The Blade Of The Princess: Final Chapter

Days passed since K’anda had fallen down a hole that was a portal to a dead world. She’d stopped walking with a limp by the time she’d rejoined the main road, following it to her destination: the village of Vit’ae. She reached the great gates just as the sun began to sink from the sky, bruising the horizon with its exit. Two giant faces of a mountain, carved out to house the giant wooden doors, stood to each side of her. As she approached, shouts, calls and all sorts of movement sprung to life to allow her safe passage. With a well-practiced groan that made the ears ache, the magnificent monuments adorned with polished brass and workings of the name of the city, itself, began to part.

Behind them stood a testament to consumerism that was nothing short of breathtaking. A market, twice the size of her kingdom, lived and breathed and moved with purpose. As far as K’anda’s golden eyes could see, there were shops, inns, taverns, trading posts, callers, and preachers of a long-dead religion. The princess of Zhu’ul could barely believe it all. Women of all manner of dress roamed the safe streets, none paying heed to the opening or closing of the gates, most with servants in tow. Poor women had ropes tied from their rags to the necks of their slaves, while the more financially blessed ones had things like fine gold chains attached to ornate leather collars.

Smoke, smells and lanterns filled with fire lighting the whole city overwhelmed the rest of the senses. Burning pitch and cooking meat wafted through the loud streets as K’anda pushed forward, seeking the middle of the town: the slave auction. Commerce never ceased; not at any time of day or night. Although she was dead tired from her journey, the princess knew that the sooner she began conducting her business, the sooner she could be away from the noise in which she’d been thrust.

The giant market - that stretched the entirety of the chasm left in the mountains, themselves - was built like a circle. In the middle was the auction block and circle of testing. That was her destination. K’anda moved her sore legs, ignoring peddlers who shoved charms, armor and weapons at her, promising immortality and the ability to slay any and all beasts with one fell swoop. All she did was smile in response, not acknowledging any of them. As she got closer to the epicenter, the spectators went from sparse to standing-room-only as an auction began.

Upon a giant stage taller than K’anda, a woman wearing a leather vest and linen pants held a whip in one hand and a ledger in the other. Next to her were three fine specimens of men, all tall and muscular, chained together by the neck. Numbers were called out as the bidding reached a fever pitch; women in the crowd were gnashing teeth and throwing curses at one another, like they were fighting for the best cut at a butcher’s shop. But those being sold were not for a princess. Then K’anda saw her: Mistress Holtz, self-proclaimed queen of the auction square, commanding almost all the slave trade, and sorting the fodder from the prizes worthy of a princess. Tired feet made a beeline for the woman in charge.

Mistress Holtz stood a good foot shorter than K’anda. Her hair was done up in ringlets, face painted in the latest style, sporting a dress packed to the seams with frill and pomp that hung loosely upon her thin frame. In her dainty hands, lay an ornate rod of hard maple adorned with a gold and silver handle. A fine gold chain swayed between the mistress and her man, half the age of the woman reaching her late 50s. The barefoot man was thin, and dressed in a simple shirt and shorts. He was decorated with new and fading bruises bviously dealt from the rod his mistress carried. None of this concerned the princess of Zhu’ul, for she was here on business.

Holtz tore her aged eyes away from the auction block just in time to catch K’anda moving toward her. “Ah, Princess K’anda! Is it finally time for you to pick a mate?” Her tone was snobby and carried her pomp. “Yes it is, Mistress Holtz. And I’ve traveled a long and weary mile. When can I begin the process?” The imperious woman smiled and bowed her head, “Well, Princess, as soon as you’d like. And you came at an extraordinary time. Another princess has come, too, to choose a mate. So we will be having a grand spectacle… now that you’re here, of course.” K’anda did not return the smile. She knew that this meant a new set of games for the slaves to play.

“I’ve no stomach for ceremony, Mistress Holt,” K’anda said. “I’d like to choose my mate and go on my way. If that suits you, that is.” K’anda smiled insincerely and the woman picked up on the tone. “But of course, dear Princess. The holds are this way, if you’d follow me. Pick up the pace, Anry!” Quick as her aged arms allowed, she cracked the rod across her man’s face, pulling the chain and collar taut. As she turned to lead, the man didn’t even reach up to comfort the new bruise as he turned and nodded. The princess following the pair ground her teeth and hid her disgust as they trekked to the higher priced pens.

It was dark when K’anda entered the market in the niche of the mountains, and it grew even later as she walked behind Mistress Holtz and Anry. Thoughts played slowly, like a bard’s stringed instrument, of how her mother loved her father, that taboo and of how the impossible existed between them. She remembered smiles and companionship. And how when the palace would quiet, her mother would remove her father’s collar in their bed chamber and kiss his neck gently. Love was possible. She hoped that one day, she, too, would love her mate. Near midnight they reached their destination.

Anry stopped sharply behind Holtz, so much so that K’anda nearly knocked him over when she absent-mindedly ran into him. Before the princess could apologize, a chiding of ‘Clumsy oaf’ was growled and another crack from the rod came, this time on the other side of his face. Torches were being lit in their newly arrived presence to show off the stock, and Holtz turned to her customer. “Here we are, Princess. The best I have to offer. Please, take your time.” With a grand gesture, the woman pulled back a leather curtain and ushered in K’anda.

To the surprise of the princess of Zhu’ul, it didn’t stink. It wasn’t dark or dismal. In fact, it was rather clean. The stalls themselves were huge, numbering four in total, with bars between the observer and the men. Though the spaces between said bars were wide enough for even the broadest shouldered one of them to slip through, none even dared to try. They knew better. The spaces were there as windows to look at the merchandise unabated. Standards that her mother had instilled in her ran through K’anda’s head as she walked by each stall, her golden eyes taking in each man carefully. At times, her gift came forward and helped her perception. By the third stall, she’d given up almost all hope, settling for the fact that she’d have to wait for the next batch.

But there, in the fourth stall, a pair of eyes caught hers, and stopped her breath in her throat. Deep purple eyes sat in a tanned face that was as intense as the glare it wore. She peered into those eyes and nearly lost herself, having to force her gaze away as she took in the rest of the man. He was large, much larger than her, and even more so than most of the men around him, though he sat crouched in a corner, shrouded in a cloak made of tattered and torn pieces of black cloth that hung off his broad shoulders. Long, black, wavy hair that curled here and there fell from his head. Before she could think she pointed and spoke, “You. Step forward.” His gaze never wavered, but he pretended not to notice her command.

The Mistress’s voice came suddenly from beside K’anda, “Oh. You don’t want that one, Princess. He’s diseased and scrawny .” The words shook her out of her concentration and she looked at the pompous woman, “Describe that slave to me.” At first, the woman tripped on her words then came forth with a sentence. “Well. He’s...skinny. And his skin is covered in lesions. He’s pale and dirty.” K’anda’s eyes went back to the man and she sent forth a bit of her power and nearly gasped when it neared the man. The air around him was nearly aflame with his own power, the glamor he wore to make himself seem less than what he was. She knew in that instant: he possessed the gift of magic. Holtz spoke again, “Surely, you wouldn’t be interested in such a...waste of fle-” K’anda’s royal temper flared, “You mean to advise me on my choice of men and possible mate? You deem your words worthy enough to question mine, Mistress Holtz?” Golden eyes came to rest upon the thin woman and she blanched at the fury and cutting nature of the tone.

“Why...no! Of course not! Forgive me! I lost myself for a moment...Uh….slave! Stand at once and present yourself!” This time the man obeyed. K’anda watched as he unfolded himself, standing nearly a foot taller than her, his tanned skin stretched tight against muscles that looked hard as steel. The scars, some fresh and some old, moved with him as he strode forward, closing the distance in two strides. The Princess of Zhu’ul was in awe of the man, not knowing what the others saw, but in total admonition of his dangerous nature, herself. “What is your name, slave?” K’anda’s voice had not cooled, but neither had his eyes. “Xelga’dis, Mistress.” His voice was deep and as strong as his physical appearance, and yet it carried intelligence and power with it, as well. “Your form is appealing to me, Xelga’dis. What think you of mine?” For the first time his eyes left hers and moved quickly up and down her body. She could feel her face heat with the action.

“Forgive me, Mistress. But you are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever set eyes upon.” Despite her power, training and all her abilities, K’anda felt very much exposed at that moment. Seeking to put herself back in control, she drew her sword, the steel singing as it cleared the scabbard, and she presented the handle to him, “Do you think yourself worthy of carrying my blade tomorrow at the trials?” Near every living thing within range of hearing the weapon being drawn cowered away, including Holtz, but not him. He took the handle and held the blade up to his face, turning the instrument between his long and powerful fingers, examining the weight and the balance. “Mistress. I do not believe I am.” He offered the handle back to K’anda and bowed his head. For a moment she let her eyes linger on his hands and fingers; flashes of things that she would never discuss aloud played in her head, but she returned her attention to his face. She studied him for a while before she spoke. “Yes, you do. And you will. In the morrow, you will carry this blade in my name. And you will be my mate.” His eyes came up to meet hers, though his head stayed bowed, “If the Princess wishes.” There was the ghost of a smile on his lips. One she returned. “I do.”

He bowed his final subjugation to her will as she took back her blade, him returning to his corner, her standing proud and tall before the cell. She watched him, like a cat eyes a mouse, all of him, the way he moved, his muscular form, the way his eyes watched her back, and it all made her feel a few degrees warmer than the air around her. As they exchanged one last look, he smiled, a tight, half smile, with only half his mouth, and she returned it, letting her imagination drift again. She turned to the short woman, “I need a place to stay for the night. I expect you will have a room ready for me by the time I reach the pagoda, Mistress Holtz.” Several agreements and curtsies later, Anry was sent forward to make preparations for the Princess. K’anda felt new feelings well up inside her. Things she’d never felt before.

In the cozy room, four times larger than any wayward shack she’d spent many a night in lately, K’anda’s armor was peeled off her skin, and underwear cast off, as she strode toward a large tub. Steaming water had been brought in, but it had already cooled. Since she desired a bath more than she wanted to yell at her host, with a wave of her hand, her power sprang forth and heated the tub to her liking. She sank in, letting her days of travel melt away and be replaced with her encounter with Xelga’dis. She imagined his powerful hands and what they would feel like on her bare flesh, or how his lips would taste. Slowly she let herself get lost in the fantasy and soon her hands mimed the ones in her vivid visions. The tub was barely lukewarm by the time she climbed out, and she was suddenly grateful for the privacy of her own wash room. She laid down upon the soft mattress and was asleep in moments.

Noon found K’anda sitting at the forefront of the stadium, set prominently in the middle of the mountain town. Nearly ten feet below was the arena’s earthen floor, girdled by giant, thick walls of wood, decorated with iron gates here and there. Bells sounded the hour, and then Mistress Holtz stood up, her chair a story higher than everyone else’s, a new dress and hairdo to help set her position of authority. She spoke loudly to counteract all the noise of the women of the town shuffling in to get their seats. “Here, today, we have a treat. A rare treat. Two princesses, one from Zhu’ul, one from Tchottle, have chosen mates at the same time. So we will see not one, but TWO feats of proving today.” The crowd cheered with a glee that K’anda had never heard in her life. “We all know the rules. For their mates to go home with their princesses, they must survive the trials. And now, let the games … BEGIN!” Holtz sat down to the roar of the colosseum.

Across from K’anda sat the other princess, not armored like her, but in a frilly blue dress, rented slaves holding shade over her and a venomous look in her eyes. Raven hair down to her back was done perfectly, face painted to highlight sharp features, with fair skin and small lips making her look much younger than she really was. K’anda let her gaze drift to the arena as she saw Xelga’dis and the other chosen mate brought out and their chains released. The sickle blade of Tchottle was tossed in the dirt at the same time that K’anda’s sword was, each at the feet of the chosen. The other mate was tall and also muscular, with a shaved head and wearing nothing but a pair of leather shorts. Xelga’dis was still shrouded in his black, tattered cape that looked like crow’s feathers from this distance. Each weapon was retrieved as another gate opened, and the whole crowd quieted. A bellowing roar tore from the blackness beyond the raised iron bars.

The Kerroc stepped out, ducking its full height under the nine-foot-high gate. Green, scaly skin moved easily with the mass of muscle beneath it. Razor claws decorated four digits on the end of sinewy arms, matching the ones on its feet. Clear rivulets of saliva dripped freely from the elongated jaws lined with long, sharp teeth. Black eyes burned above a squat head, supported by a thick neck. Iron bars slammed closed, barely missing the tip of the tail trailing behind the creature, cutting deep swaths into the white dirt floor. It roared again, and then locked its glassy midnight eyes upon the two men sharing the arena. As the last of the bellow rumbled out, the thing charged the two humans, heavy footsteps shaking the wooden rafters. K’anda’s eyes widened with amazement, wonder, and most of all: fear.

K’anda watched with the rapt attention of a child, staring as the man with the sickle spread his beefy arms, and shouted challenges at the creature. Xelga’dis stepped back a few paces, keeping a distance between him and the beast. The monster’s attention focused on the shouting one, missing the man in the black cloak as he quickly circled around to the side of it. The bald one charged forward, screaming and swinging his weapon. The curved blade caught the Kerroc’s bottom jaw as it snapped at the man, deflecting its head for a split second. Xelga’dis saw an opening, and quickly closed in and buried the sword deep into its side. Another cry sprang forth and the giant arms swung, missing the bald one, but caught the black cloak that shrouded Xelga’dis in his glamour, tearing it to shreds as it ripped away.

An apocalyptic crescendo of lightning and thunder joined a ring of power that pushed air, dirt and debris out from the center that was Xelga’dis, standing in the arena of now flowing blood. He stood like a pillar of power, his illusion shattered, the force of what had just sprung forward even knocking the Kerroc back a few paces. K’anda’s eyes feasted on her chosen. He was beautiful and primal: broad shoulders and back, scars criss-crossing here and there, tense muscles, a dark glare, with her blade in his hand.

However, the battle waited no longer. The creature turned back to the still-suffering mate of the princess of Tchottle, and this time the man wasn’t able to avoid it. With a heavy snap of its jaws, the giant creature caught the soft middle of the bald man, closing quick and hard, spilling blood to and fro as it thrashed. The crowd responded with deafening cheers.

With the creatures’ attention on the meal in its jaws, Xelga’dis used the momentary pause. With speed hard to track with the naked eye, he moved in and slashed at the monster’s body, aiming for weak points. Tendons, muscles, soft tissues; all were severed without hesitation, viscera and intestines spilling forth. The body of the other man still in its maw, the creature fell to all fours, the damage that had been dealt taking its quick and sudden toll. The surviving mate didn’t allow a moment to pass. He hopped atop the crocodilian monstrosity and quickly buried K’anda’s blade through the thick skull, killing it instantly. A death rattle and a huff of white dust later, Xelga’dis stood above the grisly scene, victorious. The crowd’s roar filled with whispers of magic and its uses, and the fact that he was, indeed, a gifted man. K’anda could only smile as the competing princess huffed and stood, making a quick exit.

K’anda couldn’t help the smug feeling coursing through her, and stood, clapping and joining in on the cheers from the women next to her. She barely noticed when Mistress Holtz stood and announced a quick break from the festivities. K’anda beamed with pride as other women passed her and touched her shoulder with congratulations and well wishes, so much that she hadn’t noticed Holtz’s hand on her shoulder. “Princess K’anda, we must talk before the next round of the trial.” The statement was said with a mix of nervousness and opportunity ringing through every syllable. Not a half hour later, the Princess of Zhu’ul stood in the office of the one running the show. Each wall was decorated with commendations and letters of thanks, to help boost the sales of the slaves. And behind a giant desk littered with papers sat Mistress Holtz.

“Congratulations on your mate’s victory. It seems Tchottle will be without a breeding stock this year. Now, as a matter of price, I think we must delve into the subject as quickly and fully as possible. Please sit.” K’anda stood, facing the aging woman with nothing but contempt and ire. “Price, Mistress? I didn’t know that such a thing was up for change, due to a fact like a simple victory.” Holtz spread her arms in an appeasing manner. “Well, Princess, we’ve never actually discussed the price. And with such a new trait and … appearance of your chosen...” K’anda’s tempered flared and she’d had enough of the game, “Do not attempt to blindside me, Mistress! Just because I am young does not mean that I am ignorant or uneducated. I will not pay for traits you didn’t know were there. And so, you will get your original asking price, but, just to end this discussion before it angers me any further, I’ll double it so Xelga’dis can get on with this farce of a trial and I may return home!” Mistress Holtz was more than shocked at the outburst, her wrinkled jaw hanging open, lips quivering to find words. Before the woman could retort, K’anda stalked out of the office, using her power to control the wind to slam the door hard enough force to crack the frame.

K’anda returned to her seat far before Holtz, with Anry, her manslave, accompanying her, showing a few new bruises shining brightly in the afternoon sun. In the arena below, Xelga’dis was escorted back to the center of the arena, sword tossed at his feet. Mistress Holtz stood and announced, “And now...THE RING OF STEEL!” Again the women attending kicked up excitement and noise, cheers and screams. All of the arena’s metal doors shot up and out poured more than fifty men, with shields, armor and swords. Xelga’dis stood mute, watching without interest, kneeling down casually and scooping up a handful of white dirt, He rubbed it into his palms, in preparation for all the blood about to stain the blade and into his grip. As he stood, there could be no doubt of what kind of man he was to K’anda.

The men, safe behind their steel armor, were hunch-backed, hiding their stomachs and chests, shields held before them in fear of an impending attack. And there stood Xelga’dis: tall, chest out, wearing black shorts to just above his knees, K’anda’s blade in his big hand. The air was thick with tension, each of the fifty combatants measuring their would-be slaughter. One man screamed and charged, breaking the silence, running at full speed toward Xelga’dis. The armored one took a giant, reckless swing at his target and was quickly cut down, blood spraying and tainting the white sand. More poured forth, their battle cries becoming as loud as the crowd sitting above, and they all began to fall before the dark man with the mass of wavy hair and K’anda’s blade in his hand.

There was no grace to him, no fluid movement. He was a hard line drawn through the soft and waning circle of bodies closing in on him. Each cut was brutal, solid, and cleaving, driving through the lines. Each time he turned, he answered a new threat and quickly ended it. Soon, though, the numbers became overwhelming, and he knew it. Wildly swung blades got closer and closer to him, while his body clashed with others, knocking them off balance, all closer than any fighter would deem acceptable. A blade bit his flesh, then another, and pain took over. K’anda could see how the battle was going to go in very short order. The yellowing sky was lit blue for a second, making all but the princess of Zhu’ul shield their eyes. Xelga’dis stood with an arm stretched out, and blue lightning danced from his shoulder to his wrist. The battle had just turned.

Without pause, the wielder of the blue lighting began cutting more opponents down, sending bolts out to make men in their armor explode, like sacks of red liquid dropped from a tall building. Bolt after bolt, swinging cut after another, the number of opponents fell. The last of the armored men deduced the battle was futile and threw down his sword and shield, running for the iron gate. With a bit of power, Xelga’dis lifted a blade from the ground and launched it at the fleeing man. The sword found its target and buried itself to the hilt, knocking its target forward and off his feet.

Once more in the middle of the arena, Xelga’dis stood triumphant, panting with effort and exhaustion. A sweep of his dark eyes surveyed the chaos in front of him, then settled upon hers. She felt her face heat as they shared a look; a ghost of a smile came to his face, the same kind of smile appeared on hers. His big arm shook her blade, sluicing the blood off, then he held it up, and upon a cloud of air the blade floated effortlessly to her, from whence she plucked it. She saluted with it, before returning it to the sheath at her hip.

Now dusk had come and gone, painting the fading day with its mirage of dying colors, but K’anda cared not for spectacle. She paced her room; large as it was, it seemed tiny, a prison cell. Her mind was busy with her mate, and what they’d done to him. Her armor, freshly polished, sat in the corner, with her boots. Her skin was clean, her hair brushed. She was anxious. A knock came that startled her so badly she let out a tiny yip. She ran to the door to see three guards and her mate. He had finally been delivered. As she stood there and the three other slave men disappeared, she felt suddenly exposed wearing nothing but her underthings. Xelga’dis stood tall and proud, shoulders back and a small smile upon his lips. With a flourish of her hand and a silent invitation, he stepped in, ducking the door frame. They smiled at each other for a long moment, taking each other in, her in her underwear and him in nothing but his black shorts.

Silently she took his hand, closing the door, and led him to the bedroom. She found her voice after placing her hand upon his hard, muscular chest. “Now. We must….finalize….you being my mate…” Her golden eyes met his with meaning. Slowly his thick, calloused hand found her cheek and with a gentle movement, his lips met hers. Passionate, heavy and wanton, they went on, each other’s hands finding new places to explore. She tore away with a look on her face and feelings she was unfamiliar with, but she wanted them, and breathlessly she spoke. “Do not be gentle with me. For I will not be with you.” She steeled her will and body and so did he. Together they hit the bed with heavy need, her underthings ripped asunder and his shorts burned off in a blaze of magic fire. It would be near dawn before they fell asleep in each other’s arms, talking of their pasts and wants for the future, both falling deeper in love as the seconds passed. Nothing was gentle during that night except for their tender embrace, lying together under soft blankets with the golden sun leaking into the room and coloring everything in its gentle, yellow glow.

Near noon and with little sleep, the giant gates closed behind K’anda and her new mate Xelg’adis, bidding them farewell with a loud metallic clank of the locks. Both smiled contently as they walked, parts of them sore and other parts simply bruised and tired, but in whole satisfied. Near the setting of the sun, the sky darkening into purple and pinks and reds, they found their first wayward home. As they both disrobed to share the tiny bunk inside, the princess of Zhu’ul smiled at her new love and asked a simple question after the door was locked. “Have you ever heard of the city of the dead below the earth?” Xelga’dis gave her a puzzled look and answered ‘No’. She beamed brighter and asked the last question before their new life and adventures with each other began: “Would you like to?”

The Blade of The Princess: Part 2 of 2

K'anda sighed deeply as she walked away from the shore of the lake, hating that she couldn't help more, but at the same time grateful for the sight she'd seen below the glassy surface of the lake. It was slow to begin, but her legs fell into the walking rhythm she was now used to. It felt like ages since she'd left her grand palace back in Zhu'ul, but the truth was she'd only been gone near three weeks.

She was glad, in a way, that she was traveling alone. She'd said less than a handful of words, not sentences, but words since she'd last seen her home land. It was a relief. From all the servants, cooks, tutors, trainers, her nine sisters, she thought she'd never know a moment of silence in her life. But the woods were silent, engaging, and all together deadly. K'anda didn't mind. She saw the beauty in all of it, even the black, twisted, dead trees that had fallen over years ago. Their rotted trunks were now home to a thousand more things hidden from sight.

The morning sun blazed high in the sky, only a few skinny clouds hanging around after the heavy rains last night. The air smelled sweet, like flowers and fresh grass, as the heavy dampness of the lake and its humidity grew further away with each step. The Princess followed the path back to the main road, quietly admiring the trees, the bright leaves, purple and yellow flowers, and all sorts of creatures that had made this place their home. Her golden eyes focused on nothing, letting time pass as she took her time getting back to the road, making her walk more than scenic.

At the main road, her boots kicked up small puffs of soft dirt, the Agaden Mountains her only landmark as she began to push her now experienced body toward them. Mid-morning had come, and with it, hunger. On the road there were no other travelers, and the woods cut back a few hundred paces to protect those on the path. It was a situation that would be troublesome, even to the most experienced travelers, but not to her.

As she walked her steady pace, K'anda bent down and scooped up a handful of rocks the size of her fingertips. They were black and smooth, ringed with sediment. She thought them to be pretty. As she walked, she discarded the few that weren't smooth enough, leaving only four from the bunch. Her long legs carried her at a measured pace, and just like her, things were alive and scampering about. She slowed her steps, studying the waist-high grass around her, looking for movement.

It only took a moment before she spotted her lunch: a Grassling. They were like rabbits, but a bit larger, and instead of white, fluffy fur, they were covered in thick, coarse, green, flat hair that gave them the appearance of grass when they laid flat. Apparently this one was unhappy at the proximity between it and her. It was a terrible mistake, on its part. The princess froze, her boot puffing up one last dust cloud as she made the decision to get her meal.

With practiced precision guided by her magic, K'anda pinpointed where the Grassling would be. She lifted her hand with the stones in it, keeping her golden eyes wide open, and flattened her palm and fingers. Her wrist was right before her face as she let her power awaken, focusing on one of the smooth stones and then drawing a slow, deep breath. Upon a cloud of air she had created, one of the stones floated, aimed and ready, then she blew a puff of air, which she magnified, accelerated, and pushed forward to a blinding speed with magic. The stone left so fast she could no longer see it past the line of the grass in front of her. An arrow could not have been quicker, had it been shot from the strongest bow pulled by the mightiest of archers. Nor could it have been more accurate. Without having to go see for herself, the Princess knew the stone had hit, and gone through, the head of the target. With a small, satisfied smile, Ka'nda lowered her hand and went to retrieve her lunch.

Noon had come and gone. The now full princess sat a few yards away from the road, licking the grease of her recently finished meal off her fingers. Using her powers and her sword, she'd divided the Grassling into what she would eat now and meat that she had dried and would store in the already tanned hide from the animal. She was grateful for the gift of her magic, and the things it allowed her to do. Now with a tight and tidy bundle at the back of her hip, K'anda pressed on.

Suddenly she was running. She hadn't paid attention to the sun and it set on her before she could find shelter. The heavy paws pounding behind her, coupled with hungry growling and frantic panting, let her know how close the Moon Wolf was. K'anda chanced a glance back and in the darkness only saw two red, bobbing eyes as it chased her and threatened to close the gap between them. She'd heard tales of how fast the creatures were, but until she had tried to launch a liquid ball of fire at one, she never knew. Tall grass whipped at her exposed thighs, stinging with each oncoming hit. In panic she'd lost track of the road.

K'anda's legs made for the nearest line of trees, hoping that the hungry thing behind her would be lost, but it kept up. She balked left, so did the wolf, she leaped over fallen trees, so did the wolf, she pumped her long, muscular legs as hard as she could, the wolf didn't care. Its pace was steady, keeping with her. Inch by inch, it gained. She could feel the oncoming attack, the animal letting loose a triumphant cry. K'anda's mind tried not to imagine what the final fight between them would feel like. Tried not to imagine the long teeth rending her flesh asunder. A low branch whipped her face, blurring her vision, another, another. She lost sight of the ill-lit woods ahead of her through the tears in her eyes. She saw the log, lying across the ground at the last second and leaped.

The ground gave way. She was only vaguely aware of the feeling of falling; the panic had driven her almost numb. As soon as she realized what was happening she hit the wall of the hole she'd just plunged into. With a flash of pain and a heavy grunt, the air was driven from her lungs and she was unconscious. She didn't know for how long she fell, or the time that had passed since she'd landed. Her body seemed a vague memory of a lifetime ago. All her senses crept back into her in waves, like things being washed ashore by the great oceans near her home of Zhu'ul. Her eyes saw nothing but dark, she tasted blood and dirt. She tried to breathe, but her nose was stuffed up with dirt and blood, too. Now her body was a rack of ache and pain as she fully came to, all her senses in place.

Before she moved she checked her body, sending tendrils of magic down her length to see if she'd broken anything. She was okay. It seemed the Moon Wolf was not hungry, or foolish enough, to follow her down the hole she'd accidentally discovered was hiding beneath a bed of twigs. She was lying atop something metal, the thin material scraping and sending echoes out into the cave she was in. With a moan and wince, she held her hand up, released her restraint of her ability, and created a ball of bright, yellow fire.

She sat up, trying to survey what she was laying on. She'd never seen anything like it: a carriage but squatter and longer, made of metal with glass windows and what looked like iron discs as wheels. Her face bunched with confusion as she stood, using her other hand to wipe away the blood and dirt from her face. She fed more of her gift into the ball of flame, letting it grow and brighten to the point where she could no longer hold it, even at arm's length. With a grunt of effort, she threw the ball up. It howled and turned and kept going, fed by her until it hit the roof. K'anda's golden eyes were as wide as saucers when it finally hit the ceiling, an impossible distance, and ignited to four times its original size. A prayer to the good spirits fell from her lips.

The cave was more than massive; the ceiling had roots hanging low from the earthen material it was made of. As far as her gifted eyes could see, there were rows and rows of the same kind of grey structure that was under the lake. It stretched for what seemed an eternity. Everything lit by the fireball above was grey with dust or orange with age. More of the short carriages lined veins of what seemed to be roads, their smooth surfaces cracked and broken. The taller boxes were barely standing, pieces of them hanging by wires to a skeletal frame. Metal poles, twisted and bent with age, punctuated the many lines that made up the grid where the rest sat. Flashes of yellow and red reflected off dirty glass sitting in the gaping mouths in the faces of stone towers. Even her entire land of Zhu'ul could not have compared to what was in the cave. Not the size nor the expanse of the dead world she'd fallen upon.

She wanted to bound through it, see and study every crack and crag, but caution crept into her. Apprehension wrapped cold and tight around her, freezing her muscles and pushing them to flee. She looked up to the hole or the direction she though it was and spotted a tiny yellow blotch of light. The wall next to her had been fixed with metal rungs, leading up and out. With a final look she limped toward them, her mind reeling with what she had seen.

It was now, and only now, that she wished she wasn't alone. She wanted to know about this dead world and what it was, why it was, and when the final flicker of life in it had extinguished. She vowed, after she obtained a mate, to return to this place and speak with the dead. Her hand gripped the first bar and aching muscles started pulling her up, toward the world she knew.

The Blade Of The Princess Part 1 of 2. (Original Short)

Her sword cleaved through another one of the giant rodents with ease, severing bone, sinew, and muscle. She wouldn't stop until she had eradicated them. There were dozens of them, coming from all directions of the dark and misty woods. Her armor saved her, as did a protection spell. She spotted the next assailants in her peripheral vision, and let the power she had inside herself awaken and collect in her left hand, the one without the short sword. As fast as thought, a ball of liquid flame appeared in her upturned palm and she flung it at the half-dozen fanged creatures. Though the ball of fire - that could burn any living thing down to the bone in seconds - was near her, she ignored it. She was raised with magic, and it was a part of her. The creatures that looked like giant rats with equally giant, gnashing teeth, burst into flames and screamed a horrible death.

She again began slashing, tearing, ripping through the hordes with her sword, throwing balls of flame and air so compressed it was as thick as steel and sharp as any blade. Soon the threat was no more than gore and ash. Sweat slicked her body, pushed to its limits. Her breathing was rapid and deep, sucking in thick, cold air and pushing it out with effort. Her bare thighs tingled from a slight breeze sifting through the thick woods, her neckline sharing the same sensation as she sheathed her sword. Pulling back bright auburn hair, the fleeting wind cooled her slightly. Her breast plate was heavy, and the thick leather belt round her waist weighed down by the enchanted blade was chafing. Her boots, that reached to her knees, were sweaty. Adding insult to injury, she was covered in blood and fur from her encounter. She wanted to feel clean again, but the nearest town was a day's journey in the opposite direction, and she needed to press on.

With an exhausted sigh, K'anda, the princess of Zhu'ul, started down the long path ahead. Mid-morning sun beat heavily down on her little trail. Her mind was put to the task ahead of her: find a king for her land. Men were of short commodity, sold as slaves, as womankind ruled the lands freely. The last great war was waged and many of the men in her land, and the surrounding kingdoms, were destroyed. Though the war happened years before she was born, the tales were heavy with her people. Old, silver-haired females would share them, telling of the fire that fell from the heavens and burned the lands. Of the monuments that stood proud and symbolized so many things, but were now ashes and rubble. Though she was a day's walk from it, K'anda decided to visit the 'Lake of a Thousand Eyes,' something her elders suggested she do before she wed.

The air was sweet with blooming flowers and the rains that had come days before. Her gold eyes scanned the landscape for threats as the trees gave way to an open field with a dirt trail cut through it. She kept her pace steady, not letting the grand and flat nature of the new terrain spook her. Off in the distance she glimpsed huge, yellow glowing eyes in the dusky tree line that belonged to Leviathan Owls. They were the size of a full-grown man, but could sometimes easily double that. They hunted what they wanted, and hunters were quick and full of pride to show off if they'd ever killed one. The afternoon came in heavy with more sunlight and dark clouds on the horizon. It would rain tonight, and she was still a half day's travel to the Agaden mountain village where she'd choose her mate.

The field she walked in was wide, but the woods bordered it with menacing stature. The forest had been cleared to let people travel without fear of the vicious things lurking behind the giant trees with dark bark. K'anda kept walking, knowing that a wayward house had to be somewhere near. Huts that travelers had set up to stay in for the night were mostly deplorable hovels, but it was better than chancing an encounter with a Moon Wolf. These bloodthirsty creatures bore glowing red eyes, fur as black as coal, and were three times the size of a large dog. Thinking of them made her eyes sweep the waist-tall grass again, coming to rest on a sign that indicated the direction to nearest hut, the Lake of a Thousand Eyes, and the Agaden village. With another, more careful look, she discerned the path to the lake cut through the grass. With quiet resolve, K'anda made the choice to head down it.

The path took the princess through another section of woods, though this time the rodents of unusual size didn't mar her journey. She ate apples picked off low-hanging branches that were brown and sweet with a cinnamon flavor. Red, green, and yellow peppers wrapped in mint leaves the size of her palm supplemented the apples. Although content with a full stomach, she still stank of sweat and blood from her morning encounter. The sky darkened to a bruised red with streaks of yellow and pink swashed through it, while the sun sank behind distant, snow-capped mountains. As she walked, the air changed from arid and sweet to thick and moist. The lake was not far and she would have to spend the night there, hopefully in an empty shanty of a fisherwoman who had long forgotten it.

Finally the dark trees broke on to white sand, and a lake that seemed to have no end. The stars had just begun to shine by the time she'd reached the Lake of a Thousand Eyes. The still water was like glass, reflecting each of the bright stars above. She looked to the left and right, but saw no land on either side, just more water. Along the shore of the monstrous lake sat simple huts, each with one window glowing orange from a carefully lit fire. Though the lake was more than beautiful as it was now, shining like diamonds strewn across black velvet, it wasn't the reason for its name. The miracle of the name came from what happened at dawn, and only to those brave enough to swim or row out onto the waters.

Smoke from the fires built white pillars into the darkening sky, and she used them as landmarks to find one without an occupant. The door swung in with little effort, revealing an iron stove with a chimney, a small bed with a straw mat for a mattress and a single window facing east. The door had a latch on the inside, but the window didn't open. Until then K'anda hadn't noticed how exhausted she was, so the dirty bed looked more fine and comforting by the moment. She swung the stove door open and discovered still burnable pieces of wood inside. Like flexing a muscle, she brought forth the power residing deep inside her and collected it in her palm, tossing the small ball of flames into the hearth to ignite the wood. It immediately caught and she now had an orange hue around the small shanty to go about her business. Though she wanted to throw herself onto the straw mattress, she knew she'd regret not removing her armor and boots first.

The process was quick and well-practiced; soon her sword, belt, leather skirt and chest piece sat across from the bed under the window, alongside her boots. Only white underthings that she wore for modesty remained. The night was cooling rapidly, so she was thankful for the small fire and stove to fight off the chill. The straw mat poked her with coarse fibers and rough straw, but it was more comfortable than she could imagine due to her level of exhaustion. With a long sigh, she let sleep take her. K'anda swam through dreams of her childhood, her sisters, and the palace that awaited her return. Her mother's face, warm and smiling, framed in black hair, and decorated with ice-blue eyes, was the last image she saw before she was jerked awake by screams.

The eyes of the Princess Warrior from Zhu'ul snapped open. She was quickly on her feet and running, undoing the latch and flying out the door onto the wet sand. The moon was high and illuminated the shore perfectly. The ground beneath her feet shook, and the sound of timber cracking and splintering apart filled the air. The shanty two over from hers had been smashed by a giant tentacle. Her gold eyes traced the offender back to its owner and saw the monstrosity: A squid. A squid twice the height of the tallest tree she'd seen today had come ashore to plunder the small, wood shacks. The inhabitants of the shore fled the oncoming attack. It seemed the stories of giants living in the lake were true. K'anda was glad she didn't try to swim the glassy waters at night.

Her royal ancestry provided her with magic. Her kind were rare, and treasured by their parents. That was why, though she was not the eldest, she would be queen of her land. She clenched her jaw with the effort and her arms followed, calling forth powerful lightning that danced down her tanned skin, from shoulder to clenched fist. Her eyes firmly fixated on the target to receive the lethal dose. This was the opposite of flexing her muscles. She relaxed them, using the well-practiced aim she had to direct the bolts flying from her outstretched fingertips to the creature. With a loud 'crack' the night lit up like high noon and her aim proved true. The ground, water, and air shook with the deep bellow of the creature as the white lightning danced from the big burn spot it had just received.

The squid slowly turned its giant, spade-shaped head and body toward the offender, tentacles slamming down on the beach, sending shocks and waves of sparkling sand into the air. Black orbs that were the creature's eyes saw her, standing alone in her white slip of a shirt and panties. She flexed again, bringing forth more power to lay another bolt into the thing, when she was distracted by the four women running in her direction. Calling out a warning, it came too late. A giant tentacle smashed down upon them, their screams interrupted, and cut short. The white sand that flew up was stained with red, trails of sinew and entrails connected the massive appendage to the beach below as it was retracted.

Fury fed her powers, the lightning dancing across her skin turned from white to red, this time. K'anda screamed as she let fly the lethal power, twice as large as the last. It tore across the light brown skin of the squid, leaving a huge gouge. High-pitched whines emitted from the monster as it accepted its defeat and started to slink back into the lake, its cries and moans carrying across the shore. The princess wondered how many had died. In the middle of the chaos of the people, screams, and darkness, it was impossible to tell.

A moon tired of the violence below slowly began to hide behind heavy clouds, and then the rain came: heavy and hard. The ice cold droplets felt good, but she was still tired, and now more so. She walked slowly back to her cabin to let the rain wash off a little of the muck and grime she was covered in. After hanging her things to dry, she went back to sleep, dreaming of what was to come.

Dawn broke through the tiny window, the fire in the hearth dead. She climbed up to consciousness, fighting to come awake. She had to move fast if she were to witness the miracle. She donned her underthings and tied together the rest of her armor and sword, dragging them down to the dock that stretched deep into the lake. She ignored the red spots of blood on the sand when she left her shack, paid no attention to the smashed shacks that had claimed others while they slept. Instead she concentrated on witnessing the miracle. Giant, dark shapes unidentifiable on the surface swam through the crystal-clear waters below. They sought shelter from the coming sun. It was a dangerous time, but she took a deep breath and plunged off the side, into the frigid waters.

Her long, muscular legs pumped and her arms pushed her down, fish and all other manners of creature moving out of her way as she descended. It would happen soon. Then she saw it. The reason for the name of the lake. A giant stone square, still a ways down from her, but large enough to be easily seen. It was gigantic. The stone turned brown and green from the algae under the water, but still some grey parts shone through. There were countless squares cut into the stone face of the giant, dark and staring at their visitor. Then the rays of the sun caught up and suddenly the squares was shining bright, each one giving the sun back its light and with luster. The sight was truly amazing. She marveled at it, drank it in, memorized the details as best she could. Then she noticed the equally giant letters on a rock bed nearby: O, E, T, L, H. She wondered what the word was, originally.

She broke the surface of the lake, gulping in air and finally feeling clean. After calming her breathing she made her way to the dock where her things were. Squeezing excess water from her hair and underthings, she donned her armor and weapon once again. Her duty as the next queen of her land pressed her on. Agaden waited. Her first steps today started the rest of her life. K'anda of Zhu'ul was now near the end of her journey.

An Immortals Tale: Part 5

The man in the black suit

Part 5 

"Sword Fights Are For Romans"

He Waited a long time, the man in the black suit, longer than he thinks he should have. Another sunless day with grey clouds greeted him as he walked out his door, the seven automatic locks clicking shut behind him. With something as big as trying to merge the three kingdoms people behind this would be looking to do a few things and real estate was number one. Can't raise an army of they have somewhere to stand. 

Although he didn't need to Jon enjoyed eating and drinking all the flavors of the world, so on such a big discovery and the possibilities of a lot of people dying he decided to spoil himself a little bit. On a crowded corner of his city there was a very special place for him: Jim's Hot Dog Stand. "A special with everything on it, my good sir." Jon's smile made the very tall and skinny man smile in return, "Jon! Oh this must be a special day if your here. One special with everything coming right up." Jon waited patiently, hoping for rain, for some reason. Jim handed the paper wrapped confection to his customer and refused the money Jon was trying to hand him. 

Jon smiled and sighed, "Really?" Jim's smile was almost child like in innocence. "Okay." Jon thought for a minute then snapped his fingers, "Ah. Okay. There was no second gunner. Oswald acted alone." Jim iclapped once and laughed out loud. "I knew it! Thanks, Jon!" The two men smiled and shook hands and parted ways. 

The tasty treat was quickly devoured and he kept walking. He took out his phone and sent several emails and text messages, some purposefully sent to the wrong recipients to provoke the right reactions. As soon as the mobile device slipped back into his pocket it started chiming and sounding alerts of emails and text messages being received. Jons grey eyes sparkled with mischief and a sly smile crept across his face. Today would be eventful. 

He had to buy time to let the pot stir so he stopped by a local coffee shop. As he stood in line to get his third favorite beverage of choice he checked the contents of his pockets to make sure that he had all he needed. Vial of holy water? Check. Rosary made of the bones of saints? Check. Pocket bible? Check. Gloves of the great alchemist Mikhael? Check. Double mocha coffee with extra espresso? Check. Time to see the messages he's gotten. 

Two denials, three 'have no idea', and five with fingers pointing to one name: Scud. Jon didn't answer the messages, just to keep the pressure up. But. He had a destination and a name. He polished off his coffee and left a generous tip as he walked out. Luckily one of the messages had an address providing a door to knock on. Or kick down. Either way he'd be doing it with a smile. And depending on his reception an apology. 

Outside in the cold air Jon stood still and let the wind wash over him. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, letting the chill atmosphere of the city around him fill his lungs. He let it out slow and hailed a cab, enjoying it all. Inside the cab he gave the address and sat still for the 45 minute ride, his body still slightly chilled from the outside. Grey eyes watched the city change from behind the window of the back seat, the cabbie not wanting to make conversation and Jon more than fine with that. 

The streets changed from the crowded and bustling city to that of warehouses and empty bays of half destroyed buildings. He tried hard not to let his mind wander to memories of his life, instead saying small prayers and going through all the ways to defend himself from demons and all the beasties that could be waiting for him. 

47 minutes after he stepped into the cab it slowed to a stop at his destination. Jon handed the man his fare and again tipped heavily. His expensive shoes landed on a gravel road in front of that seemed to be an old garage. The large door and the skeletons of old cars around the premise giving reason to believe garage. The immortal took a moment to gather himself and steady his nerves then approached the door. The handle gave way and the door swung in. 

Inside there stood a single counter with car parts scattered across it, the walls decorates with nails holding various belt loops and fans, and a single person behind the wooden barrier with car signs all over it. He was a tall man, taller than Jon, with a thin and bony frame, an almost shaved head and a prominent nose between two bright purple eyes. The man held up his hands in a surrendering pose and spoke first, "Look, man, I know who you are and I don't want nothing to do with you!" Jon smiled suspiciously and closed the door behind him, walking towards the counter and letting the nervous man do all the talking. 

The man with the name "Scud" sewn on his mechanics shirt backed up hurriedly and nearly tripped over a chair. "I'm serious man, I don't know anything." Jon let his grey eyes lock on the man and kept a stern look on his face. "Come on, man! I'm just a mechanic, here! I got nothing!" The immortal didn't budge. "Alright! Alright! I'll tell you what I know! Just don't...melt me or anything." Jon gestured for the man to sit down at the counter and the man obliged, albeit very nervously. 

"Start singing, Scud." And he did. "Okay. There's some weird stuff going on in the underworld. Like, a lot of new faces trying to buy old relics. And a group of...demons, not like me, man, but real bad dudes, trying to buy up old graveyards." As he spoke he dry-washed his grimy hands over and over, "My garage here is on top of this old....miners graveyard or something and they came here and tried to buy it. I couldn't sell it cause it's the only place my kind can live, and they got mean with me. They started threatening and smashing stuff and so I compromised with them." Jon leaned in and put a bit of authority in his voice, "Compromised how?" 

Scud was taken aback a little bit, nervousness pouring off him in waves, "I told them a list of old graveyards they could probably buy up. That's it, man! I swear!" Jon nodded, seemingly half satisfied with the information, "Okay, Scud, because you're going to write down that same list for me I won't have to subject you to the old method of getting cooperation: A sword duel. And I must warn you. I'm an expert." The mechanic nodded enthusiastically and brought a piece of paper around and started writing quickly. After he was done he handed the information over and quickly backed away from Jon's hand reaching for it. 

The list was folded up and Jon started walking towards the door, ready to exit when Scud's voice came from behind, "Hey...were you really gonna hack me up in a sword fight or something?" Jon paused at the door and turned back, a big smile on his face, "Of course not. Sword fights are for Romans." He stepped out and slammed the door behind himself, proud of not having to resort to violence. He retrieved his cell phone from his pocket and began answering all those messages he received, sending an 'All clear' to the recipients. 

As he hit 'Send' on the last message and tucked the phone back into his pocket movement ahead of him caught his eye. He looked up just in time to receive a heavy fist to his left cheek so powerful it lifted him off his feet and sent him back a few feet. After Jon coughed out the white dirt from his lungs that the impact sent flying he tried to focus his vision and looked down his body at the owner of the big hand. 

There stood a hooded demon, horns and a flat, pig face barely visible under the heavy robes. Pain radiated slowly from Jon's now bruised cheek to other parts of his face and he struggled to listen to the words that came from the creature. "For my brother fallen under your hand I will eat your soul, immortal." Jon's face twisted with pain as he tried to recover himself, trying to focus his blurred vision on the method of the next attack. 

Metal sung as the beast drew a scimitar from underneath the heavy robes and started closing the distance between itself and the immortal on the ground. Jon's body was still swimming with pain when the demon lifted the heavy blade above its head. 

An Immortals Tale: Part 4

The Man in the Black Suit
Part 4
"This world is old and so am I"

The wall between the three kingdoms had been breached, artifacts that shouldn't be in the hands of amateurs were, and the devils Bible was here. This was a situation that was bleak at best. So Jon sat in his chair in the middle of his apartment, amongst his books, thinking on the past, trying to remember the last time this sort of thing happened.

Like an encyclopedia he ran through all his encounters in the order they happened, cataloguing anew all the information and events from his past. But nothing connected thoroughly, just bits and pieces, faces and names, parts of Scripture. The farther he went back the harder it was to find anything of relevance. Three days passed as he sat, the world outside moving as usual, the thousands of people unaware of the dangers that possibly lurked in the shadows with plans of....That was it. Jon remembered.

It was right before King Arthur took power in England. Somewhere around 470 A.D. It had been a harsh winter, the snow had killed many and many more sick, England was in dismay and seeking salvation. Twelve men rode horses a few miles outside of London, the countryside still cold although the cities had begun to warm. The night was cold, but it wasn't biting, and the moon hung full overhead.Heavy brown burlap robes cloaked ten of the men and the other two wore peasents clothing. One was young and had blonde hair, the other a man in his thirties with close cropped brown hair and grey eyes. They rode at the front of the two columned train of men and beast.

The young blonde spoke with curiosity and wonder, "Father Jon? How am I to save England?" Jon smiled at the boy and sighed deeply, preparing an explanation. "Well, young ward, there's a sword in an anvil atop a stone, ran through like a Knight ill suited at his job." He smiled and the blonde boy laughed a little, then Jon further explained, "The local folk and even some of the royal court believe that the bearer of that sword is the one and true King of England, chosen by God, himself. And you, my boy, are going to retrieve that sword." The young lad thought a moment then turned back to the Father. "But Father you didn't answer my question."

Jon laughed out loud and hard, "You are a clever boy, aren't you?" The boy beamed with pride. "Okay, okay. Like me, young ward, you've been in the care of the church and we have raised you with the love of God in your heart. With that sword in your hands and a crown upon your head you will help restore faith in God back into the people of this land. That's how, my boy." The ward sat contemplative upon his horse. Jon smiled and nodded, having sated the boys curiosity for now. But before the silence could last the boy asked another question. "Father Jon. Does heaven really exist and if it does...will I have a name there?" Jon expressed his appreciation for the question. He looked back at the ten men behind them, the only visible under the heavy burlap was a silver cross that reflected the moonlight. Then he turned back to the boy. "Yes it does. And though we cannot see it we live in Eden every day. God is all around us and so is the eternal heaven that he lives in. And you have a name, my boy. Your name is Arthur." Young Arthur chuckled and stifled his laughter, checking that the monks behind him didn't hear. "My name...is Arthur!" The young man was so happy silent tears ran down his rosy cheeks and into his wide smile. Jons spirits rose in seeing the delight that gave his young ward, something everyone took for granted so often: A name.

Arthur let the silence finally longer, the weight of his name settling in. The crisp night would hold some new and interesting things yet, Jon thought to himself. Arthur and his smile turned back to Jon, "Please, Father, tell me more about heaven. Why do you say we walk in Eden every day?" Jon nodded his agreement and chose a path of an easy to understand story for the boy, "This world is old, young Arthur, and so am I. Already I've existed for more than 300 years, living as a man, passing the word of God and the world we live in much, much older than even I can fathom. And I'm quite clever. Once. Far before you were born. There was a man who tried to unite heaven and earth. It ended very badly. But. In that very bad act we learned good knowledge: The kingdom of heaven is around us." Arthur didn't seem to understand, so Jon went further into explanation.

"The world is not what you think, Arthur. Heaven and earth and the inferno all exist. And they exist here, all at the very same time we do. But. There's a wall between the three kingdoms." The blonde haired boy looked at Jon with wide eyes, "Kingdoms?" Jon nodded and continued, "Yes, kingdoms. And as long as they are separate we can live in peace. Any breach of that wall and bad things will happen." Arthur drank the whole thing in, the horse beneath him walking a steady pace, then he asked, "Father Jon...If heaven falls to earth what happens to us?" Jon took a moment and decided the best answer was the truth. His tone was cold and hard, "We burn."

The words sent a shiver through the young lad. And he spoke with determination and courage in his juvenile voice. "If I'm to be king...I'll be sure to keep the three kingdoms separate and ensure that heaven remain standing. And I'll guard the gates of heaven and earth alike and make certain no one tries to combine them again." Jon offered the boy a sincere smile and a nod of approval. "Well said, Arthur. But first. Let's get you that blasted sword, yeah?" Arthur nodded and faced forward. "Father, you're very old." Jon winked and from then on the twelve men rode in silence.

Back in his apartment Jon smiled a sad smile for his long lost ward, and said a small prayer that heaven received their protector well. But. Arthur reminded him then and now what was afoot: Someone was trying to unite the three kingdoms.

An End To An Eternity (Highlander Fan Fiction)

167 years had passed since he had seen his brother. Time was measured differently for him, it passed quickly and without event. Most of the time. He'd had his challenges and for the most part had come out unscathed. A few scars decorated his well built frame where he had let his opponent get too close. From what he had heard his brother had become a plague upon their immortal race, but he knew the truth. His brother was an incredible fighter and an even better swordsman, and others sought him out to prove their metal. They always lost. Jessie looked around the plane and took in the people around him. Families, salesmen, business people of every walk in life, not a single one of them would live what he'd lived. Not in their own lifetimes. The things he'd seen and done would sicken some and disturb others. But now there were only two left that had a chance at the prize. Him and one other: Miguel.

Some would ask him what made him so sure that Miguel was still alive and he had an answer. "Nobody beats my brother. Nobody." He couldn't help but smile a little at some of the answers he'd gotten from some of his peers and opponents alike, the mockery, the questions, and in the end, their quickening. Jessie understood the rules like the rest. No woman could become immortal. Only two of them per fight. They could not fight on hollowed ground. And most importantly: There can be only one. Below the belly of the plane London passed silently, his final destination close by. It was the gathering. Every one of them felt it, a pull that summoned them to others of their kind to do battle on the stage of earth before God himself. Jessie had resisted the call for as long as he could, but he finally went, knowing others would be there before him. If they faced Miguel, they would lose. Oh well. Means less competition for him to take care of.

His newly sharpened sword was in the overhead compartment and it made him nervous to be talked to or questioned, but he remained cool. Soon the highlands would be under his feet again. For some reason it just felt like home. He decided to sleep the last two hours of the flight. It was dreamless, just the way he liked his rest, and he woke when the pilot announced the entire landing principalities. Jessie had been in a plane crash. He survived, of course. It didn't really matter how much you prepared, it was utter chaos. Now the plane was safe on the ground and he collected his only piece of luggage and left the airport. It was Miguel's style to pic a place so dramatic to end this all, the highlands of Scotland and the hill of the McLeouds. Now the last leg of his journey had begun as he stepped into the car he had paid to pick him up and take him to the final showdown. There was no music, no dramatic speeches, no cinematic montage to commemorate the occasion. No. This end would go unnoticed to mortal man, unknown to those outside. He smiled solemnly to himself, remembering what his master said they were all doomed to: A swing of a sword, a fall of a head, and there we end. Parts of him wanted the drive to end with his brother already dead, to avoid the fight that would inevitably happen. Another part wanted to see him. To give him the death he deserved: A warrior's death.

The dawn was barely breaking the horizon as he neared the spot of drop off, the day would be beautiful and overcast. Jessie wore his best suit, navy blue with a black shirt and tie, and a long black trench coat. It was the beginning of spring and the foliage was green, the weather was chilly and crisp. The car slowed and his ride was over. After handing the driver his fee Jessie began walking to the hill, taking in the remarkable scenery that had never failed to take his breath. And before he could finish taking it in he came upon them: The last of the immortals. They were standing in a circle, facing one another, and only turned their heads to acknowledge him as he approached. Familiar faces were there, faces he'd met over the years, and some strangers. Then he spotted him.

He sat on a rock with a cigarette between his long, pale fingers. Jessie took his spot amongst the others, taking his sword from its travel cylinder. The broadsword felt familiar and good in his grip, the weight was welcomed, and the bright steel gleamed as he drew it from its ancient leather sheath. Miguel stood and faced them for the first time. Jessie was happy to see his brother's face, but when the light passed his long hair and illuminated his features, Jessie's heart nearly stopped. It was not the face he remembered. Miguel was now ashen, pale as bleached bone, a long scar ran down the right side of his face, making his eye a cross of sorts. Another scar in the shape of a crescent moon highlighted his left cheek. And he could see another beneath the shemagh wrapped loosely around his neck, the black and gray scarf standing out in stark comparison to the skin below. Miguel stood and Jessie saw him in full. He wore a black button up shirt, black slacks, a long black trench coat, and the scarf. Under the coat Jessie spotted three sword handles slung from his belt. One standard katana, one medium broadsword, and one wooden handled katana. "Welcome, little brother. We've been waiting for you to start. You look great. I'm glad to see your healthy." He meant it, Jessie knew. Miguel's voice had become gravel, due to the scar, Jessie guessed. "Younger brother." Jessie said without thinking. Miguel smiled widely at him, as the others exchanged confused looks, before he continued.

"Somethings never change. Gentlemen. The gathering has called us here. Now it ends. The twelve of us, the last desciples, must fight until we are but one. So. Issue your challenges. And remember. Two men per fight." A few chuckled, but instantly a man to Jessie's right drew his sword. "I want you, ya blaggard." British by the accent, he leveled his blade right at Miguel. Miguel bowed a bit and opened his arms in a welcoming gesture, a taunt to the challenger, to which the man spit to the side and marched forward. He was dead, Jessie thought. Then his name was called. A smiling man greeted him and walked forward. It was a familiar face. "My old friend. It would be an honor to fight you. Would you accept my challenge?" He was an African man that Jessie had done business with a number of years ago. They had become fast friends and kept in touch, but this was the end, and friendship no longer mattered. Others around the circle issued their challenges and moved off. Jessie smiled at his own  challenger, and bowed slightly. "It would be an honor to cross swords with you again." As they bowed to each other a sound Jessie was more than familiar with rang out. A sword was drawn, a body hit the soft grass, and soon after a head joined it. He didn't have to look to know the would-be tough guy fell to Miguel. The quickening was started and soon ended, not a sound came from the pale spaniard as the enormous amount of energy joined him. There was no surprise on Jessie's part, but the others marveled as his brother resumed his spot on the rock and smoked a cigarette.

Jessie's opponent muttered, "My god. How many has he killed to be able to do that?" More than Jessie cared to know. The man's attention returned and he drew his own scimitar, preparing for the duel. Swords began clashing around them and with a deep breath and a lunge Jessie joined the cacophony. One by one bodies fell and the quickening electrified the air. Jessie was on one knee, panting from the event that had just passed, sweat on his brow, muscles screaming in pain, but he felt rejuvinated at the same time. Soon after twelve became six and they resumed the circle, resting for now. This was a sacred ritual, but it looked like a macbre sideshow to Jessie, and his brother was their ringmaster. A funeral pyre was built and the six fallen were placed upon it, kind words said in respect. Noon was upon them and the remaining six faced each other once more.

The largest man there faced Miguel and issued his challenge, expecting to be turned away, but was accepted with a smile and a bow. The large man held an equally large claymore and crude armor under his long coat. A man to Jessie's left challenged him and smirked as if he knew something no one else did. Jessie accepted and ran down the various reasons he would. A hidden weapon, armor under his clothes, some trick to distract, or a gun. Yes, they were immortal, but those things still hurt. The man was of Asian decent and had loose clothes on, his blades Chinese broadswords, his style would be fancy, but not built to withstand power like Jessie's. The symphony of clashing steel began again, and soon his opponent's swords were broken, unable to stand up to a broadsword. They were tossed aside and another pair were drawn from under the loose clothing. There's the reason for the smile. A body dropped, and the quickening began to join his skinny brother off to his right somewhere. Soon his Asian opponent fell and the quickening began to join him, as well, making Jessie scream for the second time today. Six were now three. Another funeral pyre was built and the three were burned, their swords put aside to commemorate their graves.

It was high noon, no shadows cast across the green grassy field, no sun shone brightly through the thick clouds. There were three immortals left in the world. Jessie, his brother Miguel, and this third man. He was tall with short black hair slicked back, black military pants and sweater, and his blade shone bright as a thick rapier. Miguel flicked away his cigarette and regarded the man with an indifferent look. "So, my friend. We are but three. Choose your opponent." The answered with a confused look and questioned the spaniard. "Why must I choose? Why don't you two fight?" Miguel smiled and hooked his long hair behind his ears before continuing, "Because. He's my brother. And you know the code." Jessie closed his eyes and knew it was true. The code forbade brothers from battling unless there were no others. And before the two stood an opponent.

The man looked from one face to the other and laughed openly. "You mean to tell me that you two are brothers?!? A spic and a black?!? And I'm Santa Claus!" The smile fell from his brother's face and he stood quickly, a scowl of disgust engraved on his ashen features. "So you've chosen. I will be your opponent. And you've chosen poorly. Because you will suffer before you surrender your quickening to me." Jessie tried to intervine on behalf of the poor bastard. "Miguel, come on, man you don't need-" Withought looking at him Miguel drew his sword and silenced his brother. The man scoffed and advanced. His ordeal lasted hours, Miguel's cruelty knew no bounds as he slowly butchered the man, piece by piece and cut by cut he wore the man down until he begged for death. Then he cut out his tongue. Night had began to fall and was darkening the sky. It was then when it ended for the man that mocked the brothers, the last of the immortals. Jessie felt sick from the ordeal, but could not intervene if the man was still alive. Miguel dragged the body and its pieces away to the still burning pyre and tossed them in.

When he returned he lit a cigarette and sat on his rock, leaning the last of the blades against his impromptu throne. "So. What do you say, little brother? We can have ourselves a little midnight duel or we can wait til dawn and do it samurai style. Whatcha say?" Jessie was tired and collecting from others had drained him. He nodded and resigned himself, "Dawn." Miguel smiled wickedly, "I thought so. So I set up some tents for us over there. I'll see you at dawn." It was obvious he didn't want to talk or reminisce about their lives before. Jessie didn't blame him, at dawn they would cross swords and one of them would die. It broke his heart, either way, as he walked he thought about what would happen when this was done. Even if they were separated by thousands of miles they both still felt that connection, that feeling that they weren't really alone, and sometimes it was all that kept Jessie going sometimes. And knowing Miguel and his penchant for pushing people away, he would be totally alone if he won, and that was in itself a form of punishment that he wouldn't wish upon anyone. Yet if he lost he would be pushing it upon his brother. But could he murder his own brother? No. Not murder. Not kill. End. He would feel him in his soul forever through the quickening. But that wasn't his brother. No matter how it felt. He'd sleep for now and let fate decide at dawn.

He dreamt for the first time in a very long time, memories of the past, of his long life. And of his time with Miguel, long past and tragically too short. He couldn't remember why they separated from each other in the first place, but he wished they hadn't, wished that they were friends like always. Dawn broke, but it was the hot tear running down Jessie's cheek that tickled him awake to witness the purple give way to orange, then pink, and blue. Once Miguel had said that it was like watching the world be reborn. And as he watched the clouds, here in the highlands, paint themselves with a pallet of colors he couldn't help but agree. He got his clothes back in order and his shoes back on before he left the tent, feeling the chilly air as he unzipped the opening. He looked out and stepped back onto the soft grass and looked back up towards where the fighting grounds were. There sat his brother on a throne of rock, staring off into the sunrise and smoking a cigarette.

"Been a long, funny, long ride, eh brother?" Jessie stretched his muscles and nodded, "Yeah it has. Yeah it has." Another drag of the smoke and gray plume gave pause to the conversation. "Who would have thought, huh? Us two as the last of the immortal race that somehow decides the fate of mankind." He laughed a dark and bitter laugh, his gravel voice lending a menacing tone to it. "Miguel, we-" Jessie started, but was cut off. "Yeah, we do." The last of the cigarette was flicked away and Miguel stood, waiting. Jessie felt his heart sink. Slowly he assumed his position and drew his sword. One way or another this was the last time he would use it.

He took a deep breath of the clean air and let it out slowly as he brought his sword up in a salute, feeling the weight of it, the balance of the perfect steel, the red reflection of the dawn. Steel sang as Miguel drew his blade and saluted as well, his dark brown eyes mournful and yet full of fire. The world ceased to exist anymore. It was just him and his brother. Silence enveloped them. They both stepped forward and moments later steel bit flesh. Jessie lay on his side, holding the several deep cuts his brother had given him, still bleeding and hurting. The fight was so long and so painful, but it was over now. Soon the quickening would come. Jessie's eyes slid closed, bracing for the pain that he knew was coming, but knowing it would be over quickly. Then it came, sharp, quick, and sudden. His vision went white. As the quickening joined him.