Volume Six – 2011-2012

 Forma Mentis
Volume Six – 2011-2012
Christopher Columbus High School
Forma Mentis
Faculty Advisor: Mr. Robert Linfors
The art presented in this magazine is the work of students and alumni, who have, touched by a creative impulse, searched the reservoir of their minds to create truly imaginative and unique works of art. The writers’ forma mentis, or map of the mind, the title of this anthology, delineates those channels of memory, imagination, emotion, association, and others in that path that the students traveled as they produced this work. Their forma mentis, otherwise rendered as worldview or mind-­‐‑set, is one shaped in part by the faith-­‐‑enriched education they have received at Christopher Columbus High. As an expression of such, it is hereby shared with you, that it may truly be enlightening and enjoyable. The editors wish to thank all Forma Mentis contributors and invite submissions of poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction of a general literary interest. Only e-­‐‑mail submissions are accepted. Please send all queries and/or manuscripts to rlinfors@columbushs.com. Copyright 2012 by Forma Mentis. 2 Table of Contents
Poetry
4 - Into the Light by Joseph Vargas
5 – Life and D eath by Michael Tomonto
6 – Blank White Page by Lucas Gonazlez
7 – Lights by Daniel Gonzalez
8 – Writing a Poem by Jose Ortega
9 – It’s a Robot by Ian Zaldivar
Short Fiction
10 – Juda s by Nicholas Austin
12 – A Tale of… The Dorves by Joseph Blanco
16 – The Da y to Be Remembered by Albert Rodriguez
18 – Getaways and Favors by Christopher Tonarely
23 – Oasis in the Sand by Fernando Fuentas
31 – Insanity Thy Name is Power by Alan Quintana
35 – A Case of Room s Without Doors by Joseph Blanco
37 – The Sky Chronicles by Raul Hernandez
3 Into the Light
By Joseph Vargas
In the distance I see a light,
slowly beginning to consume the night.
I begin to walk towards it and see a figure,
and the figure soon begins to linger.
With wounds on his hands, and blood on his side,
another figure soon appears on his right.
They join as one, father and son.
I look in awe as they tell me to come.
Their presence fills; a sense of love,
I raise my head and see a dove.
The three unite, with a flash so bright,
I cover my eyes to shield my sight.
They call to me so I may be;
to live as one
finally free.
4 Life and Death
By Michael Tomonto
Life
Free, easy
Live, love, laugh
Joy, innocence, sorrow, defeat
Crying, remembering, burying
Depressed, alone
Death
5 Blank White Page
By Lucas Gonzalez
In front of me you lay, blank white page.
I cannot think and I go into rage.
On you, the possibilities are endless.
Yet you still remain pen less.
On this paper I try to bestow.
All of the things that I do know.
However this page does not let me.
Do I need some special key?
Which way shall I write?
The right?
The center?
Are any of them better?
It is all just the same.
In this stupid little game.
I am clearly the loser.
With the page the bruiser.
6 Lights
By Daniel Gonzalez
A stream of light above the northern sky,
flows on by like some cosmic nebulae.
With colors as varied as threads upon a tapestry,
each pattern emerges very complementary.
These pictures come south rarely,
they tend to stay northerly.
These ribbons look quite heavenly,
but they can be explained quite practically.
Alas these lights must fade away,
towards dawn from the northern sky.
7 Writing a Poem
By Jose Ortega
So I have to write some poetry now,
But I’m having a really hard time.
Maybe it’s that I don’t know how
To find a perfect rhyme.
Boom, bang, clamp! I know what I’ll do.
Onomatopoeia is what I’ll use.
Maybe I do know how to
Write poems and not get too confused.
Never mind, onomatopoeia is too much trouble.
But appealing alliterations are always good.
Or maybe I’ll use repetition so everything is double.
Then then again again this this could could
Get get really really annoying annoying.
This experience of writing poems, I’m really not enjoying.
Hey! Look at that! I think I just finished this stuff!
Good thing too because I think I have had enough!
8 It’s a Robot
By Ian Zaldivar It didn’t seem like it would take very long, But a year has passed and only this far we’ve gone. After spending every Sunday and countless hours, It brings me some pride to say this is ours. All of our hard work will be frittered away, Upon this upcoming Friday. More likely than not it will be destroyed; All efforts to save it will be null and void. I didn’t think I’d learn very much, But a year has passed and my thoughts are such: I look at metals, welds, and circuits in a different light; A future to which I had no foresight. 9 1
Judas
By Nicholas Austin It started with the rain. The rain sparked the truth: the baptism into a new way of thinking. I realized the wrong. I know what the truth was, what has so displaced me after what happened. But to accept the consequences was what needed to be done. As I go over the events in my mind, it becomes more clear, the purpose of the action. The day began as a day like this: cloudy but with no rain. The sky was dark, wind swept through the streets with a foreboding feeling: it knew. It knew what was brewing. Everything that had happened came to culminate into this point; all the pain, the suffering, the horror felt in these long years were about to be avenged. To be closer to the end, the first steps came as Fredrickson strolled towards the only gray house on Watergate Street. As he came closer he thought how odd the gray was: it gave him a sense of warmth that eventually would lead to betrayal, as he later recounted to his friend, the man in this gray house. The cold of the door pierced Fredrickson's hand as a thud echoed from inside the house. He felt the wind grow stronger and the air grow thicker. A sense of helplessness flew through his head. The floorboards under his feet creaked as he shifted slowly on his feet. He knew something was coming, but what it was he did not know. As the door swung hastily open, a quick welcome croaked from the mouth of a wrinkled man. Fredrickson darted in, a howl from where he had just been sounded, the door closed. "My friend," bellowed Fredrickson, "what weather we have been having. Just this morning it was sunny and warm but look what has happened: the clouds, the howling wind. What has happened? What do you think of this?" "What I think of this mess?" replied the wrinkled man. "I think it is a sign of good things to come, at least in my favor. But for you, I think you will also get what you deserve. All will end well for the both of us. What do you think of my new house?" "Well, it is quite the place. The only thing I do not like is the paint. It tells me there is warmth at first but betrayal is what really lies inside." "What makes you think of that?" said the friend. "I think it is just a color for warmth, it shows me that all I do will be in my best interests. But we have more pressing matters to come to terms with." It started in an instant. The rain poured down as if a water pail had been tipped over. "Well, look at that," said Fredrickson. "How bizarre. I have never seen rain like that." "It's good that you mentioned that.” The wrinkles on the man's face widen with delight. "I have something to show you and it only works well with the rain. If you don't mind, can you come with me and see this exquisite new item? Just came here and you'll be the first to try it out." 10 2
"What have you got in mind?" a curious Fredrickson blurted in an almost unfriendly tone. "It's a surprise and your life will be so much more complete, almost as if it was your time to go on to a better place, a place where pain, suffering, and fear are no more but happiness and peace is what you'll find. I know that's what I'll feel when I use it." "If you say so, I will," said an unsure voice. "Follow me to the rest of your life," came a confident tone. The friend led Fredrickson through his home. The gray on the inside slowly grew black as they drifted to the back of the house. Fredrickson slowly turned on himself and grew fearful of the words his friend had previously said. Whimpering slowly, he didn't know what to do. Should he trust his friend or sneak away to be on the safe side. Couldn't he trust his friend? Would his friend lead him to harm? The friend led Fredrickson outside into the rain. "Why must we go outside?" belched a frightened Fredrickson. "Can't this happen inside where we can stay warm and dry?" "No, my friend," replied the now solemn face of the wrinkled man. "My plan can only happen outside, the rain is what makes it work at its finest, and look, you came at the perfect time for the rain is still coming." "I trust you so I will follow," blurted an anxiety-­‐filled Fredrickson. "Then come." Fredrickson did follow outside into the rain. The rain filled him with a new thought: the thought of betraying his friend's trust. Why would his friend not tell him what was going to happen? Why wouldn't his friend trust him with the truth? The terror of death consumed Fredrickson, quickly entrenching itself in his body. The rain did not help him feel better. The drops startled him as they slowly stole into the back. Not one second went by that Fredrickson didn't fear what might happen. A feeling of betrayal from his friend went rampant in his head. He thought: "He is coming for me, after all these years of the emotional pain within him, that's what has got him." It was out of his terror of death that Fredrickson slipped his hand slyly into his pocket. For comfort or for another meaning was this done? Fredrickson did find comfort in his pocket as well as on the ground. On the ground laid his comfort: his friend with a hole through his chest, right in the heart. Betrayal, out of shear fear, it came. The wrinkles of the man retained a certain look: shock, or, maybe, foreknowing. Hadn't he seen the wind, the forewarning etched in he sky, the clouds and his house, their gray showing betrayal? He moved past the man to see what was to be shown. Apprehension came and died as he laid eyes upon it. What was it you may ask? It was something that didn't have an effect to make Fredrickson regret his sacrifice. He accepted the truth and saw what laid in it: a sacrifice to fear for fear had overwhelmed him. Fredrickson lived his life, not regretting his ordeal over death. Did Fredrickson truly have fear or felt another emotion, an emotion of not caring? Did he care for his actions or did it for no reason? He lived to tell in hidden words this tale. Why do I know these things? I'll not answer but say through personal action I do know. The wrinkled man is dead from fear and trouble, not expressing himself in the course of his deed. But his deed was fulfilled but no more will come of this. 11 1
A Tale of . . .
By Joseph Blanco
It was the third moon of the third month of the third century, since the Dorves were
forced from their home. A long forgotten keep deep below the ground, where treasure still rests
and danger still lurks. Within its walls lies a dangerous and deadly curse, which no one could
know, until it was far too late; but that would not stop these men and women carved from rock
itself.
Gritty skin and stocky limbs, stout frames and rosy cheeks, hands gripped firmly
around a faithful whompit or a skin of ale: these were the “rough ones,” Dorves who had
nothing to lose, for they had nothing to begin with.
There was Gromf, a Dorf who wrestled a bear and tossed him off a hill; Bump, a twitchy
one who once constructed a hammer which was also a bow . . . he lost a finger, but nevertheless
was great! And finally, there was Sam, a lovely lass who drank her weight in seven sorts of
spirits and lived . . . not particularly well, but lived nonetheless. This monthly trio of adventures
held no home, so they sought to take back “Dorf’s Doors,” the Dorf Fortress all thought ill and
perilous.
“Aye Sammy, how be goin’ loadin’ dat durr pack pig!?” shouted Gromf halfway across
the snowy camp.
“Oi! Shut it ya lump, de ting’s squirmin’ and whirlin’, not ma’ fault ye never whipped
his pinky rump b’fore,” countered Sam with her usual brash tongue.
Sam and Gromf had never seen eye-to-eye, though they had both been engaged for seven
years. Sam was particularly bitter, being traded as a wife for half a heffer: “Coulda at least
thrown in da head too!” She and her family often complained.
Gromf, on the other hand, was “tricked” as he recalls . . . He was offered the fairest,
most beautiful lass in all of Dorfdom, “built like a fine ox and soft like a baby’s buttocks!”
When all he really obtained was a stubborn brutish mule; when they first met she beat his eye
out with a beer pint, the patch on his grimy face a reminder never to get on “Samma the
Slamma’s” bad side.
Gromf was growing impatient; he pulled out a small nap full of ripened tobacco from
his brown bearish beard. His nerves were never the best, not since he fought his first “bug’ur”
as a tot; however . . . his were nowhere near as shot as his and Sam’s most trusted companion.
“Hey! Hey! Where are you two goin’?” whined Bump as he returned from the smithy
with all manner of plates and screws in hand. “I swear, where would you two be without me;
you almost forget your bangers and rounds!”
Bump was an odd one, always a bit of an outcast: his father was the town “sober,” a fool
often ignored for seeking to avoid the downing of a pint, a Dorf tradition; while his mother was
a goblin, a green-skin wicken who was tried and hung on counts of witchcraft only a few short
years back.
Gromf lost ten years off his chiseled visage as he took the supplies from his cohort,
slinging them into his back nap. “Bangers, bangers, bangers; what ever happened to just
swinging around your daddy’s whompit: the stone gave us hammas for a reason after all.”
Bump could only burst out laughing as he pulled out his trusty banger; a flintlock pistol
with a wooden grip carved from the cob of his daddy’s pipe and the yew of his momma’s bow.
12 2
“The bangers are what wiped out the giant folk all those years ago when the goblins
charged in at the last sec with the Dorves. I mean, Fizzletooth himself - ”
“Took’ut seventeen giants and thirty big’uns alone,” interrupted Gromf. He couldn’t
help but laugh aloud as he enjoyed his gob-bob’s (a Goblin-Dorf halfborne) friend’s ranting.
“G’est dun forget to keep otha parts of ye proud too, y’hear?”
The Gob-Bob chuckled. “Aye, now c’mon, we better get before the Slamma takes out
your other blinker,” cackled Bump as he loaded his pack onto their trusty pig.
The Dorves had traveled for many days and many nights across the life-filled Bernarin
forest. A curious wood it was, for no matter the season, it would always be caught in a state of
perpetual rain . . . even during the harsh winter months within the Rough Ones traveled.
“Ooooh, Gromf, me can’t feel me bum!” complained Sam as she trudged through the
snow, nursing away at her ale skin for comfort.
“Quit your moanin’ woman, do you wanna wake up da beasties in here? What if you
shake out a Compwump?” whispered Gromf, alarmed at the potential threat.
Bump couldn’t help but giggle at the thought, his pointed green-hued ears bouncing
along. “A Compwump, a ghost wolf, really? Those are just big’ol fairytales used to get the weeones to eat their cabbage!”
“Sssssh!” interrupted Gromf as he dreaded any further discussion. “Ye wanna get y’self
killed? Look, just trust me, you don’t want to go around makin’ fun’o fairytales in these parts.
Not in these woods.”
“Oh, come now, what’s the worst that could happe - ” Bump’s face began to grow pale
as hoards upon hoards of violet eyes attached to wispy lupine bodies permeated through the
thicket.
“Y’speak ill-faith of these wood’s denizens, their kin’ll eat ya’whole. Now we gotta clean
up the mess ya made,” said Gromf as he ran his palm down his face in frustration.
“Enuff talk already, me butt’s sorer than a calf with a newly removed flank; les’ break
some ghastly skull!”
Sam charged in instinctively as she pulled out a silver panel from her satchel. Sam was
never one for smithing, but she was a resourceful woman, that much was sure.
With constant threatening shouts and curses, she began to wail against the sides and
foreheads of these infernal dogs, radiant silver causing harm to their ghastly bodies.
“Y’know, it’s times like’dese I remember why I don’t smother that Slamma in her sleep
. . . I couldn’t even if I wanted to,” muttered Gromf.
Gromf followed in, flinging his trusty hammer through a leaping Compwump, causing it
to disperse into a cloud of mist. Ordinary metal could do nothing against creatures from the
other side. Bump however, knew Gromf’s plan. As soon as the wolf reformed, he shot a silver
bullet from his banger straight between the eyes. Fizzletwitch would have been proud.
Only an hour had passed, the fight done and settled. Nothing more than a few scratches
lined their stocky, pale bodies. To the Dorves, scars and injuries were the greatest honors one
could receive. Their calloused skin never healed properly, so scars and markings of all shapes
and sizes would manifest. Gromf got a perfect bite mark on his side . . . He had lured a wolf to
take a good chunk just so he could shatter it from up close.
Same got a simple scratch along her eye. “Roguish,” she called it. Face markings were
always popular with Dorf women, “nature’s beauty marks,” they called them. Bump, however,
13 3
got nothing. Being an outcast came at no simple cost. Bump was never taken to hunt, or brawl,
more often than not, he’d spend his nights studying or toiling in the forge. His pristine
complexion could easily be seen as a proverbial mark of shame.
“Blech, that’s the one thing I hate about specters, they don’t leave behind any meat.
We’ll have to dig into the hunting stock again: anything but Pippa,” protested Gromf.
“Ye named the pack pig ya git? Neva get attached to a work beast. What ye gunna do
next? Cuddle n’marry it?” retorted Sam.
“It’d make for a better wife,” grumbled the gritty Dorf.
“Just for dat, if we gotta kill’eet, you ain’t getting’ the snout.” Sam felt content with
idea.
“Uh guys?” interjected Bump. “I think we’re here!”
Bump was ecstatic, practically trembling with excitement as he pointed at the square
gateway of Dorf’s Doors. It was covered in all manner of dust and web, but the golden runes
that ran along its ebon borders made it stand out ever so perfectly.
The Rough Ones were overjoyed, they had finally found their new home, their treasure!
All they had to do was gather that treasure and clean out any unnecessary intruders. How hard
could it be?
The keep proved to be an unfathomable labyrinth. All was black and polished, the walls
constructed from fine metals tinted jet by the passage of time. Nary a Dorf could tell day from
night; the only relief being the torches of a well prepared band of adventurers . . . The Rough
Ones were not of that sort.
“Bah! Where in the nine infernal hells are we? How long does it take to find a blasted
chest!?” shouted Gromf in a huff as he ran face first into an iron support beam.
“Oh quiddet ya slag; fame and fortune ain’t just gonna fall in ye lap like a tavern gal.
C’mon, we can get a to’ch Pippa,” Sam spoke with fervor.
The Dorf woman fiddled through the pig’s packing for quite a while, only for her
expression to grow horribly pale as she pet its side. It was cold, lifeless, dead. There was no
struggle, there was no blood or sound, the pig merely keeled over.
“But there’s just no way, she was only a babe, not even a two year!” Sam was
experiencing something she had never before let into her life: honest to goodness fear.
Bump ran up to the pig, feeling around before reaching into his pack for a piece of flint.
Snapping into focus he struck the stone against a metal tube, making it glow a bright fiery red.
Twas poor lighting, true, but the light well welcomed.
The Gob-Bob felt his way around the poor beast’s tender flesh where he realized there
was no wound or diseased markings. It was as though its body merely ceased to function
altogether.
“There was no killing . . . what happened?” Gromf stroked his beard as he steadied his
brow. “The Shadow Tide; I never thought I’d see the day that the old one’s black hands would
emerge from the keep.”
“Ye don’t mean . . . the guardian?” questioned Sam nervously.
“Aye, I believe something or someone has awakened’im. It shouldn’t be long before it
finds its way out and summons its body. A titan would be reborn.”
The others were shocked and horrified. The titans were the oldest ancestors of the Dorf
people. They were colossal giants born from the earth and drew power by siphoning the life
from nature itself. This keep was cold and desolate: the Rough Ones were its only potential
source of food.
14 4
“No silver can kill this specter; we have to get out of here.” Gromf motioned Sam and
Bump to follow him before cursing in surprise. The path lost to twisting and turning shadows.
“No Dorf was meant to enter here!” cried Bump.
A vicious howling filled the room; the Dorves readied their whompits and bangers.
Their breath grew frantic as they kept huddled together until warmth filled their bodies once
again.
“I think we be safe for now,” exhaled Sam.
“No . . . Jump!” Gromf roared as he leapt into the air, grabbing his cohorts in tow as a
single shadowy wave pulsed along the ground.
“Run, run deeper towards the center as quick as ye can, I’ll hold’im off!”
Gromf tossed his companions as he landed, drawing his walloping whompit and charged
straight ahead into the inky blackness; the memories of that one frozen night against the
mighty big’un that threatened his family flowed through his head. His hands became cold, but
his will was made of stone, ready to fight till the end, just as he was when he slayed his first
big’un—his father.
Sam and Bump had run and bawled, not knowing the fate of beloved Gromf. But they
had already come too far to merely leave empty handed.
“I-I can’t believe he’s gone. H-He just charged right in to k-keep us safe.” Bump cried in
distress and longing as Sam entered the center chamber. A single iron chest inscribed in
hallowed Dorf runes.
Her groom to be was gone and her best friend was in shambles. All that was left for her
was to behold what their efforts had earned them, what this gift which would give them a true
home would do for them.
With a single huff, the woman opened the chest only to find something she could never
have hoped to imagine. And it was life.
The next morning, Bump and Sam emerged from the back passage of the fortress with a
warm bundle in hand. What they had found was all that remained of their once mighty clan
and truly its greatest treasure.
“What’re ya gonna call him?” asked the Gob-Bob with a tinge of happiness and sadness.
Sam turned round, tears welling in her eyes as she smiled softly. “I think I’ll name’im
Gromf. Hopefully his namesake’d like dat; wherever he may be.”
THE DORVES
15 1
The Day to Be Remembered
By Albert Rodriguez
It happened to be a clear crisp morning, not unlike an average day in Queens. I’m
Captain Joe Arbuckle, I fly for American and I’m stationed out of La Guardia. I had a pretty
busy day ahead. It all started with my alarm clock buzzing up at 2:00 a.m. I briskly woke up,
and went to the bathroom in my apartment. I looked in the mirror, and saw the everlasting
forest of gray hair I had on my head. I had been flying for American for about 25 years now. I
jumped in the shower. As soon as I was dried up, I pulled the plastic sleeve off of my dry
cleaned uniform. I buttoned up my shirt, put on my wings, placed the a Parker Jotter pen in
my flap pocket, tied my tie, pulled on my slacks, slapped on my blazer, and I always made it a
habit to put on my cap whenever I went flying. My briefcase was ready at the door, with my
overnight luggage. I hit the elevator door button, checked my watch, it was 3:09.
I rolled my luggage into the elevator, and punched the first floor button. I used the
yellow, rotary service phone to call up a cab. A young American couple was also around trying
to hail a cab, clearly tourists. I decided to give mine to them and call up another. We chatted
for a bit in the meantime. I started, “Where are you guys headed?”
They replied half awake, “Oh, out to San Francisco, on United.”
“What flight” I asked.
“Flight 93,” they said with a grin.
They were on their way to visit their parents. The yellow cab pulled up on the curb,
glistening under the streetlights. The driver got out, and prepared to place my bags in the
trunk, but I flashed my hand towards the couple to offer them my cab. They thanked me and
were on their way. My cab showed up not long after. I put my bags in the trunk in my cab, but
I noticed the couple left behind a small travel bag, with their passports, and boarding cards. I
wasn’t sure what airport they were departing from, I guess I was probably headed their way so
I could meet them there, so I checked the tickets, it read Newark. I was headed in the opposite
direction to La Guardia, so I just took the bag with me, since the tickets read “Non-stop service
to: San Francisco.” I would be there myself much later on today. The driver sped away to the
airport. We passed along the George Washington Bridge; he made his way to La Guardia,
where he pulled up to the American terminal curb. He unloaded my bags, and I reached into
my pocket and pulled out a fistful of bills, and paid for my cab. I pulled up the rolling handle of
16 2
my bags, and I entered La Guardia’s terminal. I passed easily through security, and went
immediately to the right to the crew lounge. I punched in the eight digit code on the keypad,
and rolled my bags in. I immediately saw two fellow pilots, who were flying a non-revenue
flight up to Boston to reposition a 767-200 for Flight 11 to San Francisco later on that day. I
saw John and Tom preparing their pre-flight briefings, filling out their weight and balance
manifests, and fuel loads for the short flight to Boston. I sat in the desk next to them, took off
my cap, and placed it on my lap. I punched in my flight number, and pulled up weather reports
on the computer, I printed out my flight plan for my first flight. I was piloting the new Boeing
737-800 American recently bought. Not long after, my first officer, Jack, walked in with his
usual swagger, a big grin, and a cup of Dunkin’ Donuts in his right hand, with his luggage in
the other, and his uniform as crisp as mine. It was 4:10
We signed our reports, and Jack took them, and called up dispatch, as I left the lounge
to our gate. I walked smoothly to the gate, as heads turned, to take a look at the Captain. It was
a great feeling of people admiring the Captain; it was a leftover feeling of the golden age of
flying. I walked to my gate, and pulled open the heavy metal door, after swiping my ID in the
door knob. I peered through the jet way, and rolled my bags along. I made a left turn and
boarded my ship. I made another left, and lowered my head to enter the cockpit. I hung my cap
and blazer up, on the coat hanger. I put my briefcase off to the side of my Captain’s seat, and
pulled the seat buttons, to slide myself closer to my “office”. I turned on the lights in the
cockpit, and started the APU, and the battery started, and the displays flashed on before me. I
aligned the navigation systems, and listened to ATIS, basically the weather for the airport. I
pulled out my departure charts, and pinned them on my checklist holder on my yoke. I checked
my watch, it was 4:28.
I pulled out the flight plan, and punched in the waypoints to Chicago from La Guardia.
I input the date and time - September 11, 2001, 04:30. I then heard Jack behind me, as he was
hanging up his coat as well, he sat in the chair next to me, and took care of his side of the
airplane. We were ready to go, the gate agent came to visit us, and we gave her the all clear to
start boarding the passengers who were lined up on the gate. They slowly started to make their
way to their seats, we heard the usual rolling of luggage, overhead bins, jammed and crammed
close, the cry of babies, the warm reminders, that we were home.
17 1
Getaways and Favors
By Christopher Tonarely I steal things: things of worth, things of pride. If I wanted your money, I took it. If I wanted your girl, I seduced her. If I wanted your life, I killed you. But I was not prepared to lose something of mine. I was never prepared to deal with loss. All I did was take and take, add and add. Never had I ever needed to subtract. This tormented me: I needed to reclaim what was mine. And this would be it: my last hurrah. After this, I would settle down and live my life. But for now, I continue. My ship, the Emerald Comet, takes me where I need to go. The only thing left is to find out which direction I need to be heading in… * * * Using what little friends I had left, and what little information they could spare, I took my Comet away from the center of galaxy, where I was once content to spend my days, and traveled to the near-­‐deserted backwater cosmos. Immediately after dropping out of hyperspace, at the rendezvous point to meet my intelligence contact, I’m ambushed. Imperial Tie Fighters, squadrons of them along with the frigates from which they emerged, awaited me. Someone set me up, and I’m too far outnumbered to do anything about that. I prepared to be boarded after being caught in a tractor beam. Of course. Who would have guessed that it was none other than Admiral Firmus Piett? If this man had any supernatural powers, it would be to be able to hold an eternal grudge. Why, you ask? Well, in his early days as part of the Axxila Anti-­‐pirate Fleet, Firmus had always been unable to capture a rather dashing, young rogue, “The Specter”, throughout his entire career. Yes, that was me, and he has chased and hounded me ever since. If there was anyone who would pursue something to the bitter end, it was Firmus Piett. R5-­‐D3, my faithful astromech droid, wheels into the cockpit. He takes a look outside, and chirps something in disapproval. “What? It was a trap! It’s not like I saw this from a light-­‐year away and decided ‘Hey! This would be a fun mess to get into!’ Just get ready to fly fast, activate shields, and arm weapons.” A green light winks on: the communication panel is lit up and receiving a hail. I press the button to activate the video communication systems. The next image I see is a pale, annoyed-­‐looking man in a grey military cap and Imperial Officer’s uniform. His sunken face gazes gleefully at me, and his baggy eyes look me over. This was Admiral Firmus Piett. “Well, we meet again. Drop your shields and prepare to-­‐” “Be boarded. Yes, I know the procedure. How are you doing today, Captain Piett?” “It’s Admiral Piett now, Saunders.” “Oh, that’s right… Well, title doesn’t change the man, now does it, Firmus?” “Enough.” He turns to the right, “End communication.” Well, how rude. Okay, let’s see how I’ll manage my fantastic and impossible escape. Hmm… Inventory check. Diamond-­‐Boron missiles –they can bypass shields, but they’re not that strong-­‐ Buzz droids – a Clone Wars relic, fun to use, but not right now-­‐ no, no, I need something big. Oh ho! What have we here…? “Sonic charges; Void-­‐7 model. Now this, I like. Okay, I’ll just press this button to load up the charge. And deploy… now.” 18 2
A tiny metal canister –the Void 7 sonic charge-­‐ exits the rear of my ship on a timer. I charge my photon torpedoes and fire at the tractor beam generator: I’m free. Seconds till detonation. Shields are up. Pulling off immediately: gun it. The fighters scramble, following the Emerald Comet, not seeing the tiny metal canister just jettisoned from its rear. An orb of blue light envelops the Void 7. A shockwave is felt through the vacuum of the void. What was once half of the Imperial Tie Fighter squadron is now a carnage of twisted metal and erratic sparks. The frigates open fire, as many of their small ships are no more. Do a barrel roll, descend, slightly to the left, weave, straight to the lead ship. Simple evasive maneuvers to evade enemy fire, nothing fancy. Fly up real close to Piett’s ship. That’s it. Right towards the bridge. One last gesture of good will: release buzz droids. Pull up. Lightspeed. Well, that was fun. Wait, what? Interference? R5, oh R5, what could it be? What is preventing me from being free? R5 whistles. Gravity-­‐well generator? Oh Firmus, you spared no expense this time. I’m flattered. I guess I’m using everything today. Lights flicker on and off all around me while R5-­‐D3 whistles and beeps uncontrollably, apparently panicking. Reds, blues, and yellows too, screaming out at once ‘WE’RE GONNA DIE.’ Stupid machines, what do they know? This is probably the thousandth time they’ve acted like that. A jolt runs through the ship. We’ve been hit. Rear deflector shield holding, but not for long. Have to find that ship. A green light winks on. Someone’s hailing me. Might as well give a listen. “R5, open the communications channel.” The green light turns yellow, then back to green, blinking consistently. “Well, Specter, it seems as if you’ve had enough. By now you’ve already noticed the Gravity-­‐well generator aboard the Excelsior.” Excelsior, huh? Let’s see… Computer, let’s set a lock on the Excelsior. Ok and… there you are. On screen. “I will be giving you one final chance to surrender yourself. If you comply, I can promise safe transport to the spice mines of Kessel.” “Firmus, that sounds like a really good deal. I think I’ll take you up on it some time. But for now, I’ve got other plans.” Locked onto the Excelsior’s bulbous protrusions –the gravity-­‐well generators-­‐ and firing the Diamond-­‐Boron missiles. All four of them. “It’s been fun, Captain Piett, but I’m in a hurry. Send Admiral Thrawn my regards, if you would be so kind.” Preparing for jump to lightspeed. The green light blinks off. Hitting every switch I can, drawing all power from weapons to the engines. The missiles bypass the Excelsior’s shields and impact immediately. The interference ceases. “R5, you may want to hold onto something.” A tiny, mechanical arm emerges from R5’s metal can of a body and grabs onto the handle in front of him. He whistles. Punching the red button, because I love clichés: Lightspeed. And within seconds, I’m home free. Now, I just need to stop somewhere to get some fuel and make repairs, and possibly get another paint job for the Emerald Comet. Imperials, always messing up my ship. Let’s hope the next acquaintance I run into is a lot more friendly. Ryloth: as good a sanctuary as any, despite being a dried up, dead planet known only for its links to the criminal underworld and the Rebellion. Green light blinks. A gruff 19 3
voice comes up; someone in a rusty, old fighter. A squadron of Z-­‐95’s: old, Rebel hand-­‐
me-­‐downs. “What’s your business?” “My business.” “Let me try again. What are you doing here?” “I’m here to see an old friend.” “And who would that be…?” “Your boss. He owes me a favor, and I’m here to call it in.” “Uh huh. Sure. Let me check.” Communication winks off. A few seconds. He’s probably scanning my ship, and realizing I’m not to be messed with. Good. Fear makes for good bargaining. Green light again. “Your ship doesn’t seem to be on the docking roster, but I’m getting an all clear from the Palace. You’re good to land: Docking Bay 94. And don’t try anything funny. You’re always going to be in someone’s sights.” “Fair enough, good sir, fair enough.” Tyber Zann was one of the most feared and dangerous men in the galaxy, and here I am about to walk in his front door. He must be pretty eager to help with that favor. That’s good. I’m going to need him. * * * Engaging retro-­‐boosters. I have to slow my descent or crash into the landing pad. Landing gear is out, and the ship hums as it makes touchdown. A smooth landing, one would say. I begin powering down the ship’s engine and weapons, as well as activating the security. R5-­‐D3 whirls into the cockpit. “Make sure they don’t break anything.” “Beep, boop beep!” “Yes, yes, or STEAL anything.” “Booooop beep! Beep boop boop beep!” “It’s just business. We have some debts to settle, nothing else.” “Beep beep!” “Of course I’ll be careful.” I touch my belt. “Nothing beats a good blaster at your side, but if things go sour, be ready to get out of here.” Stepping out of my ship, I spy a Bith approaching. From the looks of his grease stained overalls, tools, and goggles wrapped around his bubble of a head, I’d say he was the engineer or mechanic for the hangar. His large, oblong eyes look me over. “The ship needs some more armor. Look over the outer hull and patch up any holes. Also, I might need a new shield generator. The stronger, the better. And money, my dear Bith friend, is no object… Up until this many zeroes.” I hold up three fingers. “Wait, it needs a new layer of paint, too…” I then hold up two-­‐and-­‐a-­‐half fingers and wag my hand, all while walking into the Palace, a hub of the underworld. * * * Tan marble, or marble-­‐like substance, had made up the walls and floors and just about every other structure. Carpets, some of the finest one could find this far away from the center of the galaxy, littered the floors. The lights were constantly dimmed, to save power. The owner would argue that it was for “the mood” or “the ambiance,” but there was no fooling the patrons. Then again, Tyber was cordial enough to allow most of anyone in. It was his summer home, after all, and he loved company. 20 4
Tyber Zann’s little “summer home” had more than enough to overtake the word “home” and change it to “fortress.” The man built his entire empire off of corruption, almost as big as the Hutts’, and more than often enough butting heads with them. If greed could have a smell, this place had it. This “palace” reeked of hedonistic pursuits and soiled dreams: the savory smell of smuggled wine, the damp sweat of Twi’lek slave girls and their captivated audience, as well as the musty odor of the heavily armed “security agents” at every corner. Men who were just as likely to buy you a drink as shoot you in the back with the flick of the wrist of their employer. This place was not a tourist trap; if you were in here, you were rich or you were deadly. I am a little bit of both, but nowhere near as much as my “graceful” host. Don’t get me wrong, Tyber is a nice guy, if you’re on his good side. Cross him once and that’s what you’ll end up on. His wonderful, scarred face is only enhanced by his predator-­‐smile, the kind you only see on a Trandoshan about to make a kill. The beautiful visage is only covered partially by his long, flat, white hair. He’s not old, however. Tyber Zann is an expert marksman, seeing his fair share of battles. And his long, flat, white hair which covers his old face is usually hidden behind Tyber’s oldest friend and ally, Urai Fen. Urai Fen is an avian humanoid, a member of the Talortai species, known throughout the galaxy for their incredible life span and physical prowess. His only weapons are his two vibroblades, which curve from his fist-­‐talons up to his elbows. If the one thing you would remember him by wasn’t his white tufts of feathers and his stout beak, it would be his blades. The two made a deadly duo, and here I was standing in front of them. Tyber walked up and clapped his hands around me. “Spectrenn! My friend! How are you? What brings you this far out into the Outer Rim?” “My ship, the Emerald Comet.” Tyber laughs, and I could swear I saw Urai grin, too. Tyber Zann seemed to be in a good mood. They must have just greased out a competitor. “Witty as always, aren’t you Saunders?” His face eases back into its normal form, as serious as the work its owner does. “Why are you here?” Tyber asks. “I’m calling in my favors.” “Favors?” “Yes, both of them.” “Both? That business on Cato Neimoidia doesn’t-­‐ doesn’t count.” “Fine, just the one then.” “Well then,” he said as he eased into a rather comfortable-­‐looking seat, “What can I do for you?” I recounted my tale, as colorfully and dutifully as I could do. I know Tyber Zann has a thing for theatrics, and I make sure to appeal to his passionate side. I tell him about my life, at least the good parts –which is all of it-­‐ and explain how I’m tired of the life of a wanted man. I explain how I want to settle down, a thing most men in my career fear. I explain how I want to find the one girl who ever made me feel, who I encountered so many times throughout all of my intergalactic shenanigans, and who I was always glad to have by my side. And now, after all this time, I could not find her. She was out there somewhere, and I could not find her. And so I bring my story to the present, in which I find myself standing before a tired, wretch of a man with a soft spot in his stone heart. I think I won him over on this. 21 5
“Well, that’s a touching story. And since I owe you a favor, I will help you out with what resources I can spare.” He turns to his avian friend, Urai, “Dispatch orders to our associates on Bothawui for the location of my dear friend’s target, as soon as possible. And once found, have them transmit to the ship, the Emerald Comet. Does this satisfy the favor, Spectrenn?” “Actually, my ship is outside, being refueled and refit…” “Consider it paid in full, my treat! And don’t tell anyone I’m not a generous man.” “Perish the thought, Tyber! You know I can speak only highly of you! At least, solely based on your good looks.” “Oh, get out of here, you scoundrel! Now, I imagine your ship is ready to go? Or will you be staying with us here for a while? You know there’s always room here in my… humble abode.” “Well, actually I-­‐” My communicator sounds off in alarm, a second before Tyber Zann’s does: a message from R5-­‐D3 for me, an alert from security for Zann. Imperials are attempting to raid the compound. They must be Piett’s men: they followed me here. My holocron communicator comes to life, giving me a faint blue image of Imperial Transports landing in the docking bays. I look at Tyber, and he at me. He nods, and I turn and sprint for my ship. “Don’t worry!” he calls out. “We’ll find her in no time! When we do, we’ll be even! And don’t worry about the Imperials, that’s what I pay the guards for! You, just get to your ship and get out of here!” I dart through the scrambling masses of slaves, security, and patrons to the docking bay, usually hurdling through a Stormtrooper or two. R5-­‐D3 has the Comet ready to go, and the Bith is behind cover, waving me off. I tell him it was on the house, which leaves him confused. He isn’t the only one trying to make sense of things. I have a long way to go before I can stop and think. But you can bet that it’s going to be worth it all. Sit down, buckle up. Turn on, lift off. 22 1
Oasis in the Sand
By Fernando Fuentas
Prologue: A Mother's Tale
"Mom, mom! Come here look what I found!" exclaimed the adorable young white
dragoness. She had blue eyes, long golden horns and yellow stripes below her eyes as well as
along her tail. She had a chubby physique due to her young age and her voice was gentle. "I'll
be right there Elisia. What could be so important you need me to hurry up this badly?" asked
her mother, a white, thin dragoness with the same markings as her daughter. Her horns were
dark red and her eyes were radiant sapphires.
"I found something really cool in the forest and I would love for you to see it, come on!"
said her daughter, lifting off and hovering in the air. "Sweetheart you know you're not suppose
to leave the mountain range without my permission." "Sorry, mom… you'll still come see what
I want to show you, right?" she exclaimed happily. Her mother smiled and lifted herself off the
ground. "Sure, of course we will go, but promise you won't go out again without telling me."
"Ok!" she smiled and flew off with great swiftness. "What could possibly have her this exited?"
pondered her mother as she flew behind her.
The tree line was vast, and it varied in color and livelihood. The seasons were changing
and the first few days of winter had settled in the forest. "I know this place," thought Cynthia,
the mother, while she flew behind her exited child. "Hey Elisia, can I guess what your surprise
is?" The young dragoness turned and looked at her with a confused expression. "Sure go
ahead, I doubt you're going to get it right, Mom," she giggled. "Is that so. Well, let me see is
your surprise a weapon of some kind." Her daughter stopped on a dime and turned, angered.
"Hey! How did you know!" "Hehe, I just guessed. Come on I know where you're taking me
and I know a short cut too." Cynthia increased her speed and flew past her daughter then she
descended down into the forest, her child close behind. They traveled through a mountain
passage hidden within the rock formation, finding the other side and their destination shortly
after. "That is it right?" "Yes, yes it is!" Elisia landed and began to walk slowly towards the
relic. A sword dug into the ground at the edge of a cliff, three triangular, mechanical spikes
around it. "This is the awesome thing I wanted to show you… but now I want to know," she
turned with a curious expression on her face as her mother landed. "How do you know this
place? And this relic?"
Cynthia looked at the relic and its decorative pieces carefully. She seemed pleased as if
they symbolized something good about her past. "Sit down Elisia," said her mother tenderly.
They sat in front of the sword. "There is a great story behind this place and that sword you see
my dear." Elisia looked at her mother, her eyes wide and sincere. "Story! Alright mom tell me
the whole thing!" she exclaimed impatiently. "Alright, but I'll cut out some of the more… icky
parts, just for you. The story is still pretty spooky, you sure you want to hear it?" asked her
mother with a big grin. "Of course I am! I'm not afraid of anything!" "Alright dear!" giggled
Cynthia.
"Be steadfast without fail… as I tell you this epic tale."
23 2
Chronicle 1: Nasty Brew
The industrious town of Steelren, named after it's human builder and mayor Rene Steel,
produces the highest amount of wood in the western side of the world. This town by its very
nature housed the most renowned smugglers, crooks and assassins of all the major cities. The
underground pub was an information hotspot between all the cities, if not for its top of the line
wine and drinks, for its perfect location.
A cat like figure, five feet seven inches tall, walked in trough the doors of the
establishment. He wore very distinctive clothing, ninja robes, a black scarf and tabi. His face
was covered with black cloth, his light green eyes were all that was revealed. His tail was long
enough to reach his shoulder. Due to the dim lighting in the establishment it had a sort of red
hue to it. He walked through the tables until finally making his way to the bar at the end of the
room, many eyes staring at him in distrust and discontent. He sat down alone. "Give me some
apple juice" he spoke. The bar-tender chuckled. "Some rum, sir, juice seems too boring for
me?" he asked loudly enough so that few around could hear. "The drink is for me not you…
just the juice," said the ninja calmly. Some of the spectators laughed. "I see" The bar tender
called over two of his men from the back of the room. "Well I don't appreciate you mocking me
or my establishment. I think you need to be escorted out." The two men balled their fists
expressing their eagerness for a brawl. "You can give me my apple juice… or lose a customer.
You chose."
One of the burly men grabbed the cat’s shoulder. In an instant he stood, turned and
flipped the man over his shoulder, his body slamming the floor intensely. A few more men
began moving towards him while some of the other guests at the establishment screamed or
simply left. There were five men beginning to surround him. For a moment he calmed himself,
closed his eyes, and analyzed the situation. "Tail, kick, fling, stomp…" The first man attacked
by swinging his fist. The ninja jumped and spun in the air, hitting the first man with his tail,
knocking him out. The second and third men came to him. He stood on his tail and kicked one
man while bending the other's arm and tossing him at the fourth man. He utilized the strength
of his tail to jump with it and stomp on the briefly incapacitated fourth target, knocking him
out for good. The last sneaked up behind him and was going to pound the cat's back by
dropping his fists jointly. The air in the establishment grew cold, many customers who were
before enjoying and rooting for the brawl remained silent. The man fell to the floor, drawing
his final breaths, while the cat stored away his Kunai dagger.
The ninja knelt down and closed his eyes. "I was slow and you paid the price. Peace be
with your soul." The cat stood and was making his way to the exit when he was called over to
one of the darker corners of the room. He chose to see who was calling and began to walk over
there. The eyes of many uneasy men and women in the establishment were piercing but he
ignored them. In the final table to the left of the entrance, only one man sat, yet there were two
drinks on the table. The cat approached and sat. The Husky across the table from him was tall
with dark blood red fur. Sunglasses concealed his eyes." That was quite entertaining I must
say. You took on five men without breaking a sweat." The dog paused to take a sip of his drink
then continued. "A killer with a heart… I don't see that very often." The cat narrowed his eyes.
"I am going to infiltrate the town hall meeting scheduled for tomorrow. You want in? I could
use someone with your particular talents.”
"Sorry, I don't kill for fun and I am not for hire." The cat stood and began to leave but
the dog signaled his men to stop his exit. "I don't think you comprehend the situation… I am
24 3
Arashard, and my offer is to either help in my endeavor or die where you stand… you chose."
Arashard chuckled in a deep voice, awaiting a response he would like.
Police patrol cars could be heard circling the outside of the building. A panic began
inside the pub, people tried to exit in swarms. The cat disappeared trough the crowd, slipping
away from Arashard's men. "Find him!" Arashard commanded, but it was too late. The ninja
had vanished. The police stormed the building only to find it completely empty, just the
bartender and his five men still on the floor. Arashard and his men had escaped through a
secret passageway, one they had never used and would never use again.
"That cat will pay… I swear I, The Bar Tender, will make him pay…"
Chronicle 2: A Faithful Encounter
The city town hall was a magnificent building stretching the length of five-hundred feet
in length, two-hundred feet in width and thirty feet in height. A great Oak tree stood tall in
front of the hall. The tree gave off a majestic aura with its verdant leaves and its impressive,
strong trunk. The tree truly gave off a sense of relief and happiness to the entire area.
The outside of the building, as serene as it was, could not quell the intense atmosphere
inside the town hall. People of many races discussed business. Roars and yells all along the
building signaled distress and uneasiness among the citizens. In one of the corners of the room
sat a radiant white dragoness, peacefully waiting for the meeting to begin. A scorpion woman,
stood six feet tall with her hands crossed. She was only part scorpion, in tail and some skin. Her
carapace was colored red and had a subtle shine. She wore a red kimono with long sleeves. Her
tail reached over her head at its longest stretch and had a thin dagger like point at the end of it.
Her eyes glittered with a light red hue, so light they seemed pink at times. Her hair was long,
and dark brown. She was well built, ravishing by any standard. She had a Samurai sword in its
sheet around her waist. Finally, the ninja was indeed present in the gathering, hidden within
the shadows.
Major Rene came out from behind the curtains and stood on stage in front of all the
townspeople. They became silent, ready to hear what he had to say. "Citizens and guests here
today," he began, "I welcome you to our yearly town meeting and I am glad you could join
me…" He continued talking then took questions and concerns of the people. The ninja was
wary of any mysterious activity that might be going on inside the building. He wanted to be
ready in case Arashard commenced his operation. His caution was well founded.
Smokescreens began to pop making everyone vision distorted and confusion run
rampant. "Cynthia get rid of this smoke now!" yelled the scorpion woman. Cynthia rose and
flapped her wings vigorously, the gust clearing the smoke form the room. The scorpion jumped
on stage trying to secure the Major as soon as possible but it was too late, he was gone. The
smoke had sent the crowd into a panic and the scorpion nor the dragoness could see the
culprits, even if they were still in the scene. Cynthia descended on the stage. "What do we do
now Amelia?" she asked. "I am not sure… What I am sure of is no common thief did this."
"Let's not waste time, the exits were sealed shortly after the smoke screen, I am sure at least
one of the culprits is still here."
"This might be the one you are looking for." Both females turned and saw the ninja cat
25 4
carrying a man. He threw the man on the floor and held him down with his foot. "Who did this
and where are they going? What are your motives? Answer me!" Amelia drew her sword and
pointed it at the man's throat. The scared man revealed everything.
"We are headed to Renewal Tower after crossing the dessert" said Cynthia worriedly.
"That's where they’re headed so that's where we will find Rene… I just wish I knew who ‘they’
were," responded Amelia. The ninja cat stepped forward. "Arashard is the man responsible,"
said the cat. "How would you know? Who are you cat?" Amelia did not trust his words. The
cat did not respond to her question. "I will go with you, I have traveled the sands before and
can get you to the tower much faster than if you went on your own." Amelia was going to yell
but Cynthia stopped her. "That is a generous offer, we accept it kindly," she said softly. Amelia
could not believe Cynthia trusted a stranger with how shy she usually is. "Are you sure
Cynthia?" "Nope, but he's all we got so we will make due!" She gestured enthusiastically.
"Collect your belongings, we leave at dusk."
Chronicle 3: What the… Desert Sharks!
"In the desert, the sandy desert, dragon flies today…" sung Cynthia happily as she flew
overhead. Before leaving on the journey, she had outfitted herself with her latest technological
innovation and could not wait to try it out. Six spikes protruded from her back and three more
from her tail, in different directions. The ninja cat and Amelia walked along the sand which
was not as enjoyable as flying. "Why exactly can't we ride her to the tower again…?" she asked
exhausted and bored. "If she gets shot out of the air by something we won't all blow up…
simple." He spoke unfazed. That is horridly morbid… I suppose it's true in any case" She
thought to herself while enjoying the scenic nothingness and the blazing desert heat. "What's
next… sand sharks…"
"Guys jump now!" warned the dragoness. On instinct they followed her order. they
leapt in the air as a huge area below them exploded in a cloud of dust. when they fell once more
they were met with the cause. "You have got to be kidding me…" Eight land shark fins could
be seen burrowed in the sands, moving at incredible speed. "Listen, force them to land by
cutting their fins off they should stop moving by then," instructed the cat. "Alright sounds easy
enough to me." From the sky above nine spikes fell clearing the sand cloud and making a
medium sized electrical barrier around the area. Cynthia activated her visor, a green crystal
materializing in front of her eyes, then ascended to greater height. "Amelia, the force field
should keep them in place while you deal with them I'll give you reconnaissance from above."
The ninja looked around and liked what he saw. "Hey she's really high-tech… I am
impressed." "Fight's only starting, keep a close eye on them not her." The cat searched his
pouch and pulled out three shuriken, all in his right hand then held a Kunai in his left. Amelia
drew her sword and took her stance.
The first shark sped in Amelia's direction. She spun and lower her weapon as she did so.
Her angle was perfect and she sliced the shark fin right off making it jump out and flopping on
the sands before it came to a halt. Three jumped from the sands, opened their mouths and tried
to eat the ninja but to no avail. He dodged all of them and in one swift motion threw his
shuriken, all three hitting their mark.
"The four left are retreating. I suppose you showed them! good jo…" Her transmission
fell briefly. "Cynthia! Can you hear me!" yelled her scorpion friend. "Yea, I am fine but you
26 5
better watch out. We have a really rude guest coming in." Both of them looked up to the sky
and saw it. A blue dragon five times Cynthia's size came down, breaking the barrier and
entering. "Why is there a random dragon here… It's a desert for all's sake," spoke Amelia
annoyed. "That is irrelevant now, Cynthia how do we beat it?" "Well, hit a lot!" she exclaimed
in all seriousness. "Alright here we go. Amelia, I'll distract it you climb its back and deal with
him," suggested the cat. "I am fine with that." "I am activating overdrive mode. The force field
turned yellow and both the scorpion and cat started running twice as fast. You have sixty
seconds to end this fight or your fighting on equal grounds. That won't be pretty."
The dragon shot a fireball in Amelia's direction. She jumped twice as high as she could
have before, dodging the fireball and making it on to his tail. "Amelia, the third spike down its
back from its head is his weakest point, that is your target," spoke Cynthia after analyzing the
opponent dragon. The ninja cat threw two shuriken at the dragon to draw his attention. The
dragon shot out three fireballs which imploded and became a rain of fire headed in the cat's
direction. "Twenty-eight seconds." The ninja closed his eyes. "A thousand bits no less… left,
right, down, deflect." "Your by his fourteenth spike, twenty-two seconds left, jump." The ninja
leapt in the air and began to dodge each bit of fire. "Twelve seconds left." Amelia drew her
sword. The dragon roared furiously and lifted his whole arm. "Sixth scale you can make it!"
"So much fire!" "Four seconds left strike him now!" Amelia jumped and brought her sword
down on the dragon’s weak point with great force. The shield dissipated and the dragon's arm
fell as he did. The cat hit the floor harshly after passing the flare storm.
Cynthia flew by Amelia, picked her up then went over to the ninja cat. "He's badly
injured. We are close to land again, get him on quick," commanded Cynthia. Amelia took the
cat and placed him on the dragoness, holding him tightly so he would not fall. "Let's go."
Cynthia took off her mechanical spikes returning to her. Four on each of her wings and one
between her horns.
"Nice crown princess… thanks for the help back there. Never thought those gizmos of
yours would come in handy one day," chuckled Amelia. "That’s not all they can do. This guy
will be thanking me too when I'm done with him.
Chronicle 4: The Mind's Eye Lies
Rain poured on the forest for hours yet through the mud the three kept moving unaware
of the trial they faced ahead. "You alright Mr. super secrete, ultra power ninja?" jested
Cynthia as she carried the ninja cat on her back. "Never tought a guy with your skills and
character would be you know… Pink!" Cynthia began to laugh hysterically. Some of the cat's
robes had been burned off, including most of his tail cover, exposing his fluffy pink fur. "That
is quite funny," added Amelia. "Anyhow, are you ever going to tell me… us, your name?" she
asked sincerely. "I would rather not make any connections. As a ninja I move constantly and
make my living off dangerous jobs such as this one. I have no time for friendships."
"I guess that means no love either?" assumed Cynthia, looking at Amelia for a brief
moment before turning back to the route ahead. "None," he thought as he remained silent.
"We are very close to the entrance of the tower, let's rest here," said Cynthia sitting and
stretching. "I can heal your wounds if you'd like. It will only take a moment." Amelia accepted
her offer but the cat did not. "You are going to need all the strength you can get if we
27 6
encounter someone towards the entrance. Stop being so stubborn and proud." Cynthia
activated four of her spikes, two for the scorpion and two for the ninja. Their light turned
green and both the patients wounds began healing. "See? No harm done and I bet you feel
much better, haha." Cynthia smiled. The three rested for about half an hour then continued.
The forest path ended and the tower was finally in sight. It was massive, reaching
beyond the heavens above and about a thousand square feet in length and width. The entrance
was a massive staircase, about three hundred steps to the door. A statue sat at the base of the
stairs. It was of a man with a helmet and a sword pointing to the middle of the tower. "The
tower's height is merely for show," said the cat. "The actual height inside only reaches the
point where the sword would intercept the tower, were it to be stretched all the way there."
"That is incredibly boring information, but! It does mean we get to climb less to find the
major," concluded Cynthia. "Let's go." The ninja stepped forward and suddenly a dark
barrier separated him from his two companions. "Cat!" exclaimed the scorpion. "You ok?
asked Cynthia. "I'm fine, but I don't think whatever made this is very friendly.”
"I am the guardian of the entrance to this domain. Countless souls have ventured here
in search of what their heart most desires, none have made it past this point" Uttered the echo
of a man. The statue suddenly came to life and turned to the ninja. "Entrance guardian, have
you seen a few men come through as of late?" asked the ninja. "All that have gone through
those doors without facing me have been cursed and shall never find their treasures… or leave
alive. I guess I have to defeat you to get my answers. Very well then." The ninja drew two
Kunai from his pouch. "I will end your life as you wish, honorable ninja… in combat."
The battle commenced. The ninja closed his eyes and concentrated on his breathing. The
swordsman moved as if slicing the air. He positioned himself in front of the ninja and drew his
sword. "Faster… He's faster than I am." The swordsman's sword connected lightly along the
ninjas chest, he had moved slightly before impact. The ninja tried to gain distance between his
opponent but could not. The swordsman's seconds blow blew the ninja into the materialized
wall, making him drop his Kunai. He fell to the floor harshly.
"Cat! Get up cat you have to!" yelled Amelia in disbelief. "We have to help him,
Cynthia," she said turning around for a moment. Cynthia was pensive with her visor on but
sighed. "We can't… this barrier is not traversable." She took her visor off and closed her eyes.
"All we can do now is believe in him." Amelia looked him, her heart beating out of her chest.
"Like all others before you, you will fall. No amount of theory or logic in your mind will
be enough to save you here. You are inferior, you have lost." The Stone swordsman lifted his
hand readying his final blow. "I could die here…" "Cat, get up now!" He could barely hear her
voice, it was blurry in his mind. "No amount of logic… He's right." The swordsman's sword
came down with all the strength is his stone body. "Perish!" The ninja cat used his left arm to
stop the momentum of the sword, cracking noises were heard as he did so.
"I am not the same as the rest who have faced you. I, unlike them, am not afraid of
death. If logic will not help me then guess what… I'll do anything illogical and rash to make
sure to get through you and anyone else who stands in my way! I am the great hero! I am
Yuudai the Ninja!" In one swift motion he kicked the sword, breaking the swordsman's stone
hand, grasped the sword and shattered the stone swordsman's head with it, making the body
crumble to the floor.
28 7
The dark wall around Yuudai vanished and Amelia ran in to help him. Cynthia
activated all nine of her spikes and placed them around them. "Cat, are you alright? Please
answer me… please…" Amelia shed tears. "Hey… Amelia I'm fine… I'll be ok," assured
Yuudai before falling unconscious. "He's lost a lot of blood and has plenty of broken bones…
but our friend Yuudai here will be just fine." Amelia hugged him as tightly as she could.
"If you don't break the rest of his bones first girl…"
Chronicle 5: Love Bird…Holy Big bird!
The sun was falling and night would sure bring cold with it. "Let's get inside the tower
before it's night time. It's best if he doesn’t catch any amount of cold." Cynthia retracted her
healing spikes. "Get him on." Amelia did so and they entered the tower.
The towers inside were a surprise for both the women. "This place is a jungle…
literally!" A forest stretched all along the tower, with its own unique weather. "Let's spend the
night as close to the entrance as possible we don't know what lies out there," proposed Cynthia
lowering herself. Amelia carried Yuudai down to the floor, setting him down gently. "How's he
doing Cynthia?" asked Amelia gloomily. "Well, since my tech is completely uncharged I have
no idea! But, if I had to diagnose him I'd say he has about seventy years left of living, give or
take a few," joked Cynthia enthusiastically. "Thanks…" replied Amelia frustrated. She stood.
"I am not going far from here… just want to be alone." She left.
The moon could be seen from inside the tower. It's radiance was unmistakable and at a
time like this irreplaceable for Amelia. She sat on top of a tree branch at the end of a cliff. In
times of sadness she felt comfort being alone, just her and the gentle breeze.
"I was right there and I couldn't help him… I was so useless." Amelia punched the tree
in anger then lowered her head. "You know keeping it all to yourself isn't really going to make
you feel any better." Amelia lifted her head and saw Cynthia floating in front of her. She wiped
the tears from her eyes discreetly. "You weren't useless at all," she assured her. Amelia opened
her eyes widely. "You believed he could do it and so he did, without that there is really
nothing." Cynthia smiled. "In my opinion you go talk to him." Amelia looked away in a shy
manner. "Why?" Cynthia laughed. "Well why else!? You talk, you become closer. He wanted
to thank you for what you did in the desert, he said it was awesome!" Amelia was in disbelief
and blushed. "Really?" "Yep! I think so too. You took out a huge ugly dragon in one motion."
Cynthia signaled her to get on. "Also, you should go ahead and tell him you like him, haha."
"That obvious huh?" "Little more than you think," giggled Cynthia.
Cynthia dropped off Amelia next to the now awake Yuudai. "I am going to scan the area
and find where those cursed people are. With any luck they will not put up any resistance. You
two be careful alright," Cynthia winked then flew off.
Chronicle The Last: Piece of Cake!
"Guys wake up! I found the major and his abductors." Cynthia flew down as fast as she
could picking both the sleepers up and throwing them on her back. "What! Please don't do
that… so scary," complained Amelia. "Where is the Major? Is Arashard and his men with
29 8
him?" asked Yuudai intensely focused."Yes, they are all hiding in a cave in the higher parts of
the tower." "How are you awake so suddenly!?" "You’re the only lazy one girl, I’m surprised
he's the cat in the relationship," Cynthia chuckled. "Whatever!" pouted Amelia. "Can we
please get the guy and go home? This adventure cannot possibly get any more difficult."
A giant bird descended from the roof of the tower and landed in front of the cave where
the survivors of the curse were hiding. "I swear! A penguin! Here! Why me!?" yelled out
Amelia. "Calm down Amelia, he's probably just looking for food," assured Cynthia. "Yea, we
are the food!" Just as Amelia said this the mighty penguin attacked by unleashing shards of ice
from its mouth. "Well… wasn’t expecting that one." Cynthia dodged all the shards then
conjured up a fireball and shot it at the penguin. Her nine mechanical spikes shot out and
formed a ring around the fireball, which turned them a red color. The fireball expanded as the
ring opened and became huge. When it struck the penguin it exploded and the penguin burst
into flames, falling down to a pit below.
Cynthia's spikes again returned to her. "Wow, that was amazing!" exclaimed Yuudai
incredibly impressed. "Why, thank you very much," she responded proudly. They landed in
front of the cave and dismounted. When they entered the cave they found the major. "Finally,
get him and let's go," said Amelia relieved. The major was drooling and had his eyes closed.
"He seems a bit out of it," mentioned Yuudai. "Nope, he's fine! Just have to get him out of the
curse area and he will go back to normal!" assured Cynthia happily. They took him, placed
him on the dragoness then made their way out of the tower.
"Hey, didn't you say you found Arashard and his men too?" questioned Yuudai. "Yep,
but they were not in the cave. The penguin must have eaten them, no biggie!" "I suppose not,"
Yuudai agreed.
"I am so glad this is all over. I can go back to the town pub and buy a Coconut Colada!"
exclaimed Amelia in sheer victory. "I wonder if I should tell her… nope, best she finds out
when we get home… Home."
Epilogue: Good Memories.
"Wow, Mom, I never expected you to be a super awesome, butt kicking, bad girl!"
exclaimed Elisia excitedly. "That was an epic story!" "That it was." "So, what happen to the
bartender dude? Did he ever get his super spooky revenge?" asked the little one curiously.
"Nope, in jail forever!" "How about those bad guys? Did they actually get eaten by the
penguin!?" "Well, I am not quite sure but if they didn't I'm sure they're still super cursed for
eternity and all that." Elisia giggled. "Did Amelia ever get to kiss Yuudai?" she asked happily.
"Well, they probably kissed sure! I'll ask them how they’re doing if I ever see them again,"
Cynthia smiled. "Alright."
"Let's go home sweetie its almost dark," warned Cynthia. "Hey, Mom, you said if you
ever see them again. Did something bad happen to them?" Elisia really wanted to know.
"That, my dear… is a story for another day!"
30 1
Insanity Thy Name is Power
By Alan Quintana
“They’re not there, they’re not there, they’re not there,” Zachary whispers as he rocks
back and forth in his dark and mold ridden cell. He wasn’t always like this. He was respected
amongst his family and peers not for his athletics or smarts, but for his power. As a child
Zachary was always different, when he was only three years old he would complain of “hearing
voices.” His parents, of course, thought he was mad. After seeing four different therapists and
three neurologists, he was labeled “schizophrenic.” Mr. and Mrs. Smith tried their best to give
Zachary a normal childhood, taking him to the park, planning play dates, and they even bought
him a Rottweiler; Rex.
One day while Zachary was on a picnic with his family, he began to laugh hysterically
even though no one had said a thing.
“Daddy farted!” he said trying to catch his breath.
“It wasn’t me!” Mr. Smith exclaimed.
“Yes, you did; you said ‘I hope no one heard that!’” Zachary said puzzled.
“I never said it,” he paused briefly “but, I was thinking it.” They stared at him and at
that moment they knew their child was special.
Mr. and Mrs. Smith weren’t afraid of their child’s ability. In fact they were relieved that
Zachary wasn’t crazy or schizophrenic! They nurtured his ability, but it was difficult at times.
He never harmed anyone, but when he was thirteen he used his powers to read the mind of his
crush, Samantha Hayes. It didn’t end well, he dug a little too deep into her thoughts and ended
up revealing some of her deepest desires. She thought he was a creep for somehow reading her
diary and threw her milk at his face. Zachary never tried anything like that again…
***
It was the middle of October; the grass was freshly cut, the hedges were pruned, and
the leaves were piled on the side of his home. On this day Zachary, now a tall skinny young
man, turned 18. Zachary returned home from the grocery store to his ordinary home in the
suburbs of Foggy Bottom, Washington; he entered his home with the bags in hand and the air
inside was still.
“Rex! Come here boy!” He yelled, but nothing happened.
This was uncharacteristic of the Smith’s home; someone was always making some noise
somewhere. Zachary began to fear the worst. The silence was broken by “Surprise!” A crowd
of his friends and family yelled in unison. Rex galloped towards him and knocked the groceries
out of his hands. All Zachary could do was laugh.
He made his way around the room being bombarded by ‘happy birthday’ one after the
other. Once he was greeted by everyone, he found his friend Eli Adams. Eli and Zachary had
been friends since kindergarten. He was the only one of his friends that knew of his power.
“Hey, were you really surprised back there? Or could you ‘hear’ everyone before you
came in?” he asked.
“Yes, I was surprised, I’ve told you it’s an on and off thing; don’t say it so loud, someone
could hear you numb nuts.” They laughed and the party went on.
Everything was going well until they brought out the cake. All of his friends and family
gathered around the dining room table and began to sing happy birthday. It was time for him
to blow out the candles and when he did, it happened! A flood gate of voices was opened and in
his mind he now heard thousands of thoughts all mixing together. His powers fully developed at
this moment. He yelled out in agony and fell to the floor. The crowd broke out into chaos; the
31 2
added panic didn’t help Zachary at all. Mr. Smith had to break through the crowed to reach
him.
"Stand back! Give him space!" Mr. Smith yelled as he dashed to his son, he swept
Zachary up and took him to his room. Mrs. Smith came running behind with aspirin. After he
swallowed the pills she began to ask: “What happened dear?”
“The voices they…” He yelled out in pain once more, and then blacked out.
He woke up hours later; the sun had set and darkness had taken over. All that could be
heard were the crickets outside his window and mumbling coming from behind the door. He sat
up on his bed and something warm hit his lap. A towel put there, no doubt by his mother. Rex
was lying at the foot of the bed. As Zachary sat there he realized the voices had disappeared.
Hesitantly he walked out of his room; the only light was given off by the TV in the living room.
Rex looked over his shoulder for a moment and then went back to sleep.
The evening news was on; “There have been multiple break-ins in F -” he turned off
the news broadcast and seeing that he was the only one awake, he went back to bed. Before
reaching the door foreign thoughts invaded once more.
“This is the house!”
“Get in get out!”
“No witnesses!”
Zachary quickly and quietly made his way to the kitchen phone. He heard the front door
creak open. It was too late; he would be seen, he had to think fast. He remembered a time in his
English class when he was able to persuade his teacher not to give anymore quizzes for the rest
of the week. He accomplished this by imposing the thought into his teacher’s mind. Could it
work again? He was now face-to-face with the intruder and his gun.
“Get on the ground!” he yelled.
The lights flashed on blinding Zachary for a moment, it was Mr. Smith.
“What’s happening? Zachary get up off the…”
“Shut up, just shut up!” the intruder pleaded. Zachary could use this to his advantage.
“It’s ok, Dad, I can handle this,” he said with the utmost conviction.
“Shut up!” And with that Zachary concentrated and entered the man’s thoughts.
“This wasn’t supposed to happen! No witnesses, no witnesses,” the intruder kept
repeating.
“Relax, calm down,” Zachary kept repeating to him.
It worked a little too well; the robber slumped to the ground and was out cold. The cops
arrived and the man was arrested. News reporters and camera crews surrounded their home.
“How did you get the Red Bandit to knock out in the middle of the robbery?” one
reporter asked.
“Who?” he asked, not knowing the man he caught was indeed the thief responsible for
the multiple break-ins he heard of earlier.
“The man you captured,” she explained.
“Oh well…I hypnotized him,” saying the first thing that came to mind.
“That’s enough, thank you,” Mrs. Smith stated and took her son inside.
The next day the whole school was talking about Zachary and how he captured the Red
Bandit. At the end of the school day a crowd had gathered by his locker.
“What really happened?”
“You didn’t really hypnotize him did you?”
“Can you make our teachers fall asleep!?!”
In the crowd he spotted Eli. Zachary looked at him and spoke to him telepathically.
“Help me out here!” he said.
“Alright I will, but you’re not going to like it.”
32 3
“Alright everyone listen up! Zack here is a telepath.” The crowd went silent. Zachary
looked at his friend in disbelief.
“Told you, you wouldn’t like it,” he shouted. “But it’s time people know the truth.”
“No way!” one kid yelled.
“Prove it,” said another.
Zachary made a few kids cluck like chickens, others moo like cows, and the rest oink
like pigs. Soon there was a barn in the hallway and as quickly as it started it ended. For a
moment they all stood there in awe, then everyone began to cheer and pat Zachary on the back.
“Zack, can you make my teacher give me A’s?”
“Can you make summer start early?”
“Zack, can you come to my cousin’s birthday party?”
Zachary Smith was now the most talked about student in Washington.
***
It is winter now, the skies are grey, the leaves have all fallen, and snow was everywhere.
“Don’t forget your jacket sweetheart!” Mrs. Smith shouted to Zachary as he left the
house for school.
“Ok mom!” He jumped into his car and sped off in a hurry. He couldn’t miss the field
trip. Going over the speed limit by 20 mph he could see the school in the distance; but, he didn’t
make it a cop pulled him over. The officer walked slowly to Zachary’s car.
“Do you know why I pulled you over?” the cop said while still looking at his ticket pad.
“Yes sir, I was speeding, but I’m in a hurry!” he tried to explain.
The officer took his eyes off the ticket pad and looked up. “Wait a minute, you’re that
kid everyone’s been talking about! Zachary, right? Zachary… Smith?” He said eagerly.
“Yes, sir.”
“I bet you can make me eat this ticket if you wanted to huh? Couldn’t you? Here I'll
save you the trouble.” The cop pulled the ticket off the pad and ripped it to shreds. “BUT…
you’ve been warned,” he said sternly.
“Thank you, sir!”
He pulled into the school and ran to the bus. Eli saved him a seat.
“Dude, a cop just pulled me over for speeding, but he didn’t give me a ticket because he
recognized me,” he said, still not able to believe it himself.
“No way! I told you letting people know would be a good thing,” Eli said.
He was right, that wasn’t the first time that has happened since he told everyone.
Zachary was given free movie tickets, middle school students offered to come over to his house
and do his chores, and now this. He couldn’t help but think it was fear that drove the people to
do all those things.
They arrived at Langley, CIA headquarters, for their tour of the facility. The tour guide
began to rant about how the CIA was founded in 1947, and how the CIA stood for Central
Intelligence Agency. “Blah, blah, blah,” Zachary thought. He was more interested in what was
going on around him now, not stuff that happened over sixty years ago. Agents were walking
up and down the halls left and right. He peered through a window and saw a meeting being
held. He concentrated as hard as he could on the man in the back of the room.
“This Zachary Smith kid, he’s trouble,” the man thought. He stood up and began to
speak but Zachary couldn’t hear him even if the door was wide open. He was in shock; he was
the topic of a CIA meeting. Eli saw him standing there.
“What’s wrong?” he asked nervously.
“They’re talking about me in there,” he gestured to the door.
“Wow… what are you going to do?” Eli asked; he seemed panicked.
“I don’t know…” Zachary said.
33 4
The rest of the tour he followed the group aimlessly not saying a word to anyone. He was
so troubled by the news that he didn’t even react when they passed the shooting range. All he
could do was tell his parents and hope they would move out of town, to another state, another
country maybe. But how long could he stay on the run before they found him.
They arrived back at school and Zachary sprinted for his car. He was driving at 50 mph
in a school zone, but, what did he care, he’s ‘trouble’. If a cop stopped him he would make him
eat that ticket. Safety was his main objective and he knew he would find it at home. He pulled
up the driveway and dashed for the door. As he turned the key he heard clicks come from
behind it. He stood still for a moment.
“Shoot on sight, shoot on sight,” thought one man.
“We’ve got him now,” thought another.
Zachary left his keys in the lock and ran.
“What did they do with mom and dad? Where are they? Are they hurt?” The world
around him slipped away into darkness. His parents kneeled before him, their hands and feet
bound behind their backs. Mrs. Smith was crying out in pain as invisible beings hit her
repeatedly. She looked up at him.
“Run!” she shrieked.
The sound of a rifle cocking brought him back to reality. Zachary looked over his
shoulder, in the doorway stood an agent with a rifle in hand. He couldn’t outrun a bullet, he
thought. He broke out in a sprint anyway, but his effort was futile. There was a sharp pain in
the back of Zachary’s neck and he was down.
***
Days had passed; how many, he wasn’t sure. Time flows differently when you’re being
pumped with drugs constantly. Zachary received shock therapy every half hour being told that
the voices aren’t real.
“They’re not there, they’re not there, they’re not there,” Zachary whispers as he rocks
back and forth in his dark and mold ridden cell. The door opens and the chamber floods with
light. In the doorway stands a silhouette.
“Good morning, Mr. Smith.”
34 1
A Case of Rooms Without Doors
By Joseph Blanco
It was a sunny day in the Shire when a young Frodo Baggins awakened with a strange
craving. A batch of minced mushrooms would surely satisfy his grumbling belly; he could taste
them now, sautéed with fine spices and sizzled upon fresh grease. However, an issue arose . . .
The Gamgee family was not planting mushrooms of any sort this season; a naïve boy by the
name of Samwise had attempted to accelerate their growth by means of exposing them to
“controlled” flames. An utterly destroyed crop was all that resulted, and the entirety of Frodo’s
community suffered because of it.
“Damnable season, a damnable season! That flabbergasted Gamgee can’t do nothin’ but
get in the way of my jolly time. I am hungry, and neither game nor milk will suffice: I need a
perfect mince!” pouted Frodo as he tossed away his sheets and quickly adorned himself in his
most comfortable attire. He was the spitting image of his uncle Bilbo; at least that is what his
neighbors would whisper as the young hobbit ran around the village, tumbling in search of his
desired provisions.
At first, he searched around the individual crop fields: carrots, corn, potatoes, and
plenty of pipeweed, but nary a truffle or apple-bloom in sight. Next he shuffled around the
trees, digging away with his grubby little hands around their roots, hoping to find a perfectly
ripe specimen . . . but yet again, none were found. Finally, he thought up a plan most devious.
He would sneak into the Gamgee household, hoping to find the remains of last year’s harvest:
mushrooms weren’t quick to rot; they just had to be edible!
Night soon came, and the halfling’s treachery was underway. He adorned himself in his
formal black cloak, hoping to blend into the shadows, and nimbly worked his way through the
Gamgee’s front door. They were a rather poor family; they didn’t even provide their doors
with locks, but then again, who would steal from a poor farming family? Apparently the
absence of Frodo’s father and mother had quite the profound effect on him.
Nevertheless, Frodo intruded successfully. The stuffy little cottage in Bagshot Row
reeked of burlap sacks and piled hay. The rooms were dark, but Frodo’s fuzzy feet helped him
feel his way through the cozy abode. There was quite an array of knick-knacks he could have
taken: a coo-coo clock, probably crafted by Samwise’s father, a tray of polished silverware,
obviously the work of Mrs. Gamgee, and finally a couple of toys.
They were strange playthings for a hobbit: a pair of wooden ponies and a short bow sans
arrows. The first thing that popped into the little Baggins’ head was the typical elf. Although a
rare sight, they were often described to him as tall majestic creatures, agile on horseback and
naturally expert marksmen. These things were certainly interesting, but Frodo was not a petty
thief or perhaps not one at all? He had taken nothing and left, for there was not a single
mushroom in sight.
The trail seemed to have run completely dry, and Frodo’s craving would have to go
unsettled. Back to his sheets he went, changed into his evening wear and ready to rest, his eyes
were growing heavy as dreams of his destined meal were pouring into his head . . . until they
quickly turned sour and made him more awake than ever before. Frodo needed his craving
desperately, or he would never sleep again!
He had but one last hope: rumors of a cruel but often successful farmer permeated his
skull. The hobbit in question was Farmer Maggot, perhaps one of the greenest thumbs in the
Shire, but one with a red hot temper and attitude so blackened, one would swear he had come
from the heart of Mordor.
35 2
“What must be done will be done, I will have my supper, but loss I shall have none!”
The young hobbit chanted aloud as he raised his fist into the air. He would need to be well
prepared. He quickly gripped his wooden sword “Splinter” and outfitted himself with a leather
jerkin from his uncle’s study.
He huffed and puffed as he jogged out into the outskirts of the Shire, civilization
seemingly ending as he quickly worked his way deep into the thicket. He felt drained and
battered, but alas arrived at the homestead he sought to invade; the humble little abode of one
Farmer Maggot. Frodo would have his treat at last!
Something was off though, there was no fence protecting the fields; mushrooms of all
sorts were in plain sight but not a single thing was protecting them. Frodo should have thought
this through, but the temptation was far too great. Without a thought in his head he charged
forward and leapt with all his might onto a fresh patch and began to pick and pick away at the
hearty caps, nuzzling them and taking in their odor before attempting a quick dash back home.
His foot however was snagged . . . on a blatantly laid trip-wire. Like a bound hare, Frodo was
flung, screaming and wailing, into the air until he was securely hanging from a tree branch.
The lights from the homestead burst into bloom like so many small suns springing to life. Frodo
could practically taste his heart in his throat, but when the horrid barking began he was about
ready to cough it up entirely.
A massive hound emerged from the shadows barking and snarling as it hopped on its
hind-legs, its bared fangs hoping to sic them into Frodo’s plump bottom. The poor hobbit could
only howl and cry as he pulled out his wooden plaything, trying to keep the beast away from
him. Farmer Maggot had heard all the commotion and quickly boomed forth from his porch.
He had been watching the entire time under the cover of night. With an annoyed grunt, he
shoved a couple tender caps into Frodo’s grip before cutting him down and giving him a few
good spanks on the rear before practically tossing him clear out of the premises.
Frodo was sent tumbling in pain down a hearty hill before striking a tree and wobbling
back towards his home. At that very hour, almost dawn without sleep, Frodo readied his caps
to be boiled and steamed them up right, only to sit down, table prepared and all, and discover
that these were not mushrooms at all; just bitter, spongy roots. Frodo had been in the wrong
patch all along; picking ginger instead of his illusive meal. The poor young hobbit would spend
the next few years of his life cringing at the thought of a mere mushroom, and would stave off
ginger root even when under the harshest of colds.
Fin
36 1
The Sky Chronicles
By Raul E. Hernandez
I
“Would you like to join us?” said the masked man, extending a soot-covered arm to him.
The boy rubbed the tears out of his eyes with his forearm but only succeeded in further
irritating them by exposing them to more of the ash that covered his body. He clenched his
stinging eyes shut and looked down, showing the two people in front of him the top of his small
head which was overrun with light brown curls. He then commenced to nod his head
vigorously. The man laughed and put a hand on the young boy’s shoulder. “Alright then, what
is your name, friend?”
The man before him was of tall stature and dressed in strange armor; his breastplate
was an light blue that reflected the dancing flames which were running rampant throughout
the village, on the front each shoulder was a piece of armor that spiked out and looked like an
explosion of ice shooting outward. He wore blue metal greaves and white gauntlets that did not
cover his fingers or palms and an icey blue battle mask which covered his face from his nose to
his chin. His white hair was cut short but still long enough to shift with the direction of the
wind. He appeared to be in his early twenties but his sky blue eyes seemed to be filled with
timeless wisdom. Next to him stood a boy with only a burgundy vest on his torso, white baggy
pants tied by a black training belt and white bandages on his right arm which ranged from his
fingers to the top of his forearm.
“D-Drake,” the boy stuttered, still trying to hold back his tears. “My name is Drake,
nice to meet y-y-y…”
But the boy was stopped short as he fell to his knees and let the nausea that had been
eating away at his throat overtake him.
“And your sire name?” the masked man inquired.
“I-I don’t know,” Drake responded, still facing the scorched earth below him.
“I know,” said the red haired boy standing next to the masked man. “How about
Heaver? That should suit you fine. Drake Heaver!”
The boy entered a fit of laughter as Drake’s face turned bright red in embarrassment.
But the laughing was curtailed as the masked man delivered a swift punch to the back of the
37 2
red haired boy’s head, sending him face first into a pile of charcoal.
“Your manners will need to improve if you wish to continue your training with me
Raze,” said the man in an almost uninterested tone.
“Yesh, masser Zero,” Raze said through a mouthful of ashes.
W-wait! You could ask my brother, he’s really smart and…” Drake started his face
lighting up. “H-he should be somewhere here.”
Sadness caressed the masked man’s eyes. “Son…you are the only one left here.”
Drake did not comprehend his statement and continued calling for his brother into the
sea of flames that engulfed the village. As no answer returned Drake felt slightly panicked and
ran into the burning house which he had once called home. Zero called to the young boy but to
no avail, Drake could not hear him. The boy was too concerned in finding his older brother
whom he loved dearly. Drake walked closer to the blazing inferno which was still growing,
devouring the remains of the village. Drake flinched as the floor of the house burst apart and a
large skeletal figure emerged from beneath it.
“Wh-wha?” Drake said stunned.
The figure before him howled a most awful scream, causing Drake to hold his head in an
effort to keep it from splitting. The skeleton’s bones were all a dark purple hue, its very
presence seemed offensive to the living world. The thing noticed the young boy and walked
toward its prey, swaying side to side as it did so, pieces of soot falling off with each step,
enveloping the area in a black snowfall. As the thing outstretched its hand and prepared to
grasp Drake’s skull its hand was swiped away by a flying silhouette which landed right between
the two. “Stand back and let the pros handle this,” Raze said with a confident smirk. He lifted
his hand and pointed to the bewildered skeleton whose arm and been kicked clean off. “Prepare
yourself beast! You will rue the day you have ever crossed me, the great and powerful Raze
Dragonslayer; the almighty Flame of Purgatory which will cleanse - ” but Drake did not get to
finish his speech as the monster backhanded him into and through the side of the burning
house with another unholy screech.
Now that the nuisance was gone the skeletal figure turned his attention once again to
Drake and prepared to continue its goal of decapitating the young boy. It shot its hand out to
grasp him by the head but Drake caught the hand and tried to push back against it. For not
having muscles or ligaments the monster was still surprisingly powerful to the young boy and
inched closer and closer to his scalp.
The assault was stopped abruptly by a blast of fire that exploded on the creature’s back
and caused it to flail it arm wildly, flinging Drake away from it.
“As I was saying!” yelled a very agitated Raze, brushing the cinders off of his clothes. “I
am the one who will clean the floor with you!”
Raze ran up and tackled the skeleton, causing it to stumble back a few steps. He then
turned and extended his arms to his opponent, gripping a red object tightly.
“Burning star!” Raze called out as five streaks of fire shot out from the creatures chest
and consumed it. “Hahaha! And that’s how it’s done!”
Raze turned his back to the fallen foe and went to see if Drake had survived the throw.
He found the boy underneath some burnt rubble and worked to dig him out. The wooden
beams shattered as easily as a thin sheet of ice as Raze attempted to push them off Drake.
Pulling him to his feet, Raze prepared to gloat again about his greatness in front of the
newcomer, but stopped shortly after he felt a looming presence behind him. Half-turning his
head slowly, Raze was less than thrilled to see not his master but the monster rise up behind
him and reach for him.
“Aw come on!” he squealed as he closed his eyes and prepared for the worst.
But the worst did not come. Instead Raze felt only the heat of the flames around him.
38 3
Risking the safety of his closed eyes to see what was happening he slowly opened an eye and saw
a human hand placed on the monster’s black, skeletal one. Raze knew instantly that his master
had come just in time and was glad he got to them before the creature did. Yet young Raze
seriously began to think it over as his master released a quick chop to his head and caused him
once again to land face first into the ash-laced ground. Zero turned then to face the monster
and narrowed his eyes. A slight sparkle appeared in his left eye for a second and then it was
over. Cracks of white began spreading throughout the skeleton’s body from the point where
Zero held its forearm and spread from its skull to its feet. The thing began to screech once more
but it was much lower and less hostile now. It sounded like something that was slowly was being
crushed to death and had expended all its energy fighting it already. The monster then burst
apart, scattering its remains around the area of the house and snuffing out the fire in a mile
radius of the explosion.
Zero picked up the unconscious Raze and beckoned for Drake to follow them. As Drake
got up to follow, he saw a piece of his attacker’s remains on the ground. He grabbed it and
gasped; the bone piece was cold. It felt like the frozen water some people brought from the
mountains in the north of the country. Marveling at this spectacle he saw how it was cracked
unevenly as if it were extremely fragile, which was not at all the case when he was trying to
keep the thing’s hand away. He was so entranced that he almost forgot that he was supposed to
follow his rescuer and took off after him.
The trio then continued to walk away from the city of Rankiro until it was merely a
light in the darkening horizon. Raze had shaken his little dark red head awake and walked with
his head held high, refusing to speak about his blunder. Time passed slowly as they entered the
plains of the country, a cool breeze swept the tall grass and produced a soothing sound like that
of lazy waves rolling on a sandy beach. The orange horizon soon faded to pink and finally as
the last specks of light began to dwindle away from the day, Zero had decided to set up camp
for the children.
Drake went with him to gather firewood as Raze started up a fire in which they could
cook the chicken they had brought with them. Zero then took the opportunity to speak to
Drake without interference.
“So tell me Drake, how old are you?”
“Eight years old today.”
“Really? Well that makes you the same age as Raze.”
Drake frowned as he thought about how Raze was able to fend off the monster for the
most part while he could only keep it from tearing off his head for a few seconds. Zero seemed
to catch on this as he interjected.
“Raze was only able to do that because he has been training with me for the past few
weeks, don’t feel so down.”
“What was that he had in his hand?” Drake inquired, feeling slightly better.
“It’s a red gem I found in the market, it’s merely an object enchanted with power which
the user can release by feeding it some of his own. It’s called affected magic.”
Drake’s eyes shown in wonder at the explanation. “Do you use affected magic like the
mages we see passing through our village?”
Zero chuckled and said, “No, affected magic is somewhat inefficient once you’ve
mastered your own magic. It’s more of a crutch than a weapon at that stage.”
“Isn’t it easier to use though?”
“Yes, but its bound by many rules and restrictions which make it somewhat inflexible to
use in some instances. In which case your own power would be more readily available and
versatile.”
“Oh, of course,” Drake nodded, trying not to sound like he just figured that out.
39 4
“How do you use your magic then?”
“That I will show you when your training begins tomorrow.”
Drake’s eyes lit up, “You mean, I can train with you and Raze?!”
“Of course” he smiled under his mask “I’ll teach you everything I can. Now I’d like to
hear more about your brother and family?”
“Family? I-I can’t seem to remember”
Zero’s eyes narrowed, he had been afraid of this. The trauma of having his brother and
parents die along with nearly being killed must have triggered his brain to suppress those
memories, but that did not explain his not even being able to recall past events with his family,
he was eight after all. Yet this boy’s past seemed to be all but wiped out with the exception of
vague descriptions of his brother whose name he couldn’t even remember.
“Nevermind, let’s get back before Raze burns the food.”
“Yes, master!”
Upon arriving their fears were confirmed. Raze had tried to save himself by saying real
men don’t need taste.
“Though I’m not sure Heaver’s ‘delicate’ stomach can take man food,” he added.
Drake scowled and took an enormous bite of the chicken. Crunching the practically
coal-flavored chicken beneath his teeth and then tackling his fellow pupil. Meanwhile, Zero
propped himself against a tree and watched his pupils fight each other and make a mess of the
small camp. Chuckling he watched on as they grew tired and fell asleep by the embers of the
fire pit while he continued to gaze out into the night.
Crickets chirped softly as the last of the flames of the once great city of Rankiro licked
the sky and seemed to scorch the clouds themselves.
“Hey Raze?” Drake whispered softly, thinking that Zero had finally decided to go to
sleep.
“What is it, Heaver?” Raze murmered in an annoyed tone as he shut his eyes even
tighter, as if Drake had just shown him something repulsive and he wished to delete it from his
mind.
“That’s not my name,” Drake growled. “But even if it was, it wouldn’t be as pretentious
as Dragonslayer.”
“Preten-pretu-paret? What?” Raze said as he cracked open an eye unable to pronounce
the word, much less understand its meaning.
“It means you’re a liar,” Drake spat.
“Am not!”
“Are too! Dragon’s don’t exist idiot!”
“That’s not true, dragon’s did exist and I’m sure they’re out there…they have to be, it’s
the only explanation…”
“For what?”
“For what happened to my father!” Raze hissed. “He was killed by a dragon! There
were signs everywhere! The claws, the flames, even the smell!”
“How do you know what a dragon looks and smells like?” Drake said skeptically. “My
brother told me they only exist in fairy tales like the one of how this world was created.”
“You think the Sky Chronicle is a fairy tale!?” Raze yelled incredulously. “And here I
thought you might have actually been smart!”
Zero sighed as he overheard the entire conversation. If there was one thing Raze would
not let you get away with is the insulting of the legendary Sky Chronicle. This was going to be a
long night.
“What do you even know about the chronicle?” Raze continued relentlessly.
“Err, just that my brother…”
40 5
“My brother this, my brother that!” Raze shouted. “How about you actually make a
decision on your own, then maybe you could claim a surname and stop being a nobody!”
Drake winced at that venomous retort and looked down. “Because…his words are all I
have left to remember him by.”
Raze sighed heavily and spoke softer now. “The Chronicle tells us how the Draconian
Wars between the dragons and the deities ravaged and shaped the world. It goes into deep
detail on the past before this world was made. My family fought on the side of the deities, their
original name was Dantes but because of their bravery and power the goddess Kal gave us the
title of Dragonslayer. It’s a title of great renown…or at least, it used to be.”
“What happened?”
“People have stopped believing in the Chronicle, they say it’s only a fairy tale…that the
entire story was made by ancients who had to make something up for their lack of having
record history from before their time…”
“I want to see this Chronicle.”
Raze was taken aback “You what?! I thought you said you didn’t believe.”
“I believe” Drake started “that you are right about making my own decisions…it’s what
my big bro would have wanted. I want to see it and decide for myself what I believe.”
“It won’t be easy,” Zero spoke up, shocking his pupils. “The only ones allowed to see the
Sky Chronicle for themselves outside of the royal family are the Sentinels, the king’s elite
personal guard.”
“Guess we better start the training, huh?” Raze and Drake said in unison,
shooting their master a confident smirk.
Zero smiled from under his mask and waved them off. “Alright, first task. Go to sleep,
you two will be regretting your words in the morning.”
The moon hung high over the sky and bathed the land in an eerie glow. The two had
fallen asleep and now only Zero remained awake to stay vigilant in the silent night. He watched
his students with hope, these kids might actually live up to their promise. He knew Raze could,
but Drake’s past remained a mystery and he could not really be certain of his potential.
Just then, Drake shifted over and over in his sleep, muttering nonsense but something
caught Zero’s eye. There, on the top of Drake’s right arm appeared an insignia of a wolf head
about to eat a star. As Drake began to settle the figures on his shoulder began to fade and then
finally vanish from sight.
“Reaver…,” Zero murmured. “So that’s it…” immediately throwing out his doubts.
II
It was high noon as the scorching sun basked the plains of the country of Acros. The
plains in front of the gate to the capital, Aracelis, were flooded with people moving in and out of
the city carrying meats, wares, and all other useful and useless goods that they could carry or
put into a horse-drawn wagon. The ever present cool breeze created waves on the plains before
the city entrance. The flowing waves of grass seemed to flow toward a ruined village about ten
miles from Aracelis; a village which had been thoroughly consumed by unforgiving flames and
now only housed the remains of a lost society which had been wiped out those ten years ago…
“Halt” called out the soldier as he ran up to the two cloaked figures that just walked
past the drawbridge gate. “I’ve never seen you two before, let me see your papers.” The guard,
a portly man of about thirty-five, with a thick mustache and thinning hair had been standing at
his post for most of the morning and he was thoroughly irritated as he stood there in full armor
under the boiling sun. These two travelers could probably provide him with at least an
entertaining excuse if not a good fight if they attempted to make a break for it. A sigh could be
41 6
heard coming from one of the cloaked men as he pulled back his hood and scratched his short,
brown hair.
“Ughh, I knew this was gonna happen, I wanted to jump in a wagon but noooo, you
wanted to go and dress like an Umbra,” said the brown haired boy referring to the infamous
assassin guild.
His partner laughed and threw his hood back too, revealing his dark red spiky hair.
“Well, at least we know the guards aren’t incompetents,” the red haired one said to his
partner.
“Eh, I wouldn’t be so sure, he seems pretty dense.”
“It wouldn’t kill him to exercise right, didn’t think they would allow a gut on a
guardsmen.”
“Quality must be dropping in peacetimes I guess, probably hasn’t unsheathed his blade
on the battlefield in a while.”
The guard’s mustache seemed to tremble with intense rage as he tried to keep himself
from decapitating the two young travelers before him.
“I…can…hear…you…” the guard said through gritted teeth, suppressing a wave of
profanities that he wished to use to reprimand the two insolent boys, but he was in public and
had to restrain himself so as not to tarnish the name of the Kingdom of Aracelis’ knights.
“Listen here you brats you best leave, Aracelis does not welcome disrespectful
miscreants such as yourselves - ”
That was all the portly guard was able to say before the brown haired traveler kicked
him off of the drawbridge and into the moat below.
“Now why would you do that?’ inquired his red haired companion.
“Don’t like the ‘mighter-than-thou’ tone of his, reminds me of a certain person who
botched a certain infiltration plan.”
Raze threw his head back with a hearty laugh “Come on Drake, you can’t still be mad at
me for that. Besides it’ll be more fun his way. Look, the welcome party is already here!”
Raze pointed into the city where a mass of guards were calling out to their fellows and
preparing to attack the two young men that stood in front of their gate after assaulting one of
their men. Before even a minute passed about eight guards had assembled and ran toward the
intruders.
“You haven’t changed at all in the past ten years have you,” Drake sighed as he watched
the guards surround both he and Raze in a semicircle of spears pointed to their chests. Drake
reached into his pocket and revealed a small yellow orb with small indentations surrounding its
surface. He lifted it up into the sky and shut his eyes as he poured some of his strength into the
object. The yellow ball began to glow, dimly at first, but soon brilliant rays began to burst forth
from it, blinding the crowd. When the light died down the guards groaned as their would be
captives had vanished from sight. They searched frantically for where they may have vanished
to; surely they could not have gotten past them with all their spears strategically placed so that
they could not advance. They began to check the walls to see if they were trying to climb up
through there and when they saw no one they seemed to agree that they had run off to avoid
capture and proceeded to help their fellow guard out of the moat. Just before they headed back
to their posts a familiar voice rang out.
“This place is huge!”
The guards jumped when they heard Raze’s voice behind them. Upon seeing the red
haired boy, who now looked at the grave faced Drake with a sheepish grin, the guards charged
the intruders, brandishing their long spears and swords.
“I hate you,” Drake growled as he and Raze ran through the dense streets of the capital.
“Couldn’t help it, this is the biggest city in all of Arcos,” Raze responded as he hurdled
42 7
over a man buying groceries “if anything you’re the strange one for not admiring the scenery.”
“You couldn’t admire more discreetly?!” Drake yelled over the uproar of the
marketplace as he ducked and flipped a hefty man over his head and into a pile of hay in one
swift movement.
The two continued running through the crowded market, dodging spear and slipping
out of grips. Drake attempted to lose himself in the crowd but was unsuccessful as Raze would
constantly draw attention by commenting on certain nearby young ladies.
“I think it’s time we stop playing around, eh Drake?”
“What? Been turned down enough for one day?” Drake smirked and nodded to his
partner, if they wanted to fight a Sentinel they would have to create a seemingly catastrophic
event to lure them out of hiding. Nodding, Drake pulled off his cloak and faced the pursuing
guards.
If the guards were expecting something impressive, they were mistaken; Drake was
dressed in common clothing with nothing more than a golden brown tunic and black fur vest
and dark breeches with worn brown boots. The only weapon he apparently had on him was a
one handed sword of medium length and a scratched up iron shield. The guards stifled a
chuckle as they saw their supposed ‘challenger’ unsheathe his blade and prepare for battle as
he faced down ten fully-armored guards sporting pikes and broadswords.
“What are you all smirking at?” Raze interjected as he jumped off of a vegetable cart
and next to his partner. “I haven’t told a joke yet.” And his tone of voice implied he did not feel
like telling one anytime soon.
But the sudden wave of seriousness was washed away by the guards entering a fit of
laughing as Raze crossed his arms and involuntarily opened his cloak; revealing nothing but a
bare chest and wore black breeches and boots that looked like they would be dismantled if the
breeze picked up too much.
“You expect us to take vagrants like you seriously,” cackled a bearded guard. “You kids
look like you’ve been eating out of the pig’s troughs for at least a week!”
The guard continued to laugh but was interrupted mid-cackle as a fist placed itself in
the center of his face and he was sent sprawling back about five feet. His men fell silent, none
could believe what just happened; the brown haired boy had just managed to rush through the
center of them to one of their captains and punch him across the marketplace, all without being
seen by any of them. Yet before they could retaliate a rather haughty voice interrupted their
train of thought.
“You guys have bigger problems over here…” Raze said with a menacing smile as he
threw his cloak in front of him, blinding one of the foremost guards. Raze then proceeded to
jump and introduce his knee to the unfortunate guard’s face. Raze’s momentum flung him up
and in between two more guards whom he dispatched with two swift kicks as he flew past them
and landed on his right hand. “Now then, let’s see if we can have some fun!”
Drake used the confusion to bash his shield against the helm of a nearby guard, causing
him to stumble into one of his own men. Without skipping a beat, he spun around and parried
the spear of an attacker who had tried to get him from his rear, and, as he continued to spin,
slammed the edge of his shield against the side of the guard’s helmet. The guard was launched a
few feet and remained motionless as unconscious dreams of stars and songs began to fill his
mind. Drake raised his shield once more to block some swift stabs from a guard in front of him
and waited until the assault was over to retaliate.
Unfortunately he was not given the chance; a spear swept below his legs and knocked
him off balance. Drake looked up to see a sword being plummeted downward toward his skull
and went to raise his shield but his left arm was being pinned down by another guard. Drake
looked up again and everything seemed to go in slow motion as he saw the tip of the sword
43 8
slowly being brought down to his forehead.
III
To say the fountain in Hero’s Plaza was large was an understatement. It was positively
enormous, the base of the structure rose eight feet high and shot out a torrent of water which
sprang up another thirty feet into the sky and opened at its apex like a great blooming flower.
The pool surrounding the fountain was circular in shape and was large enough so that someone
may sit on the edge of it and not be disturbed by the splashing of the water. The fountain was
not usually meant for swimming but one particular person was doing just that. This person had
been swimming around the circumference of the pool for the past half hour without rest. No
one dared call out to him out of fear and respect.
Emerging from the pool and shaking off his black hair which reached his shoulders, the
man jumped out of the pool and began to dry himself with a white towel he had left nearby. His
rather shaggy black hair hung limply down to the base of his neck as he dried it. He squinted
his emerald eyes as he witnessed a figure approaching him in full-bodied knight armor. Zane
was always told that he should wear armor but he never really felt the need to.
“Interesting habit you’ve developed there Zane,” called another, older man, dressed in
full white armor, shining like the moon in the noon sun.
“Captain Roark, sir,” Zane said as he assumed a position of attention, dropping his
towel which landed on a duckling, who causally happened to be passing by and now found itself
shrouded in darkness.
“At ease,” Roark replied with a chuckle. “I see you’ve taken a liking to the fountain as
of late Zane.”
“Yes sir, helps take my mind off…things.”
“Ah,” Roark said, wincing slightly and feeling a small sense of regret for having asked,
Zane had been in a sorrowful mood for…well, the past two years since the incident.
Zane walked to a nearby marble bench and put on his silver greaves, more ornate than
he would have liked but he did not have much choice in the matter.
“You should really wear something more than just pants you know…people don’t tend
to respect undressed knights,” called out a deep voice from the center of the fountain.
Zane growled and threw a punch in the direction of the fountain. Even though he was at
least a good ten feet away from it, the fierce water being forced out of the opening gave in to the
pressure of the punch and blew away for a moment. All that was revealed though was a single
black knife embedded into the fountain’s center before the massive torrent continued to burst
forth.
“That phantom…,” Zane grumbled.
“One shouldn’t speak in such a way about a fellow knight,” said the same voice that now
seemed to echo around the area “But I did not come to beat you up again, Zane, I have a
message for the Captain. The king requests you in his study at once, sir.”
Roark chuckled as the two knights continued to bicker and began heading toward the
castle gate. But all ceased when they all saw a brilliant pillar of light sprang from the city. The
beam remained for a good five seconds before dissipating and leaving both Roark and Zane
nearly blind.
“Ouch, what was that?” Zane grunted as he rubbed his eyes furiously.
“It came from the marketplace,” echoed the deep voice. “It seems we have some
unfriendly visitors.”
44 9
“Hmm, Captain permission to…Captain?”
“He’s gone you oblivious fool,” hissed the voice. “How can you be so clueless of your
surroundings?”
“Come here and say that to my face!” retorted Zane with venom in his voice, but there
was no response. The owner of the voice had apparently vanished without even leaving a trace
that he was there, with the exception of the black knife.
“Ah, wait for me,” Zane grumbled as he began to run in the direction of the
marketplace.
IV
Inch, by inch it crept closer. Drake, seeing no alternative decided that the guard’s safety
was much less significant to his own and so began to focus. His golden eyes began to gleam
brighter as the sword sank closer and seemed as if they were about to burst with light as the tip
of the sword nearly touched his forehead.
But then it stopped.
The sword did not continue to move, a single drop of blood fell down and splashed onto
Drake’s forehead and caused him to snap out of his trance-like state and his eyes to return to
their normal shade of gold.
Looking up, Drake saw a black gloved hand holding the sword by the middle of the
blade and blood slowly trickle down as the sword struggled to push free of its grip.
“Hey now, and here I thought I was the one that was gonna lash out first,” said the
hand’s owner.
Raze smirked as he pulled the sword away from his partner’s head and tossed it into a
merchant’s stand, effectively impaling a large fish that was being hung from the roof of the
stand.
“That was my freshest fish…” whimpered the merchant, still shocked as the sword had
come so close to his face that it had actually trimmed a few hairs off of his thick, black beard.
Raze grabbed the now weapon-less guard by the scruff of his skinny neck and, with
tremendous force, slammed him head first into the ground, instantly knocking the man
unconscious. Raze then proceeded to tear off a piece of the guard’s tunic and used it as a
makeshift bandage to wrap his bleeding hand.
“Well then, my friend,” Raze said in a triumphant voice. “Looks like you are indebted to
m -”
But Raze stopped as he turned to see an arrow flying straight at him. His eyes widened
in realization but that feeling soon subsided and gave way to embarrassment.
The reason being, that Drake had appeared before him and had caught the arrow in
between his palms as he brought them together as if to form a praying gesture. Drake pressed
his hand closer together and felt a satisfying ‘crunch’ as the thin arrow’s shaft broke between
his palms.
“You were saying?”
“I hate you…”
“Careful, their regular troops are here now as well, Aracelis knights are not to be taken
lightly.”
“Whatever.”
Drake and Raze then assumed a back-to back formation and faced their surrounding
attackers, which were growing by the numbers. Drake held his shield up high and deflected
most of the attack while his sword easily parried pikes that managed to get passed his shield,
leaving many of the pikemen guards with merely short wooden stick to fight with. Raze on the
45 0
other hand fought with only his bare hands and metal braces on his forearms. He caught blades
and spears with his braces and managed to liberate the guards of many weapons which he
would take and either bend or break in half before throwing them back as now blunt
projectiles.
After about one hour the duo had felled at least thirty guards on their own and showed
no serious sign of fatigue besides sweating, which could be easily blamed on the sun which
scorched the marketplace.
“Alright, this is getting us nowhere,” Raze pouted as he flipped a guard over him and
backhand punched an oncoming one. “And there is no end to these small fries!
“Relax I’ll draw them here” Drake smirked at him as he tripped a guard with his foot
and slammed his elbow into the man’s temple. “Cover me…”
Drake sheathed his sword and reached into one of his traveling bags. His hand
rummaged around the small brown bag until it finally procured the item he was looking for.
Drake then pulled free a white metallic object from his pouch and nodded to Raze.
Raze smirked back at him and pulled out a familiar red gem from his own pouch. Raze
poured his strength into the gem and soon a ring of fire expanded from it and created a circular
wall of fire around him and Drake. This was his opening; Drake poured his strength into his
own object and threw it up into the sky with all his might.
“Close your eyes” Drake muttered, clenching his eyes and facing down.
Raze mimicked his movements as soon an ungodly bright flash exploded from the
metallic orb that Drake had sent airborne. The flash was so powerful that the knights and
guards alike reeled back in pain as the piercing light burned their retinas.
The duo, who had shielded their eyes and regained their vision sooner than their victims,
then pounced upon their blind prey. Within minutes, half of the force was subdued and the
other half was either too wary to approach or to fatigued to continue. Only the knights from the
regular army now faced them with stern looks of determination.
Drake and Raze prepared for a continued battle before a foreign object crashed into the
street between them and the knights. Dust and rubble flew out from the force of the impact and
everyone fell into a coughing fit from the debris.
“Ok, you got my attention…” boomed a deep voice from the crater, from where
emerged a very large man. He stepped out of the crater and wiped the dirt he had thrown up
from off of his shoulders.
Both Raze and Zane tensed up, this newcomer sounded menacing and his physique only
seemed to back it up. He towered a good half a body over them and his entire body was rippling
with powerful, lean muscles which his simple black vest did little to conceal. His midnight black
mane was shot enough in the front to allow view of his intense emerald eyes and was long
enough in the back to be able to bush the base of his neck. The man stood before them with
crossed arms and a stern look, yet deeper examination of his facial feature showed that he was
relatively young, in fact, he was not much older that either Raze or Drake.
But the reactions from the surrounding knights meant that this man was not all show.
They trembled at first but soon began to cheer and rejoice at the knight’s arrival. As if Raze
and Drake had already been beaten and humiliated right before their eyes.
“Who are you?” the man growled.
“Raze Dragonslayer!” shouted Raze excitedly, things were finally heating up, and not
exactly figuratively.
The large knight then turned to Drake, his decorative metal greaves groaning as he
shifted his position.
“And you?”
Drake spat aside to his left. “Drake,” he said smiling in an way that could only be
46 1
described as devilish. “Drake Ruin.”
“Dragonslayer and Ruin,” said the knight as he mulled the names over in his head,
saying each name as if he were tasting them and evaluating their flavor. “Alright good, now I’ll
know how to mark your graves, if there is enough left of you two to bury that is.”
“Are you some kind of Seer?” Raze scoffed.
“Who are you to think we won’t wipe the floor with you like we did your buddies”
Drake continued with a glare.
“My name,” said the large knight, allowing a small smile to crack on his stern face, “is
Zane Fearon, Aracelis Sentinel.”
“Oh…” said the two in unison.
47 © 2012 Christopher Columbus High School
48