Immortal, Chapter One

"Oh my god! Get the fuck out of bed you worthless piece of shit!" were the first words Timothy heard as his eyes peeled open to let in a painful flood of brilliant light. He groaned as he rolled onto his side, not yet capable of forming actual words. Something rocked the side of his bed, and he felt the ground beneath him shaking as though an earthquake had struck. Another stream of curses rushed from Reggie's mouth as the shaking stopped. Mumbling, he rubbed at his eyes, trying to pull away remnants of sleep. Pain exploded in the side of his head; his ear went numb. What little vision he had gained while waking was now lost to a dizzying array of reds and white. Then it was black, but that slowly faded into blurred reality and the mess of a bedroom before him slowly came to life. He looked to the side where he thought he had felt something hit the bed after he had lost sight. Resting in a crater of ruffled blankets sat a large plastic firetruck with a ridiculous cartoon face. Its eyes spun in a circle and it giggled as the overenthusiastic voice began singing the alphabet, each corresponding letter on his side lighting up as its name was called.

"Now!"

"Yes, Mother," he said bitterly. Timothy hated calling her "mom," "mother," or anything similar, feeling that "Reggie"—the name she had been given thirty-three years ago by her own mother—would suffice for this woman who had not earned her title. She gave him an urgent glance, both eyelids slanted but one green eye popped open maniacally wide, before spinning around and stomping out of the room leaving a trail of cusses and curses behind her. He waited until the clip-clop of her heels descended the stairs and her cusses were accompanied by the names of his siblings before he moved. He quickly pulled on a pair of jeans, clipping the belt just a little to the side. A black t-shirt fell over his body, and despite the fact that it was a warm spring day, he pulled a heavy hooded sweatshirt over that. He never went out in only a t-shirt. They were not sufficient enough to hide the scars that crisscrossed his arms.

It came as no surprise when he found his dresser drawer to be empty except for the small family of wood mites that had taken up residence inside. Thinking little of it, he matched a pair of brown and gray socks off the floor and tugged them over his toes. The pair of black sneakers that often sat in a corner by the door were torn and shredded both inside and out, but his feet found them familiar and comfortable. He glanced at himself in the mirror and frowned disapprovingly. A tuft of his black hair was sticking up defiantly on one side of his head, and a streak of white lint coated the shoulder of his hoodie. He sighed and tried to remember why he bothered to get out of bed in the morning.

He did this every moring for as long as he could remember, and up until two months ago he'd never figured out an answer. Then, back in late February, fate came to him by the name of Melissa Spring. Timothy had never bothered searching for a girlfriend before, he figured that with his life's glorious track record he'd be left more hurt than when he started, or possibly simply rejected from the start. But there was something about Melissa that he couldn't stand to be away from, something that made him think it would be all right, she'd never hurt him. He'd spent the first week of their relationship fortifying himself against the inevitable farewell, but it never came. Reluctantly he'd crawled out of his tower into the open, feeling for the first time in his life completely safe in her arms.

A smile had found its way onto his lips as he had become lost in fantasy, but even when the dream had ended and reality returned he was determined not to let it slip from his face. It was rare that he should make such an expression and he was going to enjoy it for as long as life would allow. Unfortunately that was not a very long time at all. Timothy was hardly out into the hall when Reggie's voice crashed off the walls. He wasn't sure who she was yelling at, but he was certain that he'd wanted no part of it. Desparingly he trudged through the cluttered hall and down the stairs, the old wood screaming defiance under his feet.

"Timothy, where the fuck are you? Why aren't you here yet!" Reggie screamed, turning through the doorway, nearly colliding into him. His ears hummed painfully from the sound of her voice, but he tried not to let it show. "Watch where you're fucking going! Where's your backpack?"

"I had no homework so I left it at school," he replied. It was half true, he had left it at school.

"Hurry out to the car then. Your father will drive you in after he drops off the other two."

"Their father." Timothy rushed past her and was out the door before she could yell anythig else. He didn't understand why she insisted on calling Leonard his father, he was nine by the time Reggie'd married the man.

Outside it was warm, sunny and the air smelled of spring. Small puddles had formed in patches over the pavement and across the yard, too-deep reminders of the rain from the night before. One puddle larger than the others had reached out to engulf the front tires of the little Nissan. Timothy sighed as his shoes splashed in the water, rippling rainbows from the car's oil leak.

He pulled the door open, though it gave some resistance, and tossed himself into the passenger's seat. Isabelle, his seven-year old half-sister, sat in the back seat forcing a comb through her thick hair. She looked up and scowled at him, as though he'd done something to harm her. In the driver's seat sat Leonard, a balding man in his late forties. Smoke rose away from his cigarette in large clouds. He flicked the end out the window, watched it smolder on a blade of wet grass, then reached for the pack in his pocket and slipped another between his lips.

"That's where Mike's sitting," Leonard grumbled. "Get yourself in the back."

"Michael is six, this is the death seat. He should still be in a safety chair," Timothy said, though he reached for the door handle regardless. This was a senseless debate that could not be won.

"Don't matter, it's his seat. Get in the back."

Timothy slipped out of the car, the water in the puddle soaking through his sneakers. His foot slished and sloshed in drowned socks as he made his way around the car and into the seat behind Leonard's. Isabelle glared at him as he fastened his seatbelt and leaned back in to as comfortable a position as he could, which wasn't too comfortable since his stepfather had the driver's seat all the way to the end of its track, leaving Timothy with negative leg space. He grunted at his sister, not feeling enough energy to stage a pathetic war with the girl.

Screams and shouts seeped out of the walls of the yellow house. Michael, a grimace on his small face, appeared from behind the front door. The boy stomped to the car, doing his best to look disgruntled and dangerous despite his small size, leaving a train of the curses that chased behind him. As soon as he had buckled up, Leonard twisted the key in the ignition and the foour of them slowly backed away from the house that felt very little like a home.

****************

The trip into downtown Otterston was an annoyingly trying experience, despite the relatively short amount of time it took to get there. Isabelle, still combing her raven black hair, had found it necessary to climb though the car and exit out the passenger door after Michael. She made extra sure that her foot left a very red, very muddy mark on the back of Timothy's hand.

The drive into Saugus was only slightly better. Slightly in the fact that Timothy could now ride shotgun, relieving his legs of their previously cramped and crushing cell behind his stepfather's seat. Despite the new level of physical comfort, Timothy found it rather irritating to listen to Leonard's annoying rant of gas prices, the hinderance he had caused to everyone else's schedules, and the man's own failing patience. At one point Timothy thought it would be good to mention how it wasn't his fault Otterston as too rural to afford its own high school, but he quickly pushed the urge aside.

By the time he finally reached the high school he'd completely missed his first class and half the second, which was a significant portion of the school day considering the blocked scheduling the school board had implemented the following year. At first the scheduling seemed like a good idea; more manageable schedules, and less homework, but soon Timothy learned that missing just one day of school was the equivalent tomissing two days with the old scheule, and his grades had quickly begun to decline.

Mr. Gordon, the extremely overweight egg-shaped individual who had the privilege of teaching United States History, didn't take kindly to interruptions of his lessons, especially interruptions made by a tardy student. He was leniant, however, offering Timothy the generous opportunity to choose between a few days of detention or an extremely long, handwritten essay detailing each and every fight about the Civil War.

Lunch came midway through third class, but to Timothy's dismay the cafeteria had swapped out the scheduled Hawaiian pizza for a gortesque Frankenstein macaroni monstrosity. He walked across the blue-tiled floor, past the tables of gossipping students and dirty glances. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted Jackson Gray, a blond-haired boy whom had been Timothy's best friend Freshman year. They hadn't spoken in months, not because there was any kind of falling out between them two, but because Melissa wasn't particularly fond of Jackson. Instead of risking losing her love, Timothy chose to assmlate himself into Melissa's group of friends, regretfully leaving his only companion in the past.

This new group, Melissa's group, sat at a shorter table positioned against the trophy case that served as a back wall to the cafeteria. Most of the people were ether unfamiliar or unfriendly in Timothy's mind, some of them even triggered a sort of hostility alarm in the back of his mind as he glanced over them. His unease in the midst of the group often caused him to slide into Melissa, whom sat in the center of it all, for support. Despite the dangerous glares her friends shot in his direction, just sitting up beside her, perhaps resting his chin near her neck, just the warmth brought with the contact of her soft skin made him feel completely safe.

"What's the matter?" she asked softly as he rested his head into her shoulder. Her often loud voice and melancholy tone always seemed to become quieter and more soothing when she spoke to him, and the change sent unexplcably joyous shivers down his spine. He caught a whiff of her cool breath, which still retained a hint of the mint gum she'd been chewing earlier, despite the fact that she had apparently consumed most of her macaroni.

"I'm just a little tired," he whispered back, knowing it was a lie. He would never tell her of his discomforts, not about her friends anyways. Slowly his eyes closed shut and he allowed his mind to become numb to all but her light, steady breathing and the heat that reached out to envelope him.

"Long night?"

"Not without you." He smirked, but wasn't entirely sure if she would appreciate the comment. To his relief she chuckled and set his fears to rest for another moment.

His arm slid around her back, creeping over her side and pulling her closer. He felt hers wind their way around his waist and clamp tightly around his back. They stayed like that for a while, cradling each other as best they could while seated awkwardly on the lunch table bench. Then the warmth vanished, much more quickly than it had come. Timothy's eyes snapped as Melissa's shoulder disappeared out from beneath his chin and her arms flew away from him.

Alone and suddenly cold without her touch, Timothy watched as Melissa snatched the girl beside her into a tight hug. They pretended to grope each other, discussing the imaginary but raunchy sex that had occurred the night before. He said nothn though his heart ached wth jealousy. The fear that she would leave him if he spoke against her play was too great. Quickly he turned to his lunch, and numbly ate for the remainder of the perod.

****************

There had been no other opportunities for him to see Melissa before the day ended. He had stopped by her locker after the bell had rung and waited for several minutes, nearly missing the bus, but she never arrived. His already sour mood was made worse on the bus ride home, where he was pelted by spitballs and assaulted by jeers about how good his "whore" had been in bed. By the time he stepped off the muttering vehicle into an ankle deep puddle, he'd heard every possibly "your mom" and "that's what she said" joke that could be told, as well as a number of other insults. His sweatshirt hung heavily from his shoulders, soaked by a gallon of liquid he hoped was lemonade.

The sky had filled wth clouds at some point during the day, and dark spots had begun to pepper the pavement as Timothy scraped his shoes against the grooved surface. Soon the light shower became a relentless down pour, washing away the sweet scent of spring and dripping the mysterious liquid down his face and into his mouth. It wasn't lemonade.

As the hours crawled by and the night consumed the day an unbelievable cold fell across Timothy's flesh and ate through him until it found his heart. He shivered as he ran through the day in his head, a warm tear forming in the corner of his eye. Through his bangs he caught a flimpse of his soiled hoody.crumpled into a heap in a corner of his room. He turned away, only to fnd the red firetruck staring at him. Rage surged through him and he smashed the toy against a wall, watching in disbelief as its eyes fell free of its face and its letters flicker once then fade out as the recorded voice gurbled as though drowning. For a moment Timothy sat their staring at the mess, then he broke down into tears, whispering an apology to the truck and hating himself for being so childish, so immature.

His head spun as he stumbled over to the dresser, hardly able to see more than colored streaks through his tears. Clumsily he fumbled about inside one of the drawers until his fingers brushed the jagged surface of something cold and metal. He traced the objecy one end to the other, firmly grasping where it felt thickest and yanking it out of the drawer. The dagger glinted in the light, the stone held in the dragon-hilt's claws reflecting a bright shade of red. The blade was ice cold, but as he pressed it firmly into himself he could feel warmth sliding over him. The first cut was slow and deliberate, a carefully dragged line across his vein. He watched almost in aw as scarlet flooded out of his arm, streaming down his snow skin and carrying the cold out with it. A small burn, a tingling sensation, radiated out from the wound like an electric blanket. Twice more he repeated this same deliberate stroke, hoping that he might slip too quickly and end it in a hurry. With each slice came with the promise of that tingling warmth, and soon he found it impossible to resist. The precision of his first few cuts was lost to a flurry of movements, several white lines appearing across his flesh before even one could begin to bleed.

In a matter of minutes hs arm had become a bleeding plaid design. Red ran from not just his wrist, but his entire arm, up past his elbows and into his shoulder. He fell back, dropping the dagger at his side and closing his eyes. He wanted to feel that warmth over the rest of him, to grow lost in it and never find the way out, but he knew that would not happen. He knew he had failed in that task and as he drifted off he despaired in knowing that his eyes would open again.

Elfin Warfare - Chapter Two

“You know I hate fixing these things.” Levi said as he peeled Freya’s skin back with a pair of tweezers and looked through a magnifying glass into the tiny cut on her arm, “And this one’s gonna be some real trouble. I’ll have to cut your hand to get in there and fix the damn thing.”

“I know.” Freya answered. She was lying down on a medical table. The walls of the room were once white, now they were stained with blood and dirt from the various times Freya needed repair. Scorch marks covered a portion of one of the walls. They caught Freya’s attention, “What happened there?”

Levi glanced up and followed her gaze to the wall. “Oh.” he said. A childish smile spread across his face, “I was just playing with a new toy. Alright, hold still.”

Levi grabbed a small surgical knife from the table next to him, and with steady precision he made a slice down Freya’s left arm. She flinched a bit; she didn’t like pain. That was part of the reason she destroyed her enemies so quickly, so they wouldn’t be able to inflict pain on her. But she also wanted them to feel as little pain as possible as well.

“Alright, I see the hole. Damn little thing, I don’t have a patch that small. What’re you doing getting splinters in your ellicit veins? Of all the things to poke with a piece of wood.”

Freya gave a cold glance to her doctor. This didn’t go unnoticed and he said amusedly; “Why do you always have to find the worst possible meanings in my statements, Freya? Does Alcuin know your mind is in the gutter?”

“What would it matter to Alcuin? And my mind is not ‘in the gutter.’”

“What would it matter to Alcuin? It might matter a little bit more then he’d let on. Oh damn.” Levi added, quick to change his own subject, “Frey, I’m going to have to replace the section of vein here, there’s no way I’ll be able to get a patch there without cutting off circulation to your thumb.”

“That makes no sense.”

“I’m the doctor here, just roll with it.”

The black door to Freya’s right swung open just then. Alcuin walked into the room, he now wore his military clothes, the armor he wore on the field. Bulletproof but not ellicitproof. An orange cape hung from his shoulders, showing his rank as Lt. Commander. It was a position he took lightly. He hadn’t asked for it, but Geov had chosen him as his successor.

“Is she okay?” Alcuin asked anxiously.

Levi looked up from his work to answer; “Dude, she got pricked by a splinter. She’s perfectly fine.”

“Well, you’ve got her arm all open and-”

“The puncture was too small to patch, I have to replace the vein. It really is a pain, I wish her ellicit veins would just heal themselves. It’s the one foil about her being part robot, I have to fix her every time she scrapes one of these things.”

“I’m sorry to be such a pain.” Freya added dryly.

“It’s not your fault.” Levi said as he pushed her skin back down and wrapped a bandage around her arm, “Alright, you’re set. Alcuin, I see you’re ready.”

“Yeah. Commander Geov and Dora will be accompanying us.”

Freya sat up and silently slid off the edge of the medical table. Her armored feet hit the black tiled floor with a light click.

“Thank you, Levi. May I have my arm back now?” the elfin girl asked, nodding towards the portion of blue armor on a nearby countertop.

Levi turned to look at the armor, as if he’d forgotten it, before answering her question; “Not unless there’s an emergency. It would irritate the slice I just had to put in your arm. And that would be bad.”

Freya seemed irritated by the answer she received. Despite this she did not persist in the matter any further, she knew Levi was right. And she also didn’t feel up to arguing with him and his so-called logic. She looked over to Alcuin. Dressed in his armor and cape she thought he looked a bit like a carrot with glasses and a fuzzy mound of dirt on top. A small smile forced itself onto her face from this thought.

“Hey, why are we headin’ to the capitol anyways?” Levi asked.

“We were summoned by the King himself. He says he may have found a way to turn the tides of this war in our favor.” Alcuin responded in a more serious tone than he had used before.

“I thought Freya was already doing that.” Levi said, gathering some tools and the piece of Freya’s armor into a small bag.

“You don’t seriously expect her to win this war for us, do you? Even she has limits.” Alcuin argued.

“Yeah, but we don’t know what those limits are. Has she even broken a sweat in the battles we’ve encountered so far? Does she even sweat?”

“I’m standing right here. I can hear everything you’re saying.” Freya growled irritably. She didn’t appreciate being discussed as a weapon of war.

“Alright, enough of this. We have to report to the Commander. Now. So finish packing your things Levi.” Alcuin said, wary of Freya’s unseen wrath.

“Fine, fine. I’m packin‘. Although I’ve got something’ for you, Alcuin.” Levi answered, pointing to a closet in the corner of the room.

Alcuin approached the closet. It was larger then himself and built of a flimsy metal. Slowly he opened one of the dull gray doors. The last time he had carelessly opened one of Levi’s closets, he had nearly lost his head to an automatic ellicit blaster. Nothing happened, the shelves were empty except for a red cylinder about the length of a finger. Alcuin grabbed the cylinder from the shelf.

“What is this?” he asked, turning to face Levi.

“That is the bottom of this.” Levi answered as he grabbed at something beneath his desk.

From beneath the white laboratory desk Levi revealed a human length red stick. At one end of the stick was a jagged yellow object that slightly resembled a lightning bolt.

“And what would that be?” Freya asked, her patience with Levi’s games lost.

“This is the new toy I was telling you about. It’s a spear I designed. That top piece is an ellicit chamber. That bottom piece in Alcuin’s hand is actually a trigger. Twisting it while it’s attached to the spear will heat the ellicit in the chamber.”

“What does heating ellicit do? I’ve never heard of that doing anything special.” Alcuin questioned.

“Then you, my friend, are poorly educated. Heated ellicit is what makes her blades so deadly.” Levi answered, glancing over to Freya.

“So this spear is as powerful as my swords?” Freya asked curiously.

“No. Your swords were funded completely by the government, I had to pay for the materials in his spear myself. But the spear is more powerful then the ellicit guns used by the Elfin Empire.”

“That’s pretty powerful.” Alcuin said, very impressed, then he remembered that they had somewhere to be, “Thanks for the weapon Levi. I’m afraid we don’t have time for a demonstration though. We really have to get going.”

“Right, I better get dressed.” Levi added. And without hesitation he had zipped up his vest.

--------------------

Commander Geov paced impatiently before the gates of the military fortress. Alcuin was late, too late. The sun had risen to its highest and beat on Geov remorselessly. Dora was also growing impatient, though she hid her impatience with an emotionless face. Strapped to the girls back were two very large guns of unique design. They were modified from bullet guns, now they fired powerful blasts of ellicit. Unlike Geov, Dora wasn’t heavily armored. She wore an upper torso piece, but that was all she had for armor. She was dressed just as she was in the mess hall; a green jacket and skirt piece with knee-high field boots.

“I’m losing my patience with Alcuin. If he doesn’t arrive in the next thirty seconds you’re the new Lieutenant Commander.” Geov grumbled.

“It’s possible that Freya’s injury was more serious then we thought.” Dora suggested.

“Serious? Injury? Dora, she got a splinter! I understand that she punctured one of her cyborg things, an ellicit vein was it? But a splinter is a splinter! This wait is ridiculous!”

“Yes. I suppose it is.” Dora said quietly, turning her gaze downwards.

“Wow Commander, you sure do like to hang around with the ladies, don’t ya?” a familiar voice asked.

Geov turned to see who it was, but he already knew before he had done so. Lace approached from the road near Dora‘s right. The skinny man was still atop his horse. His gaze fell to the quiet girl, his eyes sparkled with temptation.

“She’s a short one, isn’t she? Sure is cute though.” Lace commented as he ordered his horse to circle around Dora, “Can I take her home tonight, since I don’t think you need both her and the blue haired one.”

Dora backed towards her Commander nervously. She didn’t like Lace and this was only their first meeting. Her gaze remained downwards, watching the shadows of the people around her and the horse’s brown hooves.

“Listen you dirty little sell sword, the women here are not objects for your amusement. They are to be treated as equals, or in your case, superiors.” Geov sternly replied as he stepped between Dora and Lace.

“Ah, you’re so cheap, Commander. How are we supposed to keep our morale up if we don’t have anything to look forward to at night?” Lace asked while he looked for a way around Geov. Lace commanded his horse to step to the right, but Geov again blocked the man’s path.

The Commander placed one hand on the hilt of his sword and said; “Lace, your insubordination may cost you your life, think carefully or I will kill you.”

“I doubt you’d ever do that!” laughed the mercenary, “You barely have the heart to kill the enemy elves! You’d never have it in you to strike one of your men!”

“Do not test me, Lace. Leave.” Geov demanded.

“Well, come on then!” Lace said as he drew his own thin blade, “Kill me!”

Geov didn’t reply this time, he only tightened the grip of his large fist on the silver handle of his sheathed blade. He grit his teeth together and prepared himself mentally for what was inevitably to come. For a moment he and Lace stared at each other waiting for the other to move. Lace still smiled sickly and Geov glared disgustedly. The mercenary was first to move, slashing at his commander. Geov easily stepped to the side, avoiding the attack. In one quick motion Geov had drawn his mighty blade from its sheath and sliced Lace down from the shoulder. The mercenary’s smile slowly faded as he limply slid from his horse’s back.

Geov turned away from Lace’s corpse and sheathed his mighty blade. Dora stared up at her commander from behind her thin glasses. The Commander’s mouth was flipped to a long frown and his eyes seemed to sparkle with tears. She didn’t understand; he had won, why did he look so sad?

“Co-Commander?” she stuttered quietly.

He slowly turned to face her. When he spoke, his voice was filled with sadness; “Have you ever taken somebody’s life, Dora?”

“No, Commander. The only things I have struck down are the dummies used in our training exercises.”

“Taking a life, no matter how twisted, is never a happy moment. This is something you may someday learn. Though I hope that you never have to.”

Lace’s horse whinnied and shook it’s head impatiently. Geov had spared the beast the fate of its rider, and now the large man turned to face the animal. He placed his large hand on the back of the creature’s neck and apologized to the now orphaned animal. Geov had just decided to bring the horse on their journey to the capitol city when Alcuin, Freya and Levi called to him from not too far down the central road.

“What happened here?” Levi asked as he peered down at Lace’s body.

“Lace forced my hand. I finished him quickly, there was little pain.” Geov answered before looking towards the horse. He then spoke again, “This was Lace’s horse. He no longer has an owner, so we will be bringing him with us to Belyur.”

“Does he have a name?” Levi asked anxiously approaching the brown horse.

“No, you may name him if you like.” Geov replied, then he turned to Alcuin and spoke with a frustrated voice; “You are late.”

“I’m sorry, Commander Geov. Levi had wanted to show me a new weapon he invented. It harnesses ellicit in the same manner as Freya’s swords, though not as powerful,” Alcuin explained as he bowed in respect for the Commander.

“If that was the case I suppose you are excused. Any ounce of new strength found will do our efforts good,” Geov replied in a much softer tone. He looked back to Levi who was listing off names to the horse and asking Dora which was best.

Freya stepped forward, a question was on her mind and she needed to ask it; “Commander, why am I to go to Belyur? Wouldn’t this fort fall into the control of the Elfin Empire without the protection of you or myself?”

“Indeed, it is likely that we will lose control of this fort. But it does not give much more of an advantage to the elves since we’re on the border of our country and in the middle of the Setten Desert. It is not a great loss.” Geov explained.

“I see. But what of the lives of the soldiers staying in the fort now?”

“If it were up to me they would all be accompanying us, but,” Geov turned away from Freya and looked towards the gate that stood between them and miles of desert, then continued to speak, “King Raulsh orders that we leave them here. He says bringing them with us would only lure the elves further into Altoa.”

“In other words, the King believes the lives of these soldiers are expandable? And what of Medley? Is she expandable as well?” Freya asked Geov though she wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer.

Geov suddenly looked much older; his face seemed to sag as he frowned. It took him a moment, but at last he turned and sadly uttered a single word; “Yes.”

At this point Dora approached the Commander, leaving Levi to list names and ask the opinion of the horse, who didn’t seem to like any of the suggested titles. She tapped Geov on the shoulder and pointed to the hundred foot double doors behind them. The doors had slowly begun to creep open, signifying that the time for departure had come. Geov checked over everyone a last time, making sure they had packed enough food and water for the three-day march. He tied everyone’s packs onto the back of the horse, whom Levi had decided was “Chester” then turned to face the doors which now were half open, revealing a view of the desert before them.

“Remember, there is no turning back. Once we step out of this fort the gate will close, and it will not open. If any of you wishes to remain here, speak now.” Geov offered.

Nobody said a word; nobody wanted to turn away. They were all too happy to get away from the uncivilized soldiers of the Setten Fort. They were all too excited to finally be adventuring out into the world again. They were all too blind to what lay before them. And so, one by one, they all stepped out into the scorching sun and the dry sand.

Elfin Warfare - Chapter One

She solemnly stood on the concrete wall that protected a military base of the Eruthine army. Before her the sun had just begun to show itself, emerging from behind several distant mountains and casting an orange glow over the war torn desert. Behind her were the weapon storage facilities and temporary camps of the unit she was assigned to. The wall she stood on blocked the young suns light, making all but the slightly orange sky appear as night. Her pointed ears flicked as they picked up the sound of approaching footsteps.

“Do you remember anything?” asked the familiar voice of Alcuin.

His brown hair was slightly spiked upwards though his bangs fell just above his eyes. He hadn’t bothered to dress for the day yet; a brown robe sufficed for his early morning activities. A tray of food was held in his right hand, steam still rose from the bowl of oatmeal.

“No… I can’t remember anything of my life before I awoke in the Professor’s lab,” Freya answered without bothering to turn towards Alcuin. She was too wrapped in thoughts to remember her manners.

She hadn’t slept well the night before. She gave up on her sleep hours ago and was already dressed in her specially fitted blue armor. The sun’s light was reflected off the smoother, harder pieces of her armor while the more rubber-like portions on her joints and torso seemed to absorb the light. The armor was colored to compliment her long blue hair and sapphire eyes. These colors were natural for elves.

“I brought you some breakfast,” Alcuin said, motioning towards the tray of food in his hands.

“Oh. Thank you,” she replied snapping away from her thoughts.

Together they sat cross-legged on the large wall, eating bowls of hot oatmeal and enjoying the site of the rising sun. Alcuin couldn’t help but smile. Most elves emitted dread and other dark emotions in the young human, but Freya seemed to emit a light brighter then the sun itself. His smile shifted into a frown, however, as something appeared on the horizon. A large silhouette followed soon by the many smaller silhouettes of bipeds approaching from the distance.

“They’re here,” Alcuin said sadly.

Freya rose to her feet; “Excuse me,” she said. And before Alcuin had time to say anything more the girl had leapt from the large wall.

Twenty feet. Thirty. Forty. The wind whipped her blue hair in all directions as she plummeted towards the dusty desert ground below. Her sapphire eyes were focused on a spot a few dozen feet beneath her. Seventy feet. Eighty. Ninety. One hundred. She hit the ground hard, one of her legs immediately buckled and left her kneeling on her other. A cloud of dust and sand quickly consumed her, making her completely invisible to Alcuin from the wall above. It took only a few seconds for Freya to burst out of the dust cloud, but to Alcuin it felt so much longer. She was running at a speed no human, or elf, could have normally achieved. From atop the wall it looked as though a small blue ant was running across a sandbox, kicking up clouds of dust with every step it took.

The distance between Freya and the oncoming army was quickly being closed. She grabbed one of the hilts strapped to her back and tugged. In an instant she held a blue weapon resembling a long sword, a katana. But the sword was not metal; it instead resembled a blue neon light. Another instant and she had grabbed at a second hilt and held a sword in her other hand. The handles of these blades were made with the same material as her armor, though the coloring was white.

The soldiers she approached were dressed all in black. Their ears were pointed and their hair was colors unnatural to humans. They were elves. This was a land unit of the Elfin Army. The object that had once been a large silhouette was now revealed to be a very large assault tank. The tank bore some resemblance to a rhinoceros though there were obvious differences. It was painted entirely in black and it seemed to be built of several rectangular tiles stuck together at sloping angles with a large tube protruding from the vehicles front.

Some of the soldiers pointed at the dust cloud that approached them. “Captain Jaren!” some of the soldiers shouted. Their captain stood atop the black tank, his golden hair was tied back in a ponytail. The red cape he wore signified his rank.

“Shoot it! By the time you can make out the girl creating the cloud, it’ll be too late!” Captain Jaren shouted while his green eyes fixed on the cloud of dust and dirt.

The soldiers fired their automatic weapons. Machine guns and auto rifles fired round after round, but the bullets were a wasted effort. They hit Freya’s armor and simply ricocheted away.

“No! Not bullets you idiots! Only ellicit can damage her armor!” Jaren shouted to his soldiers.

But it was too late for them. She was already upon them. The soldiers around her attempted to fire at her, destroy her. They all fell quickly. In under a minute she had decimated the ground troops on the left side of the tank. She paused for a brief moment, to catch her breath. Jaren, from atop his tank, began firing spheres of pink energy at Freya. She managed to avoid these shots, and rush around the backside of the tank to destroy the remainder of the troops. They turned as she approached, and with their own weapons began firing multi-colored spheres of light from their guns.

Most of the shots missed the girl and created tiny explosions where they hit the ground. She stormed through the small dust clouds the explosions kicked up, avoiding more shots of green or yellow light. One shot struck her upper arm and she heard her armor crack. A searing pain burned into her flesh, but she ignored it and continued rushing through the flurry of colored lights. Almost as quickly as the left flank had fallen, the soldiers on the right were defeated.

“You will not dispose of me so quickly!” Jaren shouted.

The Captain leapt from the top of his tank, the red cape flowing behind him elegantly. He raised a large mace with a similar neon-light design to Freya‘s sword, and the rest seemed to be in slow motion to the hopeless Captain. Jaren had no time to strike; the blue clad warrior slid by him almost silently, and as she passed time restored for the Captain and his vision went black a second later. An instant later Freya had bound into the air a dozen or so feet above the tank. A push of a button and the neon blades of her weapons had bent at an angle beneath her arms and the weapons handles. Her fingers pulled the white triggers attached to the swords handle and instantly balls of blue energy blasted down into the tank.

The tank exploded in a green inferno as the ellicit blasts rained down upon it. Freya landed just as the inferno cleared to reveal scraps of black metal, all with green and orange flames adorning them. The blades of her weapons returned to their original angles and she returned them to the blue sheaths on her back, just behind her shoulders. She then began the treck back to her base, though in no hurry, she was decidedly walking.

--------------------

Alcuin had watched it all from his perch atop the concrete wall. Through the entire ordeal he was terrified for the life of his friend, but his worries were put to rest when he saw the enemies fall. He hadn’t noticed that someone else had joined in watching Freya decimate the enemy troops. Alcuin jumped in fright as the other person spoke.

“Wow, amazing,” said the person, his arms were crossed and his face showed great amusement.

“Levi, you scared me,” Alcuin said, after calming down and gathering his senses.

“I know. It’s a talent,” Levi answered, unfolding his arms and tightening the green and brown camo bandanna on his head, “I’ve been wondering Alcuin. She destroyed them probably without breaking a sweat. I’d bet she could win this war on her own. Why are we here?”

Alcuin took a moment to answer. Despite Levi’s general appearance and attitude, he wasn’t an idiot. The young man before him, dressed in an unzipped bulletproof vest and black pants with his tangled blond hair stabbing wildly at the air from beneath his bandanna was actually a mechanical genius. It was actually Levi who had invented the weapons used by Freya, not Professor Foley. After an impatient glance from Levi, Alcuin answered, “I’m sure our officials would say we’re here to win the war. Most of us know it’s really to keep Freya under control if she were ever to go rogue or change alliances.”

“Yeah, but she can’t do that, can she? I thought that when the Professor programmed her he designed her not to attack humans.”

“That’s true, but she still possesses the ability to think, as well as all normal emotions. It’s these factors that make it possible for her to go rogue. They allow her to choose what she does.”

“So what would happen if she were to make choices that conflicted with her programming?”

“I have no idea. In all cases, it wouldn’t be good. You shouldn’t concern yourself with it too much, Levi. She’s come to trust us and consider us her friends. I’m more puzzled as to where she came from.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well… she’s an elf. Sure she’s a robotically enhanced elf, but she’s still an elf. It makes me wonder if there’s more to Freya we should know about. Was she a willing participant or was she abducted from some elfin settlement? You know? I just don’t think it would sit well with me if it turns out she was experimented on against her will…”

“I guess it wouldn’t make me feel too great either. But think about it reasonably and it‘s pretty obvious. These days, there’s not an elf alive that would willingly sacrifice themselves for the betterment of humans.”

“Unfortunately I’ll have to admit that you’re right,” Alcuin said, his mind beginning to drift into darker territories.

“Come on,” Levi said, placing a smile on his face and patting Alcuin on the back, “Let’s get ready. We head out for the capital today.”

“Yeah,” Alcuin turned back to the desert, Freya was still a rather small speck of blue, “I’ll be there in a bit.”

“If you say so,” Levi replied as he walked away.

Freya reached the bottom of the gray wall after several long minutes. She looked up at Alcuin. She could jump higher then most, but there was no way she would be able to leap one hundred feet into the air. She knew this.

“I’ll be in the mess hall! I’m a little thirsty!” Freya called up to her human companion.

“Alright! I’ll meet you there!” Alcuin called down.

--------------------

Freya’s walk to the mess hall wasn’t a painless one. Though she protected the humans and always treated them kindly, most of them did not return her kindness. They could not see beyond the fact that she was an elf. Most of them had decided that she would one day betray them all. As she walked along the dirt roads and past the many stone structures used as sleeping facilities by the soldiers she couldn’t help but notice the many hateful glares she received.

Involuntarily tears found themselves drowning her sapphire eyes. She turned her head downwards, where she wouldn’t be able to see their ugly scowls. It seemed like she could almost hear the thoughts of the hateful men and women around her. As she stared at her own shadow and tried to ignore her watering eyes her thoughts lifted her out of reality. But they didn’t bring her to a safe place like most thoughts do. She found herself tortured by mental images of the hateful humans. When she managed to thrust these images away the troubling thoughts about how she came to be returned to her. How does someone like her come to exist?

Lost in her thoughts she didn’t notice the man riding a horse up the road. The man didn’t call to warn her, he remained as quiet as he possibly could while ushering his horse to go faster. Faster. Freya still did not notice the man or his horse. He swerved to the side, avoiding her. But as he passed by he reached down and grabbed her by the hair. Freya was yanked out of her thoughts. Pain shivered around her scalp.

“Hey pretty girl! Wanna come to my bunk tonight?” the man asked with a lustful cruelty.

“Let go!” Freya demanded, trying to pull away from the man’s grasp. Had she wanted to she could have easily broken the man’s arm and continued on her way, but that was the kind of falter all the hateful humans were waiting for.

“Or what blue beauty? You’ll cut me up?” the man twisted her hair tightly, pulling her closer.

“That’s enough, Lace!” a voice called from somewhere in the crowd that had gathered.

The man released his grip on the clump of blue hair. A man much larger then the others stepped out of the crowd. He stood a head taller then the rest, and a blue cape dangled from his shoulders. At his waist was a very large sheath for a very large sword. He narrowed his eyes on the horseman and said sternly; “Leave, Lace, before I make an example of you.”

“Aw gee Commander. I was just havin’ a little fun with her is all!” the horseman said in his same nasty voice.

“Leave!” demanded the large man. When Lace had run off the Commander turned to the rest of his soldiers, which had gathered to watch Freya’s torment, “And for the rest of you rotten maggots, if I catch word of your tormenting Freya at all I will lock you in on of our detention cells! It is because of her that each and every one of us breathes today! You should all be thanking her, not pulling her hair and demanding sex! She is no less human then we are! She deserves as much respect as you show me! Do you understand?”

Grudging murmurs and nods from the crowd showed that they did not understand, but they would say what they had to to make the Commander leave them be. Slowly they began to turn away and disperse back to their daily activities.

“Thank you Commander Geov,” Freya said as she turned to look up at the Commander’s face.

“Yes, well, I couldn’t allow that nonsense to go on in my camp. Filthy mercenaries,“ Geov muttered with disgust before adopting a more polite tone, “Tell me, where were you headed? Would you like an escort?”

“I was just going to the mess hall for some water. I’m a little thirsty after this mornings fight. I think I can get there without an escort though, it’s not too far from here.”

“Ah, I see. Well, just keep your eyes open. There are others like Lace whom I wouldn’t trust with if my own life depended on it. It is unfortunate that we are in such desperate need of soldiers that we must hire the likes of him. Oh well. Farewell for now Freya, I will see you again as we leave for the capital.”

“Until then, Commander.”

After the Commander had left, Freya walked a bit faster, feeling very uneasy. Commander Geov had always been kind to her, but like he said, there were many undesirables among the ranks of these soldiers. Much of the human army had been built of mercenaries and released criminals. They were truly scraping the bottom of the bucket. If the war was not won soon, all hope for humans would be lost.

She approached the mess hall building. It wasn’t much better looking then the sleeping houses, but it was larger and always smelled better then the dirty beds. She gently pushed the crooked hinged wooden door open and stepped in. Instantly she was hit by the smell of what would soon be lunch.

“Macaroni,” she muttered as she walked through rows of wooden tables.

“That and bits of fish slop!” a voice called from the end of the mess hall.

It was Medley, a cooking lady whom always had something interesting to say about the meals she had to make. Medley was a large and kind woman, she always managed to make Freya feel a little better about herself. The cook lady had already known what Freya would do; she presented a jug of water to the girl.

“Thank you, Medley,” Freya managed a smile for her friend.

“Oh, it’s nothing Freya. After all, you keep those soldiers away and you’ve given hope to those of us who once lost it! Keeping you hydrated is the least I could do for you!”

“I’m just doing what I was created to do.”

“Yeah, sure. And I respect that! I tell ya what. If you want it, I’ll sneak you an extra piece of spice cake for dessert tonight!”

“That would be great, Medley,” Freya responded with a smile. Suddenly her arm felt sore and she remembered that one of the ellicit spheres had hit her, “I’m going to sit down now. I’m a little tired.”

“No problem Frey! I have to get back to the kitchen anyway, or Herb’ll get mad. We all know how pissy he gets. See ya later,” and with a smile and a wave Medley vanished behind the swinging doors to the kitchen.

Freya sat across the table from a black haired girl whom had her nose buried in a pile of papers. The table was old and creaked beneath Freya’s added weight. She ignored the creak and took a swig from the jug of water Medley had given her.

“Good morning, Dora,” Freya greeted the girl across from her.

“Good morning,” the girl responded in a barely audible tone, almost a whisper.

“What are you so wrapped up in? All these papers don’t look like fun.”

“I’m going over the list of supplies we’ll be bringing to the capital with us, as well as the instructions to leave with Captain Edder while we’re gone,” Dora responded in her quiet voice.

“Edder, I haven’t seen much of him.”

“No, he generally avoids you and Alcuin. There’s a rumor that he’s jealous Alcuin was chosen to be Geov’s Lt. Commander.”

“I see,” Freya replied as she took another swig of water.

Dora looked away from her papers for an instant, distracted by Freya’s sudden movement. Her eyes widened when she saw her friend.

“You’re bleeding!” the small girl squeaked.

“What?”

“You’re bleeding!” Dora repeated, this time pointing at Freya’s arm.

Freya looked at the cracked piece of armor just below her shoulder, where she had been shot when she attacked the elfin soldiers. Sure enough a red liquid had begun to seep through the cracks of her armor and coat the rest of her arm. A blue liquid accompanied the red, and in places the two had mixed into a purple color.

“Blue,” Dora said slowly, “Freya, you damaged an ellicit vein.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Freya replied glumly as she clutched her shoulder to stop the bleeding, “When Alcuin gets here, tell him where I went.”

Dora nodded and watched as Freya speedily walked away, vanishing behind the creaky wooden door once more.

Evran

• Chapter One
• Chapter Two

Evran - Chapter Two

The sun sank behind the hills in the far distance. A purple ocean flooded the skies above. Evran stares up at the sky and the stars that slowly appear. He looks at the ground and sighs. The villagers had kept him all day, they wouldn't allow him to leave until he stopped bleeding and they were sure he'd live. He tugged at the thick white bandages that were wrapped tightly around his shoulder. He winced as there grip strengthened on his wound. He looked at the sky again.

My dad's going to be furious..., he thought to himself as he gazed at the advancing darkness.

The wooden house came into view. A yellow glow seeped through the window and illuminated portions of the area around it. Smoke fled from the chimney in thick puffs, trailing into the skies above. As Evran approached the house of logs, his heart beat faster, his mind clouded with only thoughts of punishment, and in some ways hate and fear. The night seemed to grow still and silent. The bats stopped screeching, the owls stopped hooting, the bugs stopped biting. Even the wind seemed to bring itself to nothing, leaving the air stale and trees silent. The beating of his heart became deafening. Overwhelming. A swelling pain nestled within his skull. He could feel his fingers wrap around the door knob and pull the door open, but it was all in a blurred silence.

Then he was inside. All was calm, still. Peaceful. Then there was a loud crash and a shattering sound. Evran felt warm liquid slide down his face, dripping off his chin. The world seemed to spin wildly, then it stopped. Noise had returned, vision wasn't blurry. Everything was as it should be. It took Evran moments to figure out that the liquid sliding down his face wasn't his blood. He looked down at the floor next to him and found many pieces of shattered, green glass. He looked up again.

A large man stood before him. His arms bulged with veins and his right eye twitched with irritation, causing his hairy eyebrows to pop up and down. His nose large and round. The man let out a grunt and lifted his unshaven chin into the air. "Where have you been?" he demanded, his voice seemed to shake the very foundations of the house.

"I... I went to the town while you slept." Evran replied, his voice barely more then a whisper.

"I've told you before. Never leave this house unless I say! Never!" the man's voice grew louder and more furious.

"Y-yes father." Evran stuttered.

The man let off another grunt and turned away from Evran. Evran began to walk away, leaving the room. Suddenly he was knocked to the floor and pain shot through his side. His father towered over him, a vicious glint in his eye. His arms raised into the air, he held a stool. The wooden stool met with Evran's side once more, and he rolled over in pain. Again pressure and pain rammed into his body. This time the back of his head. His face became one with the floor, and the smell of pine drifted into his nose. Evran felt the weight lift off his head. He rolled away just in time to dodge another swing from the stool. He looked over as the stool met the floor, both woods turning to splinters. Evran slowly brought himself to his feet, though he was unsteady and would have collapsed at any moment.

How much punishment does the world think I can take? Everywhere I go I get beat on! I've had enough of this shit!, Evran's mind screams.

"Y-you bastard! Look what you did to my floor!" his father roars. His hand flies to the side of his belt and in an instant he holds a large blade.

His father points the machete at him, it's dark blade becomes orange as it reflects the crackling fire. He tosses himself at Evran and raises the cleaver high into the air. Evran hesitates for a brief moment, very brief, and without thinking any longer he throws himself forward as well. The large man groans as Evran's fist meets with his stomach. Evran screams for a moment but grinds his teeth to muffle the noise. Scarlet trickles from his extended arm, which is the new burrow of the machete. He pulls back, tearing flesh from his arm and screaming once more. The wood below becomes stained with the red liquid. His father recovers from the punch and again raises his knife.

Evran turns and flees farther into the house, recieving a large gash in his back. He gasps and nearly falls, but regains his balance and runs into the kitchen. A large, green bottle, half-filled with whiskey, rests on the counter. Evran tries to stop but is moving to quickly, he collides against the counter and pain erupts into his side. He clutches his side, but jumps away, barely managing to dodge the machete's blade. The large cleaver digs deep into the counter, and Evran's father struggles to yank it out. Evran panics as the blade slowly loosens and rises upward. It will only take seconds before the knife is completely free from it's vice. He jumps away, dancing around his father as quickly as possible. Not quick enough. The machete splinters the counter and is brought swiftly through the air.

Evran leaps into the air, desperate to avoid getting sliced by the cleaver. He slams into the counter yet again, causing the bottle to teeter. He grabs the bottle by the tube and swings it forward. The bottle contacts the back of his father's head. A gasp and a moan. The bottle explodes, shattering into shards of glass and a wave of whiskey. His father falls to the ground, landing with a heavy thud. The back of his head bleeds rapidly, spilling onto the floor and mixing with the drink and glass. It takes mere moments, but it feels like hours, his body lay still.

Cautiously Evran steps forward, slowly inching his way towards what was once his father. His head begins to swirl, but he shakes it off. However the noise of his beating heart still drowns out all else.

I-I killed him... I killed my father. I can't stay here, I'll be arrested!, Evran's mind shrieks.

He reaches forward, grabbing the hilt of the machete and shaking his fathers limp hand away. It sickens him, but he also takes the scabbard from his father's belt and attatches it to his own. He looks around frantically for something to cover the corpse with, just to make it seem less grotesque as he prepares to leave. He finds nothing. Then he hears it, the crack of the fire. An idea forms in his head. Disgusted with himself, he grabs the feet of his father's corpse and drags it back into the other room. He grunts, the body is heavy. With great effort he swings it around and tosses the majority of the body into the blazing fire.

Some of the body can't fit, an arm and a leg stick out from the fireplace and gently float in the first puddle of whiskey. Sickened by his task, Evran leaves the room to prepare for his new life. He grabs the largest leather sac he can find and stuffs it with food and other various supplies. Bread, meat, jars of water, some of his posessions, and a couple blankets which he manages to shove in at the bottom. A grotesque scent fills the air and smoke fills Evran's lungs. His back burns and the kitchen begins to glow orange, the crackling fire grows louder. He spins around to face a raging blaze spewing from the room over. Quickly, Evran rushes out the door and runs into the night, stopping once to watch what was once his home collapse in flame.

Evran - Chapter One

The sun peeked out from behind the distant mountains, slowly awakening from it’s slumber. As it rose, it’s growing light roused the sleeping inhabitants of the world it watched over. Like a mother waking her children. The light was easily winning against the darkness of night, leaving an orange glow on the landscape, and streaks of pink in the sky. An occasional cloud drifted by, purple and hazy.

Finally the sun emerged completely from its rest, rising into the sky to watch down on all the inhabitants it had peacefully awoken. A bird chirped in a branch not distant, then whistled a merry tune. Other birds, of different colors and sizes, joined into the chorus and soon an elaborate yet simple melody drifted across the valley, being carried ever further by the gentle morning breeze.

Evran stared upwards, enjoying the sun as it rose upwards. Enjoying the warmth its light brought, and the tranquility the bird’s song brought, and the relaxing calm the breeze brought still. It was almost as if everything was peaceful, quiet. Calm and easy. Life could be no more perfect-even if only, for a moment.

As the sun drifted higher into the sky, paling the pink and orange colors from the scenery, Evran returned to the inside of his home. He nudged the door slowly, allowing it to make no more noise then a small mouse. He was being so quiet, as to not disturb his father, who was still sleeping, despite the fact that the sun had risen. When Evran finally managed to close the door without awaking his father, he quietly tip-toed across wooden floors which creaked often to his dismay. He reached his destination: kitchen.

The kitchen of the small home was larger then other rooms. A round table of sturdy wood rest in the center, with three sturdy chairs of the same wood shoved beneath it. Cabinets and drawers held smooth counters which followed the walls closely, with gaps not large enough for even a small ant to crawl through. On the edge of one of the counters sat a loaf of bread, uncut and fresh. Evran reached over and grabbed the loaf, it was hard, and somewhat over baked. Though the golden-tan was appealing. Reaching into one of the drawers, Evran grabbed a small butter knife, it’s metal shining, almost liquid in appearance.

Without much regard to how large of a slice, Evran shoved the knife into the bread from top to bottom, slicing off a piece. The single slice of bread felt soft and weak compared to the loaf when it was whole. Evran left the slice of bread on the counter, as he reached into one of the higher cabinets. From within came a bowl. And inside that bowl was a thick stew, filled with vegetables and meat. Evran placed the stew on the counter, then grabbed the bread. He dunked the medium-thick bread into the ocean of beef and carrots, scooping some onto the wheat good, but preferring to soak up the broth. Eagerly he bit into the bread. By the time he had decided he’d eaten enough breakfast, half the loaf of bread had vanished, consumed by Evran.

His father still did not wake. And so, I will use this time to myself. To the town! He thought, and again made his way through the house to the door. He again, opened the door with great care, again, being sure not to make to much noise, again stepped outside, and again closed the door with the same caution. When at last the door clicked shut, signifying that it was into place, Evran stepped off the small porch of stained birch and into the grass and soil that was his yard. It had rained the night before, and his boots sunk into the soft dirt. He didn’t mind, his boots were thick, and he enjoyed the odd mixture of sunny warmth with rainy dirt.

It was a three mile hike to the town, but it was often worth it. There were usually many things there, and many people. A wandering merchant would usually stop by and set-up shop, trying to sell ordinary items to passerby as “the wonderous stick of Ganew!” Of course nobody in Ifadel had ever heard of Ganew or his wonderous stick, however there were some that would purchase the item either way. Evran found it amusing, the way the merchants tried to peddle normal things as magical items.

The dirt road that Evran traveled was less muddy then the dirt in his home, most likely due to the path being padded down by numerous feet over the years. Like the loaf of bread, the dirt in the path was stronger when pounded together, making it powerful enough to battle the rain and water. Carriage tracks and the prints of chickens from months before could still be seen on the dirt, Evran thought of it as a window into his last trip to the town. At least, his last one with the animals. It was sometime before the winter season, Evran and his father had needed the money of the chickens to pay for food and blankets to survive the cold days.

As Evran traveled the path, wood structures came into view. These were the many houses and shops that were settled within Ifadel. As difficult as it was to imagine, Ifadel was also connected directly to the sea, which made it a prime spot for merchants and travelers. Evran entered the town, and watched the business around him. Woman hurried their children across streets as carriages drawn by horses and oxen walked down many roads. Merchant tents flapped lazily in the calm breeze. The loud clanging of metal from the blacksmith could be heard for many yards from his shop.

Curious as to what the blacksmith was forging, Evran entered the man’s shop. Inside he saw the hulking figure of Borin, the blacksmith, hard at work on pounding something into shape.

“Mornin’ Borin.” Evran says, walking over to examine some of the smith’s finished pieces, which adorned the walls.

“Good morning to ya too, Evran.” Borin replied, not turning to look at him, still focused on his current project.

“What are you making today?” Evran asked, interested by some of the weapons and shields hung on the walls.

The smith brought his mighty hammer down upon heated metal, forcing it to bend and mold like bread dough, “Longsword.”

Evran looked at the mass of molten metal, that will one day be a large weapon, he was fascinated by the idea of such a transformation, but he also realized that he had wanted to visit more shops before he needed to return home, “I have to leave now.” He says, walking out of the shop and back into the streets.

The dirt streets were more crowded then when he had entered Borin’s metal shop. Small clouds of dust lifted into the air by scurrying feet rushing from shop to shop. Many merchants began pitching colorful tents they called shops. These were the wandering merchants, those that tried to sell Ganew’s stick. Evran always found it amusing to see what objects these merchants attempted to sell as ancient and powerful things. Most of the merchants were old, withered and decaying. Teeth missing, gums bleeding and stale. Cracked, chapped lips framing their sneaky grins. Hooked noses, long and beak-like. Many of them were short and had a lazy eye, which rolled from side to side in its socket.

The objects they attempted to sell, as was expected, were merely every day objects like a spoon or a leaf, but with a fictional back story to make it seem powerful and rare. One object in particular caught Evran’s eye. A red gem gleaming with the light of the sun, framed by a gold and silver edge. Gold chains connected the object into a loop, creating a necklace. As beautiful as the object was, Evran knew the merchant would still sell such a prize at an extreme price. Evran, however, was transfixed by the object, as if it called to him. He approached the purple tent and began to haggle with the dirt-stained merchant.

“A fine item. You have a good eye.” the merchant said to Evran, noticing the boys eyes rest upon the gem, “It is said that this necklace once belonged to a family in the hidden race of the Neko. It was this item that broke the Neko’s continent, Nerok and allowed it to drift freely. The gem is supposed to allow even those without mana to perform magic.” The merchant hacked as he finished his explanation.

“How much is it?” Evran said, finally deciding to buy the jewel.

“Normally I wouldn’t let it go at a low price,” the merchant began, but a coughing fit caught him in mid sentence, he quickly recovered from his attack, “But there’s something about you I like… I’ll let you have it for a mere fifteen Glore.”

Fifteen Glore! Evran thought, How can he afford to let this item go at such a cheap price? No matter, I’ll take it! Evran reached into his pocket and grabbed his money pouch. From within he retrieved several coins of copper color. He counted out five of the copper coins, and returned the rest to his silk pouch, which he tied with a thin string and returned to the pocket of his pants.

“I’ll take it.” Evran exclaims, handing the cones to the merchant. The merchant reaches out to unsteady hand, holding the necklace towards Evran. Evran thanks the man and takes the necklace, then walks off to continue browsing other tents.

As he walked along the crowded streets of Ifadel he spotted several other merchants, none of them caught his eye the way the one with the necklace had. He glanced down at the gold chain he still held in his hand. He ran his fingers over its smooth surface, perfectly polished, no scratches or even dents. Both the chain and the jewel reflect everything as perfectly as a mirror, perfectly clear. Evran brought the chain upward and slipped it over his head. He released the magnificent item and allowed it to slide down his neck, stopping at his shoulder.

He felt stronger somehow, as if the jem was giving him power. As he continues to glance at other marchants he notices a change of light. The sun was risen high into the sky, much higher then before.

"It must be noon... I'm going to be late!" Evran shouts.

He began to run in the opposite direction, trying to reach his house as soon as he can. The tents are hardly more then blurs of color, purples and yellows, reds and blues. A sharp pain stabs at Evrans back. He falls to the ground, grains of dirt jump into his eyes. He rolls onto his back looking up at three figures. They smile and laugh.

"Bariah..." Evran mutters, trying to pull himself to his feet.

Bariah shoves him back down onto the dirt, "Don't struggle Worm. It will be much easier that way... Jerim, search the Worm."

One of Bariah's friends steps forward. This one is much sleeker then Bariah, then even Evran. A long sheath hangs at his waist, black with gold rims. His clothes are dirty, spotted with stains of many variaties. He kneels down and examines Evran for jewelry.

"Jerim, I assume." Evran says. The boy with the katana nods.

Evran smirks as Jerim's eyes stop at a harness in his belt.

"Where's the knife?" Jerim asks, his voice trembles slightlty.

"I lost a week or two ago... it wouldn't be worth much anyways." Evran answers, his smirk fades.

Jerim grabs the hilt of his sword, and stands. He towers high above Evran, and his head blocks out the sun, "Don't screw with me."

"Fine, it's in my boot." Evran replies.

Jerim turns to Bariah and the other boy. Bariah nods and the other one steps forward. He reaches down towards Evran's boot. An expression of pain and shock ripples into his face as the boot smashes into his mouth. With one swift movement Evran manages to swing the thief towards Jerim. Jerim jumps backwards a fair distance, drawing his sword before his feet land on the dirt ground. Evran leaps to his feet. Bariah lunges forward, his hands clenched into fists. Evran steps to the side, Bariah's massive body slams into the ground throwing clouds of dirt through the air.

He grunts and stands. He again tosses himself towards Evran, this time throwing his fist forward and keeping himself on the ground. Evran tries to dodge, but is too slow and takes the impact. He stumbles backward as pain erupts through his shoulder. A crowed has formed around Bariah and Evran, watching the fight. Bariah smirks, soaking up the attention like a sponge to water. He rushes at Evran, building as much momentum as he can.

Evran steps away and drives his elbow into Bariah's back forcing him into the ground. Bariah snorts and jumps to his feet yet again. Evran waits for Bariah to stand. Just as Bariah finally steadies himself, Evran's foot crashes into his gut. Bariah stumbles backwards, and bends over, clutching his gut. Jerim steps forward and points his sword at Evran.

"Allow me to handle this." Jerim glances at Bariah as he speaks, then returns his attention towards Evran again, "This is a katana, a foreign sword. I doubt you've seen one. This will be the last one you will ever see. Enjoy it."

The sword looked foreign enough. It was much longer and sleeker then the broadswords Evran was used to seeing. Jerim allows Evran a short moment to admire the weapon, then propells himself forward at an amazing speed. Evran isn't fast enough, the katana burrows into his shoulder. A pain unlike anything Evran has ever felt before fills a large portion of his body, it makes the pain in his other shoulder seem like nothing more then a small whisper. He glances at the now crimson katana blade. He clamps his teeth together, supressing the scream. It doesn't last long, the pain is unbearable. Evran screams, his muscles twitch. Suddenly he finds himself surrounded by flames. The fire lasts for only a brief second, and is soon extinguished. He looks around. The katana lies on the ground, a crimson pool forming around it. Jerim lies feet away, his clothes torn and his skin badly burned.

Scarlet drops plummet to the ground. Evran turns to face the on-lookers, the majority are shocked and confused as to what happened.

Evran suddenly remembers his injury, "Does anybody have a bandage?"

Aphed Ritual

The sun's fractured reflection danced on his flesh as salt and seawater dripped from his dangling brown bangs. His fin-like feet slapped against the smooth beach sand as a wave crashed into the shallows behind him. A salty-scented breeze pushed the shrinking waters around the fins of his ankles and up the snow white shore. The call of distant gulls echoed from above as he took several steps up the beach, clutching his side from pain and for stability. A red color infected the perfectly white grains of sand; free flowing blood from the gash in his shoulder. The pale blue fins on his upper arm transformed into a bright, tropical purple as the sticky red substance washed over them. He lifted his head upward and glanced at the forest that thrived just a few yards away. Solemnly he looked about the shore, but saw nobody. Desparingly he turned back to the ocean and inhaled the salty wind. He had to find somebody, to warn them quickly. They may have followed him.

A sudden rustling in the bushed behind him brought his attention back to the forest, whose roots stabbed at the white sand. Hope grasped him, as did fear. He did not know if the brush was being moved by an ally, or if they had snuck past him. To his delight and relief he saw a familiar face. Jurin was a member of his tribe. His friend's worried expression reminded him of the wound in his shoulder, but his news was far more urgent.

"Jurin!" he called, but his friend spoke before another word could be uttered.

"Arl, what happened?" Jurin cried as he rushed to his friend. "You're bleeding!"

"It's not as bad as it looks," Arl lied. "I ran into some Sharks from the Sun Tribe while I was at the Infinite Reef. They might be planning to raid the village."

"Very few of our tribesmen are ready for combat at this early hour. A Sun Tribe raid would be devastating." Arl glanced up and noticed that Jurin had turned his gaze to the sea and the orange sunrise on the horizon. "Wake everybody. I'll patrol as much of the area as I can until the other men arive. Oh, by the way, I heard about your proposal. Good luck with that." Jurin gave Arl a smrik before he rushed off to meet the waves. The four hoops latched to the lobe of Jurin's crescent shaped ear caught the light of the infant sun and winked at Arl before they disappeared into the sea. He brought his hand up to his own ear, also shaped similarly to a crescent moon, and rubbed the one lone hoop that hung from its lobe. Envy coursed through his veins, but it quickly subsided.

His brief jealousy silenced, Arl wasted no time in rushing into the tropical brush towards where he knew the village would be. Clumsily, but not slowly, he forced the foliage aside and jogged through the thick vegetation. On several occasions thorns tore at his flesh, ripping the delicate web between his fingers and burrowing into the soft heel of his foot, but he pressed forward without slowing. He kew that the thorn patch and the dense plant life could have been avoided if he had simply followed the predestined path, but he had decided that cutting directly through the forest would be the fastest route. Just as he began to doubt this decision the familiar aroma of charred squid and shellfish swam through his nostrils and he soon burst through the low ferns into the clearing where the village dwelled.

The day had just begun for the Aphed villagers. Few wandered the low cut grass outside the sheds that served as permanent shelters. Those that did were either the night sentries or the morning warriors who came to relieve them. The large leaves and vines in the forest canopy above allowed only small shards of sunlight to illuminate the village. The canopy also shaded the villagers and helped to keep the area cool despite the tropical humidity. Small, white flowers with purple berries clinging to the bellies of their petals decorated the grassy clearing in large clusters.

"Arl!" one of the day guards called to him.

"Niermal, quickly! You must go to the shore and help Julin!" Arl cried frantically. He hadn't intedned to sound rude, especially not to Niermal, but he wasn't very concerned with politeness when he had spoken.

The warrior jogged over to him, spear in hand and concern dominating his face. A dozen golden hoops jostled below his crescent ears. A beautiful crystal that reflected a thousand different colors bounced against his chest with each heavy step he took. "Calm yourself Arl. What has you so troubled? And why do you bleed?" Niermal grasped Arl's uninjured shoulder as he spoke.

"Sun Tribe Sharks at the Infinite Reef. Julin is patrolling the shore, but I saw at least four Sharks. They'll overpower him with those numbers, and if there's an attack on the village."

Niermal motioned for Arl to be silent. "Hush, you are being loud and reckless," he spoke in a low voice. "Do not allow anybody to hear of this until I have confirmed the presence of Sharks on the reef. If a panic ensues it will be impossible to protect everybody. I will go and assist Julin, but you must inform the Elder of what you have told me. And remember, not a word to anybody else."

Arl nodded hastily and watched as Niermal lifted his spear and vanished into the foliage before himself turning and scurrying toward the heart of the village. He rushed past two of the morning sentries and ducked into a shed with walls of sun-dried brick. The blue cloth that acted as a door for the hut fell behind him, separating Arl from the outside. Even the humidity seemed incapable of entering the dark room. Small lanterns dangled from the ceiling, creating what little light penetrated the darkness. The eyes of two men glinted in the lanterns' light. One of them was elderly and sat in a chair that had been carved from the trunk of a large tree, his expression calm. The other man knelt on the floor before him, his head bowed though he glowered at Arl from the corner of his eye.

"Please forgive my sudden intrusion, Elder Oru," Arl said as he threw himself to the floor and bowed before the man in the chair.

"You are forgiven, Young Arl," Oru spoke in a raspy whisp of a voice. "Now please, tell us what it was that sent you in haste."

"Of course, Elder." Arl paused briefly and inhaled the burning pine fragrence that dominated the fumes of a pair of burning candles. After a brief moment of allowing the incense to calm his nerves, he relayed his message. "I was attacked by members of the Sun Tribe near the Infinite Reef. Julin and Niermal have already left to investigate the area."

"Mmm…" The Elder considered Arl's news for several moments before he finally spoke. "Chief Norin, inform the other Chiefs and their groups of the possibility that Sharks may be skulking about in the waters of the Moon Tribe, but inform them not to act further until I have given them my finally word. Until evidence proves that there are in fact Sharks, I do not want a word of this to reach those that are not warriors. I'd also like for you to personally lead four men into the Infinite Reef to assist Julin and your son."

"Yes, Lord Elder Oru," the man replied. As he stood the myriad of rings in his crescent ears jingled musically. Many of the rings were large and gold, almost replicas of the ones worn by Julin and Niermal, but there were also small silver rings that hung from the gold, like children clinging to their mother. The rings continued to jingle as Norin made his way to the other side of the dimly lit shed, at last becoming silent as he vanished behind the cloth door.

There were several moments of an almost pure silence after that, the light crackle of the burning incense and the wheezing breaths of Elder Oru being the only sounds. Arl held his down respectfully, his eyes focused on the weaving patterns of the grass floor. The calming scent of pine filled his nostrils with every breath, but with each exhale he could feel the tension swell in his chest. Too many moments had passed without a word, and Arl could neither leave nor speak without Oru's permission. He began to wonder why the old man had fell so silent, and for some reason he felt nervous that he might be accused of something despite the fact that he could not remember doing anything that would bring about such a guilty conscience. Eventually he decided that he felt this way because he was both witness to the Sharks and the bringer of much unwanted news.

"Please sit at your comfort. There's no need of you to bow for so long," Oru said, bringing a great relief with the broken silence. Unsure of exactly what to do, Arl sat in a position that wasn't exactl comfortable but was significantly more tolerable than kneeling and bowing with his forehead almost to the floor. Oru grunted as though he was clearing his throat, then spoke again, his old lips quivering as he did. "I have heard of your proposal. Norin has informed me. What you have asked of the Chief is an enormous favor, one that he does not feel you are worth. Nevertheless, he has granted you the opportunity to prove yourself to him, to prove that you are worthy of acceptance. Before you are overwhelmed with responsibility, I must ask if you are truly ready?"

Arl was caught off guard by the subject Oru had chosen for discussion, but his answer came more quickly than even he anticipated. "I am ready without a doubt."

Oru nodded slowly, his long beard ruffling as he did. He stared at Arl with solemn, teal eyes as he spoke. "Then you know what must be done. Two of your three days remain. I pray for your success, Arl. You are a good man, but still so young."

Arl nodded and left when the Elfer motioned with one webbed hand. As the cloth fell behind him and the spliced rays of sunlight warmed his face, Arl took a deep breath and found some relief in the humid air. He glanced to his left and spotted Norin a few yards away speaking with another of the village's Chiefs and preparing his own small team. The warriors were almost identical to the average villager, the gold loops that weighed down their ears and the scars that crisscrossed over their bodies being the only indicators that they were not weavers or gatherers. There was also their spears, a final indication of their job. The spears were long with a smooth wooden shaft and a metal head that thinned into a fine point. A dorsal fin protruded from the top of the neck that connected the head to the shaft, giving the spear the appearance of a famished shark.

The spear in Norin's hands was slightly different and far more elegant to symbolise his rank. Its iron shaft connected to a gold plated head. Tendrils of pink and dandilion yellow dangled from the head like delicate whiskers silently hunting for prey.

"Arl!" The voice was unexpected and Arl snapped his head quickly in its direction. Not quickly enough to avoid Norin's malevolent glare as he also turned toward the voice. Arl could feel the glare on his back, but he quickly became numb to its piercing sensation when he saw the woman who had shouted his name come bounding up to him. She threw her pink tinted arms around his neck and pulled him into a tight embrace.

"Borin, how are you this morning?" Arl asked as a gentle warmth seeped into his body. He wrapped his arms around her body, being extra careful not to crush her dorsal fin.

"I'm fine," she answered quietly. "But you feel cold."

"Don't worry about it, I'm fine. The water was just cold, my Cherry," Arl replied reassuringly, her pet name rolling off his tongue fondly. He remembered first calling her "Cherry" when they were children, long before their relationship had matured. It was because of the pink hue of her skin and the cherry scent that always seemed to rise from her flesh. Even now he was sure that he could faintly smell them, cherries of the sweetest variety available by nature. He loved that scent, and so he allowed it to linger within him and ferment into something more beautiful until it vanished into sterile air.

"Two of your three days remain," Oru's voice reminded him from the depths of his mind, but he did not care for their meaning right now. He would spend his day with Borin and complete his task at night, under the full moon, when he knew that his senses would be at their best.

--------------------

The salty sea breeze filled his nostrils and left a hint of flavor on his tongue. He tightly fastened the straps that crisscrossed his chest and harnessed the sharkhead spear to his back. He pulled the string of his shorts until they hugged his waist snugly, though he was careful not to crush his dorsal fin. A small slice in the fin, which had been made at a young age, assisted in this.

The waves shooshed as they crawled up the shore, sifting the sand with their gentle touch. The quiet breeze caused his long, brown hair to dance calmly, almost rhythmically. Salt had formed a cloudy film over the protective lenses of his eyes, but a short series of impossibly fast blinks wiped them clean. He inhaled deeply and took a step forward, his finned foot slapped noisily on the beach and cracking sand.

"Wait!" Her voice stopped him, and he spun around just as Borin finished crashing through the foliage and began to march onto the shore beside him. She was dressed as she had been that morning, despite the night's late hour. "You shouldn't go. It's too dangerous with Sharks skulking about."

"How did you know?" Arl asked, averting his gaze.

"Niermal told me, he was worried about the sharks, and with you in the water…"

"The sharks don't matter," Arl squng his head back towards her. He felt his one gold hoop tug at his ear as it rocked to-and-fro. "I have no scars and only one medal to prove my worth. Your father would never accept me as I am, and certainly not if I cannot find the shell before my third day."

"You don't need to prove yourself to him. We can go to the civilized lands, be happy together there."

"I would never feel at ease if I were to break this tradition."

"Fine, but you'd better not die!" She seemed angry for some reason Arl couldn't understand. He watched as she spun around and marched into the forest, her pink dorsal fin the last to disappear into darkness. Inhaling the last lingering scent of strawberry he turned and threw himself into the lethargic waves of the sea.

He felt much more at home in the water, where the fins on his ankles and wrists, and the webbing between his toes were of some use. Several flaps of skin lifted away from his neck, becoming an extra fin and revealing the rows of gills beneath. Hastily he gulped down some water, naturally filtering the oxygen to his lungs. The thin, mostly invisible lenses over his eyes protected him from the salt and whatever other particles that might pose a threat to his delicate optics. His body tingled with life as he absorbed the water into his sleek skin. Weightlessness allowed him to float freely in his aquatic haven. His hair danced wildly as though it were no longer a part of him.

Regrettably the feeling did not last. Bliss was not permitted to distract him from his objective, and Arl quickly focused his thoughts on one goal. He was to track down the elusive magnificea fish and take the rainbow crystal shell that protected it. Though he had never seen a magnificea before, Arl suspected that he would recognize one easily. He had seen the crystal necklaces worn by married members of his tribe, and knew that he could never mistake their beauty.

The night before, he had searched the Infinite Reef and found nothing but Sun Tribe warriors. Tonight he decided to investigate the Devoid Ridge. The ridge was a large gash that scarred the ocean floor for miles and dove deeper into the ocean than any of the Moon Tribe dared to venture, if the pressure would permit them to journey to its bottom at all. Arl reasoned that it was likely for an elusive fish to be hiding in the shadows of the void. He also thouht it likely that Sharks were lurking in the veiled depths of the ridge. In fact, he knew there were. The ridge served as the boundary line between the two tribes, and it was more than likely that the Sharks would have some form of border patrol.

Despite the risk, Arl launched himself into the ridge, cutting through the water like a living torpedo. Down and out of the sun's reach into the blinding darkness below. Careful not to hit the ridge wall, he kept his eyes wide to survey as much of the unlit scenery as he could. Certainly the unique eyes with which all Aphed, himself included, possessed allowed him to see much better in the dark depths than would and Elf or a Dwarf. Only the Merfolk or Cecaelian might have an advantage in the ridge.

Deeper he plunged into the darkness, kicking webbed feet behind him. The water grew colder the further down he went, and he soon found that he was fighting against the urge to shiver as a needling sensation pervaded his flesh. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a blur, a flash of brilliant blue and pink light. Instinctively he snapped his head to the side, his fingers tightened around the spear in his hand. A ship sunken long ago, its wood decrepit with age and smothered by the thousands of tiny creatures that had consumed it over the decades, was snagged between two jagged rocks that reached away from the ridge wall. Though he wasn't sure, Arl thought he saw the blend of beautiful colors disappear into the ship.

He hesitated to approach the decaying wood work, considering the possibility that Sharks could be using it as some sort of bunker. Despite this he willed himself forward, hoping that the spear in his hand would bite anything that might assault him. Wriggling and twisting with no small bit of effort, Arl forced himself through a small porthole. There had been a large chunk missing from the side of the ship where a cannonball had evidently shattered the wood, but he figured that such an obvious entrance would be guarded by Sharks.

The room inside was covered in a slippery, mossy organism that made it difficult for Arl to pull himself the rest of the way through the porthole. Few pieces of furniture occupied the room, though there was a bed with a torn and leaking mattress pushed against one wall, and a desk that had lost hold of its drawers against the opposite. The large size of the bed and its quilts, though now dull and choked with plankton, still sang of wealth and nobility.

Particles of decay drifted through the water as he crossed the room. A cloud of barnicles created a thick murk around the floor as Arl pulled open the rotted door, its wood split long ago, and swam into the dark corridor within the ship. A shiver crawled up his spine as he gazed down the narrow hall. Thoughts of what might be lurking within the darkness flooded his mind, but he forced those away and tried to keep the magnificea fish the only thing in his mind's eye. Convincing himself that only a peaceful Cecaelia would make a comfortable dwelling of the ship, he slowly made his way down the hall.

It became more difficult for him to see as he swam through the corridor. When the darkness became too much for him, he dragged his hand along the wall. The thick slime that smothered the wall caught Arl by surprise at first, and his initial reaction was to retract his arm, but he was not willing to go into the darkness without support.

A strange noise swam toward him from one end of the hall, distorted by the water. It took Arl a couple of moments to recognize the sound as voices. A conversation was being held in the ship, somewhere near to him, but from where he couldn't tell. He was more concerned with who, or what, was having the conversation than from where it came. When he saw two green-glowing orbs appear in the darkness before him, he ducked into the nearest room, after groping about for the handle for much longer than he would have liked. Though he left a small crack between the door and the wall, through which he could see the yellow-green glow creeping closer, he kept a tight grip on his spear and prepared to defend himself if need-be.

Four figures appeared outside the door. Two of them held the yellow-green orbs that cast an eerie glow over everything within five feet in all directions. Arl caught his breath and stopped his filtering gills at the sight of them. Overall they looked human, though their fingers and toes were held together by a thin webbing, much like Arl's. They were larger than anybody he knew, and their fingernails extended into jagged claws. Their noses were wide and flattened against their muddy brown faces. Their eyes had an unusual cat-like slant that searched the area with deadly intention. As they spoke, Arl could see the rows of razor teeth that sliced through their gums.

"Do you smell that?" one of them asked, his rough voice deepened by the water. Tiny bubbles floated away from his lips as he spoke. "It smells like the moon."

Another of the creatures turned his head, giving Arl a view of his peculiar ears. They consisted of a series of fleshy rods that jutted off in many directions but met in the center, like a hand with splayed fingers. "I smell it too," he growled.

Arl might have been able to attack and come out of the encounter alive if there were only one Shark, but there were four. Four enormous, musclebound Sharks that had picked up his scent. They would track him down soon enough if he didn't throw them off the trail or escape. There was one advantage the Moon tribe had over their predatory cousins. Arl's people could swim twice as fast with at least four times the maneuverability possessed by the bulky Sharks. But there was nowhere for Arl to swim to, and with the Sharks' superior tracking abilities he would soon be found.

"There's no doubt about it. One of those little Tadpoles is hiding around here somewhere. Let's flush him out and skewer him!"

Desperately Arl scanned the room in which he hid, but in the darkness he could see nothing to give him an advantage. The yellow-green glow did penetrate the shadows slightly, but not enough to give him a glimpse of anything distinct. Nothing that could be a weapon or shelter. The light also reflected off the glass of an old porthole. He wondered if he could escape through it, if he could out maneuver four Sharks in open water. But the glass wasn't cracked, and smashing it would likely be no easy task. Besides, the shattering window would likely alert the Sharks, and they'd be on him before he could worm his way out of the ship.

Suddenly a loud crash echoed down the hall. Arl watched as the Sharks snapped their heads, almost simultaneously, in the direction of the noise.

"What was that?" one asked.

"The Tadpole must be hiding down there."

"Then let's go," growled one of them with a light. "I'm a little hungry."

In an instant they were gone, blasting down the corridor like missiles. Arl, less concerned with the noise and more concerned with escape, turned back to the porthole. He could no longer see it as the darkness had reclaimed the room when the light was lead away, but he knew where it was. He rubbed his hand across the smooth glass surface, hoping to find a crack that he had not seen before. There were none, and the glass was thick. It wouldn't break easily. The spear in his hand might have been able to shatter it, but the if it didn't his only weapon would most likely snap.

Turning away, he thought that he might have a better chance if he snuck into the hall while the Sharks were gone. He would figure out an escape route from there. As he drifted back to the doorway his foot brushed over something large and round. Curiously he bent down and rubbed his hand over the object, exploring it with great interest. It was almost smooth though a large cratered had formed on its surface.

"A cannonball?" he asked aloud, for a moment forgetting that Sharks were nearby.

He lifted it off the slime covered floor and judged its weight in his hands. Six pounds, he estimated, though he had never been very good at making such guesses. It might have been just enough to shatter the glass. He considered this, glancing back at the rounded window. If were above water he would have had no doubts that the cannonball would smash the window with ease, but in the depths of the ocean the water could dramatically bog down the impact.

"But I have no real choice, do I?" his voice bubbled.

Throwing the ball might not have worked, but thrusting it into the window as though it were an extension of his arm had a more satisfying result. The glass cracked, but only slightly, upon the first impact. The thin white lines spider webbed outward with each thwack, his ears defeaned to the explosive crash created with each impact by his evergrowing hope.

Several small shards fell out of the glass like broken teeth. When at last it seemed as though the glass was no longer held by the frame, but loosely balancing on the porthole's rim, Arl dropped the cannonball, ignoring the thud it made as it hit the floor, and thrust his sharkhead spear through the window. Shards of all shapes and sizes exploded outward, floating in the water for a brief moment before they drifted slowly downward, becoming miniscule sparkles that disappeared into the depths of the ocean. He stood in amazement for a moment, almost unwilling to believe that he might escape the sunken death trap.

"I found him!" The thickly accented voice snapped Arl back to reality. Not daring to glance over his shoulder when he heard the door slam open, he lunged for the porthole, half of his body falling into open water before he felt them tugging at his legs.

The Sharks grappled with his flailing feet. He wriggled and writhed, ignoring the pain inflicted by the jagged glass teeth that bit his flesh and tore his fins. Claws burrowed into his legs, drawing a generous amount of blood that formed a deep red mist in the water. The Sharks snarled and grunted as they struggled to pull him back through the porthole.

"No!" he shouted as he felt his ribs sink back into the ship. He tried to kick at the sharks, to loosen their grip in any manner he could think of, but they had bound his legs with their arms and were slowly moving their grip up the rest of his body