In the Necromancer's Lair

Greetings,

This short story was inspired by a short story prompt called "Dramatic Entrance". The story is written to stand alone, although my long-time readers will recognize the characters from the adventures of Annie and her Psuedo-Dragon which I first started writing in My Grandmother's Pendant and continued in Voices and Visions in a Dark Wood.

As always, I appreciate and enjoy any feedback! Let me know what you think. Also, if there are every any story ideas or prompts you'd like to send my way for me to try, let me know!

Have a Great Week!

James

"In the Necromancer's Lair"

by James J Meadows III

                “To restore balance to the worlds, you must retrieve the Pendant of the Last Kingdom. The ancient mystical talisman can be found in the stronghold of the Necromancer, the ancient lord of death. Find his lair, hidden within the secret kingdom of Radash, and return the pendant back to us. Or all will be lost.”

            Those were the seer’s words, which started this whole mission almost three weeks ago.

Now, I stood at the door to the Necromancer’s lair. Disguised as a small stone house in the middle of the city, it was the perfect camouflage, one which sent me on a two week long goose chase around town trying to find it.

Who knows? If not for the tip from a stranger at the local bar, I might still be searching for another three weeks - perhaps longer.

            “Remember, if all the legends are true, getting the pendant from him will not be easy,” whispered my invisible pseudo-dragon companion, Llander, his high pitched voice coming from just to my right. “He is said to be extremely powerful, capable of roasting us with nothing more than a flick of his wrist. We will need to move fast before he can do so.”

            I nodded, still staring at the door. Summoning my courage, I approached the barrier, advancing up the sidewalk until I stood almost directly in front of it. This was absolutely nuts.

I was just a simple teenage girl, with no notable powers, skills, or talents. Heck, I wasn’t even from this world. How could the great seer expect me, of all people, to defeat the mysterious necromancer, recover the lost Pendant, and restore balance to the worlds?

“Alright,” I said, my head spinning as I tried to wrap my mind around what I was about to do. “We will need to catch him off guard, I will try to keep him distracted while you rush in and grab the pendant.”

“How do you plan to do that?” my companion asked.

“Not sure,” I answer. “What I need is some sort of dramatic entrance, something no one will expect?”

“You are going to enter doing a theater routine?”

“No, not dramatic like that,” I replied, feeling a rush of annoyance at my companion’s usual inability to understand figurative language; it was a flaw all pseudo-dragons possessed. “I mean, dramatic as in do something big and grandiose!”

“You are going to make yourself larger?”

“No,” I said, my annoyance increasing. “I mean like bursting into the door, creating a lot of noise, something that will catch him off-guard so he won’t be able to take immediate action.”

“Oh,” my companion mused. “You are going to burst through the door? But won’t it be locked?”

I hesitated. Come to think about it, I never considered how we would actually open the door. In all the fantasy novels I always read, or various video games I played, you typically just walked inside the evil villain’s dungeon and confronted him.

“Um, I don’t suppose you have some sort of magic that can unlock a door?” I asked.

“That isn’t really a part of my race’s abilities,” he answered. “Maybe you can kick the door in?”

If I could see my companion, I would have rolled my eyes at him. I was five foot two and weighed one hundred pounds. I was more likely to get blown away by a breeze than kick in a door.

“Why don’t you kick it open,” I asked. “Your race is, like, part-dragon or something, isn’t it? Don’t you have some sort of supernatural strength?”

“I’m one foot tall and weigh about ten pounds, what do you think?”

“Well, we’ve got to figure out some way in!” I said, with no small amount of exasperation.

“If you’ll step aside, I have the key,” a deep voice sounded from behind me. “I can open the door for you.”

            A chill ran up my spine as I turned to see a tall black-robed figure towering above me. He had narrow grey lips, thin sallow skin, and long white hair flowing down from beneath the low hood.

            For a moment, I stood paralyzed with fear, gazing into his bloodshot eyes. I didn’t need an introduction to know I stood in the presence of the mysterious Lord of Death, who the seer had told me about; the one capable of turning me into a pillar of dust with just a word. He had apparently walked straight up to us while we were debating, without us even noticing. Now, we would pay.

            I stood there, holding my breath, waiting for my doom.

Nothing happened. He just continued standing there staring at me for a second, before making a slight gesture with his right hand, which I now realized was holding a key, as though requesting me to move out of the way.

            With a quick nervous step, I moved aside. To my surprise, he proceeded right past me, with complete nonchalance, placing the key into the door, twisting it, and pushing it open. He then turned around, looking at something behind me, and waved his hand. I looked back and realized there was a small cart full of vegetables, meats, and various other supplies sitting on the lawn, a short distance behind where he stood a moment before.

            In response to his wave, the cart rolled forward, advancing through the door and down a short hallway visible within. He took a couple of steps after it before turning around.

            “Are you coming?”

            I stood irresolute for a second. This was not in any way what I was expecting. My instinct was to look at my companion for advice. Then, I remembered he was invisible. I was on my own with this decision. Still, it wasn’t like I had any better plan of what to do next. So I went ahead.

            He led me through an entry hall, into a large sitting room attached to a kitchen. I followed him in before giving a sudden scream of fear, backing into the wall behind me. The kitchen and sitting room were filled with walking skeletons, their bones, teeth and eyeless skulls devoid of all flesh, organs and decorations, save for the dirty, moth-eaten clothes hanging from their frames.

            Our host ignored my outcry.

            “Roger,” he called, addressing one of the skeletons. “Fetch some drinks for our guests.”

The skeleton replied with a rather rude gesture, involving one hand and one finger.

            "Don’t you give me any lip,” our host snarled. “Just do it! That’s an order!”

            The skeleton retreated into the kitchen as our host turned back to us. Meanwhile, other skeletons began collecting the various foods, wines, and supplies from his cart, placing them into cupboards and spaces around the kitchen.

            “The undead can be such a pain at times,” he said, with a small sigh. “But if I don’t keep them in line, the wandering hordes will go wreaking havoc across the kingdom like they used to. Please, sit down.”

            He gestured toward a series of plush armchairs and couches. I took a seat on the nearest one, feeling completely bewildered.

            “Anyway,” he said, taking a seat across from me. “You must be Annie.”

            “How did you know my name?” I asked, rather surprised, not just at his knowledge of my name but also at the fact that he called me by it. Though I always introduced myself by name, so far no one else in this world had used it.

            “I know a lot of things,” he answered. “Your name is just one of them, though if you’d rather me call you ‘Light Child’ like everyone else, I will do so.”

            “No, please, call me Annie,” I said, feeling a rush of relief.

In some ways, it was nice to actually have what seemed like a normal conversation with someone; though, at the same time, considering I hadn’t met a single other person in this world who seemed capable of such conversations, this only added to the already surreal quality of the scene.

            All-in-all, though, holding a conversation was much better than the alternative. I only hoped my companion was taking advantage of this time to look for the pendant. As I had no way to tell, I decided I would just keep the conversation going as long as possible and hopefully buy some time.

            “Do you have a name?” I asked.

            “Probably,” he answered. “I couldn’t tell you what it is, though. No one has called me by it for centuries. They always call me by various pseudonyms and titles. After a while, I just forgot what it was.”

            “Oh,” I replied, unsure quite where to take the conversation from here.

            Fortunately, the skeleton, dubbed Roger, came back about that time carrying a pair of glasses and a small ceramic container, which reminded me forcibly of a dog bowl. He handed one glass to the Necromancer, one to me, and placed the bowl on the ground beside me. They were all filled with a strange, glowing, greenish-liquid. The drink in the bowl started getting lapped up as soon as it touched the ground - so much for my companion scouring the place for the pendant.

            I studied the drink, feeling somewhat apprehensive.

            “It isn’t poisoned or drugged or anything,” my host replied.

            “That is okay, pseudo-dragons are immune to poisons,” came my companion’s voice from beside me.

            “Yeah, I know,” the necromancer responded. “I was talking to her – Earthlings aren’t.”

            “How do you know the world I’m from?” I asked. I was growing more than a bit unnerved by his seemingly vast knowledge of me. “And how do you know what my race is and isn’t immune to?”

            He gave a small laugh.

            “My dear young lady, they wouldn’t have appointed me Keeper of the World Pendants, if I didn’t have a pretty good knowledge of the various worlds,” he replied. “I suppose that is what you came here for, after all. Here you go.”

            The necromancer reached into his robes, withdrawing a large golden medallion, featuring a bright blue circular gem situated inside a ring of gold, attached to a thick chain necklace. I recognized it instantly as the one my grandmother used to always wear. He tossed it over to me in a haphazard manner. I caught it, even more confused than before.

            “You’re just giving this to me?” I asked.

            “Of course,” he replied, “Why not? You’re the rightful bearer, chosen by the previous bearer to take over their legacy. Plus, you passed the first test.”

            “What test?” I asked.

            “Finding me,” he answered, “and having the courage to confront me.”

            “But, you haven’t been dangerous at all,” I replied. “What kind of test is that?”

            “A real one,” he said. “Many of the greatest fears people face are in their heads. Being able and willing to face and overcome your own internal fears is the first step to facing the real fears and dangers which confront you the rest of the way.”

            “The rest of the way…” I said, my voice trailing off as the realization dawned that this might only be the first test.

            “My dear, did the seer not talk to you about the many vile forces seeking to throw the worlds out of balance for their own dark schemes?” He asked. “Do you really believe obtaining the pendant and returning to your world will be so easy with such enemies?”

            “I guess, I hoped,” I replied.

He smiled at those words.

            “But what does this pendant have to do with anything?” I pressed. “This is just a simple necklace that my grandmother used to wear. What does it have to do with bringing balance and safety to the worlds?”

            “Each world in our multi-verse of worlds has a pendant associated with it,” he answered. “This world, being the center of all worlds, is the repository from which they are distributed. Within each world, there is one bearer of their pendant, who is tasked with guarding and protecting it.”

            “Your grandmother took on the responsibility when she came to this world ages ago,” he continued. “When she passed away, she willed you to be the next guardian.”

            “Then, why didn’t she just give it to me herself?” I asked. “Why did I get brought into this world?”

            “The pendant must attune itself to the wearer, if it will give them the power of their world,” he said. “While you wear the pendant in your world, you will attract all the blessings, joys and happiness of your world; or else, you will attract all the pain, grief and suffering of your world. It all depends upon you! If you are to unlocked the good and benevolent powers of the pendant, you must learn to attune yourself to it and unlock its secrets. These things can only be done here.”

            “So, what do I do now?”

            “Now?” He asked. “Well, you can finish your drink for one. Then, I would put the pendant on. Afterward, I encourage you to head back to the seer. I expect as you travel there, your next step will be revealed to you. Be open to the power of the pendant and its messages. Do so, and the whole world, and the secrets of all the worlds, will open up to you. Protect it, for dark forces want the medallion for themselves, and will try to prevent your unlocking it.”

            I studied the pendant, twirling it around in my hands. I felt myself reeling from the shock of all I had just heard. I took a sip from my drink as I thought about everything I had gone through. The drink possessed a odd, sweet flavor which reminded me, strangely, of flowers. My mind was too preoccupied to enjoy it, though.

Only ten minutes ago, I had stood at the door, trying to figure out a way to make a dramatic entrance so I could get the pendant. Now, a part of me wished I could make a dramatic exit to get rid of it.

            Yet, the weight of the obligation, and the knowledge of the faith everyone had in me, stayed my hand. I could see the concerned faces of the seer and her people, asking me to help them. I couldn’t let them down. I put the pendant around my neck, placed down my drink, and rose from the chair.

            “Thank you,” I said. “I appreciate your straight-forward answers. You are the only one who has given me any. If you don’t mind, I think I’ll see myself out.”

            With those words, I strode boldly back toward the door and the waiting world beyond. 

Harbinger of a New Age

Greetings Everyone,

This week's story was based on my short story group's writing prompt "New Age". What makes it a little different is that the story is geared more toward the Young Adult genre, with a focus taking place in high school. I am considering making a longer novel out of it as I get the time.
In the meantime, I would enjoy getting any feedback!

Hope everyone is having a great week!

James Meadows

"Harbinger of a New Age"

by James J Meadows III

                Even the darkest tale of depravity, corruption, and power begins somewhere. Mine, I suppose, began as I crossed the hallway to my ninth grade reading class.

                “Hey!” I shouted, as my books were batted from my hands and scattered across the crowded hallway.

                “Oops, sorry,” snickered a large, robust black-haired boy holding a soda in this hand.

                His name was Broderick. He and the three friends flanking him were four of the school’s best athletes, biggest bullies, and most arrogant jerks. Not that they were alone in most of those traits. Since moving to Huntington, I had gotten the rather distinct impression that the last two categories covered about 90% of the students, all of whom could get away with it if they happened to fall into the first category.

                I, on the other hand, being one of the shortest and scrawniest kids in the entire class, only about four and a half-feet tall, was far from falling into any of those categories. As such, I was a perfect target to be picked on by all of those who did.

                Intent upon not giving them additional reasons or opportunities to abuse me and eager to get to my next class, I bent down to collect my books, which were being not-so-helpfully, kicked around by the passers-by rushing back and forth down the hall. No sooner did my hand touch the first book, then my efforts were awarded by a large spray of coke splattering across the back of my shirt, showering my head and neck.  

                “Oops,” Broderick snickered again, to the guffaws of his entourage. “Someone bumped into me.”

                I tried not to let my anger show on my face. That was exactly what they wanted: to see me react and get upset at their childish antics. Still, I found myself unable to resist the natural urge to shoot a dirty look at them while they laughed. This only caused them to laugh harder. I was about to look away when Broderick’s cell phone rang. A surprised look passed over Broderick’s face.

                “I thought I turned the volume off,” he muttered, yanking the phone from his pocket. I saw him swipe the phone, most likely entering his unlock pattern, and press a button with the words, “Some stupid text.”

                There was a brief pause. I didn’t know what he was reading. What I did know was I had never seen the color drain from someone’s face so quickly in my life. His jaw dropped, his eyes went wide, and I saw him start glancing back and forth down the hallway, as though trying to spot something. What he could be hoping to see amid the ocean of people swarming past was beyond my guess, and from the lost look on his face, he obviously didn’t see it.

                His friends were looking at him puzzled. He just shook his head, staring back at the phone with a look of abject terror. Slowly, he lowered the phone and slid it back into his pocket, looking both nervous and uncomfortable.

                “Here, let me help you pick up your books,” he said in a dazed voice, very foreign to his usual manner.

                Broderick’s friends stared at him in utter disbelief as he bent down and picked up the books. Soon, he and I had collected all of my materials. He even extended a hand to help me off the floor, offering to get me napkins for my hair and face, the latter of which I declined.

                Without another word or look at me, he darted off toward his next class. His puzzled friends followed, demanding to know what had just happened. I stared after them, equally perplexed.

                “You alright?” I heard a voice behind me ask.

                I turned to find myself face-to-face with a young woman I had never met before. She was short, about my own height, with an average build, thick glasses and a severe case of acme, which blended with the divots and freckles already lining her face. If this wasn’t enough to make her stand out, she was wearing a baseball cap, without the slightest hair visible underneath, only smooth skin extending up the length of her head and neck, like the cancer patients one sees on TV.

                More important, though, she had the most beautiful smile I had ever seen. Just as beautiful, were her eyes. The emerald green orbs sparkled in the light filling the hallway, leaving me breathless as I gazed back into them. For a moment, I just stared at her, completely lost for words. Finally, I managed an embarrassed.

                “Yes, thank you for asking.”

                She continued smiling at me.

                “I don’t think we’ve met before,” she said. “My name is Clarise, though most people tend to call me Claire.”

                “I’m Scott,” I said.

                “Nice to meet you,” she replied. “I just moved here last weekend, but I’ve seen you walking on the way to school in the morning. Someone said you are new here too!”

                “I am,” I said. “Apparently, that gives people a free right to pick on me, although I’m still a bit confused on why Broderick acted the way he did at the end.”

                “He did it because of me,” she said. I looked at her surprised. She was still smiling at me. “I sent him a text on his phone warning him that he better be nice to you or else…well, let’s just say…I made it clear he’d regret it.”

                I wanted to laugh at the idea of a skinny young girl intimidating a big jerk like Broderick. The way she said the words, though, made it clear, they weren’t a joke.

                “Why would he be afraid of you?” I asked.

                “Oh, he didn’t know it was me,” she said. “I just made the message pop-up on his phone, and I turned the volume on to max so he’d hear it.”

                “How did you do that?” I asked, intrigued.

                “Easy,” she said. “He left his Bluetooth on.  I used an app on my phone to find his signal and was able to connect to it. I imagine the pure randomness of receiving an unknown message like that and having someone mess with his phone was enough to throw him off.”

                “That is pretty cool,” I said.

And I meant it. I am something of a nerd when it comes to technology and this trick was something I had never heard of before. She seemed flattered by my interest.

“I can show you how I did it,” she said, excitement evident in her voice.

At that moment, the warning bell sounded, signaling one minute until the start of class. Claire looked around in alarm. The hall was practically empty.

“Oh no, we better go,” she said. “Hey, want to meet at lunch?”

“Sure,” I said. “I’ll spot for you!”

“Great, see you then,” she flashed me another smile, turned and darted down the hall.

When lunch came, I spotted her sitting in the back corner of the cafeteria, several seats away from everyone, except for another boy and girl seated with her. She spotted me as I entered and waved excitedly at me, her face beaming.

Sack lunch in hand, I crossed the cafeteria toward the group. She signaled for me to take the chair next to her, which I did gladly, once again finding myself admiring the beauty of her smile.

I recognized the two other kids in her group. The overweight and somewhat geeky-looking boy, as if I had a lot of room to talk on the later, was Roger. The girl, a rather shy brunette, with a noticable underbite, which had messed up some of her teeth such that a few were pointed at odd angels and others had large gaps between them, was Samantha. Both of them were a lot like me, kids that were teased more often than not by the bigger and more popular clichés at the school.

Taking a seat, I joined in the light conversation about the school, teachers, and recent homework. As lunch dragged on, however, Claire turned the talk toward more sober topics such as bullying.

“I know I’m new here but I think I’m pretty safe is saying, from what I’ve seen so far, that something needs to be done about the problems of bullying inside this school,” she said. “I mean, look around. Look at the way so many of the people here are treated. The popular kids and the jocks bully around anyone they like, pick on whomever they want, and treat anyone below them as scum. And, because they’re cool or great athletes, the teachers and administration turn a blind eye. Am I right?”

“Well, yes,” said Samantha. Her voice was rather high pitched, which I supposed explained why so many people called her ‘Squeakers’ - I only wished I could say they did so behind her back. “Unfortunately, there isn’t much anyone can do about it.”

“Actually, there is,” Claire said. “If you’ll help me, I can show you how to protect yourselves and all the other kids like you from the bullies.”

“You mean like stand up and fight back?” Roger asked. “No offense, but they are all a lot bigger than us, and I’ve already gotten my face shoved in enough toilets for not doing something they tell me. I’m not eager to invite it.”

“I don’t mean physical force,” Claire said. “I mean, handle them like I handled them today when they were picking on you, or you, or you!”

She pointed at each of us in turn.

“One doesn’t need to use muscles when they can use technology,” she explained. “Look around, the age of brute force is over. There is a new age coming, and it won’t be ruled by people like them. It will be ruled by people like us!”

She paused for a moment, for dramatic effect. We all stared at her, somewhat caught off-guard by the direction this conversation was taking, yet at the same time somewhat inspired by her enthusiasm, which was quite a contrast to the drab and hopeless experience of our school year so far.

“Look, I know I probably sound nuts,” she said. “And I know what I’m saying may be ridiculous on the face of things. But this is a new day. The Bible says, ‘the meek will inherit the earth’ and, I’m here to tell you: that time is now. Technology is opening a new world and those who cling to the old one will be destroyed with it. I’m not trying to be all dark and forbidding, but the truth is: the world is changing. The strong, the athletic, the good-looking, the popular, all who rely upon their little games to get ahead are going to fall to the wayside. It is people who know the secrets of technology who will rule the world.”

“Think about it,” she continued. “In the old days, assassins had to infiltrate places with their guns and find ways to kill their victims. Just last month, a politician was assassinated when a hacker took control of their car over its wifi connection and drove them off a bridge. Then, there was the recent death at a hospital where an attacker killed someone by hacking into their medicine dispensing device to administer an overdose.”

“Wait a minute,” Samantha said. “I will not be involved in killing someone!”

“I’m not asking you to kill anyone,” Claire said. “Sorry, that speech came out all wrong. I’m just trying to say…all I mean, is that we’ve entered an age where wealth, physical fitness, popularity or good looks are no longer the source to power. Knowledge is the new power. And, with it, we can defend ourselves, our friends, and the others at the school, who are just like us, from having to be bullied, beaten, and mistreated. I can teach you tricks that will allow you to protect yourselves the way I protected you from the people who were picking on you earlier. We can be a team.”

“Like the Avengers?” Roger asked. “You mean like heroes using technology to defend people from bad guys and bullies?”

“Exactly,” Claire said. “What do you think?”

“I like the idea,” said Roger. “It would be pretty cool to be a hero and defeat the bullies.”

“Great,” Claire beamed. She turned toward me and Samantha.

“I don’t know,” Samantha said. “I really don’t want to be part of something illegal.”

“You’re saving yourself and other kids from years of being treated like dirt scum,” Claire argued. “Isn’t making the world a better place worth a few risks?”

“Maybe,” Samantha replied uncertain. “I don’t know. Let me think about it. I’m gonna go get a snack from the machine. Anyone want anything?”

No one else did. She got up and left the table, leaving her tray behind.

“What about you, Scott?” Claire asked. “I can show all of the cool things you can do with technology. I know we’re both new here. This is a chance for us to hang out together, get to know each other, and maybe make some new friends like Roger here.”

The thought was tempting. True, I didn’t really want to be involved in anything illegal, but I did like the idea of actually having friends, for a change, and maybe making a positive difference in the school. Truth be told, though, I think the idea of hanging out with her and getting to spend more time gazing into those eyes appealed to me the most.

“Well, I mean, yeah, I’ll give it a try,” I said. “I mean, we can see where things go. I’m always up for learning new things.”

“Good, I’m glad,” she said.

She rested her hand on mine for the briefest moment, giving me a smile, before pulling it back with a nervous gesture, as though she felt she had done something wrong. Thankfully, the awkwardness of the moment was broken by a loud crash. We looked up to see Samantha laying on the floor about halfway down the tables, a bag of chips slipping from her hand and sliding a short distance away.

There was cruel laughter ringing out from everywhere across the cafeteria. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to guess that someone had intentionally tripped her. Now the crowd was enjoying the moment. One of the boys rose from his chair.

“Are you alright?” He asked, in a not very genuine sounding voice. “Here let me give you a hand up.”

He took a step toward her, his large foot coming down directly on top of the bag of chips, which crunched and exploded, sending shattered pieces of Lays across the floor.

“Oops,” the boy said, with a nasty laugh. “Here, let me get them for you.”

Samantha had picked herself off the ground, looking furious. The boy handed her the crunched bag of chips with a smirk. She snatched them from his hands, marching away at a brisk pace while everyone behind her laughed. She reached our spot at the table, slammed down the chips and leaned over the table at us, her eyes blazing.

“I’m in,” she said. “And I want them to be the first people we fix!”

“You got it,” Claire said, her smile taking on a more malicious tone as I watched her eyes drift toward the crowd, still laughing at their prank.

About that moment, the bell rang and everyone began collecting their stuff to go to class.

“Let’s meet here tomorrow and we can start discussing our next move,” Claire said.

Everyone agreed to this plan and we all grabbed our stuff. Roger and Samantha continued toward their classes but Claire grabbed my arm.

“Hey, I wanted to ask you a question,” she said. I noticed she was blushing slightly and she seemed a touch nervous. “I was wondering…I mean, it’s okay if you don’t…if you do, though…I mean, want to meet after school and walk home together.”

She fidgeted slightly from her nerves and her smile wavered momentarily as she gazed anxiously into my face. I smiled.

“I would like that very much,” I said.

Her face broke into a relieved grin.

“Great!” She said excitedly. “See you after school.”

She blushed, looking away, then turned and hurried from the hall, looking back only briefly to give me a small, nervous wave. I watched her go then started toward my class.

            

            For the rest of the day, I found myself thinking of her non-stop, so much so I could hardly concentrate in class. Yet I also found myself thinking about the statements she made, regarding the new age and how the world was changing. There was something dark about the prophesy, though its full impact didn’t strike me at the time. It would, though. Soon, I would understand it only too well.

                  

The Final Panacea

Greetings,

I apologize that I missed my last bi-weekly post. My new daughter Symphony was born last week and has been keeping me a little busy as my wife and I adjust. Fortunately, I'm back in the swing of things right now and am excited to bring you my newest short story. 

I'm also excited to announce that this story was a winning story in W.S.S. Online Magazine for their weekly competition and was posted on their website. Here is the link for anyone interested:

https://wssmag.wordpress.com/2016/05/10/weekly-308-winners/

So I hope you enjoy it and I would love to hear any feedback.

Thanks,

James Meadows

"The Final Panacea"

by 

James J Meadows III

Scaly hands gripped each of Carrie’s arms as the two reptilian creatures, slithering along on their snake-like bodies, guided her toward the large podium in the middle of the room. Glistening in the slimy hand of the beast on her right, was her carefully designed dart gun, it’s lethal contents and the mission for which they had been compiled beyond her reach, for now.

Inside the room, numerous metal platforms, elevated high above the underground complex below, wove around towering columns of blinking lights and sparkling gems, stretching beyond sight into the dark abyss. Standing along the rails and edges of the various platforms, gazing at her from above, below and everywhere in between stood a host of creatures, each as hideous as her captors.

Some possessed grotesque bull-like heads resting atop human bodies, while others possessed monkey like bodies with human heads, and still others, like the octopoids, had no discernable shape whatever, besides what they chose to have. There were other creatures, too, far too numerous to list.

Above them, mounted to a control panel, stood a massive crystal, its light rays shooting outward, connecting all the smaller power stations dotting the tiny moon her people called home. Below it, in the center of the platforms, leaning back in his chair, his arm resting lazily upon the central control panel, sat the man she once thought would be the salvation of her people.

The beasts led her forward until she stood only a few yards from him. There, they released her, one advancing past her to place the gun on the control panel beside the man, before retreating back to join his companion.  The man glanced at the gun then at her.

 “So, you are the one they sent to kill me?” He asked. “Wow! I’ve heard of audacity before but this takes the cake; you of all people.”

Carrie thought fast, trying to come up with some way out of this predicament.

“They didn’t send me,” she said. “I volunteered.”

She brushed her long black hair behind her head in a flirtatious gesture.

“I wanted to see you again,” she said, casting him a playful smile that she hoped would hide her anxiety. “I’ve missed you.”

He scowled.

“Pathetic,” he snapped, rising from his chair. “As much practice as your race has telling lies, one would think you’d be better at it.”

“It’s not my race,” she said, indignation evident in her voice. “It’s your race too! You are one of us, not one of these monsters!”

Loud sounds filled the room as the various creatures howled, growled, or shouted in response to her words.

“You better watch who you’re calling monsters,” he said. “They don’t like being called that.”

She fidgeted nervously, feeling beads of sweat form on her forehead as her breathing grew faster.

“Look, Garland, listen to me,” she said, taking a step forward.

“Garland?” he repeated, in mock confusion. “Who is Garland?”

“You are Garland,” she replied, fighting to restrain her annoyance.

“I have a name,” he exclaimed in mock surprise. “How exciting! And here, I always thought I was simply, ‘Subject X13-05CR’!”

He spoke the last words with a furious shout, taking an aggressive step toward her, from which she backed away.

“It was just an identifier,” she said. “We needed a way to…to…”

“Dehumanize me?” he answered. “To turn me into a reference number, like I was just another random genetic creation, bred and grown in a vat, like the rest of them - unworthy of having a future; unworthy of having a life; unworthy of having love.”

He turned away from her, staring over the rail into the flashing lights and darkness beyond. There was a long moment of silence, during which, Carrie could hear the sounds of battle and chaos outside. Soldiers, intending to provide a distraction for her and the team of Special Forces soldiers, had attacked the facility’s near impregnable defenses. From the sound of things, they weren’t having much better luck than she and her now deceased team found.

“Garland, please, listen to me,” she said. “It wasn’t like that, you weren’t like them.”

“Really?” he asked, turning around and taking another aggressive step toward her. “What was I then? Tell me!”

“You were my success,” she said, extending her hands like a beggar, pleading with him. “You were the pinnacle of my creations! You were everything!”

“And what were they?” he asked, gesturing at the others.

“They were failures,” she said. “All science has experiments that go wrong! But I had to keep trying. Don’t you understand? I did it for science!”

This was what she always told herself. From the very first day at her father’s lab, when she was just a teen, to the day she resumed her deceased father’s work, this was her mantra. She was a scientist. The knowledge and the end always justified the means.

“So you locked them up,” he shouted. “You imprisoned them in cages, running endless experiments on them, like animals.”

“They are animals!” She protested. “They are made from animal genes.”

“They are also made from human genes,” he responded. “They can read, think, speak, and feel!”

“Only because we taught them those things,” she said.

“And why do that?” he asked. “If they are nothing but animals, why even bother?”

“It was for science,” she said. “It was an experiment. We needed to know what they were capable of. It’s the same reason we taught you!”

“Of course, it was,” he said. “Because I was just an experiment too, wasn’t I? I was just another test tube baby to poke and prod; another creature to pump full of diseases.”

“We had to,” she argued, pleading for him to understand, tears filling her eyes. “You were special: the experiment that was the culmination of all experiments, with the best genes of every animal and human, a human capable of regeneration.”

“Exactly,” he snapped. “Someone you could pump full of every disease, virus and bacteria until I developed an immunity. Then you could pump out my blood to make a cure for every disease: a panacea to fund your ambitions and further your experiments.”

“It was for science,” she said. “We were trying to create something amazing, something capable of saving lives.”

“But not entitled to one of my own,” he said. “You just wanted to keep me locked up in a small room, attached to hundreds of machines, pumping out my blood while forcing enough liquid and food down my throat to keep me alive.”

“Please, Garland,” she pleaded. “Try to understand. You were unique, a prize creation, the poster boy for our government’s years of endless studies. We had to protect our result, keep it in a safe environment! It was for science! We tried to be fair to you. We gave you videos to watch, books to read; heck, we gave you access to the whole central electronic library of the planet.”

“For science?” he asked, “Because you wanted to see what I was capable of, right?”

“Well, yes,” she said. “We needed to know the limits of our experiment’s capabilities.”

“I’m not an experiment,” he roared. “I’m a man!”

She backed away, fresh beads of sweat forming on her face, tears flowing from her frightened eyes.

“Garland, please,” she pleaded, stepping forward, reaching her hands toward him.

“Get away from me,” he roared, causing her to stumble backwards, into the guards.

“You want to know what we’re capable of?” he hissed. “Let me satiate you ‘scientific curiosity’! Look around at what we’re capable of. We are capable of infiltrating and taking control of the most important and well defending power station on the entire planet! That is what we are capable of!”

“Garland, please!” she pleaded. “Listen to me.”

“Listen to you?” he asked. “Why? So you can tell me more lies?”

He turned away from her again, staring into the abyss.

“I used to listen to you,” he said, his voice growing soft. “You used to come visit me, tell me things. I believed you. I believed the things you told me, the things you said to me; I believed in the things we shared together. I thought they were more than just another lie, more than just another experiment. But that was all they were. You wanted to see what I was capable of. Could a simple experiment, like me, truly feel desire; feel passion; feel love?”

He looked back at her over his shoulders.

“Garland, I…I’m so sorry,” she said, tears glistening in her eyes. “Please.”

“No,” he said. “I won’t listen anymore. You wanted to know what I’m capable of. Well, now you know! Now everyone knows. The whole world can at last see the results of their science!”

“Garland, I beg of you,” she shouted.

She tried to race toward him, but two sets of scaly arms seized her, holding her back.

“I wrote a song, to express my feelings toward your science,” Garland continued, sitting back down beside the control panel. “Want to hear it?”

He began pressing buttons on the control panel in rapid succession. Each button made a different boop, beep, or chime to confirm the key press. They did form a sort of melody, but it wasn’t one Carrie wanted to hear.

“Garland, no, stop!” she screamed, straining against the guards.

“But why?” he asked, assuming a mocking, innocent tone.

“You’ll flood the system,” she shouted. “The power grid in this station…”

“Is connected to the crystal grid powering the entire planet,” he interrupted his tone cold and cruel. “I know. I had lots of time to read while imprisoned in my cage.”

He continued slamming on buttons, sending bolts of electricity across the machinery on the walls. Multicolored lights, inside the central crystal, swam and swirled, bolts of electricity shooting through them, like the clouds of some rainbow colored lightning storm.

“Garland, stop it, please!” She screamed. “You’ll destroy everything we’ve build! The whole world will be plunged into a dark age! All the knowledge, creations, and science of centuries will be lost forever! The whole planet will be decimated!”

“That’s a good thing!” Garland screamed back, still slamming buttons. “For thousands of years your science has treated the world and its creatures, creatures like us, as pawns to abuse, create and destroy at will, mere experiments for your games! Well, no more! You wanted to create someone capable of curing all the illnesses in the world, of purging disease, of healing all creation! Well, congratulations! You have! I’ve found the disease corrupting this world, and it’s about to get cured!”

The room was practically glowing with the excess energy flooding the defense grids. On the control panel, warning lights flashed danger, while computerized voices announced that the safety switches, designed to prevent overload, had been overridden. Smoke rose from the machinery and creaking noises issued from the crystal. The pressure was building. An explosion was imminent.

“No, Garland, please,” she screamed, tears pouring down her face as she pleaded and struggled. “I beg you, stop! I’ll do anything! I swear, anything! I don’t want to die! Garland, please! They’ll all die too!”

She screamed the last sentence in one desperate attempt to get him to see reason, gesturing at all of her former experiments. Garland paused, his eyes sweeping over the hundreds of half-human creatures watching him from their various posts. His eyes came to rest on Carrie.

“They are like me,” he said, in a calm, sad voice. “We never had lives to begin with. We were just experiments.”

With the last word, he slammed his hand against a lever, smashing it up to the very top. Sounds like a thousand mirrors breaking filled the room as cracks formed on the massive crystal, shooting light in all directions. Tremors, greater and more powerful than anything Carrie had every felt or imagined, rocked the facility, sending creatures staggering against walls, crashing into comrades, and plummeting off railing into the depths below. Even Garland, was shaken out of his seat and hurled onto the floor.

The sentries, holding Carrie’s arms, lost their grips and fell, sending her crashing forward. The fall nearly tossed her off the platform. Fortunately, she managed to catch herself and, with a burst of strength, born of terror, she raced to the controls.

She had to do something. She scanned the board, looking for anything to press, anything to do. The problem was: she didn’t know the least thing about engineering, electrical working, or any of the controls managing the facility. Maybe the engineer, who had been part of the Special Forces team, might have known something, yet it wasn’t going to do her any good now.

Pulling various controls and levers, she tried desperately to find anything to stop the escalating cycle, probably only making the situation worse. More lights shot from the crystal, going all directions, causing explosions as they touched the equipment around them.

She spotted the gun sitting on the desk near the controls. Grabbing it, she spun around and pointed it at Garland, who had now risen to his feet.

“Stop it,” she screamed. “Make it stop!”

Garland stared at her, saying nothing. He took a step toward her. She retreated from him, her back pressing against the control panel. All her emotion, fear, and terror burst from her in a wave of tears.

“Please stop it,” she sobbed. “Garland, please!”

He took another step toward her. His fist shot up, seizing the gun in her hand and directing it straight toward his heart.

“Why couldn’t you love me?” He asked. “Why couldn’t you have cared?”

“I wanted to,” she said, still weeping, tears racing down her cheeks. “I wanted to so badly. But I couldn’t. You were just an experiment!”

Pow! The gun sounded as Garland squeezed her hand, firing the dart into his chest. His face went still as her poison interacted with his body. Then, he fell to the floor, dead.

“No!” She screamed. Dropping the gun and falling to the floor, she cradled the body of her greatest creation. For a second she stared into his lifeless eyes, her voice breaking with her sobs. “I’m sorry. I never meant it to be like this. It was all for science!”

She screamed the last sentence into the sky. It was her lifelong mantra. Now, it would be her final words to the world. The power station exploded. She knew no more.

Knight-Time on Mars

Greetings,

Keeping with the idea of trying to improve my writing by expanding my horizons, my short story for this week (like last week) is an attempt at a genre I've never tried before. This time, I decided to try writing Science Fiction.

This week's short story was based upon a short story prompt from my writing group. This one involved a picture of a tree with a crow sitting on top of it. My story is called "Knight-Time on Mars". As a student of Arthurian Literature, I thought it would be interesting to put an Arthurian/Knight Type theme into a futuristic setting. After all, King Arthur is the "Once and Future King".

Hope you enjoy the story and I'd love to hear any feedback!

James Meadows

Knight-Time on Mars

by James J Meadows III

One lone pair of boots, leaving one lone pair of tracks across the endless expanse of snow, formed a straight line from the one lone light visible in the distant town to the one lone figure, wrapped in a thick woolen coat at the base of the one lone tree dotting the otherwise barren countryside. There he stood, giving an occasional shiver as he lingered beneath the dark sky. After several minutes, he gave a loud sigh.

“Only a complete idiot walks seven miles through thick snow in the middle of the night to visit a tree,” he said, shaking his head in obvious frustration. As he did so, his eyes fell upon the form of a large corvid resting lightly on one of the empty branches. “Well, at least I’m not the only one, eh? Heh, heh.”

He gave a chuckle. For a moment, he stood there, staring absently at the ground, digging the toe of his boots into the gravel at his feet.

“You know, they say the last great prophet, Nilrem, was buried here.”

        Gawain spoke as much to himself as to the bird but, since the bird was there anyway, he could at least pretend he was speaking to someone as he struggled to air out his thoughts.  

        “They say his soul still lingers around the tree to this very day, providing guidance to lost pilgrims.” He paused for a moment then looked up at the bird. “Have you gotten any answers yet? Cause I sure haven’t.”

A cold breeze whipped across the landscape, sending chills through his skin. He wrapped his coat more tightly around himself to protect against it. He was used to the cold and dark, of course; everyone who lived here was. That didn’t necessarily mean he liked it, though.

“I’m Gawain, by the way,” he said, addressing the bird. “I don’t know if you have a name, so I guess I’ll call you ‘Silence’. After all, that is just about the only answer I’m likely to get to my questions anyway. Heh.”

He gave another quiet chuckle, followed by a long sigh. Adjusting his feet restlessly, he gazed upward into the star-filled night sky. Of course, night was kind of a relative term on Mars. The distant white dwarf star, known as the Sun, didn’t provide that much light during the day time either. He might as well use Jupiter for illumination, for all the good it did. Fortunately, his eyes were well adjusted to the darkness.

“Ever wonder what the heavens must have looked like back when we first settled here,” he asked. “Of course, I don’t know if any of the old stories, Art likes to tell, are true: about how the sun was once so big it took up the entire sky; or, how our ancient ancestors terraformed the planet to create a suitable home as they fled their own planet before the expanding sun; or, if it’s really true that the only reason we have enough warmth to survive here is because the third great age of man filled the atmosphere with various compounds, which create and retain the warmth generated on the surface. I don’t know any of it. I’m a warrior, not a scientist.”

“All I know is: if it is true that people left millions of years ago to explore the distant stars and find a new world for us, they clearly aren’t coming back, any more than are the great technologies that supposedly existed before the wars wiped them out.”

He fell silent for a long time, gazing out over the bleak countryside, back at the small light issuing from his distant hometown.

“War,” he muttered quietly. “I have to admit, I don’t like it much. Neither do I understand how a new war is supposed to fix the darkness created by the old ones, you know?”

Gawain glanced at the bird for a second. It stared at him curiously, moving its head at odd angles as the black eyes studied him. With a slow, almost ceremonious reverence, Gawain drew his sword from its scabbard, holding it up to sparkle in the starlight, as though showing it to the bird.

       “How can a tool of such beauty, cause so much death and destruction?” He asked. “And how can a tool capable of so much death and destruction possibly bring peace and hope?”

       Lowering the sword, he let its tip fall to the snowy ground, before releasing the weapon altogether, sending it crashing into the white powder at his feet. He gazed at it for a second before shifting his eyes to the distant village.

“Art disagrees with me,” he said. “He and Kay believe they are destined to unite the disparate factions of the world into a unified kingdom. They plan to herald in a new age of peace, unity and equality for all people. Art says he found a weapon capable of making him invincible, one that will allow him to unite all the people into a single unified country again. I just don’t know. It seems to me that violence can’t bring peace; it can only perpetuate more violence, don’t you think?”

The bird, which up to this point had not made a single sound, gave a loud shrill squawk. The noise startled Gawain so much that he ducked to the ground and snatched his sword faster that even his own brain could register the movement. The bird’s mouth hadn’t even closed yet before the weapon was once again glimmering within its owner’s hands.

“Heh,” he said, giving another chuckle. “You startled me.”

Gawain glanced down at the sword. He had always possessed fast reflexes and great strength. There were few warriors, if any, whether in the village or beyond, who were more gifted than he, when it came to the art of combat. Some suggested he was one of the families whose ancestors had been genetically altered during the second great age of man, which supposedly happened after the Sun had already swallowed their home world, but before its collapse into the white dwarf stage.

“I suppose I must sound like a complete idiot,” he said. “Here I am, the greatest warrior in the land, one without any other notable or impressive skills beyond my battle training, speaking about how terrible war is.”

  He looked at the sword for a moment before returning it to its sheath.

“But you have to understand, I don’t fight because I enjoy it.” He looked back at the bird, with a pleading expression, as though needing to somehow justify his own actions. “I fight to protect my family. You have seen this world; it is full of strange mutated creatures, bacteria adapted to possess human brains, and murderous raiders who strike where they please without mercy. If I don’t take up arms to protect my mother, my brothers and my friends, who will?”

  He turned away, staring back into the distant village.

“But does a war to unite all nations, really protect my people?” he asked. “Art says history shows that power, safety and security come from one nation uniting many diverse groups under a single banner of peace. He speaks of empires like the Greeks, Persians, and Egyptians, whoever the hell they are, supposedly bringing thousands of years of peace and prosperity to their people. If it’s true, he would know, considering he is the one who likes hanging out, exploring the ruins of that old library from the last age. If he didn’t, he never would have found that old capsule, hidden inside one of the cracking foundation stones, and the strange sword buried inside it. Excalibur, he calls it. I suppose the name has some significance.”

Gawain turned back toward the bird.

“So, what would you do?” he asked.

The bird gave a loud squawk and ruffled its feathers, shaking the tree branch on which it was camped. Gawain smiled.

“Squawk and rustle some branches, huh? Heh,” Gawain gave another chuckle. “Well, I guess I’m halfway there. I’ve spent more than enough time already standing here squawking. I guess it’s time to get on to shaking the tree. Maybe Art is right about his vision of a better world. Maybe he is wrong. But if it doesn’t work, I suppose I haven’t lost anything. If it does work, though, maybe I can finally ensure the welfare and safety of my family. Perhaps I can even bring some light into a world trapped in darkness for too long.”

Gawain looked at the stars one last time before turning toward the bird.

“Thanks for the talk,” he said. “See you ‘round.”

Without another look back, Gawain spun away, marching toward the dim light of the distant town, where his family awaited him. The bird watched him go for several minutes until his fading form had all but disappeared from view.

“Go forth, noble child,” the bird said softly. “Your destiny awaits you.”

Symphonia and the Dragons

Greetings,

This is a short story that I wrote a number of years ago as  a children's book. The original is in a small book I made for my son, which uses a number of images borrowed from the internet. Unfortunately, I have no artistic ability to paint/draw/create the pictures necessary to produce a children's book with original images.  So, instead, I modified it into an adult short story for various fantasy writing contests. 

Hope you enjoy the story and I would love any feedback or recommendations. 

-James

Symphonia and the Dragons

by James J Meadows III

     Symphonia looked up wearily as the sound of crunching stones and breaking limbs signaled the arrival of a large creature near the mouth of her cave. Even though Symphonia enjoyed helping people, as well as providing advice and guidance to those in need, she grew tired of these visitors. Her youthful days were long past. The weight of her years, combined with her frustration at being powerless to help the suffering people of her land, weighed heavily upon her.

     Casting aside her doubts, she arose, determined to provide the best assistance she could to this new visitor. She shook her white mane, throwing off the long bangs which had gotten wrapped around her horn while she slept. She took one quick glance into the waters of the nearby reflecting pool to survey her coat. Unicorns were supposed to be majestic creatures, after all, and she wanted to look her best. Hooves clopping on the stones, she moved toward the entrance to greet her visitor. Her mood soured at the sight of the newcomer.

     “Lady Symphonia, we have never met,” said the oily voice of the large black dragon perched on her doorstep. “Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Vuljar.”

     Symphonia did not need the introduction. She knew Vuljar only too well without meeting him. The cruel greedy dragon brought suffering and ruin wherever he went, using his cunning lies and conniving tricks to swindle money from the pockets of the innocent. His horde was the richest in the land and his wicked deeds were legendary.

     “Word of your great wisdom has reached my ears even in the distant mountain halls of the north,” he continued. “I come seeking your council in a matter of great importance.”

     Symphonia said nothing to him. She strode past to a small cliff on the side of her mountain home. There she looked down onto the valley below where a human settlement teamed with poor, starving people. They were the remnant of a once great kingdom, driven into poverty by the cruel machinations of dragons like Vuljar.

     A wiser or perhaps less egotistical creature might have taken a hint from Symphonia’s silence and left her in peace. Vuljar did not.

     “I come in need of your assistance. I recently committed to a magical pact with the lesser dragon Davon.”

     Symphonia shook her head. The name Davon left an even worse taste in her mouth than Vuljar. Davon deserved as much responsibility for the poverty and grief afflicting the people of the country as Vuljar. He possessed the power to change shapes and used the skill to force innocent travelers and merchants into surrendering their wealth. Such greed was common among dragons. They drew their magical powers from their wealth: the greater the horde, the more powerful the dragon. The lesser the horde, the weaker the dragon became, losing all power if they lost all gold.

     “We are playing a game of high stakes, a game of power,” Vuljar went on. “The game is chess. To the winner goes the horde of the loser. They get all the gold and the vanquished opponent leaves broken and powerless, their magic lost along with their gold. To make the stakes even higher, we are bound to not add a single coin to our horde until our duel is finished. So, you can see how serious the consequences of the battle are for both sides.”

     “So, what do you need me for?” Symphonia asked, already suspecting the answer.

     “All reports and legends claim you are the most brilliant and clever of all creatures in creation,” Vulgar said in his most flattering tone. “While I too am clever, I fear my opponent has made a most brilliant move today and I cannot see the way to counter him.”

     “So, you wish me to help you with your next move.”

     “I do.”

     “Isn’t that cheating?” she asked.

     “Perhaps, but you are not making a move for me,” he argued. “You are merely giving me a suggestion. I am still choosing my move. I just wish to receive council. Besides, surely you can see how much better the land will be if there is one fewer dragon feeding on the innocent people.”

     Symphonia gazed at him with disgust. Only a truly evil being appeals to someone’s love of their people as an excuse to help further their own wicked ends. There was certainly no way to miss the hypocrisy in his argument regarding how much better the world would be if there were fewer dragons doing the very same deeds he performs. Still, she had to admit, he had a point.

     “Very well,” she said, glancing back over the town. “I will help you on one condition. Your horde contains a vast wealth of gold beyond anything I can ever imagine.”

     “Very true,” Vulgar agreed. “You must merely name your price and I will present the gold to you.”

     “Unicorns do not need gold,” she replied. “The people of the village, on the other hand, do. Take one thousand gold pieces to the orphanage in the center of town and then show me your board. I will show you the next move.”

     Vulgar did as told. While Symphonia watched from the edge of her cliff, he flew into town, deposited the gold on the steps of the orphanage, and returned to her. Afterward, she kept her promise and showed him the best move she could find. Yet, the game had just begun.

     Two days later, Vuljar returned to her again. His opponent had made another strong move and he sought Symphonia’s advice on a response. She charged him to take another thousand gold coins to the town temple and upon returning, she showed him another move. But again, like clockwork, Vuljar returned in two days.

     For months the battle raged. No matter how clever Symphonia’s move, her opponent found an even better move. No matter how strong her attacks or tactics, her opponent found an even greater defense. No matter how well she positioned her pieces, her opponent discovered the perfect counter. All the while, Vuljar gave money to schools, merchants, needy families, and all manner of people within Barrov.

     One day, after many months, Vuljar did not come at his normal time. He did not come the next day either. On the third day, a man on horseback approached Symphonia’s door.

     She rose to greet the man and inquire the business bringing him here.

     “Fair lady Symphonia, I humble myself in your presence,” declared the rider, bowing low to the ground. “While riding through the mountains, I heard the voice of a dragon calling to me. He appeared sickly and old and offered me a hundred gold pieces to ride here and bring you to him.”

     Symphonia walked to the edge of the cliff, looking out over the city of Barrov. Her heart swelled with pride at the splendor before her. Merchants were returning to the land. New temples and palaces were being constructed. Schools and hospitals rose into the air. There was even a statue of her being lifted in honor of all the families she assisted in their hour of need. She smiled.

     “Very well,” she said. “I will go to him.”

     She rode with the messenger to Vuljar’s cave. Upon reaching the entrance, she ordered Vuljar to give the hundred gold coins to the man. Vuljar reluctantly acquiesced, pushing the last of his once great fortune to the rider. The messenger thanked Symphonia and departed, leaving the two alone.

     “I am weak.” Vuljar said, each word a strain to speak. “I have no gold or strength left. Yet, I know when I get Davon’s gold, I shall be rich and powerful. And I will rule the valley. So, I accept my helpless state in the meantime. I beg of you to ride to the mountain where the chess board is located and make my move for me.”

     “I will do so,” Symphonia said, giving a low bow.

     “The chess board is located at…” he began.

     Symphonia interrupted.

     “You do not need to tell me where the board is located,” she said. “I already know.”

     “How?” Vuljar asked clearly confused.

     “Because, I made Davon’s move for him a few days ago,” she answered.

     “What?” The dragon attempted to roar but was barely able to lift his head off the ground before it fell again.

     “He came to me the day before you did, seeking my help in your battle,” she explained calmly. “He came to me every other day, just like you, paying his dues to the village in exchange for my move. Now, neither of you have any gold left. No more will either of you trouble the innocent people of the valley or wreak havoc upon the land. Your game will last for all time and you will never add another coin to your purses. Your greed and your selfish ambitions finally proved your downfall. You have all eternity to ponder your sins!”

     With these words, she turned from the cave. True to her word, she made one more move on behalf of Vuljar. Then, she left the mountains, returning to her home and the gratitude of the people she saved.

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"Starting Over"

Greetings,

I ventured pretty far outside my normal 'Fantasy' genre with this week's story. In fact, I'm not really sure what genre this story would fall in at all. It was written for my short story group's recent prompt: "Starting Over". It is always interesting trying to write something outside of one's normal type of story. I'd love to get some feedback and find out what you think.

The English Paper's Inspiration

by James J Meadows III

Damien extended his foot, placing it firmly upon the road, with a confidence missing to his head.

No, that was a lousy opening. Grabbing the scrap of paper in his hands, Justin squashed the page into a crumbled white ball before launching it at the trash can, missing by about half-a-mile.

“Good to know I suck at two things,” he groaned.

Justin rose from his chair, resigned to the inevitable act of crossing the room to pick up the sheet of paper. He grabbed the rolled up paper ball, cramming it with all his might on top of the trash with the plethora of other attempts he had made on the story, each as feeble as the last.

His English assignment for the Christmas break involved writing a short story about “starting over”.  Such assignments always acted upon Justin’s normally imaginative mind like some perverse form of kryptonite, draining away all traces of creativity, originality and motivation, leaving him little more than blank-minded zombie, fumbling through a selection of story ideas capable of making his mother beg for mercy.

Why did teachers make them do stupid things like write stories? It wasn’t like he was some sort of famous author, or would ever be a famous author for that matter.

Justin plopped back down into the chair, running his hands up his forehead and through his hair, praying that some inspiration might strike him. Unfortunately, inspiration rarely operated on demand and it certainly wasn’t doing so on this occasion.

The chime of the family clock echoed its familiar Westminster theme, proclaiming the arrival of 8:30pm. Sunday night football was about to start and Justin’s favorite team was playing against a division rival, with playoff implications on the line. He wanted to be in there watching it but, if he didn’t get this assignment finished before tomorrow, he was going to be dead-meat when his parents saw his English grade.

He gave a long frustrated groan, leaning back in his chair, arching his back and stretching his hands toward the sky.

“Starting over, starting over, starting over,” he mumbled to himself, as if simply repeating the words might solve the challenge of find a topic. “What sort of things start over?”

His junior year might start over from the beginning if he didn’t get this paper written. He wasn’t going to write about that, though. Relationships started over; though, apparently not his relationship with Megan, his long-term girl-friend, whose departure last week had done little to help his concentration or fuel any enthusiasm for writing the paper. As a matter of fact, he didn’t have much enthusiasm for anything. Even the football game, as much as he wanted to watch it, had lost some of its appeal, since he had spent every other game this season watching with her. Watching the game alone would be a real drag.

Sitting upright, Justin shook his head, trying to clear his mind, and retrieved his badly-chewed pencil to begin another round of failed attempts.

Damien stepped foot outside the rehab clinic for the first time in over a month, savoring the fresh air as though it were nectar. He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt so free: Free from the clinic, free from his past, and free from the marijuana which had so long controlled his life.

Justin placed the pencil back on his desk, staring blankly at the words upon the page. Marijuana – the source of all his problems. He didn’t do marijuana, of course, but it was marijuana that had caused his breakup with Megan.

Megan had made the cheerleading squad for the first time this year, quite an accomplishment in a school of over five thousand students where only ten made the team. She was eager to impress her fellow squad members, who had treated her as an outsider most of the season, and especially excited when she received an invite to attend their ‘private’ New Year’s Eve party. Neither he nor Megan knew, or even suspected, that they would arrive to find an unsupervised party, without any parents or adults, characterized by half the girls and their boyfriends getting stoned beyond recognition.

Justin had refused to stay, wanting nothing to do with the scene. Megan, however, was afraid of what the other girls would think or say. She wanted to stay, a decision which quickly dissolved into an all-out fight between the two and a black-eye from one of the cheerleader’s boyfriends when Justin threatened to call the police. In the end, Justin’s promise, that he would drive straight to Megan’s house and tell her parents if she didn’t come back with him, was the only thing that got her to leave. She hadn’t spoken to him since and he was too nervous to call her. Both of them had said some unnecessarily ugly things to each other during the fight, and she had made it quite clear their relationship was over.

Snatching the paper from his desk, he crumbled this new paragraph into another ball of trash, to join the rest of his attempts. He didn’t want to think about marijuana, cheerleaders, Megan or any of that stuff right now. He grabbed his pencil, beginning again with fresh enthusiasm, determined to write something to take his mind off Megan. Video games, he thought. Surely he could write about video games without thinking about Megan!

The words, “The End” flashed their bright white letters across the black television screen, adding emphasis to the musical dirge ringing from the video game’s console. Damien frowned; slamming his fingers against the reset button for what must have been the hundredth time.

Why do I keep using the name Damien? Justin wondered. Surely there are other names out there that are just as good. Oh well.

The entry screen flashed back to life, providing the now familiar option to either enter a save code or start from the beginning. Damien selected the beginning. Save codes were for wusses.

Justin paused, staring at the words for a minute, before slamming his head down on the desk. This had to be the lamest story, ever! Who wrote stories about dudes playing video games? Closing his eyes, he took a deep breathe before burying his head in his hands, as if hiding from the assignment might make it go away.

“Oh, don’t you dare look back; just keep your eyes on me…”

Justin’s fingers parted, revealing his now opened eyes, as an eruption of music sounded from his nearby cell phone. He knew that ring tone! His eyes darted toward the phone on his desk. It couldn’t be! There, smiling up at him from her picture on the front of his phone was Megan’s face.

His hand drifted toward the phone, shaking uncontrollably. For a moment, that seemed like an eternity, his hand hovered over the green answer button, seemingly unable to complete the normally simple task of sliding it over. What if she was still angry at him? Gritting his teeth, he pressed down against the green touch screen and slid the marker to the side. Picking up the phone, he held it to his ear.

“Hello,” he said, his voice sounding slightly higher than he remembered it being.

“Hey,” ventured a shaky voice at voice at the other end of the line, as though it were even less confident than him. A light tremor in her breathing hinted that she had been crying.

“Hey,” he responded, too dumbfounded to know what else to say.

There was a moment of silence.

“Are you watching the game?” Megan asked.

“No,” he replied. “How about you?”

“No, I’m not. I mean…I’d like to but…I mean, it’s…I…it’s just…not the same without you.”

The last words were blurted out as though they took all the strength she could muster to say them.

“Look,” she continued. “I’m sorry for the way I treated you. It’s just…I mean…I wanted them to like me, you know. And I didn’t…I mean, I wouldn’t…It’s…oh, God, I sound like an idiot.”

There was another moment of silence. Justin could hear her fighting off sobs. He didn’t know what to do or say. Something told him, he was better off not saying anything. He followed that instinct and, after a second, she spoke again.

“You were right about everything,” she said, her voice sounding more composed. “If I have to hang around drugs for them to like me, then they aren’t worth being friends anyway. I mean…you are worth more to me than a hundred of them…you know. And…what I’m trying to say is…I’m really sorry…and, you know…if you’ll forgive me…I mean…I’ve really missed you.”

Her voice lost its composure toward the end, cracking completely with the last words. Justin jumped in, eager to console her, unwilling to risk missing this opportunity.

“I’ve missed you too!” he said. “And I do forgive you. I’m sorry too, for all the things I said!”

“So, we can start over again?” she asked, her voice growing a little brighter. “You still want me?”

“Of course, we can start over,” he said. “There is no one else in the world that I want!”

“Thank you so much,” she said, her voice cracking into sobs again, this time much happier. “I’ve wanted to call you for days. I just didn’t have the courage.”

Justin sat upright in his excitement. All his weariness seemed to melt away as his lips curled into a smile, his face brightened, and the sparkle, missing from his eyes for so many days, glistened through the budding tears of joy, which he fought with all his might to restrain.

“I’ve wanted to call you too!” He said. “Did you want to come over and watch the football game together?”

“I’d like that very much,” came the soft response.

“Great!” Justin said, jumping to his feet. “I’ll grab the car and be right over to pick you up!”

“That sounds wonderful,” she responded. “I’ll get cleaned up and meet you out front when you get here! See you soon!”

“See you soon!” Justin cried, unable to control his enthusiasm any longer. He hung up the phone and shoved it into his pocket, diving across the desk for his keys and wallet. As he did so, his eyes fell upon the partially written paper on his desk. Tossing it aside, he grabbed his pencil and scribbled down several new sentences, on a fresh piece of paper.

Still reeling emotionally from his recent break-up, Damien’s long session of dejected moping atop his bed, was interrupted by the ringing of his cell phone. Answering the phone, he was greeted by the voice of his recently parted girlfriend, asking if they could give their love another shot.

Justin looked at the words, smiled, and raced from the bedroom, eager to see how the story would finish.