*************************************
Aaron’s Notes: I wrote this short story on my trip to Glacier National Park last year.  It was intended to be 7 Episodes, with 1 Episode released via web and mobile every few months. I’m going to release Episode 1 on the blog a section at a time. I’d love to get your feedback as it goes along!
Shattered #1
Shattered #2
Shattered #3
Shattered #4
Shattered #5

Here’s the final part of Episode 1 of Shattered. Let me know what you think. Do you want to hear the rest of the story?
Oh, and this is at least PG-13.
*************************************

Brin drew a circle in the gravel outside the door of her home.  She set her bow on the ground outside of the circle.  Drawing her sword, she sat cross-legged within the circle.  She unhinged the sword and set both halves across her lap.  She made sure the bow was close at hand.  Pulling a few strands of hair from her head, she laid them in the outline of the circle.  As she laid each hair down a whispered Word transferred a tiny sliver of her being into the hair.  That essence would remain alert around her body while she was on the hunt.

The preparations complete, Brin closed her eyes and began to hum the Words that would free her spirit from the bonds that anchored it to her mortal shell.  Brin was an outstanding tracker.  She used all her senses and keen wits to unerringly track any creature that moved on the ground.  She was able to push any of her senses beyond her body to aid in tracking.  But there were times when the normal tracking methods were not enough. At those times, Brin had to spirit walk.

The bonds that tied her spirit to her body broke away silently.  Brin kept the strongest bond, that from her spirit to her heart, intact.  Without it, her spirit could not return, and Brin’s body would pass away, while her spirit would roam the earth for eternity; no ageless paradise would await her soul.

Brin felt herself rise up, and she turned to look back at her body.  The familiar thrill of freedom trilled through her.  Even the pervasive grief of her son’s demise diminished to an almost tolerable level.  In spirit form, there were few constraints. She could see the tracks of the swallow’s wings that flew by moments before.  She could travel swifter than the wind.  She could hear the snow melting on the glacier in the mountain.  Brin always had to be careful to remember her body and her mission. If she strayed too far, the tether to her body would snap and her body would die.  Her spirit would dwindle in power and the freedom she felt now would disappear forever.

Willing herself higher, Brin looked back once more.  She could see the vigilant power of the circle.  If anyone came close, she would sense it and return to defend herself.  It was time to hunt.  Faster than an arrow arcing in for the kill, Brin propelled herself high above the valley.  Her home was just a speck in the distance.  A network of energy wrapped itself around the valley and her secret home in seven increasingly large circles.  From here, the dweomers designed first to hide and then defend the valley looked intact.  She knew that was not the truth.

She willed herself down for a closer look at the inner circle.  There!  She spotted a tiny disturbance in the otherwise perfect integrity of the magic.  She darted in to inspect it. A hole had been cunningly wrought in the barrier.  Nowhere was the energy severed.  Rather, someone with great skill and patience had sliced the shield lengthwise, and carefully pulled it apart.  What remained was a very small hole the perpetrators were able to slip through undetected. Brin had never seen such a thing attempted, much less successfully pulled off.

There were no footprints or broken branches from which Brin could divine the path of her quarry.  Yet in her spirit form, Brin could detect fading signatures of energy, much like a bit of cloak snagged on a branch.  There were three different energies that Brin could sense. One was definitely human; the other two were similar to each other, and decidedly not human.

Looking closer, Brin was able to confirm exactly what she suspected when she awoke with a start in the night.  The dreadmach had returned.  In that moment, all the questions about how that was possible were thrust to the side.  Brin had their trail.

Like a braying hound catching the scent of a fox, Brin hurtled through the valley in pursuit of her prey.  The signs of her target grew increasingly fresh.  Brin sensed they were over the next hill and readied her swords for their brutal work.

Under a rocky outcropping, a mage sat tending his fire.  His black robe moved like oil in the wind.  Two dreadmachs flanked him, looking like nightmares come to life.

“That smug bastard thinks he has time for a spot of tea, does he?”  Brin couldn’t believe her eyes. “Let’s see if he takes his tea with a spoonful of cold steel.”  She willed herself faster and prepared to run the mage through.

And then she stopped, feet from her vengeance.  Brin felt a stab of pain in her heart. She had reached the end of the tether to her body.  She could push through the pain and bring death to her enemies, but it was likely she would lose contact with her body, and consequently, her life would end.

Brin waged a small battle with herself, but the outcome was not hers to decide.  Just then, the mage looked at Brin.  A smile cracked his pale, fleshy face.

“This guy is just full of surprises.” Brin thought.  No one had detected her in spirit form before.

“Well hello, Brin Heavyshield.” His voice sounded like rocks being crushed into gravel. “You must be losing your touch.  We have been expecting you all day.  It has been a thirsty job sitting here waiting, so I brewed some tea.  Care for some?  Just come on over and have a seat.  Oh, I’m sorry.  You are just about at the end of your rope, are you not?”  The mage chuckled fiendishly.

Brin stared silently and seethed.  How could this man know so much about her?  Even she didn’t know the extent of her range to within a few feet.

“Did you receive our message Brin?  I do hope we did not disturb you too much.”

Brin started to strain forward before realizing that was exactly what he wanted.  Separated from her body, she would bleed energy before they overwhelmed her spirit.  The dreadmachs would capture her soul and take it to Memnon.  She would be united with Max.

No.  It was not yet time for her to join Max.  Someone had to pay for his death.

“I promise you right now, your life is mine. I know your face and I know your scent and I will hunt you to the ends of the earth.”  Brin was starting to lose her tenuous hold on her emotions. Yet underneath the rage and grief, she could sense that there was more trouble brewing.

“Brin, I am sure you understand our reluctance to disturb you last night.  Even in the less than peak state we have found you in, you are more than a match for us.  I am man enough to admit that much.”

Brin sensed he was the type of man that could pay out praise only when he had the upper hand.  The thought chilled her.

“That is why we had to lure you into this trap.  I was told it would work, but I must say, I am a little disappointed that it did.  I mean, you are a legend!  Should you not have sensed it?  Even now, you still sit there with that dumb look on your face.  Ha!”

“What are you talking about little man?  There is nothing you can do to harm me,” Brin spit back at him.

“My, how the mighty have fallen.  We planted two earth trolls in your yard.  Even now they are digging out of the ground near your circle, which cannot detect them because they were there when you set the wards! Pretty tidy little trap, wouldn’t you say?  Your child’s killers so close, yet you are unable to reach them, and your helpless body is about to be demolished by two earth trolls.  It is perfect!

“I will admit you have come closer than most.  But you have neglected one tiny thing.”

“Oh?  And what would that be, Brin Heavyshield?”  The mage sneered confidently.

“I need not be next to you to kill you.”  With that, Brin pulled out the needle sharp whale bone pin that held the braid of her hair in place.  With a flick of her wrist, she sent it speeding at the mage’s throat.  It passed through him, drawing no blood and breaking no bones.  Being but a spirit weapon, it did not affect his body.  Brin saw his eyes go wide in horror and then go dim as his spirit, severed from his body by her dart, fled his mortal shell.

Brin did not stick around to gloat over his demise.  The land blurred beneath her as she followed the strand that connected her to her body.  She saw the huge, boulder-like trolls hammering her.  The protective shield from her helmet was failing quickly.  Brin plunged down towards the troll closest to her, swords thrust out before her.  She tore through the troll, separating its body from whatever life force animated it.  The rocks and dirt that formed its body crashed to the earth and fell apart.

Brin had aimed her dive so that she passed through the troll and slammed back into her body.  She rolled to her right immediately, narrowly avoiding the hammer blow that would have crushed the life from her.  She scooped up her bow as she regained her feet.

Brin pulled back the bow and an arrow of pure light materialized on the string. She let it fly.  The arrow flared as it hit its mark, washing the troll in a brilliant, burning light. But it had no effect beyond setting some mossy tendrils alight. The earth troll lumbered after her.  There was little Brin’s weapons could do to harm it.  She did not have the time or peace of mind to spirit walk again. She certainly did not have the strength to go blow to blow with it.  But she did have two things the creature lacked completely: speed and wits.

Brin replaced her bow and started a series of feints and darting attacks with her swords.  She danced and leapt around the troll, keeping just out of the way of the creature’s ponderous blows.  Steadily, she drew it on towards the stream.  As they neared the bank, Brin rushed in close, feet pumping, and ran straight up the front of the earth troll. Her swords drew sparks with each strike.  The troll tried to swat her, but it was too slow.  Brin jumped backwards off the trolls face, performed a back flip, and landed neatly on the other side of the stream.

The earth troll tried to pursue, but it slipped on the muddy bank and pitched forward into the water.  It struggled to rise, but the water was already wearing away the dirt sinews that held the rocks together.  It quickly became just another feature in the river.

“Well, not quite as slow as I thought I was.”  Brin had tracked down and killed the mage that helped the dreadmach into the valley, but that did not quench her anger.  Bigger events seemed to be happening to even allow the dreadmach to return to this world.  Brin needed to find out what happened, and figure out who was the mastermind of Max’s death and the attempt on her life.

*************************************
Aaron’s Notes: I wrote this short story on my trip to Glacier National Park last year.  It was intended to be 7 Episodes, with 1 Episode released via web and mobile every few months. I’m going to release Episode 1 on the blog a section at a time. I’d love to get your feedback as it goes along!
Shattered #1
Shattered #2
Shattered #3
Shattered #4

Here’s part 5 of Shattered. Oh, and this is at least PG-13.
*************************************

A bright blue sky was overhead.  A fresh breeze blew in from the south.  Birds sang in the trees.  The world refused to reflect her black mood.  She had held Maximus’ broken body through the night, letting her grief consume her.  As the day broke clear and bright, she resolved to put an end to her grief.  The first step was to lay his body to rest.  She dug a grave beside an old oak tree near the stream where Maximus used to swing from a rope when he played.  The physical strain let her burn through the rest of her sorrow.  When she finished, she stripped off her blood and dirt stained night gown and threw it into the stream, letting the current carry it away.  She waded in, and the snowmelt stream’s icy water stirred anger out of the ashes of her grief.  She scrubbed her auburn hair clean and washed the filth from her body.

She emerged minutes later and walked back to the abode. There was a purpose to her stride and a cold, hard gleam in her eye.  Water ran from her naked body.  She had a long, lithe body of an athlete.  The hard, cut lines of her muscles had softened with the long respite from warfare and the years of motherhood.  The parts that used to sit high and tight were now a bit lower and looser. The long scar down the back of her leg had faded.  She was still beautiful, but no longer looked like she would snap a man in two for taking an unsolicited second look at her.

Reaching her home, she ascended the stairs to the attic, pointedly avoiding the hallway that led to the sleeping quarters.  She would not be going down that way again.  There was a secret panel in the attic.  She moved the crate that triggered the door.  It slid open to reveal an alcove, and she moved forward to claim its contents.

She started with the mundane, socks and underwear made of a light material that whisked away moisture.  Next she put on her armor, a pure white halter and light blue chain mail that was tighter around her midriff than it used to be.

“I’ve let myself go,” she thought. “They said we had purged the land of evil, and I believed them.  Hell, I wanted to believe.  I wanted to put aside my weapons and start a family.  There has not been a whisper of trouble for years.  So I let my guard down.  If I had not, this could not have happened.  Max would be…” She ruthlessly stopped that train of thought.  That was the way to black despair.  That was the way to her death.  And if that was the way she was going, she was dragging some others with her first.

Next was the pure white battle skirt.  Its mithril feathers hung nearly to her knees.  She’d taken many a mighty axe strike off of them before and they did not give.  Her shins and calves were left unprotected.  On her long, left leg she once suffered a sword wound that had almost proven fatal.  All that was left now was an old scar.

She pulled on her boots.  They too were white, but they were far older than the rest of her outfit.  They had been passed down through her family for centuries.  A subtle old magic had been infused in them.  When worn, the rendered the user silent when walking. They could also change the color and pattern of the armor she wore, thanks to a bit more magic that linked it all together.  She was nearly invisible when she triggered the boots’ magic.

Finally, the helmet.  It did not match the set, being red with black designs.  She had fought a long, hard battle with an evil mage to win that helmet.  When she put it on, she felt the protective field envelope her body.  Through it, no weapon could pierce, although its protection was finite.  A determined attack or lengthy battle could break through the shield. It was a priceless treasure that had brought her safely through perilous situations.

Thus dressed, she returned to the remaining three items.  First was an ebony bow.  She slung it across her shoulder and gave it a friendly tap.  She could drop a songbird on the wing at a hundred paces, not that she would. An arrow of light leapt to the string every time the bow was drawn.

She reached for her sword. It was about three feet long and razor sharp.  It still gleamed.  She gave the pearl handle a twist with both hands and the sword became two blades.  She gave them a practiced flip and the blades hummed through the air.

“I am so rusty.” She chided herself again. She snapped the blades back together and slipped the sword into the white scabbard that she hung at her hip.

Finally she brought out her most prized possession.  It was an unassuming metallic square, about a hand’s breadth in length.  It strapped to her left forearm.  She dropped into a fighting crouch and brought her arm up to ward off an imagined sword cut.  The shield flared to life.  It gained an inch in thickness and transformed into a tall rectangle two feet by four feet in size.

Quickly she put herself through some practice forms.  High, low, and middle she imagined attacks from different weapons and the shield responded by changing the size, shape, and thickness needed to protect against the attack.  She stood, panting lightly from her exertions.  The shield returned to its natural, unassuming shape.

Her eyes focused and determined, she gathered her supplies and made ready to begin her hunt.  It was time to find out how such a crime could happen in this golden era.  The life of tranquility that she had coveted over the war torn years was shattered. Brin Heavyshield was out for vengeance.

*************************************
Aaron’s Notes: I wrote this short story on my trip to Glacier National Park last year.  It was intended to be 7 Episodes, with 1 Episode released via web and mobile every few months. I’m going to release Episode 1 on the blog a section at a time. I’d love to get your feedback as it goes along!
Shattered #1
Shattered #2
Shattered #3
Here’s part 4 of Shattered. Oh, and this is at least PG-13.
*************************************

The torch flickered, casting ominous shadows on the cavern walls.  The slow drip of mineral-rich water could just be heard over the tramping feet of the two dwarves.  They were deep beneath the earth, searching one of the myriad tunnels that twisted and turned between the dwarven capital under the Atlas Mountains and Deogar, the furthest dwarven outpost deep under the Fonus Range.

Both dwarves were lightly armed, at least in comparison to a fully equipped battle dwarf.  They wore leather jerkins that could slow an arrow, but would not do much to stop a determined blade.  Neither wore a helmet.  Most dwarves kept their hair too long to fit under any sort of headgear, unless there was a war to wage.  The ensemble was completed with leather pants and shoes.  For dwarves these two were dressed quite peculiarly.  A dwarf rarely felt comfortable without a full suit of mithril armor.  But these dwarves had need of speed and silence.

“Do you think something could have happened to them, uncle?” asked Deebl Lo’Atlassian. “They were supposed to be in Atlassian weeks ago, and we’ve been looking for a few days”.

The elder dwarf stopped and turned briskly towards Deebl.  He was neither tall nor short for a dwarf.  But then, they were a race not known for much physical diversity.  All dwarves had knobby noses, pale eyes, a strong jaw, big teeth, and black hair.  Their limbs were short but powerful, and ended in club-like hands and feet.

Sandin Furyaxe had a beard that was longer than he was.  He wore it in three braids, which was the mark of a warrior.  The braids were looped back upon themselves, twisted, and then tied into one.  The large emerald woven into his beard was the mark of a Hero of the People.  His face, arms, and chest were covered in scars.  On his back there was nary a scratch.

“Deebl, your incessant blathering is not making this go any faster.  I feel like I have answered this before, so I will keep it short.”  Deebl was believed to be Furyaxe’s sister’s son and had hardly stopped badgering him over the last three days.

“There once was a time that no less than fifty battle dwarves would accompany a courier when he made the three week trip from Deogar to Atlassian through the Deep.  Even then, not all would make it through since there were so many goblins and trolls and who knows what else.  But since the Battle of Utand, we have seen neither hide nor hair of any unnatural beast.  That is not to say a cave bear has not feasted on them or they have not been crushed in a collapse. Since just two or three make the trip these days, anything could have happened. We have ten other search parties out looking.  Someone will find them soon.  Now shut your trap and let’s keep moving.”  Furyaxe turned and started walking without looking to see if Deebl was following.

They travelled deeper under the earth for three more days with not much to distinguish one day from the last.  The torchlight shone around them for twenty feet in all directions.  Beyond the light lay only darkness and a lurking fear of the unknown.  They searched the main path between the two dwarven cities while the other search parties followed the countless side passages.

As they left a small corridor and stepped into a larger chamber, it was the smell that told them the search was over.  The stench of rotting flesh was keen.  Deebl put his hands on his knees and vomited.  Furyaxe was more accustomed to the odor, having been the cause of it many times in the past.  He strode into the room, assessing the situation.  Although he could not see them, he sensed three ways into the room. The way that he and Deebl used, a way to his left from which he could sense warm air flowing in, and cooler air through an opening straight ahead.  The way to the left led deeper into the broiling core of the earth.  Straight ahead was the way they would have continued. Furyaxe brought the torch to the center of the room.  Large rats scurried away from the light, startled from their feast of flesh.

“Is it them, Uncle?  Is it the messenger we were searching for?”

Furyaxe did not respond.  He bent closer to continue his examination.

“It must have been a cave bear, right? But….but…but wouldn’t the bear have eaten them?”  By the way Furyaxe was studying the scene; Deebl was starting to think there was more to this than a cave bear.

“Deebl.  I need you to stand still and listen to what I have to say.  Do not get alarmed.  There are four heavily armored dwarves here with weapons drawn.  It appears they died fighting back to back.  Yet there are no other bodies.  I do not know of anything that can destroy four war dwarves and not have paid a steep price in blood.  As impossible as it seems, I think they were killed by goblins.  Goblins carry out and eat their dead, and a large enough force could have done the trick.”

“But, Uncle, hasn’t evil been…” Deebl trailed off as a piercing war cry echoed up the deep passage.

The cry mounted as more goblins picked up the scent of fresh dwarf.  Deebl may have only heard about goblins from school, but Furyaxe had felled more goblins than any living dwarf, and likely any dead dwarf.

“Deebl.  Grab a helmet and a shield from the dead.  You have time if you hurry.  Then draw your sword and cover my back.  If you stay out of my way, I will get you home to earn your name.”  Furyaxe planted his feet and faced the tunnel the goblins were rushing up from the deeper in the earth.  He figured he could take out ten of the nasty little creatures before they broke into the room and it became a free for all.

The ululating goblin war cry crescendoed as they neared the opening.  Furyaxe cracked his neck and limbered his powerful right arm.  He reached back and drew his axe.  Deebl, through the narrowed perspective of his helmeted vision, saw the axe come free of the sheath.  A blue light shone from it, harsher and brighter than the torch Furyaxe kept in his left hand.  He had seen the axe before, and heard its exploits sung in taverns, but when he had seen it, it was rather plain and unremarkable.  But now, in their hour of need, it shone with a blue brilliance.  Its razor sharp edge glinted in its own light.  The weighted ball opposite the blade looked murderously heavy.  And then the axe sang.

The axe sensed its master’s need.  Light to fight by it gave.  Waves of rage and strength it poured into the dwarf.  It heard the cry of the goblins and quivered with anticipation.  It had been so long since it drank the blood of its nemesis.  There was nothing the axe liked better than to drink deeply of goblin blood.  The axe sang a song of blood and death in the goblin’s guttural tongue.

The song broke the goblin’s cry and caused the charge to falter.  They had not forgotten the legends of the weapon they called Afiada Morte.  The leading two goblins tried to stem the tide and retreat so great was their fear.  Instead, they stumbled as those in the rear pushed them on.  They died first.  Furyaxe cocked his arm and let the axe fly.  It flew unerringly into a goblin skull, splitting it in two.  Furyaxe reached back to throw again, and the axe heeded his call.  It vanished from the goblin’s head and appeared in Furyaxe’s hand in time to be hurled forward at the next small, wiry, vicious creature.  Six times in six seconds it hurtled through the cave to send another goblin back to the abyss.

A few goblins broke into the cavern.  Furyaxe charged the first, bringing his axe down from right to left.  The axe tore through the goblin, spraying gore in every direction.  Sparks erupted from the impact as the axe nearly buried into the granite floor of the cavern.  Furyaxe wrenched it free and whistled the axe in a low, sweeping arc.  Two goblins did not jump fast enough and found themselves a foot shorter before they bled out and died.  Furyaxe heard the twang of a bow and brought the axe back to center in time to bat the arrow aside.  He spotted his attacker and flicked a quick backhanded toss, willing the axe into a tight circle.  It lopped off three heads on its circuitous route back to his hand.

An enterprising goblin had sprinted away from the door into the dark recess of the cavern.  It worked its way along the edge of the light and waited for the right time to attack.  As Furyaxe engaged four goblins at once, parrying attacks before dealing in cold steel, the goblin launched itself towards the dwarf’s back.  Deebl saw the attack out of the corner of his eye and shook himself from the hypnotic skill of the elder dwarf in time to lance out with an awkward thrust.  He caught the goblin behind its knee, drawing blood and sending it sprawling towards Furyaxe.  The goblin’s sword spent itself impotently on Furyaxe’s jerkin as he obliterated the fourth goblin. He pivoted and sliced the nasty beast’s skull like an overripe watermelon.

Furyaxe whirled back, but there was nothing more to fight.  He could hear the remnants of the goblin force scurrying away to find some dark hole to hide in.  Of the previous moments’ desperate din, only silence and heavy breathing remained.

“You still alive, Deebl?”

“I uh, I uh, I uh,” Deebl stared unbelievingly at the carnage around him, his brain numbed by the bloodshed.

“Great job with the sword there.  That nasty might have ruined my new leather jerkin.  Thanks for the help.”

Deebl was still in shock.  Furyaxe grabbed the message container from his dead kinsman and turned to leave.

“Deebl, let’s move before they have a chance to breed or however they find more of the slimy bastards.  We have got to round up the rest of the teams and report back.”  Deebl still didn’t move.  He was stunned to immobility, but his addled brain was starting to function.  He managed to count goblin heads.  There were about twenty-five.

“He, hea, heads…” he managed to stammer.

“Good thinking kid.” Furyaxe picked one up by its greasy hair and tossed it at Deebl.  It bounced off his chest and he stared at it with horrified eyes.

“Don’t just look at it. Pack that thing away.  It is evidence that the goblins roam the deep passages again. Now get moving before some big cave troll decides it is not extinct either!”

With that, Furyaxe was off towards home.  Deebl, not wanting to be left in the dark with all that death, picked up the still-dripping head and hustled to catch up.

It was a grievous seven day journey home.  Furyaxe lit the signal flares to recall the search teams at each side passage they had taken.  Only two parties came back whole not having encountered a goblin raid.  Three parties had fought their way out and were mostly unharmed.  Three parties had just a sole survivor.  Those three heroes had finished off the goblins and managed to pull out their fallen comrades.  The final two search parties did not respond.

Furyaxe led some of the healthy dwarves into the passages to recover the grisly remains of the parties that did not return.  The dwarves carried the bodies back with them.  Furyaxe knew he needed to alert the city, and then find a way to determine how this evil had come to roost once again in their domain.

*************************************
Aaron’s Notes: I wrote this short story on my trip to Glacier National Park last year.  It was intended to be 7 Episodes, with 1 Episode released via web and mobile every few months. I’m going to release Episode 1 on the blog a section at a time. I’d love to get your feedback as it goes along!
Shattered #1
Shattered #2

Here’s part 3 of Shattered. Oh, and this is at least PG-13.
*************************************

“Ha HA ha ha!”  Benson Jyri’s hearty laugh boomed through the courtyard.

“Come, my tiny friends. Let us try it again.”  Four young monks circled Jyri’s gigantic frame.  Jyri towered over most any man he met.  He stood nearly seven feet tall, with girth to match.  Though he appeared rotund, powerful muscles lay hidden beneath the layer of fat and his voluminous orange robe.  His limbs were like tree trunks, not even thinning at his wrists or ankles.  His shaved head perspired in the sunlight.  Sweat dripped down his face, catching in his bushy eyebrows and his full, black goatee.  His skin was tanned from hard work in the light of day, yet still smooth owing to his nearly enlightened state of being.  In his powerful hand he gripped a great, oak staff.  It was an ancient weapon instilled with the force of justice by the benevolent god Balim. Jyri twirled it carelessly, though most men would do well just to lift it from the ground.

He was sparring with the monks to test their use of the staff, although he suspected he really was reliving the glory days.  Eradicating evil and injustice from the land may have been his calling, but frankly the last ten years without strife had been quite boring.  His once small layer of fat was a bit more insulating now than it was then.

Jyri tensed himself for the monks’ attack. He did not know their names, but even if he did, he would not have used them.  Jyri used a secret trick of the Iabro monks that allowed him to instantly assess the threat level of those he fought, or that he may someday fight.  When he assumed his fighting stance, he used his divined knowledge of his opponents to assign them priority and often amusing nicknames.  After all, when one risks one’s life, one ought to have a good time doing it.

One of the monks was much more efficient with the staff than the others.  Jyri dubbed him “Good With Wood”.  Good With Wood stepped forward to engage him, swinging the staff over his head like he was chopping wood.  Jyri waited until the last second before stepping quickly to his left. He rotated to his right, Good With Wood’s staff whistling past his head, and lashed out with his staff at knee level.  It cracked into “Slow To Learn” who had crept in close on Jyri’s right.  The same move took that monk out last time.  Had Jyri put the force of his righteousness behind the blow, he would have snapped the young man’s leg.  Wielded without malice, the staff lessened the blow of its own accord, leaving just a bruise.

Good With Wood’s staff hit the ground with a thump.  He swept it towards Jyri along the ground, a move designed to take out an opponent’s ankles.  Jyri jumped forward, rolling over the staff and landing on his feet.  He sprinted towards the smallest monk, “Size Does Matter,” and speared him in the ribs.  Size Does Matter flew through the air, a look of surprise on his face.  Jyri was much faster than anyone gave him credit for.

Jyri turned towards the two remaining monks with a huge grin. He thought it was great to be fighting again, even if it was just practice.

“You boys want to see something?” Jyri asked mischievously.  “I used to call this the Holy Tornado, though most everyone else just called it the Holy Shit! Ha HA ha ha!”

With that, the monk began to spin his weapon.  A glow suffused Jyri’s features as he called forth the god-given powers of justice within him.  The staff was a blur as Jyri grew in stature right before the eyes of the astonished monks.  As he neared ten feet tall, he let out a mighty roar.  Jyri’s robe snapped in the breeze as a gust of wind strong enough to smash buildings rushed past him.  Dust and debris kicked up and flew through the air with dangerous intent. The lightweight monk, “Pissing In The Wind”, was tossed across the courtyard and dumped unceremoniously in a fresh pile of horse manure, after bouncing off the stable roof.

Good With Wood had heard stories of the legendary Holy Tornado, and did his best to brace himself with his staff.  He was pushed backwards, but kept his feet.  With a triumphant smirk, he looked up at Jyri.

“You have been taught well, young one!” Jyri exclaimed with pleasure in his voice.

Benson Jyri took Good With Wood by the shoulders and steered him towards a bench in the shade.  The temple courtyard was paved with beautiful colored tiles.  From the ground, it was pretty, but there was no discernable pattern.  Observed from the bell tower, a red and a black dragon took flight within the pattern.  Few were allowed in the bell tower to see the true nature of the courtyard, and there were only a handful with enough arcane knowledge or personal experience to know that the pattern changed of its own accord.  In fact, it was like a sundial that, instead of telling time, told the score in the battle between good and evil.

After the battle of Utand, Jyri had climbed the bell tower seeking the state of the world.  Many believed the struggle with Memnon had finally ended.  When Jyri looked upon the courtyard that day, he was relieved by the change that took place before his eyes.

The red dragon, representing the god Balim, had grown and dominated most of the foreground. The black dragon of Memnon had turned away and seemed in full flight as it dwindled.  When he saw Balim’s red dragon lift its head and spout a brilliant yellow flame of triumphant fire, he ran to the bells and began ringing them wildly.  It was the signal to the world that an era of peace and justice had begun.

“Now look here young man.  Three days I have been here, and three times we have fought together.  I have knocked you down exactly zero times.  Did you know that only three people I have ever fought can claim I have not knocked them down?”

“No Master. I did not know that.  I am humbled by your praise.”  Good With Wood let a small smile touch his lips.

“Ha HA ha ha.  Do not be, you tiny whippersnapper.  It was not entirely true.  No man or demon has ever kept his feet when I have wanted him on his can!  Now, now.  Do not look at me like that.  You are the most capable young fighter I have seen in some time.  How old were you when we won the Battle?”

Good With Wood’s confidence returned as quickly as Jyri had snatched it away.  He, too, felt he was the best fighter under fifty years of age at the temple.

“Master Jyri, I was just nine years of age when evil was banished from the world.”

“A side affect to there being no evil, is that the number and quality of people willing to fight evil is greatly diminished.”  Jyri’s normally jovial demeanor changed.  “Do you know why I have returned to the temple, young caterpillar?”

“No master. I do not presume to know your mind.”

“Three weeks ago, I saw something that my eyes had grown accustomed to not seeing.  A son raised his voice and then his hand to his mother.  Ten years ago, I would not even have noticed it.  Then again, ten years ago I probably could have turned around and watched the second son murder the father.  Since the battle, I have not heard a raised voice except in song.  I had not seen illness, except in the very old.  I had seen no crime, nor heard of any death save that which comes in our sleep to us all at the end of the road.  So the actions of this one man stood out like, well, he stood out like I do in a crowd.  I yelled towards him and he backed down, shame faced and apologetic.  Yet it ate at me. If this one, seemingly innocuous event could happen, how many more small acts of evil have taken place?  Evil begets evil.  Once it has started, there are few ways to check its growth.  So I have made my way to the temple to consult the dragons.”

“Dragons?  What dragons, Master?”

“Do you think you are destined for great things, you green guppy?” asked Jyri.  There was no malice in his tone, just an intense desire to know the heart and mind of the young man.

Eli Maia, the given name of Good With Wood, turned his sight inward.  His round, animated face grew passive.  His mahogany eyes lost their focus as he searched his soul.  Jyri did not press him, for he knew the young man was earnestly searching for the truth.

Minutes passed.  A fly landed on Maia’s face, but he did not feel it.  Jyri amused himself by waving his hand in front of Good With Wood’s face.  He got no reaction.  Never able to pass up a chance at a joke, Jyri bent in front of Maia and mooned him.  A gaggle of young children that had been watching the monks train broke out in a fit of giggles.  Jyri put his robe back in place and winked at them.  He sensed Maia’s pulse begin to return to normal, so he quickly sat on the bench and assumed an air of quiet dignity.

Maia’s eyes regained their focus first, and then his spirit returned and brought life back to his body.  Jyri broke the silence.

“My young friend, you have the look of a man that has communed with Balim.”

“Master, I am not sure what happened.  I do not think that I have been asked a question before that I have wanted to think on so deeply. I felt my entire future hung in the balance.  I first prayed to Balim for guidance.  Then something remarkable happened.  I felt myself rising up, out of my body.  I looked down and could see you and me sitting on the bench.  The world grew hazy then, and I felt like I was passing through a cloud.  When my vision cleared, I found myself high atop a majestic peak.  The sky was a brilliant blue.  I could see a waterfall tumbling from an adjacent peak.  An eagle soared upon the wind.  Nearby, a cherry tree was in full blossom.  The aroma was more pleasing than anything I had smelled before.  A shining jewel of a pond was to my right.  I could see brightly colored fish swimming under the surface.  A small spring bubbled and sent fresh water spilling out of a crystal basin into the pond.

“I heard music behind me, so I turned towards it.  A man sat cross-legged beneath a beautiful marble veranda.  He was playing a lute.  I was enchanted by the sound.  I tried to make out more of his features, but he was obscured by the pure, white light that appeared to emanate from just between his eyes. I felt compelled to kneel, so I prostrated myself at his feet, relieved to take my eyes from the crushing magnificence of his visage.  Then he spoke.  His voice was the sound of liquid gold, or perhaps simply the sound of Peace.

“‘Eli Maia.  You have the capacity for great things.  Your heart yearns to bring joy and laughter to those less fortunate.  Your strong right arm wishes to defend the Realm.  And your mind wants to unlock the mystery of the stars.  You will achieve lasting fame if you follow their paths.  But I warn you now; you have the capacity for great evil as well.  Beware the black serpent, its wisdom will feel like righteousness but for the folly you see in your heart.

“‘Now it is time to return to your world.  Benson Jyri is a benevolent man, but patience is not one of his virtues.  Even now, he makes you the butt of one of his jokes.’

“Suddenly, it all disappeared.  I found myself falling back towards the ground.  When I landed, I was once again here with you.”  Maia finished and looked over to find Jyri asleep.

“Master?” Maia inquired.

“What?  Who is there?  Oh, it is just you, shiny beetle.  A simple yes would have sufficed.  No worries though.  The first meeting with Balim could set a dormouse to eloquence.”  Jyri thumped Maia on the head as he rose from the bench.

“Come. It is time you learned the secrets of the dragon.”

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Aaron’s Notes: I wrote this short story on my trip to Glacier National Park last year.  It was intended to be 7 Episodes, with 1 Episode released via web and mobile every few months. I’m going to release Episode 1 on the blog a section at a time. I’d love to get your feedback as it goes along!
Shattered #1

Here’s part 2 of Shattered. Oh, and this is at least PG-13.
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Episode One

Sliding out of bed with the natural grace of a feline, she moved to the door without another sound. Already knowing what she would find down the hall, she paused to take stock of the situation. This home had been her family’s secret for generations. Their ancient enemy had never ventured near the hidden valley deep in the Fonus Mountains.  For the last ten years, since the decisive battle of Utand, she had lived here in peace. And now that peace had been shattered. Shattered in blood and soundless terror; shattered in the deepest depths of the night; Shattered – while she dreamed dreams of the boundless future.  They had come to her home; the home hidden from them through the slow turn of centuries. She slumped against the wall. They had violated her home and stolen from her the one thing she truly treasured.

How had this happened? The hurdles the enemy cleared to come into her home and perpetrate this crime were high. Somehow they located the secret valley, something they had failed to do in the previous centuries of warfare. Then they had found a way past the wards and dweomers strategically placed throughout the valley.

Some sorcery was involved to keep her unaware of the presence of the enemy. Before she retired to this secluded refuge, there would have been no way a simple sleep spell could have caught her unaware.  She cursed her naivety, and prepared to face the horror in the next room.  But then one nagging thought entered her mind.  She should have been safe. She had retired for a reason.  The ancient enemy of all life had been broken and sent back to hell on the hot plains of the Utand ten years ago.  The elders had proclaimed that a golden age of peace and justice had dawned, free of sickness and strife.  So what had brought evil into her home?  She knew their icy presence better than any still alive.  Could she be mistaken?  Maybe she was overreacting.  It could not be what she thought it was.  She steeled her nerves and stepped into the dark hallway.

The corridor was eerie and foreboding where normally it was warm and inviting. Perhaps it was just her imagination. She hoped it was.  Yet at her core, she knew it was no dream, though nothing was out of place as she stalked down the hallway towards his room.  The child she had desired for so many years was a tall, precocious, eight-year-old boy named Maximus.  She loved his golden hair and the twinkle of mischievous intelligence in his eyes.  Though she had survived terrible wounds, destroyed countless demons and hordes of evil beings, she was not sure if she was strong enough to survive what she thought she would find behind the door.

Yet open it she must.  She fervently prayed that the instincts and senses she had honed through countless hours of training and bloody battle would betray her now, and she would find her precious child slumbering safely, snug in his bed.

She held her breath as she turned the wooden knob to his door. Instantly, she knew her prayers had been too late and in vain.  The stench of blood and offal overwhelmed her, sending her to her knees.  Sobs racked her body as she struggled to regain her feet.  She had to see her boy’s eyes and hold him one last time.  Surely some hideous crime had taken place, but it must have been some evil man or crazed creature.  It could not be what she feared it was.  It was just not possible.

Unable to will herself to her feet, she crawled forward; blood covering her hands and knees.  Slowly she pulled herself up to his bed.  She wanted to hold him close but was not able.    There was too much blood.  His skin had been laid open from his feet to his neck.  Small holes could be seen in each bone.  Flecks of marrow littered the openings. Unable to tear her gaze away, but knowing she had to confirm her suspicions, she looked into his eyes and despaired.

He had been Shattered.

Where once Max had brilliant blue eyes, she now found glassy orbs blacker than midnight. Where his pupils should have been, there was a cylindrical hole, cauterized to a glassy sheen. His soul, his very essence had been stolen from him; sucked out through his eyes and taken to serve the dark god Memnon.

His minions had time to feast upon Max’s marrow, infusing them with his strength.  Taken in his sleep, his body felt no pain, but his soul would suffer for eternity.  Hot tears fell from her eyes as she fought through her natural instinct of revulsion to hold Max tight, unconcerned of the blood and filth that coated her body. There would be a time for questions and investigations, for action and hot revenge, but now was a time for grief and sorrow.

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Aaron’s Notes: I wrote this short story on my trip to Glacier National Park last year.  It was intended to be 7 Episodes, with 1 Episode released via web and mobile every few months. I’m going to release Episode 1 on the blog a section at a time. I’d love to get your feedback as it goes along! So without further adieu, here’s Shattered
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Shattered

By Aaron Brander

Prologue

It was another gorgeous day.  Soothing music composed of harps and flutes drifted through the massive hall.  Marble columns swept along the edges of the hall, perfectly cylindrical, blazingly white, and hundreds of feet in height.  The ceiling was glass and nearly imperceptible from the floor, serving only to keep rain off of the food and guests, while allowing the splendor of the blue sky or the majesty of the stars at night into the hall.  The floor of the hall was also white. Yet wherever a foot tread, a different color swirled and eddied in the wake of the passerby, as if someone ran their hand through the reflection of a rainbow in a basin of water.

A host of beautiful beings found their places at the large tables set along the center of the hall as a bountiful banquet appeared on their plates.  The smell of fresh bread and roasted meat enhanced the merriment that the guests enjoyed.  At the head of the hall, seated upon a golden throne, the host feasted upon the laughter and happiness of his guests.

And then the music stopped.  The light of the day gave way to an unnatural darkness.  A shrieking wind tore through the hall, upsetting plates and knocking some of the smaller beings off of their benches.  A chill descended upon them, and their drinks froze in their crystal goblets.  A fog gathered in a corner of the hall, near the golden throne.  The fog gained substance and turned as black as midnight.  It materialized into a tall, thin humanoid. In one hand it held a gnarled cane that was made of bone.  Its face was hidden in a shadowed hood as it approached the throne and the golden being seated upon it.

“Is a life without strife worth living?” The cowled speaker turned toward the brilliant light of the man on the throne.  His voice masked the wailing of a thousand tortured souls.

“Brother, how could it not be?  There is no anger. There is no disease.  There is no violence.  Everyone is happy.”

“I am not happy, and I contend that neither is the world.” The smell of decay billowed out from him.  “Peace cannot be appreciated without war and violence.”

“You have never been happy. It is in your nature.  Besides, it was ordained by our Father that the world would know peace. It was time for you to leave.”  Justice and love radiated from his being.

“Father is dead. And I do not believe his dream will last.”

The hooded creature turned and stalked from the hall.  Those gathered looked away as he passed, shivering involuntarily from the icy aura that surrounded him.  His lustrous brother watched him leave, a troubled look upon his golden face.

As the hooded man left, the sun returned, the wind died down, and the temperature returned to normal.  The guests laughed nervously and returned to their meal.  It was once again a gorgeous day.