3-D landscape of the property projected itself into his vision. He zoomed onto his location with a thought and looked about himself from a minute ago. With a thought, he turned on the lifeform filter for animals larger than a rat. He didn’t need the visual. The knowledge flowed through his brain as easily as walking.

“Ah, found you.” He whispered. The fox had been watching him before he had stepped on the stick. He checked on the fox’s current location. It was nearing the property line’s fence.

It’ll get away if I’m not quick about it. Peter quickly activated the time machine to revert to one minute ago. The feeling was like teleportation, only physically disorienting since his body ended up in a different position. In his years as a field agent, he’d gotten used to it. He stopped all motion for a split second, orienting himself. His foot was just about to step on the stick. He lengthened his stride and stepped over it. Carefully, he approached the fox’s position.

Even knowing where it was, Peter couldn’t see it with normal light. He would be able to see it in the infrared spectrum, but its appearance would be ugly.

He crept forward carefully, watching where he stepped. The rain had softened the leaves, making his approach much quieter. He got within 20 feet of the bushes it was hiding in before the fox bounded away with a shot, running at full tilt. It jumped into the creek bed and out of sight. Peter heard a few splashes before there was silence again. The fox didn’t show back up.

Peter had gotten a closer look, but it felt like there was something missing from his first sighting. Why was my first experience more…satisfying? Peter thought. No, that wasn’t the word. It hadn’t been satisfying at all.

He stood out of his crouch and stuck his hands in his pockets. He looked back at the way the fox had run, then along the streambed. Fog heavily covered parts of it. There weren’t many places he could see clearly. He considered trying again but a sudden distaste for the idea came over him and he started walking again.

While he could change time at a whim within the property, time continued forward everywhere else. Local time now read a minute behind the master control time. By impulse, he checked the location of the fox. It was out of the streambed now and trotting further into the valley out of his direct sight.

His mind easily turned to the butterfly effect process, tracking the possibilities of the divergence he’d created. First, analyze origin point. The fox actually jumps over the property line. Peter pulled up the movements and mental intentions of animals in that area before the reversion. It’ll scare this mouse, whose home is here, it’ll run to that. The fox will likely start hunting again after running a half-mile along its territory. Death of a rodent likely. Effect on ecosystem, minimal. Possible effects on major events, incomprehensible. Beyond that the prediction accuracy dropped significantly.

Second, analyze impact of divergence. Fox will not disrupt movements of smaller animals by its passing. A rodent may not die as soon. Effect on ecosystem, minimal. Possible effects on major events, incomprehensible. He tracked the fox’s new movements and the movements of animals around it, as well as any damage to vegetation done. New effect on ecosystem, minimal. Possible effects on major events, incomprehensible.

Third, analyze possible outcomes. Likelihood of fox to attempt stealing from henhouse in the coming day increased, however, inevitable in the lifetime of the fox. Fox kills rodent in the valley instead of outside of property line, effect minimal. Likelihood of fox to run into native pred…

Peter smacked his forehead. “Darn it.” Don’t think about work. Don’t think about it. The analyzing had only taken fractions of a second, much of the processing being off-loaded to the time-machine’s main frame. He turned his attention to the scenery around him instead, trying his best to enjoy it. He walked another four minutes and fifteen seconds, hoping his mind would clear.

The muffled crack of a rifle jolted Peter. “Dag-nab-it.” He said under his breath. “Still using that novelty hunting-rifle.” The report had come from in front and to the left of him on the hillside. And I’m still cursing like him. He thought.

His mind turned to what his father had shot at. The enhanced vision the time machine granted him swept towards the source of the gunshot. Peter guessed his father had shot successfully since he didn’t hear the frustrated string of shots that usually followed when his father missed.

His father was further up the hill, masked in the mists of a tendril of fog as he walked down towards his trophy. At the bottom of the hill was a clearing where the fog was thin and a ray of sun shone in, already burning it away. In that clearing, lying among the flowers was a fox, the same fox from before.

It didn’t surprise Peter. He’d seen many people die from his decisions, planets reduced to dust, lives shattered beyond their own means to repair them. However, Peter wielded the very power that could restore everything.

He wanted to bring the fox back to life. He could step on that stick again and let it run away across the fence. However, he couldn’t go forward in time. He couldn’t see if the fox’s death by his father could be avoided forever. He only had the power to return to any moment within what the machine had recorded. He’d seen events change to his whims, only to have the very outcome he had attempted to avoid come about years later.

By over-practiced rote, he changed time back to right before he stepped on the stick. He hesitated. His body felt warmer. His feet were less tired. By hesitating he knew he was changing something, maybe something that could only be traced back to this moment after hundreds of years had passed. He stepped on the stick and watched the fox spring from his cover and bound away.

Does it even matter if I turn back time? He couldn’t shake the feeling there was a force even greater than the time machine working its will on the universe. The secret resistance within the ranks of his nation thought so. Too many attempts to prevent the cataclysm from happening had been thwarted by unlooked-for means, blindsiding the analysts and himself. So, they decided the power of the time machine was not for men. Seven days from now would see the culmination of their efforts to return time to the original time-line. Without Peter, their plans would fail. If he was against them, there would be nothing they could do to stop him. If he was for them, their plans would succeed.

He walked onward on the same path he had taken before and at the same pace.

When the time machine had been created, it had recorded history for several hundred years. The philosophy at its creation had been, “To change the past, one must first know the future,” a quote by Bhen Munoc, the time machine’s creator. This span of recorded time, untouched by the time-machine, was named the Origin. The resistance wanted to return to the moment right before the first change by man occurred.

Was the Origin untouched by the time-machine? Peter wondered. Or is it the present? Meant to be, despite men’s efforts? Men have always been changing worlds and the universe. Is the time machine any different from a bomb or terraforming? Was the original time-line simply a figment of the imagination? Even by returning to the Origin, the knowledge of all the past millennia would be retained by individuals such as himself. Wouldn’t that be an alteration of the Origin? Is there even a right answer? A truth? His thoughts turned to the millennia-old debates over global warming that culminated in the Terra Directives. Men argued men’s miniscule actions greatly unbalanced the fragile laws of nature. Is the same thing happening to the universe? He thought. The time machine has a massive range but doesn’t cover the whole universe. Technically, we have irreplaceably put the Known Universe out of sync with the rest. What worlds or stars might we have split in two?

He passed by the spot he had heard the gunshot at. He heard nothing but the sound of the stream in the distance, the chirping of birds and the rustle of the breeze through the leaves. He continued walking, he was losing precious time with his family. The master control time put him at almost an hour past when he had first arrived.

Peter had joined the resistance due to his long-simmering disgust he had formed for repeating and living out time. It had felt morally wrong to revert the changes of the universe. But now, what was time or change? Time was the measurement tool of change, as a ruler was the measurement tool for distance. That was the logical answer. Time was nothing more than a ruler for change. It was not a dimension, it was not some unexplainable energy or mass. It was simply change. The rate of the workings of physics, the timings of the movement and discovery of information, and the rate of the degradation of energy.

Some of Peter’s colleagues disillusioned themselves by believing they had full control over time. The very control room they worked in defeated their belief. Everything in the known universe would change outside that control room, but the control room, by necessity remained untouched. Normal time, the same that flowed from the beginning of time, was in that room and outside the unfathomable reach of the time machine.

No, change is not a flow, it is a rate. He thought.

Peter shook his head. He was beginning to think like his fellow analyst, Keijay. Keijay was lately most fascinated with their enemy’s own time travel technology. The technology of Nebiezar was far inferior to the technology of Kasdeon, Peter’s nation. The method was simple explosions that reverted the time of everything within their blast, however, they did not need to record like the time machine did. Not to mention, their technology had stopped the recording of the Origin.

The Origin had initially been planned to be a millennia long stretch of history to be picked apart and analyzed to create the ultimate utopia. Dissidents would be culled, murders stopped and entire wars averted. That never happened.

In a preparation for their grand conquest, Kasdeon closed in on all sides upon Nebiezar’s home world. Nebiezar’s retaliation was one of desperation and to spite of Kasdeon’s plans. Nebiezar set off the Cataclysm Bomb. A bomb that was set to erase the entirety of history back to when men still walked upon only one planet. Total destruction, annihilation, near-extinction. It boggled Peter’s mind to think how fragile humanity would be with only a few billion souls living on a single planet.

Peter breathed in deeply, over and over again until he started to get light-headed. He couldn’t get enough of the smell of night rain mixed with the mustiness of fall. To allow the Cataclysm Bomb to go off would kill all life. But was it worse to play god over them all?

He began the shallow ascent up the road to his home. His hand clasped and unclasped as he breathed in and out. Think of something else.

Mom said Harold would still be here. He’ll likely want to go out and hunt with me. He thought. He caught a whiff of breakfast cooking when the breeze suddenly changed direction. His mouth watered. Eggs, bacon, toast…is that pancakes? He licked his lips.

He lost sight of his house as he walked through a grove of trees. It appeared again here and there through the trees as he walked along the path. It came into full view as he rounded the last bend in the path.

The white two-story house basked in the glow of the morning sun. The chatter of chickens reached him along with the occasional neigh of a horse. Wumpy gave out threatening warf! from the porch and streaked towards him.

“Wump! Its me boy!”

Wumpy’s sprint slowed into excited bounding and he barked over and over. Right before he came into Peter’s reaching distance he stopped and his barking turned into whines as he excitedly wagged his tail and circled Peter.

“Pete!” Peter’s brother came out of the front door rubbing his hands with a cloth. “On time as always! Come on in! Mom won’t let us start until you sit down!”

Peter waved. “I will once Wump’s calmed down!” He heard the sound of wood chairs being pushed back and his two sisters burst out of the door.

“Pete! Welcome back! Since you’re out there, go find Dad too!”

Peter bent down as Wump’s excitement waned enough for him to come closer. Peter scratched him behind the ears and under the chin where he liked it most.

“Come back inside or we’ll never eat!” Came a voice from inside the house.

Peter smiled. He knew his mother would say that.

“Go find Dad will you?” Harold yelled and threw his rag on the house’s porch railing.

“I heard him shooting on Maple Hill!” Peter yelled back. “He’ll be here soon!” Well, he did in another time line. Eh, technicalities, he’s on Maple Hill one way or another.

Harold waved and went inside. The screen slammed with a clack behind him.

“So that’s what’s got Wump’s attention,” said a voice behind Peter.

Peter turned. It was his father with a gun over one shoulder. His face was set in grim lines.

“You ever going to catch that fox?”

“Hmph, maybe never, but it gets me outside. Don’t know what’d I’d do if it went and killed itself.”

Perhaps it was a good thing I let the fox live, Peter thought.

“Been trying to get the lil varmit for five years. It’s like magic the way he escapes me. I’ve got a guy who still does taxidermy by hand and doesn’t charge an arm and a leg. He says he’ll stuff the critter for free if I can ever kill it for him.”

Wump quickly became distracted by something in the forest and he rushed off with his nose to the ground. Peter had seen the dog die because of its stupidity too many times. Once, Wump had drowned when Peter had been swimming far out in a lake with Harold. Watching what had happened on the time machine’s recording showed Wump pacing back and forth in worry along the shoreline before jumping in after them.

Peter walked with his father to the house. “How many chickens did it get?” he asked. He already knew the answer.

“Twenty-three, and he choses em like a champ. I tell you, every time a chicken wins a prize, he’ll get it not more than three months later. Damn varmit.”

Peter washed up with his father and then sat down to the table and waited for him to put his gun away. His mom allowed herself to get up and greet him, kissing him on the cheek and hugging him before sitting back down again.

Once his father sat down everyone bowed their head in thanks before digging into the meal.

“You work for the military, right?” Harold asked. “Teri could you pass the syrup? What’s been going on lately?”

Peter shrugged and took a spoonful of eggs. “Don’t know what I can talk about.” Harold had been asking him this question for hundreds of years. Well, for him only a few decades, Peter thought. He’d even tried to see what Harold’s reaction was before reverting time. Because he had revealed classified information to a civilian he’d ended up with a stern warning and had to compile a report on the event. A report that he had disliked giving to his higher-ups.

“Come on, anything on those no-for-goodians? They’ll get us if we don’t watch it.”

That’s one future I’m sure of, Peter thought, we’ve never been able to stop them from detonating the bomb.

“Why are they against a Utopia?” Terisha asked. “We’re already half-way there.” She delicately skewered a piece of pancake and placed it into a beautifully modeled mouth. A mouth that matched the rest of her perfectly designed body.

Peter’s mother, Wanda, looked at Terisha over her glasses but returned her eyes to her plate. Her wrinkled face and graying hair told one enough of her stance on utopian ideals.

Peter waited for her to blow up, but remembered he was in a point of time after a lot of that drama had ended. Terisha changing the body Wanda had worked so hard to give birth to naturally hadn’t gone over well.

Peter’s father glanced up from his plate at Terisha, then at Wanda. He cleared his throat. “No talking politics at the table.” He cleared his throat again. “I nearly shot that fox today. Got away over the fence.”

“You’re never going to give up on that animal, are you?” Harold said, “I’ve told you to just get one of those sentry drones to look after the chicken coop. You have the money for it.”

“A bullet’s cheaper. Besides, we’re going hunting for it today.” Peter’s father smiled through his chewing. “You don’t want to ruin the reason for our hunting do you?”

From there the talk turned to hunting and then how everyone’s families were doing.

Peter didn’t have much to say with that last part.

“Petey, when are you going to get yourself a wife?” Wanda asked.

When we stop the cataclysm bomb. “When the right one comes along.” He couldn’t tell them how many times he had married in the past. Or rather, in futures that were stored in the memory banks of the machine. Every time there had been a reversion had tolled on him too much. He didn’t marry anymore.

After breakfast they all helped clean up. Peter absently twirled a plate in his fingers after drying it. He’d lost count of how many he’d dropped in the past ages. He’d spent an entire vacation once angering his mother by breaking all the plates, turning time backwards and trying again. He’d mastered the form about a hundred years ago.

Wanda stepped through the door to the kitchen and let out a scoff of exasperation before turning around and leaving.

Peter smiled.

“Mom can’t stand it when you do that. You drove her out of the kitchen!” Peter’s sister, Vona, said. She finished washing a plate and handed it to him.

“It isn’t fun any other way.” Something particular Peter found with Vona was she always married the same man or not at all in all the pasts he knew of. “How’s Anard?”

“He had to stay another day for work, but he’ll be coming after that. You need to go hunting with him. He’s really looking forward to seeing your marksmanship again.”

Peter dried another plate with a flourish. “Hmm, I might.” Anard’s fascination with the military had killed the man several times before. Peter had eventually stopped indulging Anard’s interests altogether.

Peter looked side-long at Vona. She took after her mother and didn’t perfect her body. His eyes lingered on the lines and tones of her face, how it moved when she talked, the flash of her eyes and the way her straight hair frizzed in the humidity. He could see every imperfection that was culled from Terisha’s own appearance.

Terisha came into the kitchen carrying more dirty dishes and sat them down. Her every movement was graceful and not a hair of hers flew out of place as she turned on her heel and left the room.

After finishing the dishes, Peter sat around with his family and ‘talked politics’ as his father put it. Opinions of what would happen with social struggles were mulled over. Arguments were put forth and in the end everyone came to one agreement.

Except Peter, though he didn’t show it. These were the most boring times with his family. For him, there was no speculation or opinion. He simply knew a hundred different factual outcomes that had happened before. Instead of trying to convince his family of the truth the future most likely held, he sided with one of the opinions of the others and spoke sparingly.

After they had talked themselves out, he helped put together pack lunches. The plan was to eat them for lunch while out hunting.

Peter hitched his rifle over his shoulder and stopped before going out the door. He looked back in the living room where his mother was sitting down with a book.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come with us? You used to…”

“I enjoy relaxing with a book anymore.” Wanda smiled warmly. “It’s more than enough fun for me to see everyone together.”

Peter nodded and caught up with the others. Their path quickly took them past their property fence and into the hills. Terisha wasn’t with them. Vona had come along as well as Harold and their father.

Vona had brought a shotgun and took potshots at squirrels. Harold saw a coyote on an adjacent hill and took a potshot. The coyote’s white throat showed more clearly as it perked up at the sound, then started trotting away at a quicker pace.

Harold nudged Peter. “Don’t just let him get away. Finish him off for me.”

Peter raised his rifle to his shoulder. This might be the last time this coyote is alive. The thought stopped him cold.

“Hey, he’s getting away.”

Peter blinked and took a shot.

The coyote jumped and sprinted away as the bullet ricocheted off a stone.

Harold glanced at Peter. “You toying with him?”

Peter lowered his rifle. “I missed.”

Vona chuckled. “Yeah, right. You don’t miss.”

This might be the last time with my family.

“Come on,” Peter’s father said, “I saw some deer to the west of here. Let’s see if we haven’t scared them off yet.”

As Peter followed them through the woods he could smell pine needles on the wind. He could hear the brush and crisp crackles of the sticks, leaves and dirt beneath their feet as they walked the rough trail. Sun dappled their faces.

A bird flew from the trees in front of them. Peter’s father quickly caught it with his eye. “Bluejay,” he said.

Harold looked to where it had perched itself on a branch.

Vona was eyeing the trees, likely for squirrels. The wind blew her hair in her face and she brushed it back behind her hair. Another gust caught it again and she brushed it back again.

Harold watched his steps. A stick would come underfoot and he would purposefully step on it.

“Possum,” Peter’s father said.

A twig snapped underfoot. “Up late.”

The last time with them…to see this place, to be hunting here… His father’s gait was careful and stiff. Harold let his feet fall flat. Though the path was straight, Vona’s walk veered from one side of it to the other, often falling out of the line of the others.

Peter’s father held up his hand.

Peter didn’t look in the direction his father pointed. He’d never watched his father’s face when hunting before. There was an excitement there. An intelligent glint in the man’s aging eyes. An acceptance of a challenge and the will to attempt it.

Harold calmly unslung his rifle.

Vona softly ejected a shell from her shotgun and caught it. She replaced it by sliding a slug in the chamber and clacking the action home.

Harold turned and gave her a withering look.

Peter’s father, Asod, didn’t take his eyes off the deer. He brought his finger to his lips. “Shhh.”

Peter followed behind the others as his father, Asod, led them on a round-about way through a dry riverbed. Asod watched where he stepped. Harold walked toe-to-heel in a quiet half-crouch. Vona’s steps took her further to one side or another as she took wide berths around patches of blown leaves.

The smell of dry earth and rotting wood and leaves was in the air. The wind hushed through the grasses and over the riverbed. A blade of grass swayed under the pressure of the wind, sprung back, dipped and fell and waved.

Peter could feel the changes all around him. Vona lifted her foot, it arched through the air then fell upon soil. It rose again and left behind the print of her boot.

Everything was changing. Before, there was always the machine. A moment would never end with finality. There wasn’t permanence.

A rifle cracked with its report and Peter jumped, feeling the shockwave in his chest. A deer fell.

Asod gave Harold a handshake in congratulations. Vona gave him a high-five.

Peter breathed quicker. Asod smiled with his eyes. Harold grinned widely. Vona smiled, but didn’t show the teeth she’d been born with.

Harold turned to him, expecting something.

Reality seemed to pull back. Everything felt surreal. The world slowed as Peter drew upon the machine’s mainframe computer. What’s Harold expecting? How did I act last time? No, before everything. How did I act?

The machine gave him a view upon himself and millennia flowed through his mind. He saw himself, young, with the same rifle he carried now. He was with Harold. Harold shot a coyote and they tracked it down till it died. He gave Harold a quick hug for his success.

Peter opened his arms as he left the vision and gave Harold a hug. How many years had he gone without hugging his brother? The years of seeing his family in the same state over and over had numbed him. I’ve been with them so long. But I don’t feel like I know them anymore. Even as he hugged his brother he looked in the records of the machine. Where have I not seen my family? The answer, the truest of them, came to him.

The end of the Origin record.

***

Peter settled on his feet and shivered as a numbing wind blew over him. He snapped his fingers and the machine created a heavy coat around him. Through the blizzard Peter could just barely see the yellow glow of his family’s home in the darkness.

He had to be quick with this. The longer he stayed the more likely it would become that someone from outside the fence would notice the extremely localized snowstorm.

He ducked his head down and forged his way through the snow. His breath fogged and he snapped his fingers again. A scarf wrapped itself around his neck and a stocking cap was placed upon his head with perfect precision. Peter adjusted them both then thrust his hands in his pockets.

He picked his legs up over the drifts of snow, leaving a trail of holes in the blowing snow. His nose began to drip.

He trudged up the shallow hill to the house. Snow was lit orange as it blew by the light of the windows. He carefully tromped up the steps and kicked his toes on the porch to loosen the snow from his boots.

He heard his mother’s muffled voice within. “Who’s that, I wonder? Soddy get some cocoa ready will you?”

The porch light was turned on and a drape was pulled aside, revealing the shadowed face of Wanda. Her hair was mostly gray.

“It’s Peter dear!” She called behind her. She disappeared from the window. The next moment she was opening the door and pulling Peter in by the sleeve.

She’s able to recognize me like this? Peter wondered.

“For Pete’s sake! And yours too! Why don’t you just telepo to our living room?! You’ll catch a cold!” She reached up and unwrapped the scarf around him.

“What are you doing here anyway? Shouldn’t you be at work? You didn’t get fired did you?” She took his coat from him and hung it up by the fire along with his scarf and stocking cap. She placed her hand on his nose. It was warm.

“Ooh! You’re cold! Sod! Is that cocoa ready? Your boots Petey.”

Peter took them off and she carried them over to the pot-belly stove. “Honestly, I don’t see why you travel from that hill on the edge of the property. None of your siblings do anymore. They’re into that telepo and just pop in unannounced! Sit down, sit! I’ll get your cocoa.” She hobbled off to the kitchen.

Peter sat in the old couch and its old, familiar smell wafted up from it.

Wanda came back with the cocoa and gave it to Peter. Then she sat down across from him.

He sipped at the cocoa and he felt the warmth slowly spread through him. He half-listened to Wanda talk about everything that was going on. He focused on just being there. The howling wind blew outside. The snow was lit momentarily as it whisked by the window to the ground. Peter could feel a cold draft at his feet. It was likely from the window. The mug in his hands was almost too hot to hold. Wanda complained and worried about him. Peter knew all too well she was glad to see him.

Asod came in with two mugs and gave one to Wanda. Then he pulled up a stool to sit on between them. Asod listened quietly.

Wanda complained about another chicken getting caught by the fox. Asod spoke up and said he’d been trying for years. Wanda ignored him and continued in another line about Vona. She was waiting for her husband to return from the war with Nebiezar. She had baked him a cake to welcome him back from his tour of duty. He was supposed to return tomorrow.

The calm of home disappeared from Peter’s mind. That’s right. I encouraged him back then to join the military. If I change everything back to the Origin, he’ll likely be helping with the last push against the Nebeizar home world.

Harold’s business meeting had gone well. The investor was interested in terraforming the planet Harold had pitched.

I never knew he became so successful. I was still an agent when the Origin was being recorded. I only had a few minutes of warning before everything was reverted for the first time.

Terisha was coming over later in the week. She said she had something to talk about.

Peter could see the hurt in his mother’s eyes. This was before they made up, he thought. When he thought about it, in those times when the bomb’s detonation had been averted, it was right around this same time Terisha had made up with Wanda. In the times after the first reversion, Peter had worked to correct his family’s problems sooner. He’d learned exactly what to say and when. His family became as peaceful on his vacations as the rest of the worlds Peter fought hard to perfect.

It had become too much like his marriages. Out of all of them there was one he still wished he could be with. She’s the reason I don’t talk much anymore, he thought. Living that close to her let her see the truth of what I’d seen. Our marriage wasn’t new and exciting after the first few reversions. I knew how to talk to her and eventually, I manipulated her. She would always encourage me though.

There was a large market for hand-made goods in many worlds. Before becoming an agent, Peter had wanted to become a craftsman. Wanda still kept a dusty finger-pot of his on a shelf from when he was just a boy. There were also finger paintings, a woven basket, and a carved wooden dog that he’d made.

I could have mastered all the arts in the time I’ve tried to perfect the worlds, he thought.

***

Peter’s feet settled on the grass. Before him, rising from the plains around him and from the mountain range on the horizon was a monolithic structure made of gleaming metal.

Back to work. He’d spent the rest of his week with his family. Any friends he’d had at the Origin he’d pushed away long ago.

The wind brushed against the grasses and his hair as he found the broad brick path that led into the plain structure. Teleportation into the control center was strictly forbidden. A field kept any from doing so even if they tried to disobey that rule.

Others blinked into existence around Peter upon the plains. Soon, the pathways became congested with every kind of worker. From Janitor to the Prime Controller, every man had to walk this way into the structure.

A man blinked into step right along Peter. It was Keijay.

Keijay stretched and looked over at Peter.

Peter glanced at the sky. “Good afternoon.”

Keijay smiled. “You have a relaxing vacation?”

Peter paused. “Yes.”

“It’s always hard right before a reversion.” He looked around at those walking with them. “As your superior it’s hard seeing everyone come to work with the same grim face.”

This isn’t just any reversion. This will be the moment that decides our fates. He didn’t respond to Keijay.

They stepped into the building and promptly stepped into an elevator. It was an old technology, but for security reasons it was essential. For an entire minute the elevator acted as a prison while it checked every aspect of a person against its records.

The elevator took them to the control room floor. After they stepped out of the elevator it took them another hour to make their way through all the security checks.

Eventually, they stepped through the main control room’s doors and took their seats at their stations. Each station had monitors and banks of buttons. These only served as rudimentary backups. For Peter’s work, he simply had to sit in a chair and sync his mind to the machine.

Keijay took his place on a diadem above the circles of stations as more workers trickled in.

Peter eyed them. Who was for the resistance? Who was against it? He glanced at a station across the room. That man had to be for the resistance. He was the other verifier who turned the key at the same time as Peter to activate the reversions. By regulation, Peter was forbidden any contact with the person.

Questions filled Peter’s mind as more people took their seats in the large room. How could the resistance make their way past the security systems? How would Peter even change the projected reversion at the last moment?

Will I even agree to it? He thought.

Analysts ran their diagnostics of the machine’s systems. Every department ran through digital and physical checks. Peter himself had to rerun a few checks. He had to fight the urge to fidget in anticipation. A moment of desperation threatened to grip him.

What if I’ve been deceived? Perhaps I’m being set up? It looks like a normal day for everyone.

“Pete?”

Peter nearly jumped. Keijay was standing right next to him.

Keijay leaned on the edge of Peter’s station. His face was a little concerned. “Pete,” Keijay projected telepathically on an encrypted channel, “It’s my job to review my subordinate’s vacation and verify there wasn’t any breach of protocol. I couldn’t help but see that you created a localized reversion at the end of the Origin…I hope everything is alright with you.”

Peter eyed Keijay. He had the suspicion Keijay was on the rebellion’s side, but he wasn’t sure. Peter allowed himself a telepathic nod. “Perhaps I’ve gotten old and sentimental. I haven’t looked that far back in a long time.”

Keijay nodded and patted Peter on the shoulder. “Back to work.”

After Keijay left Peter let out a sigh. Does he suspect me? Truth is… He thought back to his last moments with his family. He’d said his goodbyes and had hugged them all. Each hug felt torturous for him. After he had finished he reverted everything back and hugged them again. He cherished the feeling of their warmth against him each time. Every time he tried to speak his truest feelings to them but he couldn’t put them to words. He could only hug them tighter.

Vona had left him a parting gift. Homemade chocolate chip cookies. He had them now in his pocket.

…am I part of the rebellion any longer?

It took most of the day for the machine to be readied. Small problems were rooted out of the complex machine. The machine was never without them. There was always a small risk.

For Peter, the time felt like it took the smallest part of forever for the machine to be readied.

The moment came. Peter checked and re-checked all of the metrics and reports. All systems were green. He readied his key. He felt a panic build within him. What would he choose? A thousand possibilities and arguments rushed through his mind.

He looked across the room and met the eyes of the other man. He nodded.

1…2…3…

Time slowed for Peter as he twisted the key. A bare millisecond before his key clicked into place, the projected reversion time on all screens shifted to Age of Heaven’s Rule: Origin: February 23, 3230.

Peter heard the click as loud as the strike of a hammer.

The next millisecond information was fed into his mind. All the information needed to wield a weapon.

Peter’s mind raced as he saw the reactions of those around him in slow motion. The weapon was controllable cracks in the field around the control room. Right now the machine was “washing” the universe, anything exposed to its effects would be erased.

Peter mind was actively connected to the machine’s mainframe just like everyone else’s in this room. His body had received every physical improvement available in Kasdeon’s arsenal. The deciding factor here would be speed. Already, a man was pulling a weapon from the air and aiming it.

A woman fired. A person’s head exploded in slow motion.

Who is friend? Who is foe? His mind rapidly crunched through calculations. What should he do with the one weapon given to him?

Peter’s roving eye looked straight down a gun barrel.

Peter pointed, the gun disappeared. Light streamed in from a hole in the roof.

Peter forced himself to look around. A man was pointing directly at the person whose gun Peter had destroyed.

Was that a man or woman? He thought. Battle stress. Is the man a friend? I’m not ready to make this decision. He followed the complex web. The person…a woman, who had tried to fire at him was being aimed at by a couple of others. Those would be the rebellion. Where had all the guns come from? Those two had others aiming at them, and those…some were aiming at each other…he watched as a supposed rebel turned his eyes towards another rebel. His gun starting swinging in that direction…

Double agents. Peter glanced at Keijay. His attention was focused on fighting the man beside him.

Peter suddenly felt the spike of cyber attacks being let loose in a flurry. His grip on the machine’s processing power loosened and the world sped up around him. There wasn’t time to tell friend from foe.

A woman disappeared. Erased. A badly aimed shot tore through the electronics of stations, throwing debris into the air. Light flashed from sparks. Guns fired. Peter threw up an arm and shielded himself with a ray from the machine. The laser round dissipated before his eyes.

He threw himself to the ground as his station exploded with the rapid-fire rounds of a plasma rifle. Screams. His own?

He launched himself from his belly, his old instincts taking ahold. His mind frantically fought for control of his portion of the mainframe. He ran, ducking below the meagre cover of the stations. He watched as a man’s mind was hacked and he turned his weapon on his allies.

Plasma struck machines and men sending gouts of molten metal and evaporating flesh into the air.

Enemies were becoming allies and allies enemies faster than Peter could keep track.

Those who wish to destroy your family are your enemy. Those who wish to play god are your enemy. Enemy. Enemy. Enemies.

He ran into someone, he didn’t look. He struck out at them with his only weapon. A ray of light replaced where they were a moment before.

He shrouded himself with his weapon and a ray of light followed him where he ran. Plasma and laser fire dissipated harmlessly against his makeshift shield.

A ray of light appeared at one end of the room and swept towards him. It chewed through the building like a hot knife. It cut people in two and left nothing but a hand of another leaving a chasm as deep as the core of the planet.

Peter held up his hand as he leapt aside. The beam slipped by unimpeded by his effort to control it. In the next moment he was rocked by an explosion and his face was scalded by the heat of flames spewing from the chasm.

This is madness. They’re all my enemy.

He raised his hand, then swept it across the room. The roof was torn away in a moment revealing clear sky. The entire room was leveled to a bare metal floor. The hands that had tried to grasp his mind disappeared. The flashes of gunfire, the glowing fires, the noise, all disappeared. For a moment, the sun was still in the sky. Then, its light was whisked away along with the clouds and the blue of the sky.

Something landed with a thoom on the floor behind him. Peter turned.

Keijay stood before him, the lights in the walls of the massive room dimly lit his form. He held his hand raised with its palm facing Peter.

Above them was an eerily empty blackness.

Moments passed, stars began to blink into existence.

Peter trembled as he stood up. He tried to speak, but he found he was breathing hard.

“What will you choose?” Keijay’s stern eyes burned into Peter.

“I can’t accept either.” Peter gasped. The field he kept around himself wouldn’t stop another person wielding the same power. More stars blinked into existence. However, that power had a limit.

Was the machine meant to be? The savior from the Cataclysm Bomb? What if the machine only bred evil? He’d seen what he had done with the knowledge and power it had given him. I ignore the first woman I ever loved because of the machine. I only came to hurt her. Then I cheated on her with other women in other times because they were the only ones I could share something new with. I’ve rejected all my friends. Even my family has come under my manipulation. The machine creates a false existence for them as we manipulate the world they live in. Yet, to murder uncountable souls!

Keijay waited.

Peter looked at Keijay’s dim form. “Tell me, what would you choose?”

“Some of these people were like family to me.” Keijay said through clenched teeth. He lowered his hand. Its power useless now. “You killed every last one of them.” He pointed at Peter. “YOU choose!”

Peter shook his head.

“YOU! CHOOSE!”

“Why?!” Peter yelled.

The stars finished forming. The moon brightened into existence, bathing them in pale light.

A tear streaked down Keijay’s cheek. “Nate and I were going to have a drink after this. You deserve to be responsible!”

A display rose on the far wall. A warning was sent to their minds the same time it was splashed across the screen. It showed the known universe. A red sphere was swallowing the map. The Cataclysm Explosion.

Peter gazed at the stars above him. He couldn’t see the explosion. It wasn’t something a person saw. The explosion would be upon them before they could notice any change.

The blackness around the stars seemed to swallow their light. They looked so fragile. Like they might be snuffed out forever if one simply threw a blanket over them.

The red orb grew and neared them.

Peter sent a command with a thought. The orb froze in its motion. The stars stopped twinkling. The wisps of clouds froze in their movement across the face of the moon.

Keijay looked from the display to Peter.

Peter shook his head. “I’m not going to choose.”

Only Peter and Keijay moved in all the known universe.

#millenniummyths #jeliasepp #short story #my writing #scifi #time travel #character #time machine

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j-eliasepp · 8 years ago

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Ara-Era: Caskiri Part 3 (Writing Experiment By: J. Elias Epp Illustration By: (Best Guess) Lockheed Jun Mao (I don’t own any rights to the picture and am only using it for my hobby writing purposes)

He waved to some of the workers who all had their dragons close by helping them out, whether by carting loads of fruit or lumber or chopping through branches with their thick claws or delicately rooting out flowers and roots. “You ready buddy?” Kern asked Mostyn. Mostyn snorted an affirmative and powered himself out of the water and into the air. They lazily flew through the wide gaps between the trunks of trees and hanging vines. The Lariah didn’t have branches below the canopy so there were only wide open spaces between the canopy far above and the undergrowth below. Here and there, there would be a young Lariah trying desperately to grow upwards or a powerful torrent of water breaking through the trees. Under the torrents were often young Lariah that broke the torrent’s fall and scattered its waters. It wasn’t long before they came to a city walled in by tall wooden timbers and sprawling amongst the trunks of the Lariah trees. He landed at the center of the town and let Mostyn go to frolic and play with the other dragons that were there as he himself went towards an all-stone building. “Don’t wreck anything” Kern felt towards Mostyn. “Nor you!” Mostyn replied gleefully. Kern stepped into the building still dripping and was greeted by an older man at a desk. “Kern, what news do you bring from Caskiri?” the man said only glancing up before returning his eyes to the papers out in front of him. The desk was lit by a bonsai Lariah and there were other men and women working at desks and talking amongst each other. This was the place where most of the produce from the falls found itself. Caskiri was currently the capital of Ago-Vlora, the Kingdom of Thunder and also the first city to be created by the falls. “Well Kezun, I am afraid to report that Ara-Era is pushing its demand for more produce this year and they aren’t letting up like last year. They will have their share or things could possibly get ugly.” Kern said solemnly. “But they won’t pay as much as Tacamo, Gwyan or the other countries! We are already doing them a favor by selling them our goods at the prices we are!” Kezun exploded banging his desk. “Do they think we make all our produce out of thin air!” Kezun covered his face with his hands. “I can’t take another cut like this. The king is already demanding that he see some growth from last year. I won’t make it if we take the cut just so Ara-Era doesn’t torch us.” Kern fiddled awkwardly, “I could, uh, I could, um, ah,” he cleared his throat, “take a shipment through the Blue…” Kezun slid his hands off his face and looked at Kern with no hint of amusement on his face. Without responding he set himself back to his paperwork. After a few awkward moments Kern dropped his package of dispatches on the corner of Kezun’s desk and walked out. Everyone was afraid of Ara-Era. Course, they had a right to be. But his country couldn’t survive if Ara-Era continued to bully most of Ago-Vlora’s luxury resources for themselves. The only reason Ago-Vlora was able to survive was its secret deals to the side to other nearby countries. Ara-Era bought their wares at immensely low prices then sold them to other countries for much higher ones. Ago-Vlora had built an air-ship dock at Caskiri and many ships had come to trade at first but that was before the Ara-Erian’s caught wind and began exorbitant taxing of the ships as they passed by the top of the falls. Now only those ships willing to take the risk of trying to sneak past Ara-Era’s constant watch on the updraft came by to trade. Ago-Vlora had attempted sneaking shipments past at night using their own dragons but Ara-Era had torched all who had attempted escape. Shipments trying to travel down the Arnaw were overtaken by Ara-Erian dragon sentries and either forced to pay taxes or burnt to a crisp. It didn’t help that Ara-Era was still sore that Ago-Vlora had broken off from them and declared its independence. In the mind of Ara-Era’s king, Ago-Vlora was still a part of Ara-Era. Kern sighed, and continued his walk towards the marketplace. Mostyn would be hungry after the day’s travel and he had earned a snack for keeping Kern alive through The Boil once more. The other way to this city required at least an entire days journey through the caves that winded their way under the roots of the Lariah to the face of the cliff. His own stomach grumbled and he decided he had earned some steak for his own self. “Mostyn, smell the steak.” Kern said. He waited a few more moments before he felt Mostyn’s presence soar overhead then watched as Mostyn smelled the air, then beelined towards the marketplace and started circling over something. Kern smiled, Mostyn always knew how to find the best steak in the city. “Come quick!” Mostyn felt hungrily. Kern started jogging and soon had to dodge his way through the hustle and bustle of the marketplace before reaching the place Mostyn was circling over. Once he had arrived Mostyn landed on the roof to wait with the other dragons for his food to come up. Meanwhile he hung himself over the edge in his own particular way with his tail wagging watching as Kern walked in. Even then Mostyn hung upside down and looked in the window to watch him. “Sparky dragon you have there,” the butcher at the counter said raising an eyebrow. “He’s a lot of fun,” Kern admitted smiling. “I had better get him a big chunk of meat too or he’ll not be too much fun to deal with later!” That elicited a smile from the butcher and he ordered his apprentice to fetch some flying eel meat up to the roof. “So, what brings a man like you to our humble city?” Kern shrugged, “I’m just a speed courier for his majesty’s business.” The butcher nodded, “What would like for yourself? I hear rumors that Ara-Era might try a move to take us back under its wing.” “Just a steak please, I’ve heard of that rumor too, for years now. What’s come of it? Nothing. Its just nothing is all. People have been saying it just to scare each other.” The butcher nodded again and puckered out his bottom lip. “Yes, that is so. Even if it is all smoke our country can’t take our trade being ruled like this for much longer. We’ll collapse and Ara-Era will be right there to pick up all of the pieces. Oh, your total will be 132 pekas.”’ Kern laid down the money, then an idea came to him. “You know what will make Ara-Era stick their hand in their mouth where it belongs and keep it there?” The butcher smiled amusedly and leaned on his forearms. “And what sir would that golden plan be?” Kern looked the man in the eyes, “Why, a trade agreement with Deneloro of course!”

Author's Note: So ends this writing experiment. I hope you enjoyed it!

#story #art #dragon #waterfall #character #experiment #dragonrider#character #original #tree #writing #reading #statue #worldbuilding #prompt#organicwriting #openeppic #jeliasepp

#story #art #dragon #waterfal #character #experiment #dragonrider #original #tree #writing #reading #statue #worldbuilding #prompt #organicwriting #openeppic #jeliasepp

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j-eliasepp · 8 years ago

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Hot Guy Cold Guy: Chapter 3 Written By: J. Elias Epp Illustration By: Fnming (I don’t own any rights to the picture and am only using it for my hobby writing purposes) Yuko heaved deep breaths as he shuffled one foot after another up the hill. The heat and humidity beneath the canopy of trees was suffocating. The ever-gray sky could be glimpsed through the branches. “I, I think I know how he feels,” Yuko gasped. It had only been thirty minutes since he had started following Skah and his ox. Already, Yuko felt like he was going to pass out from the heat. “Stupid,” he said. Sweat trickled down his forehead. “Stupid. All the more reason to get the sword back.” He whisked off his hood and the scarf covering his face. The humid air did little to cool him. He stumbled to the side of the road at the top of the hill and sat on a rock there. He undid his heavy cloak, his gloves and shirt until he only had his pants on. His pale skin was slick with sweat. His face was youthful, but bore the day’s fatigue and a decade of travel. He looked out over the land. He could see the path as it wound through the trees. He couldn’t see Skah. He looked further, towards the horizon. Nothing. In a panic he stood up. He looked to the sides of the path, near the rivers and streams, anywhere that the trees gave way. Nothing. A movement caught his eye at the base of the hill. There was Skah and the ox, slowly meandering their way down the path. Skah was holding Yuko’s sword, Adhiam, and snow fell gently around him. Yuko slumped back down on the rock. “Stupid. I could probably take a nap and still catch up.” He bundled up his clothes and slung them over his back. He made sure to keep a knife in his belt. “I should kill him,” he mumbled. “I should run ahead and ambush him.” He stood up with effort and started a slow plod down the path matching Skah’s pace. Sweat dripped off his chin. “I should wait till night, and…and…huff, huff, huff…kill that ox too.” He kept mumbling as he dragged his feet down the path. *** Skah stopped for the night in a clearing by a stream. Yuko didn’t even wait, he circled around Skah’s position and traveled upstream. When he reached the stream he threw aside his travel pack and bundle and let himself fall into the stream face-first. He burbled bubbles before pushing himself to the surface and gasping for breath. Then he took long gulps until he felt he would burst. He found a tree next to the stream and sat against it while letting his feet hang in the water. He re-filled his water skin and wished he had another one. He had quickly run out while following Skah. He relieved himself in the stream. Although not honorable, it made him feel a little better that Skah was downstream. His head started to clear as he sat in the cool shade and water. His anger returned and his thoughts turned to how he would get his sword back. If Skah continued on this path, he would eventually find himself in Ashmet. Yuko nearly lost his life there, more importantly his sword. He had made more enemies there than half of the places he’d been before during his long travels. Even a street urchin would recognize Adhiam and himself. If Skah went there…Yuko closed his eyes as if in pain. He had to stop Skah at all costs. *** Yuko waited till night before creeping towards Skah’s camp. He crossed the stream and approached from that direction where he would have the best view. He crawled the last few meters slowly, careful not to make any sound. Skah was obviously an Enden. Rumors told that they could sense the winds, speak with animals and scurry through the trees like squirrels. Yuko wasn’t sure about that. He peeked out from beneath a bush. At first, he couldn’t make anything out of the dark shadows. Then, he saw a shadow move as if someone were crossing their legs. There was a shadow leaning up against a tree. Yuko waited as evening light faded from the sky and the half moon gave its light. The shadow pulled something out of a pack, something long, then unsheathed his sword. Yuko quickly shut one eye against the bright blade. He watched as Skah’s features and the clearing were brightly lit. The ox was lying nearby, flicking flies off with its tail. Skah was awkwardly lighting a pipe with the tip of his sword. In the middle of the clearing…in the middle was Adhiam, stuck in the ground point-first. The air around it glittered with ice crystals no bigger than specks of dust. The specks glittered in the blue moonlight like frozen fairy fire. The frost spread in all directions along the ground and over plants from the sword. It almost looked as if there had been a light dusting of snow. Skah sheathed his sword. Yuko switched his eyes. He ground his teeth. “You bastard!” He mouthed, still afraid of Skah’s rumored powers. “Adhiam is no tool! It is a blade for generals and warriors! A harbinger of death! Because of me it is fea-” Skah, smoking his pipe, stood up and walked over to the sword. He drew it from the ground and took it over to the stream where he held the tip in the water. Yuko felt the chill spread around him. His hand grasped his knife. The stream froze. Skah smoked his pipe and gazed at the sky. After a few more moments he tugged on the sword and nodded in satisfaction when it didn’t come free from the ice. He rocked it back and forth. Yuko opened his mouth but he clamped his hand over it. He winced as the ice cracked and broke and Skah pulled out a chunk of ice on the sword’s end. The sword bent a little under the weight. Skah whistled as he happily swung it back and forth before bringing it up to smash the ice on a stone. Yuko shut his eyes. He heard the smash of ice and he slowly opened one eye. Skah put the sword back in the middle of the clearing and shivered, rubbing his shoulders. He walked back to the broken ice where Chase was already licking at a piece. Skah warbled a merry bird tune and picked up a piece of his own to lick on. Yuko groaned quietly and hit his head on the ground. It was taking all his willpower not to rush at Skah in a rage. It would be suicidal. Skah had two swords of merit. Yuko only had the advantage of stealth and surprise on his side with a knife. Just a normal knife. *** Yuko waited. He breathed deep breaths and closed his eyes, trying to calm his righteous fury. He waited until Skah went to sleep, then he waited some more. He felt the day’s fatigue settling on him like a heavy weight. He roused himself and drew back from his position. He circled Skah’s clearing again until he was on the other side of where Skah was sitting. All he needed was the sword, then he could beat a hasty retreat even if Skah woke and attacked. Yuko crouched and slowly, very slowly, began to inch out into the open of the clearing. A breeze rustled the leaves of the trees. Please, he thought, let the rumors be false. Don’t sense the wind, please, don’t sense the wind. He inched closer to the sword. He could feel the chill seeping into his skin. If felt good. Patience, he reminded himself, patience. The cold air clouded his breath. I should have put my clothes back on, he thought. He saw now that Skah hadn’t struck the sword in the ground, but in a log half-buried in the dirt. Yuko shivered as he came close enough for his sweat to begin freezing. He glanced at Skah. He was still sleeping. The ox too. He shivered again and quickened his pace. He was almost there. The air sparkled around the sword in the moonlight. It sparkled like the night sky’s stars turned into slow flying fireflies. Yuko reached out a shaking hand. Sssssthump! A strange-looking knife struck the log. Yuko’s breath caught. He jumped back instinctively and a knife flew past him. He jumped and rolled behind a tree. He waited a second, then peeked a head out for a moment. In the moonlight, he could see Skah pulling a knife stuck in the tree behind him. Yuko ducked back behind the tree. What was insulting to Endens again? He thought. “Hey!” Yuko yelled. “What do you want thief?” Skah yelled back. “Have you given up on your honor? Bwahaha!” Yuko ground his teeth together. His face flushed hot. “I’ll salt your ancestor’s graves you fool!” Silence. Yuko swallowed. That was stupid. Of all the insults for Endens, that one was the worst. A fiery light suddenly shone from the clearing. Yuko ran for his life. Skah laughed behind him. “Come back thief! Fight me honorably for your insult! I accept! Hahahaha! Is running away honorable?! Hahahaha!” *** After that night, Yuko tried everything he could to get his sword back and slow Skah. He set traps on the path far ahead and Skah would walk around them. Yuko cut down a rope bridge over a river. Skah swam across. He set ambushes, Skah would ambush his ambush by sneaking up on him. One time, just for fun, Skah snuck ice down his pants and laughed as Yuko leapt into the air from the shock. It was the birds. Yuko knew it. They would sing when Skah approached and tell him what Yuko had done. The birds were on Skah’s side. So, Yuko set snares for birds around his traps. Skah heard about it and took wide berths around those areas. Yuko tried sneaking up on Skah every night at different times. Chase flicked Skah with his tail and woke him up when Yuko approached. The breeze blew and whispered about Yuko in Skah’s ear. An owl would land and hoot “who, who?” As they traveled, the trees starting thinning and grew more scraggly. The rivers grew farther apart. After another day of traveling the forest suddenly gave way to sparse bushes and parched dirt. Yuko suffered more and more from the sun. On the third day of his attempts, Yuko sat on a low hill overlooking the path. The slope was fairly steep with many rocks. Skah came lumbering along with his ox. A bird flitted by him. He looked up and waved when he saw Yuko. Yuko shook his head and let his head fall to his chest. He was sweltering in the heat. He had his cloak over his back to protect him from the sun. His skin was already burnt red and peeling from the previous days. Skah continued walking down below. Yuko took out his knife and threw it at him. Skah dodged it and kept walking. Yuko’s shoulders slumped. He saw a rock at his feet and kicked it down at Skah. Skah looked up at the sound of it falling and stopped. The stone started a small rockslide that sent stones smashing down on the path in front of him. The rockslide settled and Skah shook his head at the covered path in front of him. “Hey!” Yuko yelled. “Hey what? Is that the best you can do?” Yuko motioned to the direction Skah was traveling. “Where are you going?” “Down the path.” “No, really.” “Seriously, down the path. I don’t know where it goes.” “You don’t have a destination?” Skah shrugged. Then pointed at the horizon where a star still shone brightly in the daylight. “The Star of the West?” Skah nodded. Yuko rolled his eyes. One of those dreamers, he thought. Skah started walking again. “Don’t go into Ashmet! Skah turned. “Why?” “They don’t let you carry swords there. You’ll be thrown in jail!” Skah raised an eyebrow and nodded. Yuko frowned. “I’m serious.” Skah smiled. “This from the guy who’s been trying to kill me for the last few days. I wonder, what could be in Asmet?” “I’m serious!” Skah turned to Chase. “How about you? How does a straw bed sound?” Chase grunted and swished his tail. “Skah!” Skah turned away and continued walking down the path. “Skah!” Yuko watched in disbelief as Skah kept walking. He rested his head on his arms, exasperated. *** Yuko woke with a start. The sun was shining in his eyes. It was past midday. “What?” Yuko looked around. He’d fallen asleep. He jumped up. Ashmet was under a day away. Two days by Skah speed. He quickly gathered up his things and slid down the slope. “Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!” He had to catch up. *** Skah approached the city gates. By now the terrain had turned into desert, sand and rocks. The sun had nearly set on the horizon. Skah had filled one of the jars on Chase’s back with dirt and had stuck Adhiam in it. It didn’t give off such a fierce chill that way. However, Skah had had to walk and sleep near Chase the past few days with his own sword so the poor ox wouldn’t freeze to death. With the two swords together, the air was more or less lukewarm, though on the cooler side. Skah looked at the Star of the West over the buildings of the city. He patted Chase’s back. “We’re almost there.” His fingers absentmindedly touched the two soft black feathers tied to the pommel of his sword. “Kangee’s dream will come true.” When he came close to the guards they lowered their spears. “No weapons are allowed in the city. Hand them over.” “Huh, he was telling the truth.” Skah mumbled. “Well,” he said louder, “then I guess I won’t be entering the city.” He turned to leave and Chase followed. The orange handle of Adhiam was sticking out of the jar. “Halt!” Demanded one of the guards. “That’s! That’s the sword!” “Sound the alarm! Catch him!” Skah slapped Chase’s rump and together they started running away. *** Yuko crested the ridge, panting heavily. He looked at the city he had left only a week before. What he saw made his stomach churn. Chase and Skah were running away from the city down the road. Behind them, coming out of the city gates were a group of horsemen. Yuko made a move forward but stopped. It was difficult as it was to take on horsemen with a sword, much less a knife. The horsemen quickly overtook Skah and Chase and surrounded them. Yuko sat on the ground and put his head in his hands. Skah raised his arms in surrender and laughed. A Note from the Author: I decided to change the title since I thought it fit the story better. I’ve been just writing as I go and titles are usually decided on after a story is finished. I feel like it brings across the humorous side of the story and what the story is mainly about. “The Star of the West” gives the sense of an epic journey. While that may still be a part of the story, “Hot Guy Cold Guy” is closer to what I want the story to be like. That is, the relationship and humorous antics between two very different traveling swordsmen. The picture I used this time was by a creator going by the name of fnming. I believe they used to have a DeviantArt account but it is no longer active. However, his/her pictures can still be found on Pinterest! Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it! Be sure to like, comment and follow! :D

#fantasy #swords #jeliasepp #hotguycoldguy #serial #humorous #shortstory #reading #mywriting #animalfriend #adventure #character #journey

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j-eliasepp · 8 years ago

Photo

Reality Leak

By: J. Elias Epp

Illustration By: Atomiiii

(I don’t own any rights to the picture and am only using it for my hobby writing purposes)

Yapo eyed the formation of soldiers. A ray of the setting sun shone between the skyscrapers and warmed him against the cool wind. His computer relayed a quick count of the soldier’s total into his vision. “Spider Five to Para-Web Ten.”

Cysten’s voice whispered into Yapo’s earpiece. “Para-Web Ten, go ahead Spider Five.” “Today’s toy count is one-hundred forty.”

“Copy Spider Five. You can go home now.”

“Copy.” Yapo quietly retreated across the rooftop. Something sticky sucked at his boot. He wrinkled his nose at the sweet stench coming from an overflowing trashcan. He shook his head.

Update 9.24.2 of Urba-Scape had just launched yesterday. One of its touted features was the improved realism of smells.

Yapo curled his lip and lightly descended the emergency fire staircase on the outside of the building. “There’s such a thing as too much realism,” he muttered.

He left the warm ray of the sun’s light and descended into cool shadows. His eyes grew accustomed to the darkness and he surveyed the narrow alley below him. Computer-generated characters walked to and fro between the buildings. A couple of bums warmed themselves next to a trashcan fire. The alley was littered with every kind of refuse some poor artist had worked for hours to make look realistic.

Yapo’s eyes were elsewhere though. A quick look at the people showed that there wasn’t any other players like himself waiting for him below.

He climbed down from the staircase and walked out of the alley and into a bustling street. A mini-map showed his location in the corner of his vision, as well as a waypoint marker showing the way back to his clan’s base.

Yapo’s phone rang and he answered with a snap of his fingers. Cysten’s voice chirped up in Yapo’s ear. “Alright, I’m done gaming for tonight but I can wait for you to get back to the base. Were you able to level up today?”

Yapo eyed his progress bar. “No,” he said irritably, “their mechanics are totally jacked. I could have leveled up three times in any other game by now.”

Cysten sighed. “Yeah, I hear they plan on fixing that in the next update. If you don’t like it then don’t play. I only asked you to buy it with me cuz my clan was leaving Twice-Life and needed more people to join.”

Yapo checked behind him, looking in the crowed for anyone tailing him. Then he checked the rooftops. “You’re fine man, I think its my role in the clan. Being the scout every time just gets boring. I mean seriously, just let me ruin their plans every once in blue moon and allow me to infiltrate a base, or I don’t know, steal something or snipe somebody. I’ve been sinking experience points into the Infiltrator tree since Day One and have barely used any of my skills.”

Cysten chuckled. “At least they pay you good.”

Yapo scoffed. “If it didn’t help pay my real-life rent, I’d have left them long ago and become a spy for hire.”

“Oh come on! There are gamers who would kill to make actual money from gaming!”

Yapo’s mouth quirked into a smile as he slipped into a sewage drain. “I don’t think they know there’s a difference between gaming for fun and gaming for a job. I bet you anything none of them have even thought about making a base in the sewers, especially with the latest update.”

Cysten laughed. “Awesome man, awesome. Dude, I hear we ticked off some small clan for enforcing protection money on one of their stores. They were totally gung-ho about taking us on until they made it into the sewers. Turned back right then and there.”

Yapo chuckled. He made his way along the drain in a crouch, doing his best to avoid dubious lumps in the running water. “I don’t blame them.” He jumped down into a larger drain and stood up. From there it was only a short way to the locked iron grate that shut their temporary listening post off from the rest of the sewers.

“Be sure to rinse off your boots!” Cysten yelled from the darkness inside the grate.

Yapo washed his boots off with what he guessed was a hose that was usually used by maintenance crews. Then he unlocked the grate and closed it behind him. The rust clung to him and he brushed it off on his pants.

“I still don’t see how you managed to get ahold of the keys to this place.” Yapo walked around the pipe’s corner and ducked his head through an open door that was usually sealed. Inside were all sorts of sewage maintenance tools and machines lit by the blue light of Cysten’s monitors.

“Magic, hey, check this out.” Cysten turned his blonde moppy head for only a moment before looking back at the screen.

Yapo leaned on the back of Cysten’s chair, by what means he had gotten down into the sewers was beyond Yapo. On one of Cysten’s monitors was a live streaming of a news conference.

The headline read; Laughing Clown Games CEO Announces Efforts to Combat Perception of Reality in his most Realistic Game.

Yapo’s mouth quirked into a smile. “What?”

“Shh, listen.”

“…have to ask,” a news reporter was saying, “why go to so much effort to make Urba-Scape realistic if you’re just going to ruin that perception?”

The CEO set his lips in a grim line. “There is a difference between making it easy for players to immerse themselves in a game through realism and causing them to lose their perception of what is real. Our company hopes to implement several policies into our games that will still allow for their enjoyment while ensuring our customers experience a wholesome lifestyle.”

“What policies will those be?”

“We are planning to implement two of the policies tomorrow. One will place a hard limit on continuous gameplay to an hour and a half. A player will get a thirty-minute warning to come to a stopping point before they are forcefully logged out of the system. After that, they will have to be out-of-game for thirty minutes before they can rejoin.”

“The second policy will be periodic notifications in-game stating that they are in a virtual world and reminders to take food and water breaks. We believe that it is important to ensure the healthy lifestyle of our customers and…”

Yapo nudged Cysten’s shoulder. “Seriously? They’re going to limit our game time like we’re children?”

Cysten shook his head in disbelief. “Dang it. You know what this means? It probably means our clan is going to move over to something like Dream-Life 6 when it comes out. I hear VT Games won’t implement restrictions on their virtual games like Laughing Clown.”

“Really?! Are you serious?” Yapo threw his hands in the air. “Whatever, they want to be like that then they won’t have me as a customer. Just….whatever, I’m done for the day.”

“See ya.”

“Yep, I’m logging out. I’m done for the day.”

Cysten turned and looked at him, frowning. “Logging out?”

Yapo was already heading around the bend. “Yep! See ya tomorrow!”

Cysten gave a small laugh. “Yeah, sure, I’ll go log out too.” He shook his head. “You’re so funny,” he said to himself.

***

Yapo reached his apartment an hour later after filling up his hunger and thirst bar at a nearby fast food joint. He tried to walk as quietly along the hallway as possible, but his neighbor still cussed him out as the floorboards creaked.

Yapo shook his head and stomped the rest of the way to his door. “Why do I even try?” he mumbled. The carpet of the hallway was nearly worn through in front of his door. He walked in and locked the door behind him. Only then did he relax.

He cleaned himself up, brushed his teeth and took care of a few chores around his apartment.

He turned the TV on to a news channel out of habit and let it run in the background while he did chores around his apartment.

The newscasters talked about the controversy surrounding L.I.F.E. recorders. The topic of the day was a study done by a group of scientists on how Heads Up Displays projected into one’s vision affected a person’s perception of reality. The study showed that those who used the technology to keep track of their eating, drinking and learning status were more likely to lose their grasp of reality.

Hunger and thirst status bars, especially life experience bars were all there to help promote healthy living. However, the scientists disagreed that it helped the mental stability of users.

Yapo didn’t hear a word of it as he plugged his L.I.F.E recorder into its charger and proceeded to begin washing dishes.

It was already late when Yapo turned on his favorite television show and sat on the edge of his bed.

The character he’d made in this world had a robotic arm and leg. While they were useful for his work, they had drawbacks. By rote, as he watched the television he took off his robotic leg, then the harness that cushioned what remained of his thigh. He massaged the muscles and tissue, making sure blood was getting to all parts. Then, he cleaned his leg of all the grime it had collected during the day.

By the time he was done cleaning his arm it was time for bed.

He sat on the edge of his bed looking at the floor for some time. Suddenly, he roused himself and lay back on his bed. He took a slim helmet with a cord attached to it from his nightstand and put it on his head. “Time to log out,” he whispered. He closed his eyes.

A light lit up words upon the helmet.

URBA-SCAPE

Note from the Author:

This is a writing exercise I’ve been wanting to do for some time. One of the things that I love to do is think of the possible repercussions of future technologies. This story is part of an idea I had for a character and plot line. The idea is about a character who struggles with his perception of the world because of the technology of virtual reality.

I don’t know about any of you guys, but I love and am leery of the idea of virtual reality. It can be used in healthy ways or destructive ways.

#jeliasepp #shortstory #scifi #virtual reality #video games #my writing #character #future #fiction #writing exercise

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j-eliasepp · 7 years ago

Text

Acrabha Stone: Blessing and Curse: Chapter 1: By J. Elias Epp

Rough Draft 2

The peaks threw their shadows upon the clouds in the setting sun. Hyrestl drug his feet through the town of Tayyra. The rattle of carts and voices of people came to his ears in a muffled mumble.

Someone called out to him. He looked that way by habit, but didn’t see anyone he knew in the crystal lights. He slouched and looked down at his sluggishly plodding feet.

All around him was the bustle of Tayyra’s main marketplace. Horses and donkeys drawing carts passed him, the smell of horse dung mixed with the sharp scent of spiced meats and the softer smell of baking pastries. Someone bumped into his shoulder and he winced from the ache it sent through his whole body.

“Hey honey! Come on over here! You look like you need a bed to sleep on!”

Hyrestl wearily looked up at the voice. It was a woman. She smiled warmly as she took his arm.

“Dearie, you’re always so tired when you walk by here! Come in and rest! Look at you! Bangs under your eyes, lips bloody and chapped, you’re not young enough to be doing this to yourself!” She started pulling him towards her Inn.

“No,” he resisted, “I…I can’t. I have to get back.”

“Get back where? You can’t make it through Tarawa pass at this late of hour. Dearie please, come with me. You won’t have to pay anything.”[JE1]

Hyrestl pulled his arm away. “No,” he stumbled backwards, “I have to get back.”

She called after him but he quickly shuffled away into the crowd. He passed under a large stone arch. Leaning against it was a giant, twice as tall as the people around him.

Hyrestl blinked. The giant was gone.

He shook his head and rubbed his tired eyes. He glanced behind him. People were all around him. They were only a hand span taller than he was and with lighter complexions. Giants didn’t walk these lands. Not like home.

An owl swooped silently over the crowd before flying up into the darkness again.

The hairs of his neck stood on end. He slowed in his step and scanned the crowd. Performers danced and sang to the delight of passerby, shoppers with baskets on their arms looked at every kind of ware from the far corners of the world. Crystal lamps shone brightly, warding off every shadow.

His attention was caught by a woman and child, smiling, making their way home. They came towards him. The child was a little girl, she caught sight of Hyrestl and waved.

Hyrestl smiled, his weariness faded from his limbs.

The town around him faded into darkness and sharp mountains covered in green rose to take the town’s place. The morning sun shone brightly. Terraces ran up the side of one of the mountains. On top of the mountain was a small village made of stone and thatch.

A little girl laughed and rushed towards him, arms outstretched. Hyrestl caught her and swung her up above his head before settling her in the crook of his arm. She hugged his neck and whispered in his ear, “I love you daddy.”

He kissed her cheek, “I love you too sweetie.”

A woman laughed and she pecked a kiss on his cheek “I made lemon cakes this morning,” she said. She hefted a young boy up onto her hip before he could run away.

Hyrestl kissed her back and followed her up the steps of the terrace and into the village. The smell of morning baking was carried to them by a humid morning breeze.

They passed into the village and into their home. They all sat down at the table, said their prayers and ate. The little girl bounced up and down as she ate her lemon cake. Suddenly, she dropped it and it fell to the floor. Tears welled up in her eyes.

Hyrestl stopped eating. “Yasi, I’ve told you to stop bouncing while you eat, now pick it up.”

“But, but...” Yasi sobbed.

Hyrestl set down his cake and put her in his lap. He gave her his half-eaten cake and she looked up at him with red teary eyes.

“Its okay, eat it.”

Yasi took a bite and smiled up at him.

Hyrestl brushed away her tears as she bounced on his leg.

He smiled across the table at his wife as she began talking about what needed to be done that day. Her soft voice mixed gently with the calls of birds outside.

After breakfast, he took his little boy out to the terraced fields. They walked together, the little boy holding onto his thumb and he holding the boy’s soft little hand.

“Outa my way!”

Hyrestl snapped his head up. The warm green mountains disappeared and were replaced by the bustling town of Tayyra again.

A man shoved past him and Hyrestl stumbled to regain his balance. His eyelids and limbs felt heavy.

He shuffled over to a horse’s trough and splashed his face. “I have to get back,” he mumbled. The cold water revived him a little and he tried jogging to get his blood pumping.

“Hey! Drunkard! Why do you keep coming back here?” Someone yelled from the crowd. “Ya coming to see your mistress?”

The crowd laughed.

Hyrestl only glanced at them and continued on.

The weariness pressed down on him. His jogging slowed. Soon, he couldn’t move much faster than a slow shuffle. He remembered something then and reached into his pocket and pulled out a pin. He pricked himself with it and felt the weariness recede a little. He picked up his pace to a quick walk. His body ached with each step.

He could see the entrance of Tarawa pass now. Its tunnel entrance towered above the town. Angular designs were etched into the smoothed stone around the great doorway.

He scratched at his unshaven face as he looked at it. Someone bumped into him.

“Watch where you’re going!” Hyrestl snapped.

The person pushed him away.

Hyrestl passed by a side street, then stopped. He backtracked and looked into it. The street meandered up the hill straight to the Tarawa entrance. A shortcut.

Hyrestl hurried up its dark cobblestone steps. This street didn’t have merry dancers or singers. The shops were cast in dark torchlight. A sickly sweet smell affronted his senses.

The shrill warbling of a Kaso passed above on the rooftops. Hyrestl glanced up, but it had already flown away.

The dark street intercepted the busy thoroughfare again and Hyrestl had to fight across the current of the crowd.

“Return,” a voice whispered.

Hyrestl’s breath caught. He looked wildly around.

There, standing still amongst the crowd was a cloaked form as black as the darkest shadow. Silvery threads wove across the shadow like spun moonlight. The threads came from all ends of the cloak to gather at the back of the hood where they twisted together with the shadow to create a long slender braid. It coiled at the form’s waist like a whip.

No one paid the dark figure any heed. It was a half-handspan shorter than most men in the crowd and they walked through it as if it were made of mist.

The form reached out a smooth slender hand towards Hyrestl. “Come.”

Hyrestl gave a cry and bolted through the crowd, pushing people out of his way. He ran into the side street again. He ran until he was out of breath and exhausted. He slumped with his shoulder against a wall in the street’s shadow panting heavily.

Dark figures detached themselves from shadows close by.

“Ibrah, you take the right. Eis, left, everyone else block the street.”

Hyrestl blinked as they approached him.

“Heh, heh, looks like he’s drunk or something.” The man kicked Hyrestl in the belly. Hyrestl crumpled to the ground.

One of the muggers chuckled. “This is too easy.” He reached into Hyrestl’s pocket.

Hyrestl stabbed him with the pin he’d been carrying.

The man jerked his hand away and cursed.

“Hey!” The other man kicked Hyrestl in the ribs.

Hyrestl gasped.

Soon they were all around him, kicking him. He covered his head and scrunched into a ball.

The light from the torches winked in and out as they jostled around him.

Hyrestl yelled.

The men and town around him faded again. This time they were replaced with rain and a forest at night. Lightning forked among the branches and men screamed. His pulse throbbed in his head as he swung his sword.

He gave out commands to his squad mates to flee. Metal struck metal in the inky blackness.

Hyrestl felt his neck prickle even before the lightning struck. He leapt away and lightning flashed where he had been standing.

He stood and tasted iron. He was bleeding.

An enemy rushed at him from out of the darkness. He cut the man down and turned, looking around himself. Lightning flashed again and revealed a form’s shadow standing amongst the tree trunks. The lightning was reflected in silvery threads across the shadow’s form.

A stab of fear lanced through Hyrestl’s heart.

“Jain!” a man screamed, “It’s a Jain! Retrea–” lightning forked through the trees and the man’s voice was suddenly cut off.

There was silence.

A war cry sounded from behind him. Hyrestl spun. There was only the darkness of night and the pattering of rain. Water dripped from his hair to his face.

Lightning flashed. A Jain stood fully clad in armor, Hyrestl’s men scattered about him upon the ground.

The darkness descended again and Hyrestl trembled.

The lightning flashed, showing the pale faces of his comrades and their blades. They stood shakily and turned toward him, their weapons leveled at him. Amongst them stood the Jain in his gleaming armor, his arm upraised as if he had pulled Hyrestl’s men from the ground himself.

The lightning receded and they were immersed darkness.

Hyrestl screamed and flung himself at them. He ducked by instinct. Lightning forked from the Jain’s hand, and the storm flashed lightning all around them.

Hyrestl moved by lightning strikes. The forms of his comrades were lit for only a moment in the flashes. He timed his blows so they would strike in the moments of darkness.

Hyrestl battled in a world of confusion. His sword struck iron, flesh, bone and heart. The world moved in jittery still images when lightning struck.

Hyrestl’s heart was torn with each stroke of his sword as he battled his comrades.

A blow struck his sword from his hands. He let his arms droop to his sides. Rain dripped from his fingertips in the darkness.

A mighty roar greater than thunder shook the ground. A gout of orange fire consumed the sky and trees. Hyrestl’s skin blistered from the heat as the flames evaporated the rain in an instant. The smell of ash and hot iron was immediate.

Something large struck him and picked him up into the air. Claws circled his torso like bands of iron.

He passed a treetop in his flight. Upon it stood the form darker than shadow. Reddish-orange was reflected by threads in the shadow upon one side, and the other side reflected the cold blue of lightning.

Hyrestl screamed and flung his arms. His hand struck a wall. He blinked.

The town was around him again. At his feet lay six bloodied men. In his hand he held a bloodied knife.

He looked around. Shopkeepers watched with mouths agape in horror. A crowd had gathered at the street’s entrance. Among them stood the shadowy form.

He ran. He ran towards the Tarawa pass with everything he had. When he reached the top of the hill his strength gave way and he slowed again to a shuffling walk. He could see the gate in front of him, open wide and inviting.

The two guards watching the door pointed at him and advanced towards him. They were saying something, but he couldn’t make it out. They had spears, but they had them hefted over their shoulders like they weren’t worried.

He stopped walking. His feet felt like they were rooted to the ground. His eyes slowly blinked. He stood still, swaying a little. All of his strength held his eyelids from drooping.

He could see his wife and children coming towards him from the tunnel. Yasi pointed excitedly and started running. His wife smiled and waved.

“I…I have to get back home…” he mumbled. He took one more step.

Darkness crept in from the edges of his vision. A tear streaked down his cheek.

The guards reached him and one crouched down and looked at Hyrestl’s down-turned face. “He fell asleep with his eyes open again, poor drunkard.”

The other shrugged. “Ole’ Bumble-dum here was overdue to show up again sometime. Hey, you owe me. I bet he’d turn up on the twenty-second and here he is on the twenty-third.”

The other guard got up out of his crouch. “Fine, here’s your two rani.”

“Two rani?! You bet me three you lyin cheater!”

The other guard shrugged, “Worth a try…hey,” he pointed to Hyrestl’s cuff, “that blood?”

The other guard leaned forward. “Sure nuff, hey, look at poor Bumble-dum’s face, looks like he took a beating.”

“Eh, isn’t the first time. His wounds don’t look too serious. Now, I’m going to bet he doesn’t start sleepwalking this time. I’ll go get Miss Wida –”

“Now hold on! You gotta give him a chance! Here, your three rani I just won I’ll bet he does start walkin in the next five minutes.”

“You got yourself a deal.”

They leaned on their spears and waited.

It was nearly five minutes when a tremble went through Hyrestl’s limbs.

“Oho! You owe me six rani now!”

“Ah, shucks.” The guard dug in his pocket and fished out the silver coins and handed them over.

“Come on, let’s get back to our posts before the captain yells at us.”

The two returned to the gate as with one heavy step after another, Hyrestl turned around and starting walking in a deep slouch and hanging head.

Hyrestl’s breaths came slow and shallow. His face was relaxed and his eyes stared at nothing. He dreamt only one thing. He walked down a cobble road with a shadow leading him at his side. Darkness was all around and his home was behind him.

I’ll be launching a Patreon page on June 16th! The first three chapters I’ll release, then the rest I��ll be posting as the first tier reward on Patreon until it is finished!

#book #story #chapter #fantasy #jeliasepp #openeppic #character #hood #darkness #mystery #sleepwalking #curse #patreon #aspiring writer #novel #write #read

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j-eliasepp · 8 years ago

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Ara-Era Caskiri: Part 2

By: J. Elias Epp

Illustration by: k04sk (on Deviantart)

(I don’t own any rights to the picture and am only using it for my hobby writing purposes)

Mostyn vigorously shook his head and if a dragon could spit, which they can’t, Mostyn would have. Instead Mostyn only succeeded in spitting his tongue out making Kern chuckle.

Kern went to the small stream of water that constantly ran through his room and wetted his hands before going back over to Mostyn and rubbing them on Motyn’s chin and nose. A slight oil rubbed off onto Kern’s hands making them smell like air and water. “Now its your turn” Kern said and Mostyn rolled onto his belly as Kern got a rough cloth and quickly cleaned Mostyn’s claws. Just as he was finishing the last one he surprised Mostyn by tickling him. Mostyn bucked involuntarily but Kern held on as Mostyn rolled back and forth making what Kern took for a dragon’s laugh.

Kern jumped off and started finishing putting on his gloves and other gear. Behind him Mostyn shook himself and went to lay down ready to be saddled.

After Kern had gathered his things and secured them tightly in the saddle bags he saddled Mostyn and they started off into the air once again.

In front and behind Kern as he made his way towards the falls were the townspeople on their dragons flying in the same direction he was. Its sound grew louder and louder and Kern put cotton in his ears and tied his ear muffed helmet on so the deafening roar wouldn’t hurt his ears. He also cinched on his goggles for later when things would get really gritty. The sounds of the wind and callings of the many birds swooping through the air in the early morning became muffled and distant but he could still feel the dull throb of the waterfall.

The waterfall was closer now and even though he was some ways out he was already getting pelted by the mists. A few of the workers had already turned aside to the terraces but Kern and most of the others continued flying directly towards the waterfall.

As they flew closer and closer the mist turned into a sprinkle, which turned into rain and soon it was a downpour.

“Well, here we go” Kern heard the feeling from Mostyn. There, just barely seen through the downpour could be seen islands of green with churning white waters all around them. The light of the sun was muted because of the mists but it was just enough for a few special plants to grow under the constant torrential rain. The plants that grew on the cliffs to the sides of the waterfall were more delicate and were watered by the mists and light rains that came off the waterfall but these other plants were an entirely different matter. Day and night from the moment of their birth they were subjected to a virtual flood and unending weight of water from the waterfall. Their light was choked by the same waters that attempted to drown them yet still they thrived.

Kern landed on one of the islands barely able to stand the noise of falling water even with his ears plugged and covered. He could feel the noise beat at his body and shake the bottom of his feet as he slid off of Mostyn’s back and onto the landing platform above the terraced island descending down in the direction of the sun. Kern could only see a few meters and the first row of grasses on the terrace. Despite the downpour the grass blades stood straight up and their iridescent leaves glimmered despite the low amount of light.

First thing Kern climbed down the back of the terrace’s stone wall and checked how the structure was doing. The same iridescent grasses poked out of the cracks and gaps in the stone and when Kern got to the bottom he found the great stones parting the tumultuous waves still intact. Those stones were vital. They kept all of the dirt terracing from being washed away. This island wasn’t like the others. It was man-made and had to be built with massive stones to keep it from being swept away by the strong current. It had been built long before Kern’s time and before the times of the oldest descendants they knew of. The stones were made of Waterstone and were so large it was a wonder how they came to be moved. All of the other islands had been hewed out of already existing islands of rock and so were well rooted.

Behind and above him he couldn’t see, but he could feel Mostyn intently leaning over the edge of the back of the terrace watching his every move.

After Kern had made sure there were no failures in the structure he returned to the crops and checked on them. There were only skinny widths of stone to stand on so he had to be careful not to fall off. The terraces were very steep so the grasses could get full amounts of sunlight without shading each other out. Kern gently climbed himself back up the narrow stairs and rested beneath Mostyn’s wing. The pounding waters and noise had already taken their toll on him and he was exhausted. His days’ work was not over.

He grunted and lifted himself up onto Mostyn’s saddle as Mostyn jumped off the back side of the terrace into the water. The current tugged at Kern’s legs but he held tight as Mostyn’s eel-like tail beat furiously and his webbed feet worked hard to overcome the current. Mostyn bobbed up and down with the waves and Kern got sucked under with him a few times but they would always come out on top. Each time Kern could feel Mostyn become a little worried and feel Mostyn’s shoulders hunch as if to protect Kern. Kern would reassuringly pat Mostyn when they came back above the water and Mostyn would loosen up. Soon it was too torrential for reassurances and all Kern could do was hope he had tied himself in the saddle well enough. The waves kicked them around like a leaf on the wind and Kern had to use every ounce of will not to gulp in water when they were sucked under for longer than usual. It seemed like forever and the weight of the falling water beat harder and harder each time they would come up for air until it felt like liquid stone was constantly falling on him when it suddenly all let up.

Kern felt Mostyn’s discomfort and he quickly released his death grip around Mostyn’s neck. Mostyn chortled amusedly as Kern lay on Mostyn’s back exhausted and breathing deeply. “I don’t have gills like you do buddy,” Kern said between taking gulps of breath.

Kern gathered himself and sat up. They were drifting on what looked like a lake with a wall of water to their back. Mostyn was almost playfully bobbing with the waves as he paddled to the shore close at hand making a high pitched gurgle in his throat at the top of each wave.

What shielded them from the waterfall were massive Lariah trees whose upper branches spread far out from their heavy trunks and supported large, thick leaves that created an impenetrable canopy. In the areas where there were gaps in the canopy were powerful falls that fell through the gap and created rivers that flowed down the hillsides and through the massive roots of the trees. The Lariah’s leaves softly glowed green since it was summer and gave light into what would otherwise be darkness. The leaves of vines and undergrowth also glowed in varied colors but their fruits and flowers did not, preferring to hide behind the thick leaves of the bushes and vines.

As they drew closer to the shore, the deafening sound of the waterfall subsided until it was only a gentle throb in the air around them. Kern thankfully took off his helmet and unplugged his ears.

Kern could see some of the workers harvesting in the undergrowth while others trimmed and harvested select branches from the Lariah for their wood, perhaps the hardest, heaviest wood in all the world.

#waterfall #city #trees #dragon #water #story #art #original #character #prompt #exploration #worldbuilding #fantasy #experiment #openeppic #jeliasepp

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j-eliasepp · 8 years ago

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Yuko paced back and forth in a grove of dried-up trees near the city.

“What am I going to do?” he asked no one in particular. He paced for a bit longer then kicked a dried stick out of his way. “I just ran from this place! Now I’m back?!”

He sighed and sat down on a dry stump. “I must be cursed.”

The sun was setting, painting the sandstone sides of the city into an orange-red shade. Far off in the hazy distance near the horizon, rain clouds drifted lazily over the western side of the city. Near that area was a vibrant green stripe across the landscape where trees hugged a large river.

Yuko searched the length and breadth of the city’s walls and buildings. “I don’t think I can face you again Kalia.”

The sun slowly fell below the horizon, its light brushing the tops of the buildings for a few minutes before leaving the city in shadow.

Yuko stood and carefully approached the city. Dusk was the best time for sneaking.

It pained him, but he knew exactly where he was going. The city’s springs used to flow into a now-dry streambed not two weeks ago. Those springs were the only reason the city came this far out into the desert.

Yuko picked his way along the streambed. Drifts of sand obscured parts of it but he found his way. A cool night breeze picked up and rustled his hair.

He crouched and crawled along the ground out of sight of the wall. He never tried to peek out at it. A guard would surely see the movement.

Yuko made sure to keep his bearing, using the light of the Western Star to guide him through the many offshoots of the rambling streambed.

By the time the sky was fading from blue to purple and the second star could be seen in the night, Yuko crouched at the streambed’s turning point under the city wall.

He was lying down behind the streambed’s bank. The wall was only a sprint away at this point. It wasn’t a very tall wall. At this point in the city it was about five arm spans. Still too tall for Yuko to climb but that was beside the point. He was a horrible climber anyway.

The faint scrape of guard’s feet on stone reached his ear. Two of them. They spoke in low tones and then started walking again.

If only he could sneak through the stream’s iron grating in the wall, he could deal with anything else in the city. It was the way he had escaped the city, he should be able to make his way back through.

Yuko allowed himself a single, quick peek. The guardsmen were walking in opposite directions. He waited until their footsteps grew distant, then crawled as quietly as he could over the sandy parts of the streambed.

He could almost feel their eyes. Any guard on the wall looking down would be able to see him right now.

He stopped and listened. His panting was too loud so he held his breath. He could hear the footsteps stopping just over the sound of his heart beating in his ears.

He frantically looked around. He should be in shadow, but he didn’t trust it. There, just a short ways away, only twenty paces from the wall was an overhang the bank of the stream created. He scrambled for it and slid under. As he did so, he accidentally kicked a stone and it clattered across the other rocks of the streambed.

Yuko pushed himself as far back under the overhang as possible, but too late he realized how shallow the overhang was. The shadows of dusk had played a trick on him.

“Hey! I think I saw something!”

Footsteps came towards Yuko.

He stayed as still as possible. Movement now would only confirm the guard’s suspicions.

“Yeah? You sure it wasn’t a rat-dragon like last time?”

“It looked bigger, down there, in the dry streambed.”

Silence.

Out of the corner of his eye, Yuko could see the two guardsmen with their torches atop the wall.

“Hmmm, I don’t see it. Where did you see it?”

“Eh, hard to say. About thirty paces from the wall.”

More silence.

“Well, I’ll go get a torch to throw down there.”

“Here, I’ll just use mine.”

Yuko held his breath.

The flaming torch was thrown from the wall. It sailed through the air and Yuko lost sight of it for a moment. He heard it land somewhere on the ground behind him.

Yuko let out a tense breath. It hadn’t landed in the streambed.

“You dolt! I oughta smack you.”

“What?! I’d like to see you throw half as good!”

“No, I’m going to go get us two more torches is what I’m going to do.”

Footsteps leaving.

Yuko risked moving his head. One guard with a torch was leaving, the other without a torch was walking after him.

Yuko took the chance and quickly started crawling on his belly in the shadow of the streambed.

“Come on! Just throw your torch down there!”

Yuko scrambled to all fours, pacing himself in a low jog so as to not to make too much noise.

“I’m not going to stub my toe like you do all the time! Stay and watch will you?”

“Fine, fine.” Footsteps walking back.

Yuko tip-toed the last few steps to the small grate. He resisted a sigh of relief.

Not moments later, the other guard came back and landed a torch smack-dab into the streambed.

Yuko shook his head and turned to squeeze his small frame through the grate. He was awarded with a bump on the head. He gritted his teeth against yelling an obscenity.

He felt between the iron bars, confused, then realization dawned on him. The iron grate had been blocked up with rocks. There was no easy way into the city anymore.

Note from the Author:

This last part was fun and challenging for me. Not only did I want to create tension with Yuko sneaking into the city, but I also wanted to reveal a little of his backstory. I had to answer the question of “Yuko came from this direction, wouldn’t he have been in this city? And why wouldn’t he want to go back?”

In the end, this led to one thing, and then another, and eventually I was figuring out the end of the story. Before, I didn’t have a clear short-term objective beside the interactions between the two characters. Now, there is going to be a story unfolding. It likely won’t be the end of Hot Guy Cold Guy, but I hope it will make a good beginning. :D

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j-eliasepp · 8 years ago

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Homeless Spire

In all honesty, he didn’t know what he was getting himself into. He felt he was chasing after a dream, a hope of his people. He could see the unsalvageable wreckage of his ancient nation looming before him. To Jar, it looked more like an unsalable tower half-basked in the rising sun.

It stood as tall as a mountain but was dwarfed by the mountains around it. Buildings of rubble crowned its top. Buildings were shorn in two at the cliff edges.

The farmers didn’t look up as he passed. Those who did stared in awe at his massive stature. A full two heads taller than any of them.

As he neared the base of the spire of rock, brush became thicker and in many places were piles of overgrown, half-buried rubble covered in moss. At one point Jar had to climb over the parts of a fallen pillar as wide as he was tall. As he picked his way through the wreckage he ran across small bands of men, women and children in clothing not much more than sacks at times and not better than rags at others. They huddled together in corners and snatched at rats if they came too close. He actually saw a man catch one and wring its neck before he started to eat it, stretching the rat’s skin with his teeth.

The place reeked so much that Jar felt the stench was a physical barrier at times. Those who cared to look up at him widened their eyes with wonder and amazement at such a large man. Or perhaps it was because his clothing made him stick out. Then again, the fact he had clothing…

He picked his way among pools of grime and the tangles of twisted trees. His foot slipped and was immediately drowned in mossy muck.

This was a fool’s errand. His rightful place was to be the leader of his people, the Musai, and lead a rebellion against their enslavers.

A carving on the stones caught his eye. It was carefully carved and had no recognizable shape to it. The lines were bold with strong curves, but unafraid to bare sharp and blunt edges. He laid his hand on the stone and looked at the earthen-covered mounds the stone was upon.

He wanted to see it. The ruins of the birthplace of the Musai. According to legend, this giant rock pillar was the grave of the last Musai King and buried with him, the royal door-hammer. The hammer was the equivalent of a scepter in other kingdoms.

Jar thought back to his last encounter with his younger brother, Ovun. Ovun had taken him to the farthest part of the gardens away from the Ara-Erian lord’s palace whom Jar was under servitude to. They could see all around them across a wide lawn before bushes, trees and flowers broke up the landscape. They faced each other, only offset so they could watch the other’s back.

Ovun had turned to him, bending down to Jar’s height. Jar was short for a Musai, about two heads shorter than many of them. That stature marked him as royal blood, a deeply kept secret by the Musai people. To keep it that way they had changed how they treated short Musai and copied the Ara-Erians. Short Musai were ridiculed and bullied. Jar feared the ruse was becoming more real and less of a cover-up. It was too easy to let one’s frustration out and call it a way to keep the secret.

Ovun said to him in a whisper, “Our people are restless. We have been slave to the Ara-Erians far too long. Some have accepted it, spurring anger and strife amongst our own people. Others threaten rebellion. If they do rebel, Ara-Era will pay more attention to our cause and may once again seek to destroy any remnant of our royal blood.” Ovun put a hand on Jar’s shoulder. “Your humble stature makes it obvious to our people you are our true King. This excites them all the more. However, we lack the power to overcome our masters. Most have lost heart and accepted our fate. You must rekindle our lost nation and find the symbol of our people in the ruins of the old country. Else our people be lost forever.”

Jar shook off his thoughts and looked up again at the spire of brown and gray rock. He could never return his people to their former glory.

Jar reached the bottom of the pillar and stood amongst a mess of broken shaped stones sunk into dirt. It was drier here nearer the spire. For a moment he considered attempting to climb the spire. But no, the legends said this was a burial place. The king would be beneath the spire. Yet, how far down did the spire go?

He rested for a little bit before setting himself to the task of digging. His light was fading fast. The ground around the pillar was filled with rubble and gravel. The place Jar had chosen to dig at was the place with the fewest stones. Despite this, he ran across gravely earth and chunks of rock.

The shovel he had carried with him struck something hard. He cleared the dirt away and uncovered a surface of stone in much the same design he had seen before. He believed it was part of a capstone to a pillar. He dug around it and when it had been mostly uncovered he found it to be about his size.

He sat back and rested. He looked at the stones around him, how they were fashioned, their size and how they had broken. He could see a continuity around him, like he could tell there was a ghostly hint of what the original structures looked like. However, the picture he tried to make out of the rubble escaped him.

Jar stood and looked around himself. There was no one watching from what he could see. He found two handholds on the capstone and grunted, lifting. The stone came up, he staggered, then heaved the stone to the side. It landed with a loud crack of stone on stone. He huffed then began clearing away the gravel again.

As he set himself to his work he wondered at himself. To save his people he had always imagined himself donning the lost armor of the ancients and wielding the legendary weapons of old. He would always lead a successful rebellion against Ara-Era and stand above them brilliant, making them bow before him.

He wiped his brow. He was standing in a hole of dirt and shattered stone doing the labor of slaves. His clothes and hands were already collecting dust and smears of dirt. Not to mention how his pants and boots were caked in mud.

He noticed movement out of the corner of his eye. When he looked up he noticed there were a few eyes watching him that shrunk away when he noticed them. He continued his work.

Eventually, he hit dirt and the going became easier. He dug close to the pillar so he could see when he would reach the bottom of it. If there was a bottom to it. His strokes with the shovel were quick and efficient and he had cleared a narrow, steep way down in a short time.

“The Musai were originally from the dirt, it only makes sense we understand it better. It even gives way before us easier than with others.” He mumbled. He dug more furiously, the corners of his mouth in a downturn. Of all the things his brother had asked him to do, this was the most obscure and unreasonable. Jar would have assailed the Great Cliffs if his brother had asked him, but dig beneath a mountain for a legend? He shook his head and kept digging.

He dug so deep that the light of the sun didn’t help him see and he had to feel how he was digging. Periodically, he had to lengthen the steep steps down into the hole. Every time he came back up to do this he noticed that more of the homeless had gathered around to watch.

The day passed by as he enlarged the hole and dug deeper, enlarged the hole and dug deeper. Soon, the sun was approaching the tops of the western mountains in an early evening. The sun became tinged with red as it dipped, the stunted, twisted forms of the trees casting deep crooked shadows over the rubble.

He looked up out of the deep hole. The sun’s red light and the shadow of the mountains was traveling up the Homeless Spire. It would be night soon. Homeless Spire, the name was for more than just the people watching him work. Jar’s own people had no home of their own. How strange that the ruins of the Musai’s halls would become home for the homeless.

He scooped another shovel of dirt and the dirt beneath his feet cracked and fractured as it weakened. He threw out his arms in reflex to catch himself. He paused and carefully stepped back.

What did this mean? Was there an open space below? How far? Three feet? Ten? Fifty? But there was an open space and something was beneath him. He brushed his hands against his knees and shook his head. There was a lot of rubble. It wouldn’t surprise him if there was more beneath the dirt. There was a chance the rubble had created a pocket of air and the dirt was only settling into it.

He lengthened the steps up the hole behind him. While he did this he noticed that quite a few of the homeless people were watching him. They slumped on rocks and laid around like sleepy drunks, watching him with unwavering, lifeless eyes. Jar couldn’t resist a shudder.

Once he had finished lengthening the steps he descended to the end of his hole. Making sure his footing was good he raised one foot and slammed it down upon the cracked earth. He foot sank into the soil as it crumbled under the blow and began to sink as it gave out beneath him. He sank one hand into the dirt wall of the hole and with the other braced himself against the rock face of the pillar in a moment of panic. The dirt gave way beneath him and disappeared into a black hole under the lip of the rock pillar.

He scrambled back and bracing himself on the walls with his feet he kicked more dirt down the hole. He went back up the slope of his hole and lengthened the slope once again, digging further down and widening the hole at the bottom. Eventually, the dark hole at the bottom was large enough for him to fit through. It seemed the open space was below a lip of the Homeless Spire and he could tell the dirt was piling up. The space wasn’t too deep.

He paused in his work then climbed back up the steps and looked around him at the people watching. “Does anyone have a candle?”

There was silence for a moment and then someone spoke up. “We don’t have much of anything you black-hearted pig’s wallow.”

Well, he hadn’t really expected much of anything.

He sat on a rock and looked at the sky. He wouldn’t have light for much longer. One by one the people slunk away as they saw there wasn’t a show anymore. Then, one returned with a few short stubs of candles in his hands and flint and tinder. The man’s smell was horrible and he was filthy, but Jar took the offering, thanking the man. He went back down into the hole and put all but one of the candle stubs in his pocket. He lit it with the flint and tinder with some difficulty and descended through the hole.

He slid down the pile of dirt into a chamber. The light of the candle didn’t carry far but he was able to make out a few glimmerings here and there. He took a few more steps and his sandaled feet slapped on stone, echoing throughout the chamber. He bent over with the light. What he was stepping on was a dusty mosaic. He wiped a hand across it and it revealed vibrantly colored stones of blue and green.

He gasped and instantly coughed on the dry dusty air. What was this? The remnants of a ruin? How was it not crushed into powder by the spire? Maybe, maybe the legends were true. He breathed deeply, as if to suck the hope of the idea into himself. He coughed on the air again. He removed the top half of his tunic and removed his undershirt, using it to wrap over his nose and mouth, then put his tunic back on.

He wandered a little more and came across gold and silver coins spilling from chests. They were extremely dusty but he picked up handfuls of the gold ones as much as his tunic pockets could hold up. He had to take some out when the weight of them made his trousers fall.

He paused and a needle of fear pierced through him as the darkness surrounding him seemed to close in and everything went dark. His candle had gone out. With difficulty, he was able to relight another one. When he had lit it his heart was still beating fast. He had to search the chamber before his light went out. He let his doubts fall to the side. He knew there would be no coming back after getting candles in the village. The wealth, everything would be gone when he came back.

He walked a little further and something caught his eye upon the ground. The new candle was little more than a pool of wax in his hand now. Any race but a Musai would have dropped it by now from the heat. He fished another candle stub from his pocket and lit it up. What he had noticed on the ground was a crack in the mosaic.

He followed it and it widened and more cracks showed up around it. They all appeared to be coming from one direction. He followed for a few more steps and saw by the candlelight a step rent by wide cracks. Jar stepped up and as he did so the light caught the dim figure of a crouched-over man. Jar flinched back but when it didn’t move he then cautiously stepped closer. It was a statue of a man, larger in stature than Jar and it was wearing ornate robes. The statue was at the top of the steps.

The figure of the man was crouched on one knee where the cracks originated from. He was doubled over with his chest against his other knee. His back and hands were against the ceiling of the chamber as if it were crushing him and he wore the expression of great pain and exertion. His mouth gaped open in a mighty silent scream. The muscles of his body seemed to almost burst from the delicate carvings of his robes.

Jar’s mouth gaped open. He stepped around the statue and his light illuminated something behind the man. It was what looked like a shattered stone throne. Gold leaf glinted in the candlelight. The statue was positioned as if the man had just come out of the throne to catch the stone pillar above him. Something else caught his eye at the edge of the candlelight at the foot of what he believed to be the throne’s diadem. He stepped closer to it. It was a crown. Jar’s heart thumped against his chest. The grave of the last King, this was it?

He reached for the crown. It was a strange dull hue with gems inset into it. It’s design was simple. It was fashioned as a large ring. He touched it and it felt like it was made of stone, cool to the touch. He wiped off the dust but the dull hue remained. It was made from a stone that was unfamiliar to him. He attempted to pick it up but it didn’t budge. He tried again, using more force. Still nothing. He set the candle that was almost burnt out to one side, brushing the wax off on his trousers. He braced himself over it and took ahold of the crown with both hands. He lifted up with his arms and legs with his entire might, letting out a yell. The mosaic stones let out small cracking noises beneath his feet and the crown lifted, one inch.

He let it go as his muscles fatigued and it slammed back to the floor letting out a loud boom that echoed throughout the room. The stone beneath the crown was rent and cracks spread out from the impact. Jar breathed heavily as he lit another candle.

Something spoke to him from the legends he had been told and he recited it out loud. “Can a lost kingdom be reclaimed? Can it be remade? Strong is the King who creates a nation, strong is a King who keeps a nation, strong is a King who saves a nation, how much stronger is a King who pulls a nation from its own ashes? No, the nation that survives its burning is an act of god, not of a King.” Jar shook his head. This crown was the crown of a nation in ashes. He couldn’t bear its weight, he couldn’t save the nation in ashes. What kind of man could lift such a weight?

Jar tiredly walked back over to the statue and gazed at the tortured face. It bespoke fear, resolve and pain.

“The whole country fell, but the King held it up with bare strength. His family and his people escaped the country’s fall, but the King gave his life, turning to stone as his country’s last foundation.” Jar recited. It was what little he remembered of the children’s story his mother had told him.

Jar trotted back to the edge of the chamber where the edge of the rock pillar met the dirt. He followed it all the way around but could not find a place where the rock pillar met the stone floor. Jar returned to the diadem. This was the only place where the ceiling met the floor. The entire rock pillar, as tall as a mountain and as large as the sprawling grounds of a palace, was held up by this one stone figure. Jar almost felt a physical weight on him from the massiveness above him.

He remembered what he had been searching for in the first place. The royal hammer. The symbol, the true symbol of his rightful place as lead of the Musai and symbol of the power he bore with him. He lit his next to last candle and made a quick sweep of the area again but there was nothing. He quickly shifted the dirt along the edges at spots that looked promising but turned up nothing.

Quickly, before his candle petered out, he quickly searched the piles of gold coins. Still, he found nothing.

He gritted his teeth. “A fool’s errand!” He seethed. “I’ve humbled myself enough for your whims brother!”

He turned to go but something caught his eye. He hadn’t noticed it before but there was a pile of dirt on the diadem next to the throne. When he had walked around there hadn’t been any such piles of dirt except at the edges.

He ran his fingers through it and his fingers caught at a cloth beneath a layer of dust. He paused, trying to stifle the hoped welling up inside of him, then pulled the cloth away, rising dust and revealed a long staff with a large hammer head on one end as large as an anvil. A door-hammer. An ancient weapon devised by the Musai to crush the gates of castles. This one was ornately glyphed with names upon it.

He reached out his hand as if to touch it but didn’t. He remembered how the crown would not be lifted by him. He almost pulled his hand away but it was right there in front of him, the royal hammer, he was sure of it. The crown wouldn’t lift but an inch yet this hammer was far larger. He took in deep breaths, fear of what might happen seemed to squeeze his chest. How could he return to save his people without the Musai’s royal scepter? The very fact he had found it but had been unworthy to lift it would crush his people in despair. Instead of saving his people, he would doom them. If he failed here, he wouldn’t be able to return. It would be easier to say he hadn’t found it at all.

The candle flickered, then went out.

Jar suddenly felt like he would lose the hammer in the darkness forever and reached for it and took ahold of it. The glyphs gently started glowing in the darkness and as he watched, another name was slowly etched under the list of the others. Jar Ramzar, his name was added beneath the name of the mythic last king of the lost kingdom of the Musai, Klaric Ramzar.

Jar breathed in deeply, then coughed from the dust. Tears started flowing from his eyes. What he was holding was the mythic standard of the nearly forgotten royal house of the Musai. His hand clutching the long handle of the hammer shook. Relief washed over him and he heaved a few more breaths, steeling himself. He had to be strong.

Jar knew the weight of the hammer’s head was much greater than that of the crown. It was an ability of the Musai to have much strength in comparison to their size, but they also had an art in making their armor and weapons easier to carry. Would he be able to lift it? Jar took a few more breaths, trying to calm himself, then lifted. The hammer flew up as he used too much force. He stopped it and it tapped the spire’s underside making a quiver pass through the stone. Jar flinched, as if he might cause the stone to fall upon him.

He felt it in his hands. It was heavy, but very easy to swing and hold. Its handle was long enough to bring the head of the hammer to his chest if stood upright. He set the hammer to the side and lit his last candle. He looked at the hammer more closely. It’s design was simple. The haft was made from wood. The head of the hammer was square with a broad head on one side with shallow points. The other side narrowed like a wedge into one large point. It was unadorned except for the Musai glyphs that reflected the candlelight. He touched the rows of names, he felt the sharp edges of their etchings and lastly, he touched his own name beneath the rest. He flipped the hammer and on the other side he found the glyphs organized so his name was above the others. “Above and below his forefathers, a King will be,” he quoted, “Above as he is living with his forefathers dead, but they give his foundation, below because he bears the weight of his forefather’s people, their failures and their triumphs.”

He closed his eyes and let himself be absorbed in the feeling of great responsibility that washed over him. The hopes of his people were with him. The hopes of all the generations past, those present and those to whom he would hand the scepter over to one day.

He hefted the hammer upon his shoulder and passed by the stone form of his ancestor. He took another long look at it, committing the sight to memory, then found his way back out. He found a larger crowd had gathered around his hole and some glanced up as he came back out. It was dark out now.

He looked at the decrepit people in front of him. He could attempt to come back for the rest of the treasure, but he knew it would only cause a political scene as different parties attempted to claim it for themselves. He was far from his own land and on his own. The treasure was useless to him. How much he wished he could use it to fund the freeing of his people. He made a decision.

With candlelight in one palm casting wavering light on his tall form and the mighty hammer in the other hand he addressed those there. “I, rightful owner of what lies beneath, give up that right to any who may claim it for themselves.” With that, he walked away. He saw the man who had given him the candles and he reached into his pocket, setting the scepter of his people aside. He pulled out a handful of gold and silver coins and gave them to the man. “This is the very least of your share, friend. You gave most everything you had when you had nothing to help me.”

The man’s jaw grew slack with astonishment.

Jar picked up the door-hammer and walked through the shattered ruins he had just inherited as he heard the exclamations of surprise behind him.

This short story is actually an excerpt from a book I've already written. Now, the book needs a lot of work (I'm actually rewriting the entire thing) and it will be a long while before it is finished. The character in this one actually started to overpower my main character with his story.

In the meanwhile, I will be writing short stories like this one and posting them here and on my other social networks. You can follow me on Twitter, my Facebook page, Instagram, Google+ and Tumblr. Just search for J. Elias Epp.

Feel free to leave a comment! I'll always accept feedback! If you can pinpoint areas that were confusing to you or the reason why you didn't/did like certain parts that is even more helpful! Thank you and I hope you enjoyed it!

#short story #my writing #jeliasepp #millenniummyths #fantasy #thirdperson #king #grave #treasure #deep

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