Not So Hard A Thing

"What, what in the nine hells do you think you are doing?" Saiyo hustled over, shouting at the girl with the knife.

"I'm practicing, Doyen." She replied, indicating the target dummy. It had been hacked to pieces, with straw poking out everywhere. Her face was a beaming beacon of pride.

"Practicing what, exactly, child? How to ruin a perfectly good training tool?" he ran his hands over the ruined dummy, pulling straw out of one of the slashes in the burlap. "Not to mention a knife.." he snatched the blade from her hands, and held it up to his eyes. It was full of notches and scratches. To be fair, most of them had been there when she got her hands on it. But he wasn't about to give her the satisfaction.

"No, I was practicing my fighting." She stubbornly replied. Her face was no longer beaming but instead scowling. Everyone else had been practicing knifework, and she'd been stuck doing pickpocketing all day. Again.

The Doyen looked at her, and sighed.  He shouldn't be surprised. She was young still, too young he had thought to teach about the blade. But, alas, it seems that too is beyond his control. Children.

"Okay child. Pretend this is a man." He indicated to the dummy. "How is he now that you have hacked at him like a mad cook?"

The girl squinted at the Doyen, expecting a trap.

"He's dead."

"Yes, precisely." The Doyen clapped. "Now... why have you made him dead?"

The girl was thoroughly perplexed.

"Becuase he was... evil?" She ventured.

"What is evil?" The Doyen immediately asked.

"It's... very bad. People who are terrible and do terrible things."

"Like killers?"

"Yes!" She agreed.

"But you have just killed this man."

The girl opened her mouth, and her mind caught up.

She closed her mouth.

"So you see this is a problem, little one. But, you are fortunate! You are learning from the Doyen. Take this." He offered her the blade, handle first. She took it gingerly, still thinking about the verbal trap she'd been caught in. "What have you in your hand child?"

Now she was really wary. But, alas, she could not see where he was headed, so on she moved.

"A knife?"

"Yes, good, top marks child! And lucky again you are, that you have a knife. For a knife is not some clumsy weapon like an axe, or heavens forbid a sword. No!" He moved around behind the dummy while he spoke, letting an arm drape across what would be its shoulders genially.

"No, no, this is a knife! A subtle blade, a tool not a weapon. With this you can be careful, you can be sure of your work. You can be quick, you can be precise!" And he produced a knife seemingly from nowhere, and with a strike like a snake he pierced the side of the dummy. He pulled his hand away slowly, leaving the knife buried in its side.

She looked back and forth, from him to the blade.

"This is a place that will not kill a man. Right away." The Doyen indicated. He took her hand, and put it on the handle of the knife sticking out. "Feel it's place. Memorize it. A knife that enters here, will bring a man great pain and much suffering, but he will live. And often, that is enough."

She nodded, and focused on the blade. She felt its place in relation to her arm, and her arm in relation to her legs. Every part of her she commited to memory. She would know how to strike here again.

"If you steal something child, you can always give it back. We are thieves, not gods. We make mistakes. It is known. So be careful, always, with what you take. If it is a life, which to take is not so hard a thing, you cannot give it back." He smiled at the little girl, and she nodded. Good.

Perhaps she will not be a killer like me, thought the Doyen.

Good Morning

I'm in the observation capsule when my watch beeps out the six am alert. I lazily move my hand over to silence the device while I float.

There's nothing to observe, of course. Just the stars. The same stars that were there yesterday, and the day before, and all hundred and eighty six previous days of the journey. There hasn't been a single visible phenomenon since the day we left. And no-one was in the observation capsule to watch our world shrink then, that's for sure.

Some of the people on the ship find it unsettling. The inky nothing. The idea that we're travelling at unimaginable speeds but seem to be standing still.

I find it peaceful.

I twist in the air, rolling to look out another window.  Different stars. Sirius twinkles happily at me. Hi Sirius.

I don't come here every day, but I try. Today will be busy, full of struggle and conflict and hard work. But not yet. Now it's just barely morning, and I can float and watch the stars not go by.

A hand snakes its way into mine, and gives it a gentle squeeze. The warmth is nice. I look down and see Diego.

"Sorry Claire. Battery 33 is developing a sputter." I smile at him, and nod. We slide towards the ladder and I feel gravity start to pull at me again.

Good morning stars. I'll see you tomorrow.

Blink

When Quel awoke everything in the world was exactly the same as when he had fallen asleep, save for three things.

First and foremost, he hurt everywhere. His spine was a nest of needles, and his legs were agony from the core of his bones to his skin.

Second, the sun was high in the sky. It must, he measured, be nearly noon. Before noon. After? Maybe after. Meh, it doesn't really matter.

Finally, and perhaps most pressingly, was the animal skull perched no more than a foot from his face, attached to a towering black shape with stick-like antlers protruding from behind the skull.

No good, no good.

Quel tried not to move. Maybe it doesn't know I'm still alive. Maybe it only eats living things. Yes.

I am not that lucky, thought Quel.

The creature's hide was jet black, a slick skin covered in light-grey sigils and symbols. It walked on its hind limbs, dragging a thin tail and lumbering with heavy, long forelimbs. Each set of appendages was a long, thin, tapering... flipper? Almost? Quel had never seen anything with a body like this, but... that was not unusual for Quel. He saw a lot of things for the first time.

The thing still had not moved. Quel's eyes settled on the animal skull where the thing's face would be. The skull... a dog's skull, he thought, seemed to be bound on to the creature. It was as though the skull belonged to the creature, it was the right size and in the right spot, but all the flesh was... gone. And the skull was strapped on with ropes made out of the thing's flesh.

And the antlers... were definitely sticks. Not antlers. Sticks. Strapped on. Hmm.

"Are you rested, thing?" The creature asked. Quel jumped, startled by the voice. It was low, a rumbling but kind tone. It was very nearly human. But not quite.

Well, the jig is up anyway. Quel nodded.

"That is good, thing." The creature nodded slowly, and turned its head. At that moment, Quel noticed there were more of them. A half dozen, spread out across the plain. "The thing is rested, brother." it called out to another.

"That is good, brother." Came the reply, with the same low, rumbling humanish voice. That creature turned, and repeated the message to another, and so on until they were all nodding.

The creature turned its head back to look at Quel. There were no eyes in its socket, but you could feel its gaze.

"Tell me, thing..." Quel tensed in his little cobbled together tower. The pain was gone from his body, replaced by fear. "Where did you get your antlers?" It indicated with a fore-flipper his tower.

Quel looked down at his lashed-together tower, a post and two tusks he'd found yesterday. He looked up at the creature, and jerked his thumb over his shoulder in the general direction he'd come from.

"Yes, good." It nodded slowly. "And are there more antlers, thing?"

He shook his head. It turned to the other creatures.

"Sadness. There are no more antlers, brother." It boomed.

"Sadness, brother." Came the reply, and the chain began again until all the creatures were nodding.

It turned its head back to face Quel, no more than a forearm's length away.

And paused.

Quel breathed slowly.

The creature didn't appear to breathe at all.

Quel blinked.

The creatures remained still as statues.

Quel scratched his nose.

"Thing." The voice echoed out, startling Quel again. "Can we have... your antlers?"

Quel thought about it for a moment.  This was his only means of sleeping here on the plains. Without it he would either die of exhuastion, or worse.  He looked over the shoulder of the creature. He was still many days from the end of the plains. However, they didn't seem to be affected by the plains.

He looked at their legs. For some reason, they were safe. He shrugged, and looked into the eye sockets of the creature.

"Trade, for a lift out of the plains?"

The creature stared at him for a moment, and then craned its neck to its brother again.

"Thing wants to trade for travel out of the plains, yes brother?"

"Very nice antlers, brother. Yes." The first replied, and turned to repeat the question to the next creature. Again, they slowly all wound up nodding at the first creature.

"Yes thing. We trade." And Quel could almost feel the skull-face smiling.

It picked him up with its flipper-hands, and placed him on its back. He reached out, and grabbed its antlers for stability. He looked down, and saw the thing carefully collect his temporary structure, cradling it gently in its arms. Almost reverently.

"Prepared, thing?" It asked

"Yeh." Quel spoke, and as soon as the word was out of his mouth the entire pack began to run.

They were so fast, Quel almost went flying off the back of his ride. Clutching to the antlers, he swiveled his head to see all of the creatures. Some were running on their hind limbs, some had descended to a four-limbed stride. But all of them were travelling with tremendous speed.

And then some of them dissapeared.

And then they re-appeared, the distance of a field ahead. Startled, Quel bent down to ask his ride what had happened when he suddenly felt himself go hollow and pop back to normal. The place that he was was far behind, and still he was moving.  He looked back at where he was, and shook his head.

This was how you travel, Quel thought.

Lucky Sweater

Please don't get too close, don't look inside of me. That's where the demons are.

"The coffee here is... terrible." She smiles, and the demons claw at my insides. I can feel them twisting and turning in my stomach. I smile back.

"Yeah... but the company is pretty good." Oh my god who said that? Did I say that?

She laughs a little laugh, and pulls her hair back from her face.

Oh my god I did say that. I think that's the smoothest thing I've ever said in my life. The demons writhe in my abdomen, and I want to throw up.

Instead, I turn red and look away.

"I uh... I like your sweater. Very festive." I indicate with a gesture the knit christmas tree pattern.

"Oh, really?" She pulls the sweater out in front of her to examine it, like it's the first time she's seen it. "My grandmother knit it for me as a gift. When I told her I had a date she insisted I open it early. She asked me to wear it, for good luck." She's turned a similar shade to me. She lets the sweater snap back and shrugs. "I know knit sweaters are a little goofy, but... I couldn't let my grandma down." She puts both her hands on her coffee cup, and I guess finds something incredibly interesting in the foam.

I bite my lip.

"Is it working?" I venture. What am I doing? Who is saying these words? My entrails do a somersault while I await her answer.

"Huh?" She looks up at me, puzzled.

"The lucky sweater... is it working?" My face is a rigid mask of confidence.

"Oh! Heh, well... You tell me." She says coyly. Oh man, coyness!  Calm down.  Shut up stomach. We can do this.

"Well, like I said... I like your sweater." I look into her eyes, smile, and feel the bottom drop out of the world as I get lost in their gorgeous green depths.

She giggles. It's the greatest sound of all time.

"If only the luck had extended to the quality of the coffee..." I say, absent mindedly.

"Tell you what," She says, putting her cup on the table. "I'll pick the coffee place next time." And she looks back into my eyes.

My demons melt into butterflies. Everything is suddenly a buttery dream. Everything in the world is amazing.

There's going to be a next time.

Avenue Daimyo

I'm breathing in the chemicals, the rotten mechanical effluence of the world around me. Lucky I won't live long enough to get cancer.

Wait, what?

"Hoooooeeeeeeh! That was a good one!  Right in the ten ring." My vision starts to clear, and I hone in on the voice yelling at me.  It's Squeaker, grinning ear to ear. It looks terrifying with the huge scar that cuts down across his face. He offers me a hand up.

"Ow." Is all I manage to reply.

"Yeah yeah, boo hoo. Trust me, you want this life you'll have worse. Heehee!" He reaches down a hand to pull me up, which I happily accept. My chest feels like it's on fire.  "So tell me, kiddo... how many rounds did I fire?"

I look at Squeaker stupidly.  What?

"What?"

"How. Many. Rounds."

I feel at my chest. There's three holes in the kevlar, diagonal from the bottom left. He must have raked up and jeez I almost got shot in the head! This guy's insane!

"Uhhh... three?"

"EEEEEHHHHH. Wrong. And now you're dead." He pokes me hard in the forehead with his fingers, which almost knocks me over. "Seven rounds, full auto burst. How many are left in the mag?"

Uhhh... shit.

"Four.... teen?" I guess wildly.

"Oooh, ladies and gentlemen thank you and goodnight! Now you've put the rest of your team in bodybags, kiddo.  Thirty-three left in the box. H&K MP5, you can tell by the click at the trigger pull. Were you even listening?"

My ears are still ringing from the impact, but to be honest... no I wasn't.

"Of course I was listening.. just... not used to the gun. I'll get it."

"You better... hehehe..." Squeaker puts his arm around my shoulders and squeezes me. It hurts like hell. "Everyone knows being a Street Samurai is about being fast. That's why they're all chromed up the wazoo kid. New hands, new feet, new arms. Faster, faster, faster. But, if you 'aint got it up here," he pokes me in the temple hard, "Then it doesn't matter how fast you are down here." And he pats me on the chest. I almost collapse. "SO! We train. Get that grey matter worth something, hehe, make it valuable to a team. Make you some moolay." He releases me and steps away.

I stand up straight, try not to show how much pain I'm in. I'll live. I'll pass. I'll be the best. If I survive.

"So what else have we got here..." He shouts while rummaging through a pile of guns. I pry my hand under the armour, feeling my chest. Yep, definitely cracked at least one rib. "Oooh this'll be good. Hehehe... Alright, what did we learn?"

"Uhh... listen?  Count the shots?" I venture, pulling my hand out to check for blood. Oh good, at least all of that's still inside me.

"That's right! Step one done already, you are a quick learner." He says as he levels some new gun at me. I step back in shock, and throw up my hands.

"Shouldn't I be wearing a new vest for this?"

"Probably. Hehehehe!" He cackles as he fires exactly thirteen rounds.

The Descriptions Strike Back

Frasco's Pouch of Grief

Reaching into this ornate belt pouch lets you pull out any number of devastating things with which to ruin your enemy's day. Just be careful not to put anything in it.

The Melluvian Light

"I asked the Abbott where he had gotten the lamp in his office... He told me that light can come at times from the very heart of Darkness, but when it does it comes at a terrible price. Then he stared at the lamp for a while, and wept."

Arm of Kerembor

Bear me in battle, and know no pain! No know fear! Know only death!  That of your enemies... for now.

The Divine Book of the Platinum Dragon

"What is important, Initiate?" The voice of Knigh-Exalted Kras boomed through the gale. Wind whipped at the words, and snow weighed them down.

"The Word of Bahamut, Sir!" Came my reply through the cutting cold. I was ankle deep in snow, wearing only my trousers, my shoes, and my faith.  Clutched to my chest was The Divine Book Of The Platinum Dragon.  A tome I was given at the onset of my training in the order of the Champions Transcendent.

"Correct!" Kras' voice boomed back. He was dressed in his full battle-armour, wrapped in a cloak made of a bear. Around his neck dangled a medallion that kept the cold from affecting him. I envied that medallion. Oh, very much so.

"How much farther do we have to march, Sir?" I requested through chattering teeth. I could no longer feel my chest, which worried me.  When I lost feeling in my hands, I knew I was on the right path. Struggle breeds greatness. When I lost feeling in my arms, I knew I was on the right path. A paladin is forged in suffering. When I lost the feeling in my legs, I knew I was on the right path. To protect the innocent from harm, one must know harm. When I lost feeling in my chest, I became convinced I would die here in the cold.

"That depends, Initiate." Kras smiled. I think he smiled. It's getting hard to see.

"On... on what Sir?" I asked, exhausted.

"Tell me... what is most important?"

I sighed. I had said the same thing, every time he had asked. Was he testing my faith? Still? Would he wait until I passed out from exhaustion to be sure of my reverence for the Book? If he did... would I survive the night? Or would he trust my fate to Bahamut... A shiver went through me that was not from the freezing.

"Thththe Word of Bbbbbbahamt, Sir!" I shouted, as best I could.

Kras shook his head, and smiled. I think. It might have been a sneer.

"Are you sure about that?"

"Yyyyess, yessir." I nodded forcefully.

"More important than your life, these words are?"

I was confused. I cocked my head, and furrowed my brow. Of course they were... these words are divine. They have sheltered the faithful since before I was born and will long after I am dead. They are the truth, the light, and the shield of the righteous.

"Off cccccourse Sir."

"I see." he put his hand to his face. "Cold out tonight. You're a tough one, Initiate, I'll give you that. But..." He shook his head again, "Not the brightest, hmm?"

In place of words, I shivered angrily.

"Why are the words important, Initiate?"

"Thththey are the shshshshield of the righteous, and thththe banner of the jujujujust... Thththe words that thththe willing can fffffind strength and unitttttty in..."

"Right, yes, good," he waved his hand impatiently in the air. "And who exactly is going to bring those words to those who need them, if you're dead from the cold Initiate?"

I stared at him blankly. I shivered.

He reached into a pouch on his belt, and held out to me a box of matches.

I stared at them, and back to him.

Huh.

As I sat by the fire of the burning book, I warmed myself in Knigh-Exalted Kras' bear coat and realized that a life is worth more than a book.

Even if it's a really, really good book.

Green Is Good

My lover's got problems.  She's screaming at me, and I'm having a hard time trying to care.

My eyes glass over while I stare at her pretty face.  She's real mad this time.  Not like last time. Not like the time before. So many problems. So much struggle.

I can't hear what she's saying. No, that's not right. I can hear it. I just... don't care. Why don't I care? I should care. I count on her for so much. For... everything. She's my whole world. I should care.

I have to care.

I force myself to care. I shut my eyes, and let the sound into my mind.  I know that voice.  I know those words.  They mean something.

Why is it so hard to think?

Who cares. Just... It's not... Who... what's the point?  There will always be more problems. Let go.

No. We care. We're caring now. THINK.

I open my eyes. They hurt, and the brightness of her beautiful face isn't helping. So much light. All red. Oh boy she's real mad. What is it. Focus.

Ox... oxy... Oxygen. I hear it. She's screaming at me about the oxygen system. Life support critical. Route additional power. Duh.

I shake my head slowly, and the whole console smears in my vision. That's what it is. Oxygen starvation. Hah. Duh.

I reach up, and flip the aux power routing switch on the big, beautiful face of my ship console, and she quiets down.  Oxygen starts flowing back into the cabin, and she stops whistling the oxygen warning at me. The console moves back from red to yellow, settling once more in green. Good.

Green is good.

Thanks babe. You're the best.

Adrift

In the ur-times, before Coyote found his humour and before She Who Longs For The Darkness had anything to long for, Leviathan was adrift.

And Leviathan spoke to its brother, Behemoth, though in those times words had not yet come.

Brother Behemoth I am adrift and cannot feed.

Brother Leviathan I am no better.

At this point, the Joy That Comes From Failure passed between the two and was eaten. Leviathan and Behemoth tore wildly at it, and bumped into each other many times making Sounds. From their titanic struggle Thunder was born, and the Groaning In The Deep, and these two children knew of their parents and fled lest they too become a meal.

All that remained of the Joy That Comes From Failure was a scrap that drifted away, beyond the reach of the two great beasts. It fled, and became Learning.

Brother Behemoth I am yet hungry.

Brother Leviathan I am yet hungry.

We cannot fight for food like this, Brother Behemoth. We are sure to starve.

We shall make a great surface, and tread upon it and walk far away from each other Brother Leviathan. Then we need not fight.

No, we will create a great water, and swim in it far from each other Brother Behemoth. Then we need not fight nor tread.

And the two drifted while they thought, a process that took so much time because of their titanic minds that Light came and met The Sun, and they began their courtship and were wed.

Brother Leviathan, make your water and live in it. Feed on those that swim. I will make my surface, and feed on those that walk.  Then we need never fear each other.

And Leviathan saw that this was wise, and made the great ocean while Behemoth made the earth. And as they parted they feasted on all that stood or swam in the new world, robbing the future of many things.

And A Wizard Besides

Shasson was a liar, and a wizard besides. As the sandstorm raged on around him, he began to wonder if that was really such a distinction.

Standing over a half-closed haversack, the wizard fought to maintain his wards and keep the stinging sand at bay. He had pushed his defensive spells harder and further than he’d ever thought possible, a feat that (if he survived) no one would believe.

Well, some people would believe. Not the important ones. Not anymore.

A speck of dust streaked through the glowing bubbles of protection Shasson was keeping up, moving with such force that it cut his face before shooting out the other side. He shook his head and refocused on his spells. For a moment.

A spell is just a lie the universe believes, really. It’s an act of convincing the natural forces of the world that they don’t exist, that they should bow to your will and not that of nature. And being convincing was always one of Shasson’s gifts. One of Shasson’s few gifts.

Shasson’s only gift.

A look of horror settled into his face as the fact sunk in.

The exterior blue orb, his first line of defence flickered and went out before he could refocus. Damnit.

Shassan was forced to his knees, the two remaining wards serving only to slow the sand. He closed his eyes. Everything was terrible. Not even he could convince himself that was false.

At least his companions won’t die here with him, he’d seen to that. Accidentally, of course. Having told them the artifact they’d been seeking for the last year was a good thirty kilometers south, he had been able to sneak off to claim the prize for himself without too much trouble. They were probably still hoping to catch up with him.

Idiots.

Shassan couldn’t see it, but he felt the second ward drop. Sand was rapidly piling up at his feet, and sliding inside his robes. He couldn’t talk his way out of this. There were no more spells to cast. The sand was going to kill him, and that was the truth.

The thought brought him comfort for a reason he couldn’t quite understand. He knelt, curled up inside his final ward, and smiled as the sand tore at his skin. The sand was truth. The storm was truth, a truth he couldn’t obscure or deceive. An ultimate truth. The wards were gone, or going.

His lies were being stripped away by truth, and before long he himself would be blown away by it.

He stood, a smile fixed on his face. The inevitability was simultaneously terrifying and beautiful. His skin was on fire, his robes whipping and ripping in the wind. The final ward dropped. His last lie.

The only thing left was himself. A man in the sand. Not a wizard, not a liar, just a man. Flecks of sand buried themselves into his skin at a thousand miles an hour, shearing away his body an inch at a time. He could see a light approach through his closed eyes. How long had he been waiting for this? How long had he been alive?

He passed out, collapsing into the sand. The last thing he felt was the storm’s savage embrace loosen and disappear. Of course.

A heavily armoured man stood over the liar and wizard besides, who was barely recognizable. The man bent down, and uncovered the haversack. He checked inside, nodded, and slung it over his shoulder.

“It’s here!” He called back to his two companions, one holding a torch that seemed to keep the swirling sands at bay wherever its light touched.

“Great! Can we get the hell out of here now? I don’t know how long this torch will last.” One of the figures called back.

“Hm.” The armoured man nodded. He stood over the unconscious body of Shassan, scowling. He nudged Shassan with his foot and sighed. “You are such a dick.”

The armoured man hefted Shassan’s sleeping form over his shoulder, and the four of them set off into the storm.