The Word Cloud

Onwards!

A young girl and a young boy are sat at a desk carved from a unicorn torso, behind them stands the Master.

 

M.:                       M’aaah, good evening-tide to you again, Laura,  Daughter of Eve.

 

(L.:                       ...Yeah.)

 

M.:                       All is as it was before, courageous avatar- thou must awaken the Spectre of the Gate and answer his three riddles. So, onwards!

 

Master flourishes arm saying that. The Master is wearing a coat of fur, large furry thigh-length boots, and a ball-gag necklace. His voice is theatrical.

 

(L.:                       Where did you all just go? You were only away for ten minutes this time. Where did you all just go?)

 

M.:                       ... Onwards!

 

Master shakes his fist past cam. Him and Her look in same direction. With their exercise books and quills poised.

 

(L.:                       Where did you gooo? Tell meee!)

 

M.:                       There was a tea-break, avatar. We were on a mystical tea-break.

 

Him:                     We had a warming draught of tar-bean tea, it’s the Elves’specialty.

 

Her:                      I had diet tar-bean tea.

 

(L.:                       I want some Elf tea! Some water...)

 

M.:                       Wouldn’t thou rather hither thyself thither? Thence, wither shalt be the Mystic Pff-Four Seven Form, avataaar?

 

(L.:              I wanna ‘av a tar-bean tea, too, though! And I don’t really think I wanna go to Onwards. I don’t even think I’ll even make it to Level Sixteen, H. I’ve got no Spells, no Health, no friends... nothing.)

 

Her:             You’ve got your one shoe!

 

M.:              Onwards!

 

(L.:              Yeah, one shoe. That blimesome Rogue Pope stole me other one. Blimey mummy-blitherer.)

 

Him:           That’s ’cause you blasphemed him, Laura.

 

(L.:              How in holy hell’m I s’posed to spot which of the Major World Religions he belonged to?!)

 

Him:           By the cut of his jib, Laura.

 

Slave:          By whether or not his jib was cut, Laura.

 

Him:           Anyhoo, Laura, let’s get on with this.

 

He stands and walks to a lectern carved from a mermaid corpse, decapitated above the bust, hacked and bloody, the backs of its palms cup the vanished face; on the neck sits an enormous black patent-leather ledger. He opens it.)

 

Him:           It says “You stand in clearing Three, C: a pair of beauteous silver gates bars your entry onwards. You stop and marvel at the beauty of the wrought silver filigree gates and the grace with which they are chased.”

 

On-screen now is seen Laura- big horned helmet, flashing pink trainer, chainmail- in a virtual reality, in-front of her in the blank room are a few basic grey stripes which could

be the bars of the Gate.

 

Her:            ... Oo! Get a load of the wroughtings on that one!

 

Him:             “But beware! To open these gates you must first summon the Spectre of the Gate with the following incantation, colon, open brackets, Do not be alarmed by his sudden teleportation, close brackets.

Right, Laura, repeat after me: WOOOOO! Woooooooooooo!

 

Laura repeats it. *BANG* Smoke arises in-front of Laura... An old man in black robes plods on, sandles slapping, from Left.

 

Spectre:                Be thou not alarm-ed, for I am the Spectre of the Gate, I guard the way into Onward.

 

L.:                         Well-met, my name is Lorna, and I’m a Labyyrintheerer, I quest for...

 

Sp:                       I will ask ye three Entrance Questions which you must answer, or...

 

L.:                         Correctly?

 

Sp.:                      ...Yes. Or, er, or woe will betide thee! For thine shall be the head in which I shalt bury mine scythe.

 

L.:                         Question Number One, Sceptre.

 

(M.:                      Laura! Do not anger the mighty Sceptre; he is old, and unreliable, and not really allowed to work with children.)

 

Sp.:                      Yes, my tale is a dark and a terrible one, young ace adven-ture-er, it requires a blazing fire and much mead, it is not a tail for thine ears, ye intrepid young questionnaire.

 

L.:                         Onwards!

 

Sp.:                      I have a horrible tale: an affront to the senses, uncomfortable to sit on...

 

L.:                         Just say your lines, and leave.

 

Sp.:                      Question the First: What was the name of King Ethelred’s sword?

 

L.:                         Eureka!

 

Sp.:                       ... I meant to say King James’s sword.

 

L.:                         Oh.

 

Sp.:                      So no, I’m afraid that’s the wrong answer, moppet.

 

L.:                         I meant to say Excalibur, anyway.

 

Sp.:                      Oh... Then, we’ll just waive Question the First.

Question the Second: I breathe fire, but am not a dragon; I can fly but I am not a dragon: and I rhyme with ‘flagon’ but am not a dragon.

 

L.:                         ... Not a question.

 

Sp.:                      What am I?!

 

(Him:                    I could tell ‘im what ‘e is!)

 

(Her:                     Yeah, and it doesn’t rhyme ryme with ‘banker’.)

 

(M.:                      Don’t you dare, you naughty young brave orienteerlings!)

 

L.:                         Are you a dragon?

 

Sp.:                      And Question the Third: How many are there in one furlong?

 

L.:                         Hmmm... erm, do you know?

         

Cam back in Seeing Room. He and She confer.

 

(Sp.:                     Yes.)

 

(L.:                       Not you.)

 

Him:                     Didn’t we get taught this in Year Three? There was a thing we were taught for the better rememberant for the metric system, Mrs. Gren taught us it... Was it ‘anachronism’?

 

He flips thro’ his excercise book; his novelty pencil is a  huge wand, his wizard’s outfit is silly.

 

Her:                      (To Master) Is it anachronism?

 

Master:                 Well think, childers: if he’s asking you the question then why would he know the answer...? Don’t you see? If he doesn’t know the answer then he won’t know if it’s wrong or not. 

 

Him:                     Right, Laura, it doesn’t matter anyway, cause we can just say anything, cause we don’t care what happens, so, say ‘anachronym’.

 

( L.:                      Anna Chronic!)

 

(Sp.:                     Incorrectum. Goodbye! BANG! (Spectre shouts that last word, then plods off Left.

 

(L.:                       ‘Bye.)

 

Him and Her turn to regard the Master, reclining in a black leather hammock. Master regards them blankly. He shakes his head in disbelief at Master, She regards him so, too, then She begins writing in her book, with a nasty facial expression, using her massive peacock-feather quill. She wears an earthy beige dungaree, white blouse underneath and wooden jelly shoes

 

(L.:                       ... Why do I bother?!)

        The Weight of the World,

                                      Erm,

                                   Realms

The Master stands in shot: he holds toward the cam. an ornate hand-mirror, in which his face is super-imposed, badly. While the Master in the mirror speaks, the Master listens attentitively.

 

Master:       Mmm’well! So thou art returned to the Labyyrinth, art thy? Need your mystic fix of what we’re sellin’ verily, aintcha? Weeell, goo-evening song to you, and welcome to the dreadmas and perile Realm of the Labyrrinth, where reality, and fiction, are utterly fact. ‘pon my honour, this is, in earnest, the very best place for all you die-hard dungeoners-and-dragoners, for whom the word imaginative is the most imaginative you can imagine, y’ bunch of sojourners, y’.

Art ye looking for excitement? Art thy looking for adventure? Thou art, art  ye? Weeell on this show we’ve more thrills and spills than a rollercoaster crammed with geriatrics.

 

Master begins pacing back and forward, holding the mirror to the cam.

 

Master:       The Labyyrinth’s wide range of puzzles, traps, and out-right attacks are faced by a brave Labyyritheer-er, who must perform feats of heroism to win through the Labyyrinth, or, or die in the attempt. And so, Laura! Our brave and intrepid young wunderkind, Laura? must battle all the horrosities of said Labyyrinth in order to complete her Quest to retrieve the mystic Pff-Four-Seven Form from the top of the Tower of Murder, in the depths of the Forest of Evil, and she’s only nine! Using this mystic Form, Laura can save our Realm by ordering financial ruin the blood-thirsty United Unicorn Emirates who have recently mobilized a mighty one-pronged attack force with which to decimate to literally ribbons all the folk of all the Realms.

 

In the hand-mirror the Master gestures with his index-finger for the viewer to come a little closer. The standing Master obligingly puts the mirror next to his ear.

 

Master:       (Whispering) Well, it seems that the Unicorn Emirates were angered by the near genocide of its race at the hands of hunters, who can sell the Uni’s corn for literally large amounts. This is due to its miraculous properties such as granting wishes and coping with erectile dysfunction, oh yes! But not in that way, of-course, it has to be ground down first. If Laura can complete her Quest, the Oonicorn Nation will fall! We won’t live in fear! And we can all get on with our decoratin’.

 

Master indicates a mounted Unicorn head, some of its horn is missing.

 

Mirror-Master:     But shh! Act normal! Someone’s scrying on us!

 

Master:       Hoh! M’well, and guiding the little adventurina through this a-maze-ing hyper-reality are her two “Brave Advisors”.

 

                             Master physically apostrophises those words.

 

Master:       (Gestures) Him, and her.

 

At the Unicorn desk are sat a boy in a pointy wizard’s hat and a bran-flake for a wart, and a grubby ginger girl in cheap plastic NHS spec’s.

 

Master:       What can you tell us about this absolute pair of, then, Slave?

                  

Slave scuttles over to Him and Her.

 

Slave:                   Edgar Bedfellow, and Maaaud, both nine,

 

                             Slave is going through their pockets.

 

Slave:          Both hail from Promptly-in-the-Mouth, in Middlesexxx. Their Labyyrintheer-er is Laur-er, er, also nine. They’ve somehow reached Level Fourteen, B, and now they are heading for the Wizard’s Tower. Laura carries with her: Gold? None. Magic Spells? One: “Suicide”. Her Health Rating? Poorly-ill. They were frozen in time just after Laura’s noble bare-knuckle fight with a Vicar.

 

         

Master:       Come.

 

Master gestures for the Slave to unzip his thigh-length rubber-and-fur boot. After Slave has removed it from the Master the Master chucks it off-cam. A metallic collision is heard then an electrical hum starts up.   

                             Children are un-frozen and speak to Laura.

 

Him:           Right, after that fight with the Vicar, Laura, you’re now standing in a thing, I think it’s supposed to be a... garden or a graveyard...

 

Laura:         Hello, Edgar! How are you?

 

(Him:          Yeah, well the fight decreased your Health- in fact, on your Ceefax Factfile Info Page it’s got your Health down as one of the quite low ratings: Polio. So before you go any further you should eat something in order to get your Health up.)

 

(Her:            What about those two fishees she fought the Vicar for?)

 

Laura:         They smell bad!

 

(Her:           Just eat them, Laura. That should increase your Health Rating to high enough to satisfy Social Services.)

 

Laura:         So ‘dead’, then?

 

(Her:            Do it!)

 

Laura, in a huge horned-helmet, baggy chain-mail jumper, filthy, bloody, ripped lime leggings, and one flashing pink trainer. From the Thundercats lunch box she pulls out two green pieces of slime.

 

Laura:         Errr! Eeeerrr...

 

                             Laura retches as she forces them under her Helmet.

Harp-strings are plucked magically, then abruptly and unskilfully silenced.

 

(Him:           That means that you’re healthy again, Laura, you feel better now.)

 

Laura:         I don’t.

 

(Her:           Right, Laura, we’ll guide you to the exit now, so: take two side-steps right, then turn to you front left.)

 

                             Laura does so.

 

(Her:           And now just keep side-stepping to our North-East.)

 

Laura walks through the darkened doorway, and the screen is blank.

  

  “Loading Environment

                                       20%-40%-88%

                                        Chamber 2, Z”

 

Her              (Together)... You’re in a...

(Laura:        (Together)...Hello?)

 

                             Pause.

 

Her:             (Together)...In a...

 

(Laura:        (Together)...Sorry...)

 

                             She angrily taps pencil, mutters. Pause.

 

Her:             (Together)...In a...

 

(Laura:        (Together)...Hello?)

 

Him:           You stand in a large, flagstoned, mullioned, crennalated scullery, Laura, a classic example of neo-realmsian architecture, it has three exits.

 

Laura:         Which one shall we take?

 

(Him:          Well, if we call the door to your left ‘door one’, and then the door dead-facing you next to the door one ‘door two’, and etcetera, etcetera, etceteraaah... and the door to your right ‘the door to your right, then it’ll all be a lot easier for us to guide you.)

 

(Her:            How’s that a scullery? There isn’t even a maid.)

 

Laura:         Well, I think a person should always choose the right path, don’t you? Because, of course, just in case it’s a trick question, in so far as they might have made the right door the right door, and, and, three is a lucky number, and, on the right hand of go-od sits Jesu’ itself.

 

(Him:          Well, what advice did the fair fairy Spoin Groonerism give us after she told us about how to find the fabled Verdigris Filigree Non-descript Key?)

 

                             Him and Her consult exercise books.

 

 

(Her:            She saaaid, “The Key’d lead us to the Magician’s Tower”.)

 

(Him:           Then she said, “That’s all I know.”)

 

(Her:            Then she said “Please, please, just end it.”)

 

Laura:         Then that thing about her having a family, noble lineage, cursed me to never take the right path... Then she... Then she...

 

There is a guilty silence as the children remember what happened then...

 

(Him:          ...The right path, the right path! Don’t you see?! Didn’t you hear her?!)

 

(Her:           ...Yes... Yes! ... Did you?)

 

(Him:           Then let’s do it!!!)

 

(Her:            (Excited) Right, Laura- chaaarge!)

 

(Him:          No!...)

 

Laura charged, Laura falls to an epically graceless heap on the floor as she encounters the unmentioned rotating dais which guards the exits.

 

Laura:         Wha’ in hell?!

 

Him:            Right, Laura, you’re on a sort of rotating dais...

 

Master:       Mmmmmmmmmm’ah! Mmyes! M’rotatin’ dais, m’eh?

 

Slave has been fanning Master with a stiff, dead fairy. Master stands, dropping Slave to heap on floor (“Ow! Mmmm...” )

 

M:               This rotais could be alot of trouble in the wrong hands; a very tricky situation for you, young adventure-scouts. For if Laura were to fall off the rotais and into the surroundin’ bottomless pit she could die, or lose an eye!

 

Her:             ...How?

 

Master:       M’yes, I can see your points, m’ vienetta. Well, know this: there exists in the Realms a race known as Sword Elves! Elves shaped like swords, d’ya get it? Prolly made of metal, too, I reckon. They are peace-loving and shun man-kind, living by themselves in bottomless pits, which is unfortunate for so peace-loving a race, and for those unfortunates who plummet.

 

Her:             ...But where do they live in a bottomless pit?!

 

Master:       ...Why, at the bottom.

 

Master walks toward a dresser, piled high with things: crystals, manuscripts, butt plugs...

 

Master:       If only someone brave and wise could do something to help you. If only someone wise and handsome could give you a talisman to aid Laura in this, her half-hour of need...

 

Master selects something from the dresser and furtively puts it into his pocket.

                             He turns and scowls at the watching children.

 

Master:       (Angrily) M’yess?!

 

                             Him and Her turn away.

 

(Her:           Get up, Laura, this rotais is gonna be a bit tricky on your balance, so I think we should have a quick practice, just so’s we get our bearings.)

 

(Him:           Or we could just...)

 

(Her:            (Whispered) No, watch this!

Okay, Laura? I’m gonna need you to practice your balance, so take a side-step forwards... Now a side-step sidewards...Take a side-step back... That’s it: forward, sidewards, back...)

 

                             Laura is waltzing.

 

(Her:           Now put your hands on your hips...)

 

(Master:      Childers, childers, there isn’t time for this! The Banshees control this part of the Labyyrinth, and you know that they swore a blood-oath to take revenge on you because of how Laura ruined their picnic.)

 

Laura:         Can I stop now?

 

(Her:           You’ll continue until I’ve finished explaining the plan. Right, well, you know you’re on a rotais. Right?)

 

Laura:         (Still broadly waltzing) Yeeeah?

 

(Her:           And you know that to get to an exit you’ll havta step off the rotais and onto the path that leads to the door?)

 

Laura:         (Arms held out for balance) Yeeeah?

 

(Her:           And you know that if you put a foot wrong you’ll plummet to your...)

 

Laura:         (Stops waltzing) Right.

 

(Him:          So when I say run, you run. So just concentrate cause this is an epic moment.)

 

Slave:          (Shaking the children) Yesss, h-whiper-sssnappersss, Laura is in a grave of danger, en it? Loss of limb and innocence, if the Banshees catch up with you, they always forget, but they never forgive. Make hassste, Laura, make hatsss!

 

(Laura:        Er, why’s he talking to me? Just tell me when to move.)

 

Him:            ...Okay...

 

Slave:          (Shaking children’s shoulders) Hats, childings, the time isss ripe for the plucking!

 

Him:            (Shaking Slave off cissily) Okay, Laura...

 

                             Slave scuttles over to Master, paws at him.

 

Slave:                    Master! Master! Matser! The time, the hecking tiiime...

 

Master:       M’yes? What is it?

 

Slave:                    It’s ripe, Master!

 

Master:       ...Right?

 

Slave:                    MATSER!

 

Master:       What is it??

 

Slave:                   Plucking!

 

(Him:           ...Now!)

 

Laura runs as directed, veers off the intended path, walks across bottomless pit graphic, and through the left door.

                             Screen goes blank.

OK, So I don't really know why I've decided to put this on here. I'm not even sure if it belongs here, so if not, I'm sorry! Anyway, please give some feedback!

Aunt Mary brought the tea over to the table and put a cup in front of everyone. Darren had had several bad experiences with tea at this house. Once he drank it to discover the cup was leaking, hot tea got spilled all over him. The cup he had just been given looked curiously like the same one, but glued.

“Go on, drink up everyone while it's still hot!”

Darren lifted the cup to his lips and sniffed the steam rising from the cup. He nearly got sick. The milk was sour.

“David, go on, have your tea!” She said. She took a sip of her own. She didn't seem to notice. His mother had certainly noticed, and she hadn't touched it.

“So Mary, how have you been keeping? Are you still meeting up with that man?” Darren's mother asked to distract her from the tea situation.

After that, they had mindless babble. Darren's mother was polite. Darren was not as polite, but he smiled and nodded when he was required to. He didn't listen to most of the conversation. It wasn't of any interest to him. Most of it was about the catholic church and religious matters.

“I'll just excuse myself, I need to use the bathroom if that's OK,” Darren's mother said.

Darren got a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach, probably feeling nervous at being left alone with the nutty old lady.

Julie left the room and Darren and Aunt Mary were left in silence.

“I see you haven't been too great lately, David.” Aunt Mary said with an all-knowing smirk on her face. She nodded to herself, acting as though she knew what she was talking about.

“Yes, I see a face, a face that will walk into your future soon, I'm sure you know of my psychic abilities, not that I'm boasting.

“Yeah, I know all about your psychic abilities, and I'm fine, I really think that the future should be a surprise.” Darren said.

“Is that so? Well I don't know Darren, I think you should hear me out, it's really important.”

“No thanks.”

Aunt Mary didn't reply. Darren didn't want to look at her. He hated her most of all when she started claiming to be a psychic. It was unlike her to give up so easily.

Darren looked over. Mary was sitting on the chair, looking right at him. Her face was pure white and her eyes had a look to them which suggested that, although she appeared to be staring, she wasn't seeing.

“Mary?” Darren asked, now frightened.

“Mary?! Are you all right?” Darren asked.

With no reply he got up and ran for the phone. She was having a heart attack, it had to be the only explanation. He looked back at Mary as he searched frantically for the phone. He stopped dead still, because she was still staring right at him, even though he had moved. Darren slowly walked to the other end of the kitchen towards her. Step by step, he felt more and more frightened. Step by slow step. He was standing a meter away from Aunt Mary now. She still stared right at him, like a wax figurine with unnaturally real eyes.

“Aunt Mary?” Darren asked waving his hand in front of her face.”

“You're in danger. Save yourself. Save yourself. You're in grave danger! Sometime soon, your soul will be torn apart by a force that has entered your life,” Aunt Mary said, with the same look in her eyes, the look as though she wasn't really there. Darren looked into her glazed over eyes, and deep down he knew that this was real. Aunt Mary was having a proper psychic episode. She was giving him a message. She still sat in silence, looking terrifying.

Then she woke from her daze.

“What are you doing, staring at me like I'm a zoo animal David? As an elderly person, I am inclined to doze off every so often.”

Darren exhaled a deep breath. He sat down. Had she been faking it? That was what Darren had so desperately wanted to tell himself, but how could he? The look in her face, nobody could put that on. She obviously didn't remember anything of it.

Darren's mother walked back into the room. She sat down and everything resumed as normal. Darren sat in silence, contemplating what she had told him. He was in grave danger, but from what? Darren felt frightened. This could very well have been Aunt Mary's first and last real psychic episode.

Darren and his mother were driving home. His mother had decided that they couldn't stay the night, she looked in the guest bedrooms and saw that they were very untidy, with Aunt Mary's possessions strewn everywhere in them. They weren't saying much, they were just happy to have gotten the visit over.

“Mum, do you think that Aunt Mary really does have... Well... Some kind of a psychic ability?”

“Ha! No, it's not likely. The best prediction she's ever given was when she said she was going senile ten years ago!”

“So... You think it's not possible?” Darren asked, one more time.

“Certainly not. Go on, tell me. What did she say to you this time? She loves to frighten people, you know.”

“I don't know Mum, she went a bit... Weird... And then she told me I was in grave danger, and that my “soul would be ripped apart” by an evil force.”

“You didn't believe that, did you? She used to do things like that to me all the time when I was a child, she used to terrify me, saying things like “You have a week to live”. Once she took out the tarot cards and I got the death card. She told me that I was almost certainly going to die. Well I'm still here now, aren't I, so she was wrong. Honestly Darren, she's always been a bit nutty, just don't pay her any attention.”

“OK,” Darren replied, somewhat happier. What had he been thinking? She had always said things like that to him, what made this time any different? Just because she had put on a better performance didn't mean that it was any more likely that she was talking sense. Darren put his mind to rest, happier in the knowledge that he was in no danger whatsoever.

Please don't go too hard on me, I'm new to this. It's OK if nobody reads it, but if you want to, please give me some feedback!

 

Darren stared hard at the ceiling of his bedroom. It was white, like most ceilings. It looked slightly grey through the dim light shining into his bedroom through the curtains. Darren didn't know why he was staring at the ceiling, there was certainly nothing interesting about a plain white ceiling. He just was looking at the ceiling. That was the only reason as far as he was concerned.

Darren finally broke his gaze. He had to get up and get dressed for school. “Another Monday monrning...” he thought to himself. “Where does it end?”

Darren was a third year now. He hated it. He had to study now, they told him.

“You must do three hours a night on top of homework for the Junior Certificate examinations!” He heard his Geography teachers shrill voice echo in his head. He felt like laughing out loud at this strange idea. The ignorance astounded him.

Darren was walking to school. It was pouring rain, as was generally expected. It hadn't been raining when he had first woken up, but it definitely was raining now.

Darren walked up the steps to the front door of his school. He was late. This didn't bother him remotely. There was nobody in the corridors, none of the loud voices of students. He looked at his watch. He was five full minutes late. He sighed as he walked towards the door of his first class.

Darren opened the door carefully, walked in, then closed it carefully behind himself, avoiding making any sound. The particular teacher wasn't exactly the smartest person around. She taught him science. People said that she was gone mad from breathing in all of the chemicals over the years. If he was lucky, she might not notice his lateness.

Darren began to walk quickly through the room. She was facing the board and she couldn't see him. He reached his seat and put his schoolbag down on the floor. He had made it.

A moment later Mrs. Kelly turned away from the blackboard and saw him.

“Oh, Darren. I didn't see you... I thought you were absent,” She said in a high, squeaky and slightly dazed voice.

“He wasn't miss. He just arrived a minute ago.” Darren heard a squeaky, nasty, spiteful, girlish voice echo through the room. Darren looked over and saw Clare Johnson. He could have guessed it was her.

She sat there laughing audibly. There weren't enough offensive adjectives that could describe this girl. She was a horrible and nasty person, but of course only to Darren, nobody else. She was very short and squat and rather large around the middle. She had ginger hair and had serious acne problems on her face. She had bad looks and a bad personality. She had nothing going for her. Darren had hated her since the first day he had laid eyes on her. She didn't do things like these to other people, just Darren. Although, everyone did things like these to Darren.

“But... But... Did you... sneak in or something?” Mrs. Kelly asked in a voice that could make anyone feel guilty for decieving her.

“I just came in a minute ago,” said Darren. He knew there was no point in lying now. His peers all sat around him laughing. They wouldn't let Darren away with such a simple trick.

“OK, well in that case, I'll have to mark you late!” She said angrily.

Darren didn't reply. He didn't dislike Mrs. Kelly as such, however, he did find her to be an extremely irritating person.

Darren left school that day in a rush. It had been a surprsingly terrible day. More terrible than he had thought it would be. Most days were terrible, most Mondays were terrible, but today had been worse.

It was no coincidence, surely, that Darren Reeves had ended up in a year group full of idiots? Apparently it was. At least, that was what he was supposed to believe. Darren had no friends. He had not had friends since his first day of secondary school when he had figured out that school truly was the worst place in the world. Everyone in his year picked on him. Clare, the stupid loser who liked to giggle uncontrolably every time she did something nasty to Darren, was only the tip of the iceberg.

Darren was just biding his time. He was waiting to be shot of the place and then he could go on to do bigger and better things. He was sure there were nice people somewhere in the world, they just weren't in this town.

His parents weren't included in this minority. They weren't what he would call “nice people” either. His father was a doctor. This meant they had a lot of money, but it also meant that he rarely saw him as he was incredibly busy. He was called Richard. His mother was a solicitor. Even worse. She practically lived in her office. She nearly brought more money to the house than his father, but that was only because she worked ridiculous hours. Her name was Julie. Darren certainly liked his parents, but he hated their working habits. They were too busy with work to pay him much attention.

Darren's life just seemed to be going around in circles. Struggle through the week, struggle through the weekend, get holidays, the holidays go badly, the pattern continues... He wanted something exciting to happen. That was all he knew. Even if it was something negative, like a possibility of World War III or something, at least it would make a change from his boring everyday life. Anything at all was what he wanted.

Darren's house was cold and empty. The rain was completely relentless and it wasn't only dampening the house, it was dampening his mood. Darren was in his room reading. He didn't know when his parents would be home. Their hours were quite uncertain, so they never knew when they'd be home. It was seven o'clock so they probably wouldn't be back for about three or four hours. Sometimes his father worked night shifts. He supposed it was understandable, some doctors needed to be there to care for the sick during the night time. When this did happen Darren actually liked it. His father spent the day at home. He would get picked up from school, they could have a chat. Then at about nine at night time his father would go to work, just in time for his mother to arrive home. These were the best days. Unfortunately his father only worked a night shift about once every two weeks. His parents weren't bad people or anything, they just didn't realise that they needed to spend more time with their son, a mistake that many parents make.

Darren felt like he didn't fit in with his peers. It was like he was from a different era, and they didn't understand him because of that.

It was eleven o'clock at night and both of his parents had arrived home. Darren was lying in bed and he was writing in his journal. He had an inexplicable feeling that things were going to change, for the better or for the worse, he didn't know. Darren was aware that what he was thinking had made virtually no sense, but these were exactly the thoughts that were running through his head for the last few hours. He couldn't describe why they had entered his head, they just had. He felt fully sure that something would happen. He didn't know why, he didn't know when. All he knew was that maybe tomorrow, maybe the next day, something strange, something out of the ordinary, something completely new was going to happen. And he felt strangely excited about it.

 

Darren woke up the next morning. He was sure today something about his life was going to change. He got up and got dressed much more enthusiastically than usual. He had a good breakfast. He went to school. The sun was shining today. So far there was every sign that today was different. He walked into school. He went to his locker and got his books.

Darren went to all of his classes. With each class the excitement of the previous night and that morning was slowly ebbing away. Then as the bell rang to signify the end of his last class, he knew that he had been wrong. No, nothing exciting was going to happen. He had just been going mad. He couldn't say he had never been expecting it. Then he sunk back into just how he had been all along. Sad, lonely, depressed. Darren would always be the same. Boring, worthless Darren Reeves. Now “crazy” could be added to his description.

His evening was boring. Everything was boring. Nothing was different. Nothing big had happened. “Why did I feel the way I felt last night?” Darren asked himself. He wanted answers. Everything in his life had changed, only for one night and one day; he just wanted to know why it had changed, and why it had changed back again. Darren Reeves feared that now he would never know the truth of his momentary happiness and why it had occurred.

Crows,wonderful crows.I`ve been feeding them for years.Quite a few generations have shared my food with me,bringing their young each season or so to say “hello” to the human they have checked-out for years.Took me an age of feeding them before they would allow a catching of my eye,and not noisily head for the trees. I sometimes ponder who runs this cross species relationship.They sit on my fence at the same time each day and caw for attention.If tardiness takes my time then they will caw in union,drawing closer to my house door.Life reaches out to life.The responsibility for my actions is understood and,so far,is still enjoyed.Crows love cheese;dripping and bread, and oily fish. I wonder how they see me: a gourmet god or a slave and patsy.Does it matter.
They get the food and live as Corvine kings,I receive their tolerance and tentative acceptance.Service keeps my feet on the ground while they fly free and high above my human world.It is so good to see.I envy the wild and untamed crows.

Here it is: First two chapters of my fantasy saga.

I hope you all have as much fun reading it, as I had writting it!

Feedbacks on the overall, like grammar, plot, narrative speed, and everything else are immensely appreciated. But remember guys, these are 2 of 58 chapters, there´s a lot of time for the subjects to be developed. =)

Cheers!
___________________________________________

“We all have two wolves inside us. It is one’s nature to be bad, and the other’s to be good. You should feed only the one that you wish to grow strong, even though the other might take a few crumbs from time to time.”

Reara Admirus

 

“(...)my point, is: there’s absolutely no difference.(…) in the end, both are wild beasts.”

Orthus

__________________________________________

PROLOGUE - A BRIEF TALE 

One has to be careful when asking “When did the story begin?”.

That leaves room for responses like “By the time of Big Bang”, or “First, there was Adam and Eve” or even “You see, there was a comet with alien life which landed on Earth.”. Those are definitely not what the question was all about, but still didn´t keep from being an acceptable answer.

Fortunately, I am not witty enough to go that far back, but I believe it wouldn’t be prudent to say it all began with the curses of Poseidon and Isis.

I can say, however, that it began with four wise men. Each of these men could control one element: fire, air, water or earth. But they were not alone; they were the most powerful of their kinds, the Meiki, humans who could control one of the four elements. Such beings lived among common humans, and vice versa, but the situation was far from good.

The four wise men were representatives, each, of a small piece of land, where Meiki from each element could lead a peaceful life; such places were known as the Element Villages: The Air Village was located on the top of one from four mountains, between two countries nowadays known as Brazil and Colombia; the Earth Village, somewhere in Africa, the Water Village, in one of two twin islands in the Atlantic ocean, and the Fire Village, in Central America.  

However, the amount of Meiki migrating to these villages was increasingly high, as the worldwide situation between non- tamers and tamers grew darker.

Soon, they needed more space.

The four wise men assembled to discuss not only that, but also another very serious matter: the imminent war between normal humans, (known as Masha), and the Meiki.

In a combined action, each Meiki leader spoke to the leaders of nearby countries, and through a series of political and economical treaties, managed to create one nation for every village. As the air leader returned to his home, he was no longer the chief of the Air Village, but the king of the air nation. Not many hours after his arrival, he addressed the small but growing population of the recently born nation.

“Two men who yell at each other need space. The fog of intolerance shall be lifted. Each Meiki can choose where to live, however, he or she shall find sanctuary in their elemental nations. Spread the word.”

 

And the word flew, driven by the four winds, followed by a mass migration from Masha nations to Meiki ones. Not every Meiki abandoned it´s Masha home, but a great deal decided to do exactly so.

The air nation spread to the three other mountains. The earth nation grew four times it´s size, being located in between of the countries nowadays knowned as Congo,Angola and Zambia. The fire nation also grew, but there wasn´t much space for it. Therefore, the most powerful earth Meiki gathered around and created a roundish isle in the middle of the Gulf of Mexico, and the Water Nation got not only the full insland but the other next to it.

And so, the problems indeed seemed to get better: the focus of Masha - Meki relations relied no longer on anger, conflict, fear, prejudice, but upon the arts, science and others. The war soon seemed to be an acient ghost, and peace started to settle, slowly, into the world.

 

Yet, such results were achieved with a tiny help.

After the meeting, the Great Four, as they would be called for centuries after that, created an organization entitled Agency for Mankind Protection (AMP), constituted of four main leaders, one for each nation. It’s sole purpose was to make sure the peace between element tamers and normal humans (which was actually how many Masha referred to themselves, although they were biologically equal to the Meiki), would always be maintained; even if the organization had to use force to do so, always with upmost discretion: the Armed Forces of Mankind were then, created; a subsidiary of the first.

Both worked really well together, as they had Masha and Meiki inside, creating a great balance in the whole business and missions, which was remarkable to say the least, since outside the office, the majority of the two sets of people wouldn´t be so tolerant to each other.

The AMP and AFM interacted constantly with other world known and unknown organizations; making their official motto “Peace for all mankind.”

Few knew that it was at any cost.

 

Years followed by centuries, passed, and the four nations grew steadily, the confrontations diminished, and all seemed to be heading towards a happy ending.

 After many years of hidden interventive and diplomatic actions, many believed that only mutual growth and union figured in the future of mankind as a whole.

 

However, some thought that the peace was merely momentary, and that the return of the rivalry between Masha and Meiki, was just a matter of time.

 

 

1                  A Lecture

Almost 500 years later

A brown haired man, with an equally brown goatee, was organizing a few papers on a desk. It was located over a small wooden stage inside a big auditorium, filled with red leathered chairs that would climb up in rows, filling the big space that followed the stage.

The white curvilinear walls had been designed specifically to provide a perfect acoustic to that place.

The man was dressed in a dull, gray suit, and his whole aspect would never catch anyone’s attention; he was too ordinary even to exist. As he checked his papers, another man, owner of a large smile and voluminous red beard, that started to show a few gray hairs, approached him. His pinkish cheeks shone as much as his dark eyes, making him look like a young Santa Claus, even though he was not fat as such. He was dressed in a traditional white kimono, with rounded silver lines that in it´s keen contours outlined round clouds, floating through the fabric. He opened his smile to him.

“ Thank you for agreeing to give my recruits their first lecture, my old friend.”

“You are very welcome.” He replied in the most polite of manners.

The red haired man caressed his red beard, regarding him steadily for some moments. He knew that man too well, for too long, and predicted something in his behavior.

With a placid tone in his voice he continued. “ I could have chosen anyone to give this lecture”. The man kept arranging his papers and replied with a brief “Hum”. “You are not however, allowed to address any sort of Meiki situation.”The other man stopped and looked straight ahead, with a serious expression, as he saw his plans frustrated. Yet, he didn´t show any sign of disappointment, but annoyance. His friend didn’t mind. “It is too small to be taken seariously, and we must not let them loose focus.”

“The focus,” he remarked “should be split into Masha – Meiki AND Meiki -Meiki relations.”

“The main purpose of the AMP is to focus on Masha-Meiki situations. “Normal” humans and element tamers. Period.” He replied fiercely.

“I bet if I told them my real name they would credit what I have to say about the issue” He squeezed his eyes towards the other man. “Unlike some others.”

The red bearded man replied calmly, with a tone of mockering in his voice. “Do as you please, tell them your real name, let there be a crazy mob following you everywhere after the lecture, Professor Marcus Torres.”

“Matsuo Rarochi would like more credibility after all he has done for this organization, Leonard.”- the red bearded man sighed, looking at him with a pitiful expression.

“Matty, you are extremely recognized, you know that. You are one of the most powerful people in this place!”

“Appearently, I do not withhold the right kind of power.” He responded dryly.

Leonard tapped him on the back. “ Please, my friend, let this issue go.”

 The professor opened a smile, and answered. “Never”.

Leonard sighed. “So be it”

 

The room started to be filled by young people, and the lecture began. By the end of it, the professor started:

“Have you noticed how rare it is to see one Meiki admit that another element is equally good and efficient as his own? That comes from the fact that we can’t control more then one element, that we are NOT the fictional figures known as Riders.”

“Matsuo Rarochi is a Rider, he controls all four elements!” Yelled a voice from the crowd. The professor opened a perky smile, as he lifted his eyebrow, with a smile that went all up one side of his face.

        “ Isn’t he also a legend?” There was no reply; the audience was quiet as a cemetery in a cold winter night.”Whoever thinks it´s element is better then another is a fool.” He continued, looking seriously to the audience. “Equality is implied in the AMP principles, therefore, if there is anyone there,” He pointed to the audience. “not used to it, feel free to leave. It was because we thought we were better then “normal” humans and vice versa, that a world war almost erupted 500 years ago.” He took a quick breathe and continued with severity. None of the listeners stood up. He opened a small smile and moved on.

“Of course there are few cases of prejudice and violence between Masha and Meiki, and as members of the AMP you will fight against that. Yet, the number of such acts regarding Meiki only, even though much smaller then the first, is much bigger then it should be. And what I say today to you is: Be aware of that too.” Whispers spread through the whole place. He continued.

“One time, an Earth Meiki told me with the highest conviction that all other elements were useless. “All of them?” I asked. “Yes” he said. “Useless, you say. However, you cannot stand five days without water, three minutes without air and a cold winter without fire.”The whispers silenced. “We’re not super heroes. Nobody is. The person next to you completes you, and an infinity of others, and vice versa.  We must acquire the notion that we’re different but at the same time, equal, and we must value both what we have as well as what others do. That way we grow and become better people, the kind of people that you” He pointed to the audience again. “ must become, as agents that stand up for a unified and peaceful mankind.” He shrugged. “Many don't understand that it is not about comparison, but about union. Just like we are equal to the Masha, legally and biologically, we must realize we are equal to our Meiki fellows. And due to the lack of such comprehension, we see some acts of intolerance and violence between our own.”

Some wished to yell he was over reacting, other that violence acts would always occur anywhere, and it was silly to think of them as something as big as he did. But these people kept quiet while others just seemed greatly surprised. Something in the man’s posture caused a sort of fear to defy what he said, even though it seemed a bit of madness. They felt the same fear a student would have when disagreeing with a good professor: they´d think twice before arguing, because they knew that the man was prepared for the questions, and mighted end up making a fool out of them. Upon the silence, he ended his speech with the following words.

 “The relations between the four nations are quite tolerable, good. But why satisfy with good, when it could be grand?” He bowed to the audience, which responded with fainted applauses.

“You could have gotten an enthusiastic shove of claps if you hadn’t addressed that silly issue of yours.” Said the bearded man with his arms crossed, waiting for his friend in the exit door, after the lecture. “Now everyone thinks you are an over reacting fool, or just a crazy babbler.”

The man smiled as he took out his brown wig and goatee, setting free his long, straight dark hairs as well as his also dark goatee. His teeth were white and his dark eyes, witty. He blinked one eye as he handed the wigs to his friend and headed towards the main exit of the glassed building. “I never cared much for what everyone thought, did I?”

 Yet, as he walked, a man dressed in the Armed Forces for Mankind typical armyish black clothes, with black boots, black war wear and black berets, reached him. “Sir, we have situations in Egypt and Voda.”

 

[This is the beginning of a short story i've been working on. I would love some feedback from someone who does not know me. Enjoy...]

1

 

  The full moon blinks between the heavy, dark clouds. It’s pure white night eye is watching the pair of veined, straining hands claw over the top bricks of a high wall. The fingers pull a pair of rain sodden denim arms up, onto the top of the wall. Streams of rain race down the face searching out the smoothest route to the muddy puddle finish line. The body pauses to adjust it’s finger's grip. Moon blinks, shining on wet, jet black hair. Face looks up. Moon is too quick, even for this one. Moon closes its storm cloud lid before it's seen, sending the face back into the darkness. A stabbing shard of lightning destroys the night for a frozen moment. Desolate moor. Nothing but rain, mud and trouble.

  The body is gone, over the wall and into the moor. Silent. Accelerating like the Predator on the plains. Weak from lack of nourishment but the hunger burns inside creating it’s own energy. Faster. After a short while he has cleared a mile or more to a small hill. A pause to look back at the place that confined him and protected him. His dark waiting room. His perception machine. The moon blinks again. This time moon and face connect. Face is beautiful. Noble. Fearless. It is Animal. Borne of the same ancient ideas as Earth and it's Moon. Far off in the distance, from inside the walls, chaos opens. Alarms, lights, shouts. Moon and face hold their stare. The moon, The traitor, his captor's unwilling watchman winks its apology as it fades to the safety of the waiting cloud.

  Again into darkness and gone.

  As the moon cowers behind a distant hill at his back he is still running at the same hungry speed. Heading straight toward Moon's guiltless partner, Sun.

  The weather has eased off to a dull grey drone. Something catches his eye off to the north. Instinct tells him its food. He changes direction without losing speed or his footing on the soggy bog ground and takes chase. The pony senses him and, with immediate comprehension of its roll in this game, bolts. Jigging round rocks and jumping over winding streams. The pony eventually, inevitably stumbles. Bones crack. The soggy ground leaps up to gag the pony's confused and petrified screams. Neck snaps, enveloped by the eternal moment; balanced on the scythes edge of rapture. Violent in its silence, the landscape warps. Nature's shame pulses from the corpse. The soul dissolves. Rain is plopping in the stream close by, mixing with the hot blood. The runner is pale and drawn from fatigue but even after the physical exertion of the chase his chest rises and falls with steady ease. As he stands over the pony's steaming shell his lust retreats a little. Then he's down on the body and into the flesh. Nature’s relentless laws win again.

   Sun has broken free of the horizon as he finishes his needed meal. Standing, his white T-shirt bibbed with blood, He moves to the nearby stream and crouches down to wash the munkton from his face and hands. He crosses the stream and is away, at a slow jog, toward a small wood and sleep.

  Upon reaching the trees he moves into the thickest part of it and begins to prepare a nest of bracken. He lifts a large piece of the wet, brown forest floor and flips it over, leaving a dry mattress for him to rest on. He lies down on his nest and pulls the remaining bracken over him. Hidden from the World. As he slips into sleep his body relaxes.

  Sun is soft in the afternoon sky above the park. From the scattered trees the birds sing, blunting the sharp shrieking of children playing around an oval expanse of water. People are all around enjoying the buxom embrace of an English summer in full flow. A beautiful woman wearing a white dress, seemingly made from the wisps of clouds above her, is walking toward a dark man in a deck chair. Him. She's carrying gently melting ice-creams. As she gets closer to the man he raises a hand to his brow in salute to the Sun. She leans down to pass his ice-cream and barks at him. He looks confused. She barks again. This is just a dream. Wake up. The world shakes as the woman barks at him louder. The world shakes and fades to grey sky bordered by tree tops.

  The runner wakes, shaking his head. The barking has followed him from his dream. He is awake in an instant and away. Out the other side of his brief sanctuary to the east. He had slept through the day and now Double Agent Moon is looking down on him as Sun sinks away to aid his flight.

  Full night is in again as He crouches on a hilltop, like a war beaten soldier, on flat feet; face directed skyward with eyes closed as if channelling some ethereal force from above. His arms held out in front of him resting on his knees. Moon betrays Him once more. His massive wings faintly glittering in the all seeing beam. His control of their masking weakened by his meditation.

  A distant sound breaks his meditation. His eyes open, his pupils dilate, sucking in all the light they can. Wide awake now. Without standing or moving any other part of his body, except his eyes and head, he scans the horizon. Far in the distance behind him are streams of torch light bobbing with their carriers stride. Again he's gone. Owl silent.

2

  Busy motorway service station. The air thick with inane chatter. all the accents of England in one numb church of the banal. He is standing by the automatic doors of the entrance, wearing the denim jacket and jeans buttoned to his neck. With the look of a man who has lived on the moor for two night s and a day. A young family walk past him and out through the automatic doors. He stares at the young daughter, examining the face closely. The child smiles, He smiles back. Once they are through he walks past the automatic doors, the doors indifferent to his presence, toward the toilets. Noticing a small camera follow him across the floor. He closes his eyes without breaking stride as a young man runs from a nearby shop, to the sound of an alarm. The camera turns to the incident. He slips into the toilets unnoticed.

  In the toilets he stands in front of the urinal. There is only one other man in the room, who washes his hands and leaves. He walks over to the sinks and washes his hands and face. The grime covers the sink bowl in a red/brown stain. He looks up and catches his image in the mirror. Weary and sure jawed. The end has begun. He moves into one of the cubicles, locks the door, and sits down. Slowly, undoing the mud caked laces of his heavy black work boots and with grateful satisfaction he pulls them off. His feet stink. No socks. He wiggles and stretches his toes. The sweet sensation of a minor comfort. Reaching down into the bottom of the left boot he pulls out the leather sole, casually tossing it over his shoulder against the wall and down onto the cistern. He then reaches back into the boot and carefully removes a small and very worn piece of paper. A painting of a baby on a small white crocheted blanket bordered by radiant green grass. At first look it could be mistaken for a photograph. On closer inspection the strange fluid brush strokes are evident. The child's face glows with an essence of something untouchable. Pure. Its eyes glow with compassion and love. The pupils, endless black as if they have seen all the evil that Evil can do.

  He seems lost in the picture. This is his fix, injected through the eye direct to the brain. His filthy pained feet on the floor forgotten, resting on the piss puddled floor. The picture was why he escaped. He didn't want to escape. It was safe in there. They fed him, locked him in that room every night, protecting him from the real horrors. At lights out he would listen to the moor's wailing drone through the night until sunrise, when the guard would come and order him out into the common room; where he would spend his day watching the others. Some of them understood. Some of them were like him. Not of his mark, but of his kind. They were in there because they had been disobedient, obvious in their actions. Some of them were in there because they had just lost their way or their faith in the whole thing. He was in there because of all these things and more. He had been picked out from the others very early and watched closely.

  He was only trying to help.

  He puts the picture back in his boot, gives his feet a final breathing wiggle and puts them back in their boots. He needs to disappear. Lose his scent. First he needs to change his appearance. Lose the hunters, Worry about the others later. They won't bother with him yet. Not until he gets closer...

Pre-emptive Curbing Procedure

“I never trusted you magicians___” astonished a person might become seeing this simple man getting cross, for it was a sheer rarity. However, it might not be new to people witnessing Mr. Trinsic quarrelling to the magicians over innumerable issues whereas, that day wrangle was about the twins.
“Their mother trusted us and she was a major part of us. She entrusted you the responsibility of twins’ upbringing because she believed that you would do your duty the same way as she would have done,” the purple-robed, with a significant glowing belt on his waist, magician was adopting a calmer tone, as he thought it to be the only solution to the problem.
The fact that Mr. Trinsic was standing alongside a magician made him uneasy. For the first time he wished he would have known magic not for easing the life but to fight away these magicians.
The heat rising within him subsided with what the tall, a bit old, slim and purple-robed magician had just said. The extravagance in the magician’s expressions was constantly giving Mr. Trinsic a hard time to decide whether to trust him or not.
Maybe he was right, perhaps he should give up, thought Mr. Trinsic. This was too early to surrender, he realized, the magician needed to be interrogated further. Thereafter, the magician was led somewhere by the twins’ uncle.
The magician looked like a morally strong figure, determined not to lose, possibly this was the reason he was sent to Mr. Trinsic.
The magician’s had long hair, which were congested on a size of head as equal as his, and were falling smoothly to his back. Few white hair were visible, rest were black. He had a fair complexion and eyes were his main features. They could be deceiving at one moment and inducing at another.
He walked gracefully and with authority symbolizing his rank in the magical administration. Or was it the way every magician walked? The answer to Mr. Trinsic was absolutely, 'YES'!
Mr. Trinsic led his guest to a well-decorated room which looked like the room for visitors, guessed the magician in his imagination. They surrendered themselves to two unoccupied wooden chairs. The wood used to design those chairs was not as valuable as the magicians’ but was nothing less than a valuable for non-magicians (who were not, mostly, well-off financially).
“Now begin from the start, what have you got to say to me?” The twins’ uncle asked in a worried voice.
“Starting from the day of the birth rituals and since now we magicians have been noticing the leakage of magical powers from the twins, meaning that they possess a great deal of magic. Such leakages can result in unwanted events like fire, explosions and etc…the twins are an exceptional case, I mean no child of there age previously have been reported or sensed to have such strong magical powers,” the magician panted realizing that he was speaking very fast, but was pleased to have won over Mr. Trinsic’s attention.
“Here arise several questions belonging to one major question – how do I know what you are saying is true? … I mean, how do I know that you’ve sensed immense magic leaking out of my twins, how can you curb their powers when their case is exceptional and lastly how do I know which unwanted events are you talking about when there took place none???” His mouth curled upwards into a rueful smile.
“Okay, we consider everything chronologically,” the magicians’ expressions clearly expressed frustration; sometimes it was very annoying to explain every bit to the non-magicians. “We, magicians, can sense the location where magic is used unless ordinary amount is used. Since they do not have control over their powers, a lot gets out which we can sense easily. Then it is true that their case is exceptional but that does not mean that our forefathers never interpreted the possibility hence there are ways to curb it. And lastly are you sure that you didn’t notice any odd things taking place, lately?”
It had been a week since their birth and so far Mr. Trinsic could not remember anything unusual happening in the house or perhaps if there had happened he might not have been able to deduce the reasons. Thus, he kept scratching his beardless chin and searched for an answer, “No … I guess there happened …yeah … there was one thing. While I wasn’t at home, my wife noticed a table burning into fire, as she returned from the kitchen where the twins were lying. But that’s not what my kids did, did they?” He was now wearing a horrified look whereas the magician seemed satisfied as if his question had been answered.
“Do not worry Mr. Trinsic, nothing will happen to them. And so far what I can tell, there had occurred two incidents since the day they born …those need to be stopped for it might …” the magician lowered his gaze making his host more distressed.
“WH-what, for it might, what???”
“Might … kill them,” he kept staring at the floor but what he was missing was the look on Mr. Trinsic’s face. As he glanced upwards he found the twins’ guardian gasping with horror.
“Can you fix this up, please?” His stare did not waver and he remained gazing in the magician’s eyes wondering how further he could go into them.
“Yes, we can,” there was hope on Mr. Trinsic’s face now and his mood brighten up a bit, “but it might cause the twins pain, however we will be as much careful as we can.”
The hope did not vanish from his face neither was the revelation of twins’ suffering felt disturbing to him, “Tell me more, what’s that procedure?”
“To curb an adult’s power is as easy as plucking a flower from the open green belt but if it’s the new-born we are talking about then that flower lies in the restricted area or rather inaccessible, making it difficult to pluck. Since they are just kids who do not know anything nor of their powers, we will have to reach to their store of magic. This can be painful because we are actually the intruders in their minds. But there is a problem – the procedure is temporary. As soon as the twins become of their powers such incidents can commence again. Moreover the damages caused by their emotional powers, combined with their magic, would be a lot more sever than they are now. At that time, we will guide them to access their powers on their own and carry on as it is normally done.”
There was a brief moment of silence. Mr. Trinsic was lost in a thought, or perhaps thoughts.
“So when do we start? I want the twins in as much comfort as they can. And if it turns out to be in vain you’ll wish you had never been born, do we have an agreement?”
Swallowing every word of the non-magician carefully, he inclined his head firmly and said, “I’ll be back in the evening prepared in order to make the procedure the least painful I can.”
The twins’ uncle nodded. The magician strode past the room and departed without being offered the farewell-greetings by Mr. Trinsic, whose face now rested on his hands, a clear indication of his fretful thoughts.
Being the same anxious, as he was before, he reclined on the sofa and submitted himself into an uneasy and unintentional sleep. He did not know but immediately after he had slept, his wife visited him as she heard her husband’s snores. She was perplexed to see her husband sleeping like this. She did not wake him up instead she allowed him to sleep before he would wake up himself. Later, that evening, the knock on the door woke Mr. Trinsic up, who got up at the very first knock. His wife felt perturbed to see him in such condition. Therefore, she went to see open the door and saw a purple-robed and a bit old magician standing on her doorstep. This did not surprise her as he had already visited them earlier, after the noon.
His smile did not mean anything to Miss. Kimburly at all, who shrugged and went inside.
The Magician was let inside and when he found Mr. Trinsic in such conditions, he himself grew worried and soothed him with assuring words, “Do not worry Mr. Trinsic, nothing will happen.” Mr. Trinsic twitched his lips and said, “Easy for you to say, huh?”
It was now appropriate for him to adopt quiescence and to prove practically what he was capable of rather than keep convincing on Mr. Trinsic who proved to be the apposite guardian of the twins.
“Would you please, now, take me to your niece and nephew or are you bringing them here?” The Magician asked. Mr. Trinsic stood up and ordered his visitor to follow him. He led him to the most specious room of the house where on a bed lay two innocent children, unaware what was going to happen to them, shortly afterwards.
Having glimpsed at them, it brought a smile on the magician’s face, a smile that represented some kind of affection.
The purple-robed magician, then, approached the adorable twins. Reaching over to them, he found them sleeping peacefully. Both, Mr. Trinsic and his wife, were watching every move of the magician, carefully. The old man placed a hand on Derrik’s and Dorothy’s forehead, but at the same time, something happened. The chair which was placed nearby, lifted above the ground and collided with the wall, breaking it into two equal halves. The twins’ aunt shivered and uncle grew agitated, “What is this, you filthy magician?” The magician however remained resolute because he knew why it had happened.
“The twins are sensitive and I placed a hand on their forehead deliberately. In order to see how they react and the intensity of their reaction. They realized that my touch was unfamiliar making them scared or surprised, I don’t know exactly. And as I told you they release magic on almost every emotion, they feel.
“This will not happen again because the next time I will place a hand on their forehead, it will be familiar to them.” Mr. Trinsic reluctantly nodded, realizing that there he had no other choice.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
The magician said touched their foreheads, and as he had said, nothing happened this time. He drew in a deep breath and just before he closed his eyes he glared at Mr. Trinsic and Mrs. Trinsic who were scrutinizing his face thoughtfully.
The magician touched their foreheads a second time, and as he had said, nothing happened this time. He drew in a deep breath and just before he closed his eyes he glanced at Mr. Trinsic and Mrs. Trinsic who were scrultinizing his face thoughtfully. This made him uncomfortable to be stared at while he was working on something that he had never done before. He was afraid that he might lose his concentration while this process was going on and he knew the consequence of doing so. He could risk no chance of any error. “Come what may. I will at least die trying,” thought the magician.
Therefore, with eyes closed he moved his hands, on their foreheads, barely,, way of not distracting them from their sleep.
He now approached the inside of the twins’ minds through his own mind. He waited and waited until he felt his own presence within three minds. Where he stood, appeared tp ne a long road. It was glistening at the beginning and cast his shadow on the road beyong which all was dark. The illuminated side, resembled his own mind and he had nothing to do with his own right now.
Hence, he kept prowling around for the right place to go at. As he moved forward it turned gloomier and gloomier until there came a spot where nothing could be seen but felt. And he felt that there was a diversion on the road, new probably one leading to either of the twins’ mind.
He first opted for the road going to the right. Walking in the dark, he was unaware of the steps he was taking. However, after ambling carefully a little more steps, his foot collided with something wooden and he felt hope flooding in him. That was what he had been looking for, the door leading to any of the twins’ mind, particularly, he was uncertain which one until he had entered inside. He turned the handle and stepped inside a dimly lit room.
The room was dimly lit because the light represented the life of a person. Since, the twins were only a week old a little bit of what they had seen so far made for less illumination. That was the reason, the road that led to the their mind made it impossible to see the end.
Source of illumination was not evident but it kept flickering, on every step of the magician, like the candlelight open to heavy wind. This meant that every step of the magician was reacted to by the wind and this symbolized sensitive mind, a mind that can only be belonging to a girl thus the magician was certain now that he intruded in Dorothy’s mind.
He, then, wandered about the room in search of something but all he could found were two other doors. Even then, it satisfied him, may be this was what he had been looking for.
He approached the first door then, and turned the handle. A light breeze started coming through the door which actually represented the memories of Dorothy which she had gathered in a week. Had this been the door of an olderly person it would have been a strong wind rather than a light breeze.
A average person possessed two doors in their mind. For a non-magician, who lacked magical powers, there used to be two doors, one for his memories which he wanted to share with others and other door of secrets, which could not be opened until the other, wanted to. Whereas, the magicians possessed one more door which led to their magical powers or their store of magic.
In Dorothy’s case, since she did not have enough sense what to be kept opened and what be kept secret, she only had two doors, one to her memories and other which would lead to her store of magic.
The magician had already noticed the door of memories, so he moved on to the next one which was his destination in real. As he reached towards the door, he noticed dazzling light protruding from under the door. He willed the door to be opened and kept turning its handle, but it would not open. It annoyed him as he could not come to the solution. He kept thinking whether what was preventing him and realized that the only way to pass beyong the door was to pen the door magically.
He drew out some magic and willed the door to be opened which unlocked ferociously and bumped onto the wall beside, forcing the magician to leap backwards. But he could not stay there long because her powers were leaking now in great quantities which could cause destruction. Thus, using his all this might, he entered, inside the room and shielded his eyes from the glistening light of Dorothy’s magic which blinded him in colour-blind. The brightness of light suggested how immense the magical capabilities of Dorothy were.
He now had to act fast because the longer he stayed there the more the pain it would cause, Dorothy for he was uninvited in that room. Without wasting anymore time, he drew out some magic and created a large box with an entrance to it. He gestured his hands outward and then directed them towards the entrance to the box. On his directions the powers, which symbolized Dorothy’s magic, started seeping inside the box, designed by the magician.
Gradually, few minutes later, Dorothy’s magic had found a new store to live in but it stayed there with reluctance. The magician closed the entrance as all magical powers had been stored in the box. However, her magic was in a huge quantity that is started to shake inside as it needed more space to be stored in. Realizing what this shaking meant, the magician enlarged the size so that the magical powers could stop threatening the miniature size of the box. As he did so, the the convulsion reduced to tis minimum and when it became satisfactory for the magician, he decided to leave immediately. So, her powers were now stored where they were accessible yet without leakage.
The magician then left the Dorothy’s mind and followed the dark road towards Derrik’s. Similarly, no source of illumination made it inevitable for him to have a collision against the door that led to Derrik’s mind.
Just like Dorothy’s one, the room representing Derrik’s mind was small and faintly lit. The only difference the magician felt here was that the light was not flickering, an indination of a determined personality who was not bothered by an invasion of his mind.
The magician repeated the same process; magically opening the store of magic, a room which glistened greatly but lesser than Dorothy’s. Meaning thereby that, though, he had far too much magic in him for a child of his age but lesser than his sister’s. However, the magician was determined that strong personality of Derrik’s would bring both twins to an equal standards after sometime.
Derrik’s magical powers fitted in the box that was created for Dorothy’s, before enlargement, despite of the ocassional rumblings it caused.
Successfully accomplishing what he had contrived to do, he strode towards the way back. He was delighted on his perfection that he had been able to complete the pre-emptive curbing without even causing the twins’ a slightest of pain. His reason fro certainity was the fact that he experienced no unusual activity in either of the two minds.
Retracing his footsteps, he followed the gloomy road back to his mind and ultimately outside the internal word where Mr. Trinsic stood wailing about the resent bruise he had received, probably from the the changes in twins’ emotions. Fortunately, this was the only damage caused in all this procedure, which was one of the biggest achievements of the magician.
As he opened his eyes and lifted his hand from the foreheads of Dorothy and Derrik, Mr. Trinsic leapt forward and inquired the purple-robed man, “Are…… are they all right now? Will this happen again?” The dispvation in his voice could be heard.
The old man replied as secretly as he could and looked at both the guardians, one at a time, “They are perfectly well now,” both of his audiences breathed a sigh of relief, the magician continued, “And I’m sure this will not happen again, at the least sooner.” The guardians looked relieved. Mr. Trinsic, however, seemed to have another query, “What if it does happen again…. I don’t mean that we don’t trust you but what if…. How can we contact you?..... What is your name?”
The magician looked away and soberly replied, “I feel honoured to earn your trust Mr. Trinsic but be assured you will not have to contact me again.”
“Even then, you never told us what you should be called, you name?” Mrs. Kimburly spoke now.
“The eyebrows of the old magician rose and he hesitantly replied, “I am ….to be honest…….Yarlan”

In case the title was somewhat enigmatic I am currently looking to start a fantasy fiction eZine which will, with the proper encouragement, metamorphose into a fully-fledged and stunning magazine. To do this I, of course, need some writers to contribute their glorious wares to my otherwise barren stretch of publication.
   There are no restriction beyond a 10,000 word limit and, obviously, the fantasy fiction subject matter. Of course, that does not require a Tolkein-esque display of half-men, elves and dragons; while part of the staple diet they are indeed not a requisite.
   If the project reaches the publication stage all writer's will be paid for their efforts - unless anyone fancies being generous to my fledgling publication - even if I'm forced to take it from my own pocket rather than profits.
  
So I call to you, humble members of the Word Cloud; who will accept the challenge of Dune? Who knows, you could just be a part of history. 

At one place in my story I will have to explain what is the meaning of Black Magic.
I wrote its definition, as per my story's requirements, a few days ago.
Please tell me if this looks aappropriate.

'Consuming the wealth of nature to enrich your powers is known as Black Magic.'

Awaiting for response.