“Good call, Mr. Ace”, said
the prisoner.
The bars melted quickly into
the soil. The tree went back to its original shape as he stepped out, but started
to whither and die. In a matter of seconds it was lying lifeless beside him.
“It couldn’t endure anymore. That’s what may happen to things if they are
pushed too hard beyond their capabilities, I wonder...”
“You motherfucker!
Motherfucker AND fatherfucker! It was
a nice tree!”, cried the young man, still wrapped. He was at the brink of
tears.
“Watch your mouth, boy. Or
I’ll have it out”, the former prisoner said, lashing out an icy cold anger
under his voice.
The young man shut himself
and muttered silently on the floor.
“I felt something was off
the moment we left those ruins”, said Dern, jumping off the branches and
joining the others. “And when we came here I noticed those trees back there didn’t
grow naturally into that, not a bit. So I lagged behind, out of precaution.”
Hal nodded. “I thought so.
Or almost.”
“Ok, great. Now what? Who
are you, and what the hell are you doing?”, said Rafaën, turning to the
mysterious man.
Again he spread his
malignant smile. “I? I’m but a servant of nature... cunnar.”
They saw a savage fire pour
out of Rafaën’s eyes, and, quicker than they could follow, she had already
jumped over the man like a feral beast. Her hands had transmuted into inhuman
claws, her mouth was full of fangs and her glare was savage for bloodshed.
As much as they had never
seen their friend like that, the man had barely to whisper a word like a slapping
hand to send her clashing against the trees.
Hal felt the disruption in
the fabric of things and understood immediately. “You’re a Magi!”
“What a wonderful
perception, Mr. Selvais. Outstanding. But, yes, matter obeys my command as much
as I please.”
Dern was tending for Rafaën,
who lied unconscious. There was a crescent storm in the air around him, as if
slowly building up to a fateful release.
Hal noticed his mood and
tried to calm him down. “Easy, Dern. Not now. Not with this... with this
man, whoever he is. I mean it.”
Dern saw that Hal was
shaking as he said that. He knew his friend had the deepest insights on the silk of
Magi, deeper than any of theirs, albeit chaotic. He thought better to heed his
advice.
“Who are you?”
“I am shadow, I have no name.
But I might have one that could be of use, if you like... Call me Vrotan, Mr.
Ace. Perhaps you’ve heard of me.”
Dern’s face turned deadly
pale. Vrotan-o-Ni’Naj, Dark Whisperer, Torturer of Words, Voice of Despair. He
read about him in a well-hidden footnote on an ancient scripture from centuries
ago. He remembered clearly, since the paper had burned in a dark fire as soon
as he had read it.
He lowered his face to check
on Rafaën. “What did you call her?”
“A very amusing word, long
forbidden by the Red Tribes of hers... though I think you’d rather listen to its
meaning from her lips.”
Hal was caught up in between anger
and powerlessness. He did not know what
he was, but knew that there was a force so overwhelmingly wrong within
that man that he could only pray.
And that was what he did.
Dern realized Hal’s
intentions when he stood to one knee, as if he were tired. He then acted
quickly, since there was not much time.
“If you really are Vrotan”,
Dern began, feeling the name’s bitter taste in his tongue, “then why would you
need these mundane objects? I’d presume they were below you.”
Vrotan was amused. “Oh, Mr.
Ace, do you really think so? I think you don’t. These mundane objects, as you so define, are something else. See, I have
three in my power now, so graciously donated by this poor boy here. Oh, how
greedy he was! When I got ‘lost’ in his property, was 'held' prisoner, when I
spoke to his mind about the delights of such a wonderful device... I did not
need to say no more. And here we are.”
“But we saw you in the
secret room. Were you merely luring us?”
“Certainly so. No further
layers there. Simple, but efficient. And, again, here we are.”
Dern felt the invisible
fingers of his words starting to reach him. They could not wait any longer.
Vrotan was moving towards
him. His glasses gleamed with an odd reflex. “Now, there’s only yours left to be
acquired. I appreciate your cooperation.”
Dern felt a strange urge to
put his hand inside his lute, controlling his nerves, his muscles, his
bones. He fought back in revolt, to no avail. Slowly, his fingers touched the
smooth surface of the object, grabbing it delicately, retrieving it from the
lute’s opening, dribbling the strings and laying it right towards the devious man.
“HAL, NOW!”
A sudden gasp was followed
by a lightning bolt that stroke the clearing, as the woods vanished from their
sight and they found themselves somewhere else. The last thing Dern saw from
Vrotan-o-Ni’Naj was his eyes blacken with rage, a mirror of indescribable
negativity and utter ungodliness, so wicked it was burned in his mind never to
be erased.
On that single instant he
knew that that creature somehow went to the End of Things and returned scarred,
broken, unmade. What he saw could not be understood, nor grasped, but felt and
known, and weighted, much like an ant would weight the size of the Earth on its
back. That man was lost in the worst way a man or woman could ever be lost.
Forever.
Dern faintly remembered
heinous words being spat violently against them as they made their way out, and
then nothing more.
“Hal, are you there?”, Dern
asked. Everything was pitch black.
He received silence in
return. His hands touched something soft, and a groggy someone spoke. “Don’t go
there.”
Dern was glad to hear
Rafaën’s voice. He then started stumbling around to check on anyone else. “Why
is everything so dark?”, he mumbled.
“Dern... it’s so bright I
can’t even see straight without squinting”, said Rafaën. There was concern in
her tone. “There’s blood in your face, let me see it...”
As soon as she touched his
head she screamed and went back, falling over something that was lying behind,
and started crying convulsively.
“Dern, oh Dern...”
He touched his face and felt
the blood flowing like a river. As he went for his eyes he felt only emptiness
and crucible pain.
But the scream that came afterwards was from someone else.
“My leg, where’s my fucking
leg?”
It was Hal, holding his left
hip, trying to contain the blood loss from the missing limb. His beard was damp with blood and sweat,
his eyes flooded with tears. Rafaën was in the blink of desperation, barely
standing up to witness the gravity of their outcome.
Looking down, she saw that
she had stumbled into someone familiar.
“Where am I?”, said the sassy young man. He was still wrapped in vines.
“Get up, boy”, said Rafaën,
finally holding tight the reins of her resolve and embracing the sharp tranquility of
the healers. “We have work to do.”
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***************************END CREDITS*************************
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@assumptes
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"It's the dust of the gods, my friends...they still hold their last breath."
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***************************END CREDITS*************************
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*************
Find on Twitter:
*************
*************
*Starring*
Hal Selvais: @halisianismo
Dern Ace: @VanDerance
Mu-Rafaën of Toir: @rafamrtr
*************
*Guest Starring*
@JoaoRodrigoJR as "Sassy Boy"
AND
**************************
*Featuring Special Guest Star*
@assumptes
as Vrotan-o-Ni'Naj
Stay tuned for the next chapters of The Bluebird Tales in the upcoming arc:
DUST OF THE GODS
Arc Premiere on June 14th 2014
"It's the dust of the gods, my friends...they still hold their last breath."
a Capslocker Productions
2014
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