Shards of Oblivion

Hello All!
Well, I'm finally back. Fire and brimstone, wind and water, storm and earthquake, all I have braved on my journey.
Danger has lurked at every turn, and many times I've been forced to fight for my vitam, my very existence. Battles won, battles lost. Companions gained, companions taken away.
Despite this, the ebb and flow of life continues on undisturbed by the chaos it harbors. Life, death, love, war - all are meaningless to the ever-advancing hands of time. And so we must move on. Dwelling on the moment is simply not an option.

As such, confusion and pain run rampant in our lives. The only thing that's certain is that nothing is certain! "Come now, you who say, "Today or tomorrow we will go into such and such a town and spend a year there and trade and make a profit"— yet you do not know what tomorrow will bring. What is your life? For you are a mist that appears for a little time and then vanishes." (James 4:13-14 ESV)
We don't know what will happen come the morrow. In fact, we don't even truly know whether we'll be alive or not! Certainty is a valuable commodity in a world of shifting shadows and dark deceptions. So hard to find, and even harder to hold.
But we've just entered a new year! The entire world rejoices together as we take yet another step in humanity's journey through time.
For many, this is a time of conviction, of deciding to do better, and to outdo yourself. Such resolutions, as we call them, are comforting. It's nice to know something in the coming year is assured.
However, yours truly is unable to share in their joy. Bit by aching bit, my world has slipped away. Granite is sand, steel is water as the defining ideals of my world pour out of the cracks.
It's quite distressing really: watching everything you thought to be unchangeable disappear, and being unable to make yourself care.
Part of me is frantic, grasping at straws and trying desperately to pull it all back together. The other man just sits there, calmly watching me scramble about for a shred of security. He already knows what to do. He just won't tell me yet. So I'm forced to try as make some sense of all this, while he just sits there and smiles sadly.
At one point, I get so fed up with his strong and silent act that I yell at him. "What are you SMIRKING at? Why don't you just help me?"
He shakes his head slowly. His ageless eyes seem to stare right into my soul as he whispers, "Only the fire can teach a boy to fear its flame."
I turn away in disgust, sick of his superior attitude. He has no right to call me boy, I think angrily. I've done and seen more than that weak coward could ever dream.
So that boy continued to search for his answer as the river of time flowed ever onward. Each day, the emptiness grew, filling his soul with an all-consuming void. Soon came the day when he could no longer tell the difference between what was and what is. Nothing is certain in this shattered corner of his mind, where love and joy turn feral and prey upon their hapless masters.
So now he sits in a corner, bruised and bloodied, scarred and wounded. He can't tell what his love was, is, or will be anymore. Tremors wrack his broken body as he cries out for help. He knows he must have faith, but blind eyes cannot direct his path. He knows he must trust, but the future of his Leader is so far away. He knows he is safe, but invisible arms offer little comfort.
He curls up to ward off the night, but the chaos invades even his dreams. And so he tosses and turns, pursued by nothing more deadly than his own fears.
The other man is still nearby, watching him sleep. When he screams, the man puts a weathered hand gently on his shoulder. "Do not be afraid, my son. Only the chaff shall burn. All will be made clear in its own time." Then he stands, steps forward, and the whole world shatters into a billion fiery shards of Oblivion.

Dear Reader: I do hope reading this was somewhat confusing. Perhaps then you'll be able to have a taste of my own confusion.
Signing off
~
Walter J. Scott

A Word From the Editor... Again

Hello All
In the words of the immortal Jar-Jar Binks, "Meesa back!"
In a fashion at least.
Unfortunately, I have nothing to say for myself. In those tiny snatches of time where I can actually write, my attention has been diverted from blogging to a project of a much more personal nature. So, to keep you all from deserting me in disgust, I have yet another peice from the editor. Mr. Megran's schoolwork, coupled with his until-recently-busy schedule has kept him hopping from event to event. But no one ever said there is nothing to be gained from honest labor! Here is his latest project. Please enjoy.
~
Walter J. Scott

There are a lot of things I wish I could change about myself. Some are physical, some mental, some emotional, and some spiritual. Each one is a veritable mountain in my mind, a horrific scar that refuses to be ignored.
Sometimes I wish I wasn’t such a thin switch of a boy, or that my acne wasn’t so bad. I wish I had more muscle, or at least something to put on this bony frame.
Sometimes I wish I hadn’t perverted my mind with all the crap I used to. I wish I was strong enough to banish my addictions forever.
Sometimes I wish I was more tactful, or understanding. I wish I could teach myself to care less about me, and more about those around me.
And sometimes I wish I didn’t have such a desire for complete and utter control over my life. I wish I could sit back and trust that God can take care of anything in my path, no matter how big or small.
And yet, I am created in the image of God. He formed me from the foundations of the universe, before the earth was even imagined. I am precious to Him exactly the way I am.
God loves my ridiculous physique that allows me to dance across the soccer field.
God loves my testimony that I can use to lead others to him.
God loves my awkwardness, and my protective instincts.
And God loves my elevator-style faith: sometimes up, sometimes down, but always in the shaft.
All my quirks, all my faults, all my flaws and petty struggles: He loves them all. He made me this way, and He obviously has a purpose for me, despite these imperfections. For in my weakness, He is made strong. And in my shame, He is given glory.
In this perfect truth, I am content.

Influences

Greetings
As you may possibly already have ascertained from the numerous other posts on this site, my name is Walter Joshua Scott.
I live in a certain state that is much too hot for my liking (Although that heat has decreased greatly since a certain unique flower was removed from my presence).
I write for a living, despite the fact this blog is a non-profit.
I have chosen not to tell you my age, so as to avoid embarrassment.
I am considered naive by most of my friends, and for good reason.
I have an addiction to literature.
And I dance to the music in my head.

All of these things are an integral part of who I am. To take away one of these traits or any of the others would result in an incomplete creation. That is to say, without all of these pieces, I am less than myself. I am little more than a shadow, having animation but lacking purpose.

Everything about me combines to make (I fervently hope) a completely unique human being. And yet I cannot take the credit for who I am. Ultimately of course, that honor belongs to my Savior and Creator. But on a much more personal level. it our friends and family that influence us most. Those who are close to us have an incredibly powerful effect on us, greater than any else you can find.
God has placed every single person I know in my life for a reason. Some affect me positively: others do not. But each encounter and every friendship has helped me to move forward along this great road we call life, to better myself in the eyes of both God and men.

So tonight, this post is for every friend I've ever had, every family memeber I've got, and everyone else that has played a part in making me who I am today. To those that don't have a place in this post, please don't feel slighted. "For those who come last will be first, and the first shall surely be last."
So, in effect I'm really cursing the persons I'm about to thank. Intriguing.
(All names have been changed to protect the privacy of the individual, blah blah blah.)

First off, there's the brother and sister team, Falamor and Booky. Despite the miles that separate us, they've never seemed to have a problem with being the oldest friends I've got. These kids are never scared to talk, ready to laugh with you one minute and hold you while you cry the next. Their patience and love is unbounding, coupled with a great sense of humor and (Even thought they'll never admit it) the lion's share of intellectual abilities. No matter where my life takes me, this pair'll never be but a phone call away.

Next, there's PnkStrings. I'm not going to lie to you: our relationship has been rocky at times. But I'll guarantee you, you'll never find a guy more devoted to what he truly loves. Although he's no pushover, his greatest weapon has always been his razor-sharp wit: there's not a thing you can say without him having a snappy comeback. And even though he cultivates an exterior of cool, collected toughness, when it really gets down to it he's compassionate and understanding, always willing to offer advice.

And last but not least, there's Rosie Cotton. (Yes, I used a character from Lord of the Rings: my apologies John.) Full to the brim with joyful exuberance, this exotic flower radiates peace like a generator. She's always ready to share her wisdom with those ready to listen, and never fails to love the unlovable. No matter what the circumstances, I know I can talk to her about anything, with no fear of ridicule or judgement. And she always has something encouraging to say, bolstering the faint-hearted and lifting up the fallen. But besides all those amazing traits, she's just plain fun to be around.

The list could go on forever, but I'll stop here. And so comes my final word:
Friends: I love all of you more than words can express. Some people (PnkStrings) may cringe at my use of that word, but it's true. I would sacrifice anything for any of you, and I'll never leave your side. I might let you down, but I won't let you go.

I shall now take my leave, before I start to cry. Farewell.
~
Walter J. Scott

Real Men - Part One: The Cheeky Truth

Hello All,

            Well, the world’s most controversial author is back! Mr. Scott asked me not to apologize for his absence. Apparently, he wishes to reconcile himself in person. I can only shudder at how that will turn out.

            Before I turn the mike over to our cosmopolitan friend, I wish to make one of my boring administrative announcements: At the end of September, the http:/ address for this blog will change from http:/squireandknight.blogspot.com/ to http:/penandink.journey.blogspot.com/. Most likely, the infinitely wise and powerful owners of this server have a contingency for such a thing, but I felt I should let everybody know.

            That is all from my corner! Now, on to our mutual friend.

            ~

            Corey L. Megran

            Editor-in-Chief

Hello Dear Reader

I hope you’ve all been doing well in my absence. Lately I’ve become quite lazy, content to sit about and waste my time on activities that have no real benefit or meaning. But no longer! I refuse to waste my, if nothing else, interesting life on trivialities and nonsense.

            Now, that could be all I planned on lecturing you about tonight, dear reader, but that is not the case. Tonight I am calling out to every man on the face of this planet, young or old. To those who still feel a fire in their soul, and yet let it die when they find no reason to keep it lit. To those who feel a driving desire, no, a need to fight, to stand up for what they believe in, only to see their efforts ruthlessly crushed by those around you. 

If this is you, I believe you may want to listen to what I have to say tonight.

           

One of the most oft-quoted verses in the Bible is Matthew 5:39: “But whoever slaps you on the right cheek, turn the other to him also.” While this verse certainly has a powerful face value, most of us simply take that and move on. But there’s much more to it than meets the eye.

Apparently, this verse is telling us to never use violence, even if someone offends us. And yet, Jesus drove merchants and salesmen out of the Temple with a whip! I don’t know about you, but that’s pretty violent to me. And yet you want me to believe that Jesus wants us to be peaceful pushovers, a doormat for the rest of the world? I don’t think so.

Jesus was perfect: he never sinned. So obviously, what he did was right. “But… we’re supposed to turn the other cheek!” us believers splutter indignantly. And you’re right. We are supposed to turn the cheek. But you can’t turn a cheek you don’t have. The church today uses that verse to shape the lifestyles of the men that it influences. But then, when we give up our passionate ways, it mourns the loss of manhood! “I thought this is what you wanted from me!” we moan, no longer capable of even becoming indignant.

Which leads me to my final point: when God created men, He gifted us with the amazing qualities of strength, courage, and love. And with those came a responsibility: to use those qualities to protect, not attack. To give, not to take. To provide, not consume. To build up, not tear down. To have courage, not just bravado.

Men were created to be protectors, unmovable pillars of faith and love. Yes, we live in a fallen world, and sticking to these ideals is never going to easy, but do you drop something just because it’s hard? Certainly not! Rather you stick to the straight and narrow path. Jesus never promised it would be easy. John 16:33 says, “For in this world you will face adversity, but be of good cheer! I have overcome the world.” The path is narrow, but the way is straight and the destination perfect.

So, armed with this knowledge, let us march forth with renewed courage and faith into this spiritual battlefield before us. And let this be our resolution: that we shall fight our enemies, not with blows and thoughtless words, but with the wisdom and love of our Lord Jesus Christ, the greatest man that ever lived. Amen.

To some of you, this probably caused great indignation. To think, an immature teenager would dare speak to his elders like that! And maybe you’re right. Perhaps I was out of line. But this is something I am… he-hem… quite passionate about. I am proud that I can still be passionate, and I don’t plan on losing it.

To others, this is little more than an annoyance. Just another loud-mouth Christian forcing their opinion on others. But please, if you hear nothing else, hear this: if every man on the face of the planet followed these ideals, there would be almost no crime, no broken families, no teenage mothers, no girls forced into prostitution, no fatherless children, and no greedy consumer companies. You don’t have to believe in God for this to work: there aren’t any strings attached. Just think about it.

And finally, for some of you, something in your heart stirred as you read these words. If so, I ask only this: don’t waste what you’ve heard. God has a plan for you, and I highly doubt it includes you bending before the forces of the Devil. Don’t be ashamed of your desire to fight for what you love. We are warriors for a King, mighty and proud, reveling in His glory and majesty. And there is no shame in that.

I hope I haven’t bored you, dear reader. My next post shall, I think, be directed more towards my peers, but all should find it, if nothing else, interesting.

Until then, dear reader, I remain,

Your humble servant,

~

Walter J. Scott

P.O. Box 1. Heaven's Gate, the New Jerusalem Warning: Contents are fragile

Hello Dear Reader
Walter Scott here. 
This has been quite the week. Problem after problem have piled up in a massive wreck of pain, worry, anguish, and overall depression. Each morning, I get up, renewed by my friends, ready to face the day. But as the day goes by, the hopelessness of the world crushes me in it's iron fist, until my joy and optimism are nothing more than a facade, an act to fool people into thinking I'm strong.
You ask what's making me so unbearably miserable? Here it is in a cracked, rotting nutshell.
A longing for that which I could never deserve, and anguish that it is being taken away from my outstretched arms.
Grief at the loss of friends that I want, but at the same time have to get away from.
Frustration with the inexplicable decisions of others.
And above all, an irrational, uncontrollable urge to lash out and FIGHT!! To let go of all reason and destroy everything around me, until I'm surrounded by nothing but fire, ash, and devastation.
I want to defend the ones that I love more then I love myself, but they are the ones telling me to stand down.
I want to make things right with someone, but every fiber of my being is telling me no. 
I want to act on my emotions, but I know I have to wait.
I want to take control, but I know the only way to live a happy life is to relinquish control to the Creator.
All this came to a head this morning. Ever since I woke up, I've like a zombie, half dead, stumbling uncontrollably through this insane, twisted labyrinth that people call "life".
But God, in his infinite wisdom and love, had a little surprise for me. And it came from a truly unexpected source.
Today, I ran some errands around town, and one of them was dropping some stuff off at the post office.
Once there, I'd just walked into the door when I... Ah... Let's just say nature gave me an urgent call. But the post office, in the typical federal unhelpfulness, had no facilities to support such an emergency! So, putting the call on hold for a moment, I jogged across the street to the Ford dealership.
Now all morning, I'd had my iPod blasting music into my ears, desperately trying to distract me from my bleak mood. Unfortunately, it had done me not a whit of good. But as I was leaving the dealership, the song I was listening to entered the refrain, and my whole brain stopped. These were the words I heard.

Take it all, cause I can't take it any longer. All I have, I can't make it on my own. Take the first, take the last, take the good and take the rest. Here I am, all I have, take it all.

These words struck a chord deep within the melancholy surrounding me. For the first time in weeks, I finally had a release.
You see, I'm not nearly strong, wise, or good enough to manage my own life. I'm human: I mess up, make mistakes, say the wrong thing, take the wrong path, and fall on my arrogant face. But there is a better way than constant failure. You can relinquish control of your life to more capable hands: the blood-stained hands of Jesus. 
By giving your life to Christ, you are entrusting everything you are to the one who created you. I mean, if you broke your cell phone, you'd want a cell technician to look at it, not a car mechanic right? In the same way, giving over control to God is the only way to fix our broken lives. We certainly can't do it on our own. 
I'm not naive enough to think that I'm wiser and better equipped to handle my life than the creator of the heavens. So Lord, please take my burden away, and give me your peace to make it through the day.
That's all I've got for tonight. Farewell, dear reader. Until we meet again.
~
Walter J. Scott

Chapter 12: The Outlands

Hello All

Well, the illustrious and elusive Mr. Scott is back! He asked me to apologize for how long this post took in coming: writer's block is such a pain. But enough! Enjoy!

Chapter 12: Beneath the Desert Sky

The sun beat down mercilessly the following morning, scorching the landscape with its withering heat. After a quick breakfast, the travelers boarded the wagons and set off down the road.

            The road, which was little more than a dirt path, took them down the hill and through the town. Several people ambled about the streets, but for the most part they saw no one. Spirit feelings of foreboding returned, stronger than ever.

            Gradually, the buildings thinned, until they ended abruptly. Spirit was so surprised he caught his breath, glancing frantically about him. “Where did the village go?” he wondered aloud.

Bellirn chuckled. “Startling, isn’t it? Sometimes I wonder if those crazy old ranchers built the town that way on purpose. But the village is still right behind us. It’s what’s ahead you need to be worrying about.” He nodded forward.

Spirit twisted back to the front and his breath caught in his throat.

After barely five minutes of riding, the tough bushes and trees that had characterized the landscape for the past week were gone, stripped away as if they had never existed. Instead, withered tufts of sorry-looking scrub poked up from dusty earth, almost seeming to crackle in the relentless heat. Here and there cacti stood motionless, gazing sternly across their dry domain. High overhead, a bird circled, scanning the earth below for signs of prey. Occasionally it loosed a blood-curdling screech, as if frustrated by its work. In the distance, waves of heat rolled off the bleached sand, giving the impression that they were deep underwater.

All in all, it was the most forbidding, miserable place Spirit had ever set his eyes upon.

Aghast, he stared over at Bellirn. Already sweat was beginning to pour down his face. “We have to travel for two weeks— through this?” he asked incredulously.

Bellirn nodded grimly. “The worst part of the journey. And this isn’t nearly as bad as it’s going to get.”

Spirit shook his head, amazed. “How much worse can it get?”

Bellirn glanced over at the boy leaning back against the wall of the wagon and smiled. But there was no humor in his smile. “Trust me; it’ll get worse.”

                                    *                      *                      *

By the time Bellirn had ordered the caravan to a halt long after sunset, Spirit was covered in sand and sweat and totally miserable. He had expected the flies to be horrendous, but evidently the tiny insects were smart enough to stay away from the killing temperatures of the desert. Most of the other animals stayed in the relative cool of their burrows, coming out only once the sun had set.

The minute the sun had disappeared beneath the horizon, Spirit had felt the air begin to cool. With a grin, he’d leaned back against the wall of the wagon, feeling much more at ease. But after several minutes, Bellirn had begun rubbing his arms briskly.

Spirit looked at him in surprise. “Are you cold,” he asked.

Bellirn looked over, astonished. “Aren’t you?”

Spirit shook his head. “No. Actually I’m quite comfortable.”

Frowning, Bellirn reached over and laid a hand across Spirit’s arm. The minute Bellirn touched him, he broke into an astonished grin. “You’re so warm! How are you doing that?”

Spirit shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve never really had a problem with being cold.”

A momentary frown had crossed Bellirn’s face. “Funny. I’ve never heard of a fire elemental that could do that.” He looked at Spirit closely for a moment, then turned back forward with a quiet ‘hmm’.

Later that evening, after they had eaten their dinner of leftover pigeon, Spirit was sitting cross-legged behind Bellirn’s wagon, munching on a bit of bread and staring out into the prairie around them. They had agreed to stop on a small rise, affording them a panoramic view of the miles of dead grassland surrounding them.

Spirit was trying not to be scared, but a combination of the eerily rustling stalks and Bellirn’s tales of ferocious creatures had left him jumpy and nervous. Already he had nearly fainted when a slight breeze had rustled the grass in front of him. Despite the cool night air, his nerves were nearly shot, and it was all he could do to just stay still, trying to calm down.

Suddenly, something cold and wet touched his elbow. With a stifled yell, he leapt up and twisted about frantically, his bit of bread falling to the ground. An indignant chatter rose from beside his feet, and when he knelt down to investigate, he burst out laughing.

A small brown-and-white field mouse stood behind the wagon wheel had been leaning against, squeaking crossly at him. Evidently he had touched Spirit’s elbow with his nose, causing the boy to jump.

Spirit grinned at the sight of the tiny mouse glaring up at him, unafraid. Slowly, he reached a hand out towards him. “Hello there little fellow. Sorry about that, you just scared me a bit. It’s alright, come here. I’m not going to hurt you.”

The mouse sniffed Spirit’s outstretched hand for a moment, then scurried around it and out towards the prairie. “No, wait,” Spirit started to say, then stopped as he saw where the little rascal was really going. Stopping short in front of the last crumbs of Spirit’s loaf, the mouse grabbed a chunk of bread and began to eat.

Reaching over, Spirit picked up the remaining bread crumbs and placed them in his hand. “Come here, come here,” he whispered, waggling his hand invitingly.

After finishing his morsel, the mouse trotted over to Spirit’s outstretched hand. After cursory sniff, he twitched his whiskers and hopped up into the boy’s palm. Spirit giggled as the mouse’s tiny feet tickled his hand.

Once he reached the rest of the bread crumbs, the little mouse plopped himself down and began munching. With another quiet chuckle, Spirit leaned back against the wheel, enjoying the cool night air with his new friend.

After several minutes, Spirit felt rather than heard someone come and sit beside him. He looked over and there was Elissay, her knees pulled to her chest, gazing out over the prairie. She had a jacket on to ward off the cold, her cheeks and nose rosy from the chill. But somehow that made her even more beautiful.

Spirit cleared his throat, suddenly tongue-tied. “Hey,” he managed to say.

She looked down at his hand and smiled. “I see you’ve found a new friend.”

He grinned. “Yeah. I honestly don’t think he’s afraid of anything. Even after I nearly clubbed him with my elbow, he didn’t run off. He seems quite happy.” He held out his hand to her. The little mouse peeked up from his meal, twitched his nose derisively, and continued eating.

Elissay reached out a slim finger and petted him softly. “He’s so sweet,” she crooned.

After a moment, she sat back, her features serene. “I love the desert at night,” she sighed. “It’s always so peaceful. Nothing clamoring for your attention, no noise, just… peace.” She tilted back her head, admiring the stars.

Spirit followed her lead, letting his gaze wander the heavens. Each star twinkled with its own individual light, shining like the lamps of a city. A smile played across Spirit’s mouth as he stared in wonder at the landscape of the heavens.

Elissay’s arm came into his vision, pointing at a bright red star hovering over the heart of the desert. “See that star? The elves named it Balainon, which is ‘cursed’ in the old tongue.” Her arm fell back to her side, and Spirit noticed she was laying her back, hands behind her head. Shrugging, he lowered himself onto his back, pleased when he found it was a much more comfortable resting place than the wagon wheel.

Elissay glanced over at him and smiled, then pointed to another group of stars. “See those? That is Haldas the Warrior, the bravest elf who ever lived.”

Spirit frowned for a moment, then realized what she was telling him to do and broadened his focus. Immediately the warrior leapt out at him, and Spirit laughed in amazement. The stars the elves had chosen were perfect for the warrior, standing there, sword in hand. Spirit’s mind filled the outline with detail, until Haldas was clad in a shining cloak of starlight, a stern frown upon his noble face.

He laughed again, and Elissay laughed along with him. The she began to show him others, happy and sad, noble and wretched. He knew several from his childhood as well, and they lay trading tales hours into the night. Eventually though, they both fell silent, admiring the carpet of light.

After several minutes, Spirit became aware of just how close to each other they had drifted, caught up in the wonder of the heavens. Her hand lay only inches from his, and he had to suppress the urge to cover it with his own. She’s an elf for crying out loud! A bit old for me, he told himself harshly. She probably didn’t even love him. How could she?

He bit his lip. But the way she’s been looking at me… he thought slowly. Confusion ran rampant through his mind, throwing his convictions into disarray. What if she wouldn’t be so revolted if he touched her? Held her hand even?

Better not, he thought. Just to be safe. But happiness rode up inside his chest, inflating him like a balloon. With a cheerful sigh, he stretched and placed his arms behind his head, content to relax there for the rest of the evening.

Absentmindedly, he stroked the tiny mouse in his palm. The teeny fellow, having devoured every last morsel of bread, now sat curled up inside the calloused hollow of Spirit’s hand. Ever so often, his whiskers twitched, tickling the boy’s hand with the feathery tips.

After what seemed like hours, Elissay took a deep breath and rose up onto her elbows. “It’s late. We’d best get to bed.”

“Right.” Careful not to disturb his furry passenger, Spirit stood and brushed himself off.

She stood as well, sweeping the sand off her dress in one clean movement. “Thank you for staying with me. None of the others have ever done that before.” She smiled.

Spirit smiled back. “My pleasure.” Then he turned and crawled into the wagon, the mouse still in hand. By now, the tiny fellow had woken up and was looking about in interest, eyes shining in the darkness. Trying not to disturb Bellirn, Spirit searched about for one of the small boxes the elf kept all his books in. Finding one, he lined it with a small blanket and gently placed the mouse in its fluffy confines. Once free of the boy’s clutches, the small fellow trundled about his new home, pink nose twitching at everything. Spirit looked on with interest.

After several minutes of thorough examination, the little rodent spun about three times, shook his whiskers decisively, and curled up in a corner. Sighing contentedly, Spirit followed suite and lay back on his own bedroll. Wild, half-formed pictures ran past Spirit’s mind’s eye: Kelken drilling him with the proper ‘flick’ of the wrist needed to throw a curved blade; Conor laughing uncontrollably as they sprinted away from an enraged and sopping wet merchant; Elissay blushing as they stood alone in the clearing; aunt Keira smiling at him over a steaming pot of soup.

He sighed again. I may not like to admit it, but… I still miss them. With a small sniff, he rubbed his tired eyes and rolled over. I’ll see them again. Someday. And with that thought, he drifted off into a peaceful slumber, where he drifted among the stars for an eternity.

The following day was exactly like the first, if not hotter. Spirit dozed beside Bellirn, a straw hat pulled down over his eyes to protect his face from the merciless sun. During his occasional moments of consciousness, he noticed that the grass around them was thinning out, replaced by mounds of glaring white sand. Small animals scampered to a fro across the dunes, kicking up little clouds of white. Occasionally, Spirit would hear a faint roar off in the distance. Whenever this happened, Bellirn would tense up and stare across the sand, watchful as a hawk. It took him hours to calm down.

They made camp in the shadow of a skeletal tree. It looked so lost and forlorn, standing in the middle of the waterless wasteland, that Spirit felt sad for it. You’re just like me friend, he thought. Both thrust in an alien world. The boy shook his head, feeling suddenly overcome by weariness.

They had come across an oasis earlier in the day. At least, that’s what Bellirn had called it. To Spirit it was little more than a dirty little puddle. But the elves used what little water there was to replenish their water supply, cleaning the brown water with a spell.

“There are oasis scattered across the desert like pebbles,” Bellirn had explained, “Some of which lie along our route.” He marked these on Spirit’s map while the boy looked on in interest. “But there aren’t any in the heart of the desert, so we’ll have to ration the water while traversing that leg of the journey.” Spirit nodded, already queasy at the thought of drinking even less water than he was allowed to now.

Several minutes after they had stopped for the evening, Elissay approached Spirit and tapped him on the shoulder. He turned to face her with a determinedly nonchalant “Hey.”

She was wearing a set of clothes like the ones she had worn back in the clearing; close-fitting shirt and pants, cut off at the knees and shoulders to allow her more freedom of movement. A rough band kept her golden hair out of her eyes, which sparkled in the noon-day sun. Strapped to her back were two large poles, each as long as she was.

“How have you been?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Okay. The heat is hard to get used to.”

She laughed, a sweet, tinkling sound. “I have traveled this route for many years, and I am not sure if I will ever get used to it.”

Spirit smiled. “Does it ever let up?”

She shook her head. “No. Except for when the sun goes down, and then it turns deathly cold.”

“That’s funny, because Bellirn said the exact same thing. But I’ve never felt the cold.”

Elissay frowned. “Interesting… do you think it’s because of your powers?”

He shrugged. “I’m not sure. Regardless, it seems to be pretty useful.”

“Yes. Useful…” she murmured slowly, as if to herself. Then she shrugged slightly and refocused on him. “So, do you still want to learn the art of staff-fighting?” Her tone became stern.

Spirit snapped to attention. “Yes ma’am!” he said teasingly.

A glint of laughter shone in her leaf green eyes, but her face was set in the same grim lines as before. “Well then, let us begin. Come,” she said imperiously. With soft, quick strides that carried her easily across the sand, she headed out into the desert.

“Wait a minute!” Spirit yelled after her, shock flooding his system. She turned to look back at him, but continued walking away.

What in the blazes was she doing, traipsing off into the desert like that? Who knows what fearsome beasts could be lurking, hidden in the brush? All traces of gaiety gone, Spirit trudged off after her, dragging his booted feet through the sand. Every step felt like he had Mr. Colin’s anvil attached to his feet, but he slogged doggedly onward.

Elissay, seeing him lagging so far behind her, stopped and regarded him with an exasperated expression.

When Spirit finally drew level with the elf maiden, he was doubled over, gasping for breath. Elissay said nothing, just stood there, hands on her hips. When he had finally quit gasping, she spoke.

“What was all the screaming about?”

Spirit looked up at her and said between breaths, “Bellirn said… we aren’t supposed to enter the desert… unless there’s someone with us.”

“Well it’s a good thing there’s two of us then, hmm?” she said curtly, the turned on her heel and started off again. Huffing and puffing, Spirit followed, desperately trying to copy the way she was walking. It was almost like she was sneaking, each footstep soft yet quick. Soon he was moving much easier, and he breathed a quick sigh of relief before hurrying to catch up.

Once they were walking side by side, Spirit continued their conversation as if nothing had happened. “But what if we run into a wild creature? Bellirn said that they are especially vicious—”

“No!” Elissay snapped suddenly, thrusting a hand into his chest. Startled, he stumbled back a step. Rubbing his aching ribs, Spirit glared angrily at his teacher.

“What in the name of gods was that for?” he yelled.

She spun to face him. “Whatever misguided tales you may have heard about this place, the animals are no more vicious and evil then you and I. Understand?” She glared back at him, her eyes hard.

“But Bellirn told me—”

“What does Bellirn know? Has he ever struck up a conversation with one of the beasts? Has he heard their deepest thought, their darkest fears?”

“They attacked him! What else does he need to know?” Spirit roared furiously.

A look of understanding passed over Elissay’s face. “Ah. So he told you the story.”

“And it was more than enough.”

The elf maiden shook her head. “Ah, but he did not tell you the whole story. You see, I was there that night. I was with Bellirn.”

Spirit stared at her, aghast. “What?”

“Let me tell you.” She sat down lightly on the sand, flicked a lock of golden hair over her shoulder, and began.

“It was at least three years ago, maybe more, and the five of us had just finished dinner…”

The fire was dying down to its last few embers, and the little group of travelers split off, each heading towards their own wagon to catch an early night’s rest. Elissay however, stayed in her seat beside the coals, gazing contently up at the blazing stars.

“Hey.”

She looked up. Bellirn was standing just a few feet behind her, his face hidden in her shadow. “Hello Bellirn,” she said, trying not to sound surprised. “What is it?”

“I was wondering if you wanted to go for a walk. You know, to cool down after dinner.” The words came out very slow, each one enunciated carefully.

Her eyes narrowed to emerald slits. “Go for a walk? Bellirn, you’re terrified of the desert. Everyone here knows it.” She stood, and the shadows hiding his face fell away. Even in the dim light from the embers, he looked slightly embarrassed.

He shrugged, his stance shifting uncomfortably. “Well, mostly I just wanted to be with you.” 

Elissay stared at him. Just as he was about to turn tail and run to his wagon, she shrugged. “What harm could it do?” she muttered to herself. Aloud, she said, “Very well. Lead the way.”

All embarrassment forgotten, Bellirn turned and strode towards the boundaries of the camp. Smiling and shaking her head, Elissay followed.

The two walked for a while, chatting unconcernedly. The stars shone down brightly, illuminating their path. A cool wind blew across the plain, carrying with it tiny grains of sand that swirled about the pair like snowflakes. All about them, tiny nocturnal animals chirped and buzzed, their tiny voices joining together into a raucous chorus. But beneath the joyous noise, there hung a sinister layer of fear.

Distracted by their conversation, neither of the battle-hardened elves noticed the animals fall suddenly silent. The shadows drew in like predators, cloaking the pair in darkness.

From behind a massive dune, two eyes peered warily, glinting yellow in the night. Unblinking, they followed Elissay and Bellirn’s path across the sand as the pair drew closer and closer to the beast’s den. It shook its mane and growled quietly, hoping they would just leave. But they continued on, coming closer and closer.

Finally, he could not stand the invasion any longer. Quiet as a whisper, he crept onto the top of his dune and stared down at the intruders. His eyes narrowed, and a deep growl reverberated in his massive throat.

Elissay, laughing at a joke Bellirn had made, glanced over at sound. The laugh died in her throat, and she tapped Bellirn on the shoulder.

“Bellirn, don’t move a muscle,” she said as quietly as she could.

He turned slowly. Then he saw the creature perched atop the sand dune, and he froze, terrified.

The lion snarled at them, baring his razor-sharp teeth. Bellirn flinched, but Elissay heard him speak, his voice a low rumble.

Leave! He thundered. This is my territory.

Elissay nodded her understanding. Turning, she pulled Bellirn’s arm, encouraging him to leave.

But a strange fire had lit in his eyes, and he shook off her grip. “We can’t outrun it,” his whispered. “Stay back.”

“No, don’t!” she hissed. Desperate, she grabbed for his arm again, but he dodged her hand and started towards the lion, pulling his sword from its sheath.

“Bellirn!” she screamed at him, not daring to follow.

He ignored her and rushed the beast, yelling fiercely. Sword held high, he charged up the sandy slope. For an instant, the lion looked at him with what could almost have been pity. Then it was gone, replaced by a feral rage. Roaring savagely, the lion leapt forward, as if to meet him head on. Bellirn cut a deadly arc through the air in front of him, but the beast had jumped to his side. Whirling, the startled elf slashed at the lion. But the sand caved under his feet, and he lost his balance.

Quick as lightning, the lion pounced, plunging his claws deep into the thin elf’s back. Bellirn’s legs buckled, and he dropped without a sound.

The lion crouched next to him for a moment, the horrible rage already draining from his strong features. Gingerly, he opened his gaping maw and bit down on the elf’s torn shirt. Then he slunk down the slope until he stood in front of Elissay.

She swallowed, trembling, then knelt in the sand, her head bowed. With an almost human-sounding sigh, he set Bellirn’s body before her. I did not wish to hurt him, he growled. Raising his regal head, he looked out over the desert, towards the camp. Take your friend. Leave, and do not return.

Elissay nodded shakily, not trusting herself to speak. Gathering Bellirn into her arms, she stood and began to walk away.

Farewell, leaf-daughter, he rumbled after her.

“Farewell, lord of the desert,” she murmured. “And thank you.”

He dipped his noble head in acknowledgement, then trotted up the sand dune and disappeared into the shadows.

“So, after the lion had left, I bandaged Bellirn’s wounds as best I could and hauled him back to camp. After that, Bella and Lilten took over. While his muscles healed perfectly thanks to them, the experience left him scarred. In more ways than one.” The last was whispered almost as an afterthought.

Spirit rocked back on his heels, his head spinning. How could Bellirn have been such a blockhead? The lion hadn’t attacked until he did! And why didn’t he listen to Elissay? Spirit shook his head. Foolishness.

Sighing, he nodded to Elissay. “My apologies for my earlier behavior.” He smiled ruefully. “I guess I didn’t know the whole story.”

Elissay smiled at him and shook her head. “No apology necessary. You had no way of knowing. However, do not judge Bellirn too harshly. We all make mistakes, even our leaders.”

He nodded again, mind still abuzz. Then he looked up at her, curiosity burning in his eyes. “How do you do it? Is it magic?”

Elissay laughed and shrugged. “I do not know. Perhaps it is merely a manifestation of my inner power, or perhaps not. Why?”

Spirit looked down ay his hands, embarrassed. “I guess I wish I could do it too.”

Reaching forward, she tilted his head back up and gazed at him tenderly. “Maybe you can. You just don’t know it yet.”

He grinned and touched her hand. “Maybe.”

They sat there like this for several moments, then he stood and brushed himself off. “Shall we continue?” he asked, offering her his hand.

She took it and he pulled her to her feet. As she brushed off her tight-fitting practice jerkin, Spirit couldn’t help but grin at how light she had been to him. This working out thing really helps, he though happily.

They continued into the shadow of a large sand dune where the wind had blown away all the sand, revealing the hard-packed dirt underneath. Once there, Elissay turned to face him, her face carefully neutral.

“Spirit.”

He stood up straight, surprised at the seriousness of her tone. “Yes Elissay?” he asked warily.

“You wish to learn the ancient art of the staff, which has been practiced among my people since the dawning of the world?”

A grin slowly spread across his face. “Yes.”

“And are you prepared to do what ever you must to finish your training once it has begun, to see it through to the end?”

“Yes.”

The elf nodded once, pleased. “Good.”

Kneeling, she grabbed the two staffs she had brought and threw one across the dirt to Spirit. He caught it in one hand, the hard wood stinging his palm. After bending it slightly, he grasped it in both hands and looked expectantly at his teacher.

Smiling slightly, she gestured. “Come Spirit. Show me what you can do.”

He gaped at her. “I don’t know how to fight with a staff! I barely even know how to hold it!”

Elissay shook her head, still smiling. “Nevertheless, it will show me where I need to start and how capable you are.”

So it’s a test, he thought grimly. “Very well,” he said aloud, and grasped the length of wood firmly. After a deep breath, he sprinted across the circle towards Elissay, a raw yell bursting from his throat. Holding his staff high above his head, he brought it down hard at the elf’s head.

But she wasn’t there anymore. As his staff swung uselessly through the air, he glimpsed Elissay standing to his left. He saw the faintest hint of a smile before her blow sent him crashing to the ground.

“Impressive strength,” she said disinterestedly as he lay groaning and clutching his head. “But your strategy leaves much to be desired. Your strike must be fast, and your mind must be faster. Try again.” Stepping back, she twirled her staff around her head and waited.

Spirit sighed. I am going to be bruised tonight. Resignedly, he stood and faced her again.

And so they practiced, for hours, until shadow of the dune was cast far off to their left, and both were covered from head to foot in dirt. Wiping the sweat off her brow, Elissay stowed the staves on her back and turned to Spirit. “Not bad for your first day.”

Spirit nodded, unable to actually speak. His whole body ached with bruises and burns from the sand. One bruise lay flat across his chest, sending lines of fire lancing through his lungs whenever he attempted to breath.

Elissay frowned, apparently just now noticing his injuries. “Are you alright Spirit?” she asked hesitantly.

In spite of himself, Spirit began to laugh. It started out weak at first, barely more than a painful chuckle, but soon he was doubled over, hands on his knees, shaking with laughter. Elissay started giggling with him, until they were both lying side by side, clutching their ribs.

After the gales of laughter finally subsided, Elissay turned to look at Spirit. “What was so funny about what I said?”

The human boy shook his head, still grinning. “Just the fact that I’ve been getting whacked with sticks for the past two hours, in the hottest place in the entire kingdom, and you had to ask if I was alright?” He chuckled. “Although, I suppose my being incredibly tired may have had something to do with it.”

She smiled. “That may have been a small factor, yes.”

They lay there for a while longer, enjoying the cool breeze rushing across the desert floor. One by one, the stars began to appear in the inky black sky, and Spirit let his mind wander. Soon he was soaring among them, not thinking, just being, at peace for the first time in many days.

Eventually he noticed Elissay shivering slightly beside him. He sat up, wincing as his body protested his earlier treatment. “I’m so sorry Elissay! I forgot you can’t be out here after the sun sets.”

She shook her head defensively, her sandy hair enveloping them in a dusty cloud. “I’m fine, silly human,” she said. Then she began shivering even greater than before.

He glared at her in mock annoyance, but she just smiled wryly. Shaking his head, Spirit stood and once again offered her his hand. “Should we start making our way back?” he asked teasingly.

Eagerly, Elissay grasped his hand and he pulled her to her feet. Once she was on her feet, he started to let go, but she held him with both hands. A large smile spread across her face. “You’re so warm!” she sighed happily.

An idea suddenly came to Spirit. It was so outlandish he was sure Elissay would kill him if he even dared to think it, but he could no longer control himself. Gently, he pulled her towards him until their bodies were touching. She did not resist, and soon he had his arms around her. She sighed into his chest, and he grinned. “Better?” he asked.

She nodded into his shirt. “Very much so,” she murmured contentedly.

“Then let’s go.”

And together, master and pupil started back to the campsite.

Journal Excerpts: A Glimpse into the Life of Your Average Teenage Novelist

Hello Dear Reader

Walter J. Scott here. As you have most likely noticed if you are a follower of my blog, I have not posted anything. For over two weeks now.

Terribly sorry. This conspicuous lack of literary material is due to my currently underactive imagination.

In regular English? I've hit a writers block.

So, my solution to this problem is to share with you, my devoted reader, snippets and sections from my personal journal. I will, unfortunately, be having to clean up the pieces as I go along, seeing as all of journal entries are written around midnight. Also, all names will be changed to protect the privacy of the individuals and other politically correct mumbo-jumbo.

Enjoy!

July 30th, 2011

While me and my dad were driving through the Wal-Mart parking lot, we passed by a homeless man standing on the curb, holding a poorly scrawled cardboard sign. Now, this in itself did not faze me. I mean, as sad as it is, it's not like I didn't know poor people existed, right?
But as we were driving away, I looked down to turn on some music on my iPod. That seemingly simple act rocked me to my core, and I stopped, dumbfounded. That little piece of electronic magic costed enough money to feed and clothe this man for over a month. A whole month! And here I am, with a closet full of clothes and other junk that easily amounts to several hundred dollars. And it just sits there. Doing nothing. Benefiting no one.
It struck me then, not just how amazingly gracious God is to me, but also how incredibly selfish I am. Because that isn't all that's in my closet. No. On a small shelf in the corner, hidden in the shadows, covered in dust from hardly ever getting opened, is a little mason jar...

... marked Giving.

Quiet honestly? It broke my heart. Here I am, with all these innumerable blessings being literally poured over my ungrateful head, and still I cringe at the thought of giving it away. Sometimes, I sicken myself.
But now I know: I have to do something. I have to try and give back some of what the Lord has given me. It has to be for His glory, otherwise it's meaningless.And what better way than to do that then to pass them on to those who truly need them. It's not all for my consumption. So, from now on, I'm going to start carrying around my little jar, and the next homeless person I see, it's his.

End Journal entry

Well, that's it for today. I hope you enjoyed your short glimpse into my not-so-illustrious life.
Until next time, dear reader,
I remain your humble servant
~
Walter J. Scott

Chapter 11: A Rebellious Imagination

By the time Spirit and Elissay stepped into camp, the other elves were already gathered around the cheerfully blazing fire. The six pigeons lay on a spit over the fire, sizzling softly in the background. Spirit took a deep breath of the cool, dry air, savoring the smoky tinge of dinner.

The sun had all but disappeared beneath the horizon, throwing bright strips of red and orange high into the night sky like streamers on a festival day. The prairie grass shone orange in the dusky glow, and looked almost as if the entire plain was aflame. Shining like a pearly drop of silver, the moon rose to take its place in the heavens. As small creatures rustled through the reeds behind him, and far off into the growing darkness an owl hooted, Spirit smiled. It was all rather peaceful. After his bath in the pool, the uneasiness that had plagued Spirit since morning had disappeared. All seemed to be right again.

“Come on you two! Quit standing there like a pair of absent-minded layabouts and sit down. I’m hungry,” Lilten grumbled impatiently. Laughing, Spirit and Elissay hurried over and inserted themselves into the circle. Spirit ended up between Bellirn and Elissay.

Bellirn grasped Spirit’s hand and bowed his head. There was a soft rustling as the other elves followed his lead. Spirit felt a fiery blush creeping onto his face as he realized he was would have to hold Elissay’s hand, but the emotion he was feeling was anything but embarrassment. He had no clue what it was. It felt prickly, intense… eager? What is going on with me? he thought, wrestling with his muddled emotions.

For a moment he just sat there, desperately wishing he could sit down and figure out what was going on in his head. Then he remembered they were getting ready to pray. Slowly, feeling incredibly nervous but oddly pleased, Spirit reached out for Elissay’s hand. Her soft fingers brushed his, and an electric tingle raced across his body. Hardly daring to breath, he closed his fingers around hers. Her hand was warm, her grip surprisingly tender. Unable to stop himself, Spirit peeked at her face.

As if she could feel the weight of his gaze, Elissay opened her deep green eyes and looked up. When she caught him staring at her, a smile began to creep onto her face. Then a strange emotion exploded across her face, and she whipped her head back forward, eyes determinedly clamped shut.

Confused by her reaction and yet fighting back the sudden desire to start grinning like a maniac, Spirit lowered his head as well. He breathed deeply several times, trying to calm his racing heart. Elissay’s fingers twitched in his, but then they calmed and he heard her take a deep breath. A warm sense of satisfaction set his whole body abuzz, and finally, a grin spread across his face. The grin faded as Bellirn cleared his throat and began.

“Oh Creator, ruler of the heavens, master of this world, we come to you in humble gratitude for protecting us as we have traveled to this place. We have passed through many dangers, but your guiding hand has protected us from them all. We ask you now that you would continue to watch over us as we begin the next stretch of our journey. Keep us under your caring wing for the rest of our voyage, shielding us from the dangers of the desert. In the Creator’s name, femun.”

“Femun,” they all repeated.

After they all sat down, Bella began passing out the rough wooden platters that they ate off of every evening, while Bellirn followed behind her, sliding a pigeon off the spit and onto their expectant plate. The meat was cooked to perfection, courtesy of Lilten’s excellent culinary skills. Spirit looked the bird over for several moments, admiring the skillfully seared meat before his hunger got the best of him and he began tearing it apart with his knife.

The circle was quiet for several minutes as everyone dug happily into their food. Around halfway through the meal, Bellirn cleared his throat.

“So, we all know the plan right?”

Spirit and the others groaned loudly in mock annoyance. “I think we know the plan by know Bellirn,” the boy said teasingly. “You’ve gone over it about a hundred times.”

Bellirn shrugged apologetically. “It’s better we know it by heart then someone forget and all of us pay. Let’s go over it one more time. At every oasis…”

They all answered in monotone. “We draw water for the horses to drink before replenishing our supplies.”

“As for food…”

“We only take from the rations if we can’t hunt for our own food.”

“Good. And the golden rule is…”

“Stick together and don’t wander off.”

Bellirn nodded, apparently satisfied. “Excellent. Anyone have anything to add?”

Lilten spoke up from beside Bella. “It’s always a good idea to tie down the flaps on the wagons as much as possible. The sand blows in pretty easily.” The others murmured their assent. Normally they just left the flaps hanging over the doorway, making it easier to get in and out. But with the soon-to-be-frequent sandstorms, tying them up would become a necessity.

Bellirn smiled, obviously pleased someone else was taking a part in his lecture. “Good idea Lilten. Anyone else?” He looked around at the others, who were studiously avoiding his gaze. When no one else spoke up, he nodded again. “Excellent.”

As the others started back up their interrupted conversations, Bellirn turned to Spirit. “Now, the others already know what I’m about to tell you, so this is purely for your benefit.”

Spirit sat up straight, his insatiable curiosity aroused.

As he spoke, Bellirn’s eyes acquired a dead look, as if remembering something incredibly painful. “I’m sure you’ve heard the others talk about how brutal the beasts in the desert are, right? But you have no way of knowing just how serious this is. The animals in desert are incredibly vicious, far worse than that bleak-wraith back in the woods.”

Spirit shuddered at the memory of the horrible grey monster that had very nearly killed him. He’d had nightmares about the encounter for several days afterwards.

Bellirn continued. “In the desert, the only rule is there are no rules. It’s kill or be killed, and the beasts there are exceptional at what they do. I know you’re an extremely competent fighter, but if you meet a wild animal on this trip, your best bet would be to find one of us.” He put a thin hand on Spirit’s shoulder. “The last thing I want is to see you get hurt. Do you understand me?”

Spirit nodded, taken aback by the concern coloring the elf’s voice. “Is that how you got your scars?” He gestured at Bellirn’s back.

The elf grimaced. “I got overconfident, thought I could take a midnight walk by myself. If I had been a second slower…” Bellirn lapsed into a moody silence, lost in the memory.

Spirit fidgeted uncomfortably, waiting for Bellirn to say something else. But all he did was stare at the ground, his eyes unfocused, his mind far away in another time. Hesitantly, Spirit asked, “Is there anything else you wanted to tell me?”

Bellirn started and looked at Spirit. He managed a wan smile. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to drift off on you.”

“It’s fine. Is there anything else you wanted to say?”

He shook his head. “No. I just wanted you to be forewarned.”

“Ok.” Spirit turned back to his now-cold pigeon, feeling as if a lead weight had been dropped into his stomach. Suddenly he wasn’t hungry anymore. Grimacing, he set his plate on the ground beside him and leaned back on his palms.

Bellirn was perfectly within rights to be concerned for him, but that didn’t mean he could treat him like a child! And as for the order—for that’s certainly what Bellirn had intended it to be—to run and get the others if he encountered a wild beast, that was completely outrageous! Spirit had been training with Kelken for over a month now. He could hit almost any target you cared to name, and he had already progressed to moving targets. Plus he had his fire abilities. Surely he could watch out for himself in a fight? But no! Bellirn wanted him to go off running and screaming like a ninny, pleading for the others to protect him.

Spirit snorted quietly. If Bellirn thought Spirit was going to agree to that, he was sorely mistaken. Besides, he doubted he could outrun any of the predators in that barren wasteland. If they could chase down a fully-grown elf man, he had no chance trying to run from them.

                                    *                      *                      *

After the meal, they scoured their plates clean without water, not wanting to waste any of the precious liquid. Lilten buried the bones outside the camp while everyone else stumbled sleepily into their wagons. Everyone except Spirit.

While everyone else had been finishing the final scraps of their food, Spirit had wandered off to a small hill, just a few minutes walk from the caravan. There he sat, struggling to puzzle out his confused feelings. It seemed like forever ago that he had stood by the edge of the pool with Elissay, more embarrassed then he had ever been in his life.

He sighed heavily. That was another confusing situation. What was going on with him? He had played blastball in nothing but his pants in front of dozens of people back home, and he hadn’t felt a thing! Yet standing there, just the two of them… Ugh! he thought. What is happening to me? He flopped onto his back, letting his breath out in an irritated huff.

Unbidden, an image of Drac and Reorin floated to the fore-front of his mind. Their happy expressions as they gazed at each other, quietly holding hands in the darkness. Holding hands… He froze, a thought suddenly occurring to him.  Could I… no. No way.

But his brain ignored his frantic protests. Despite his attempts to ignore his traitorous mind, memories rose to the surface like bubbles from the deep: him standing by the pool, mortified and yet secretly happy she could see how strong he was becoming; at dinner, the electricity that surged through his body when Elissay’s soft, thin fingers slipped around his tough, calloused ones; his joy at the smile on her face when they held hands, him wishing it would never end…

No! With a vigorous shake of his head, he shattered the train of thought like a fragile pane of glass. I can’t fall in love with her. She’s like, a hundred times my age! And immortal for that matter. Nothing could start there and you know it Spirit, so quit mooning after her like some lovesick puppy! She’s an elf, he told himself sternly, as if this final statement summed it all up. He knew it was a simple, logical conclusion, and yet for some reason it made him feel even worse.

Groaning, he covered his face with his hands. “Why does it have to be so complicated,” he grumbled to the stars.

They didn’t answer, just shone back at him, twinkling gently up there on the roof of the world. The scrublands around Spirit shone like silver in the light of the moon, so clear in the desert sky. A gentle wind blew across the plain, ruffling Spirit’s hair and sending little cyclones of dust spinning off the ground.

Absently, Spirit summoned fire to his hands, wreathing them in scarlet flames. Every time he did it, it became easier. Calling fire to him had become effortless, almost instinctual. At times the power he wielded scared him, and other times it invigorated him. Many things have changed, he thought to himself, swirling his iridescent hand through air.

He lay there until the moon shone high in the heavens above him. Then he rose and trudged tiredly back to camp. The others had long since turned in for the night, so the camp was still and quiet when he entered the circle. The ashes in the pit barely flickered when he walked past. He smiled slightly at what a grim indicator that was of his mood.

Stifling a yawn, Spirit pulled back the flap doorway and crawled into Bellirn’s wagon. Bellirn was curled up on his cot, snoring. Despite his bleak mindset, Spirit couldn’t help but giggle slightly at the elf’s pig-like snorts. Mood lightened somewhat, Spirit pulled off his boots and shirt, laid them by the doorway and collapsed onto his bedroll. Sighing, he slowly fell into a fitful slumber. Even in sleep his fears would not relinquish their hold, and his dreams were filled with ferocious beasts chasing him, and Elissay staring at him, a question on her lips that he could never hear.

Chapter 10: On the Brink of the Wasteland

Spirit’s days of traveling with the elves began to blur into each other, each day as bright and colorful as the last. After him and Elissay’s conversation, the other elves began to open up to him, becoming more friendly and inviting. Evidently, the fact that Elissay had forgiven him had encouraged the rest of the group to do likewise. Bit by bit, they started to lower their guards, and gradually Spirit got to know them.

Kelken turned out to be quite a lot like Conor, with his jokes and constantly energetic attitude. His hands never stayed still— one minute he was whittling a block of wood, the next braiding two bits of grass. Each elf had their preferred weapon, and Kelken’s was Spirit’s personal favorite: the throwing knife.

The second day of their travels, while helping Bellirn start the cooking fire, Spirit had heard a rhythmic thumping outside of the circle of wagons. Curious, Spirit had investigated and found Kelken behind his wagon, hurling his knives into a stump. Such was his concentration that Spirit stood there for over a minute before noticing Spirit was there. Grinning, he had begun to show Spirit the basics of knife throwing. By dinner Spirit had hit the stump three times, and Kelken had agreed to give him lessons once a week.

Bella was a master of alchemy. All of the elves dabbled in it, but she was the undisputed expert. Her wagon was filled with thousands upon thousands of tiny glass beakers, crystal vials, and wooden mortars and pestles. Claws, feather, skins and other various magical remains hung on the wooden ribs of the cart walls, and dried plants filled a large cupboard beside her cot. The interior was a riot of odors, each more exotic and fascinating than the last.

Spirit loved sitting in the wagon while she worked. Occasionally, she would ask Spirit to fetch an ingredient or two for her, and he quickly memorized the magical properties of wormwood leaves, virrin claws, primrose petals, and may more besides. Every once in a while she would teach him a new brew she had discovered, and soon the pair were staying up late into the night, hunched over steaming experiments. Spirit learned quickly, and only very rarely blew things up, a fact that Bella applauded.

Lilten was a scholar, through and through. His wagon was filled to the brim with books, maps, scrolls and manuscripts, many of which were magic. Spirit had thought Bellirn’s wagon was bad, but that clutter was nothing compared to the complete mess that was Lilten’s wagon. His precious books covered every surface, sometimes even including his bed. In fact, the only surface that seemed to be regularly clean was his desk. When he wasn’t reading, Lilten was writing. He had kept a journal of his travels, which he transcribed onto several rolls of parchment. Oftentimes, he was the only one who stayed up with Bella and Spirit, his little lamp burning bright in the darkness.

When his nose wasn’t buried in a book, Lilten began to instruct Spirit in the history of elves and magic. “If you’re going to the islands, you need to know everything you can about them,” he often said. Magic, Spirit learned, required intense focus and the correct words in old elvish. As long as you had enough concentration and willpower, you could cast any spell you wanted to. So domestic charms were the easiest to cast, seeing as there was nothing to keep you from concentrating. But attempting to cast spells in combat was an entirely different matter. “Imagine trying to think of absolutely nothing but a flower petal for two seconds while an enemy is trying to disembowel you,” Lilten had said dryly when Spirit had asked what the level of attention was. Having heard that, Spirit was even more impressed that the elves used magic on a day-to-day basis. No wonder human magicians are so rare, he thought to himself. The strength of will needed to use magic is superhuman!

In addition to the more arcane lessons, Lilten instructed Spirit in the basics of elvish mannerisms and courtesy. He learned that putting your hand over your heart and bowing was an old elvish greeting reserved for someone you respected deeply. Lilten also began to teach him the elvish language. Although the alien words baffled him, Spirit started to improve, stumbling over difficult words and phrases less and less. Oftentimes, while they all sat at the campfire during dinner, the other elves would converse with Spirit only in elvish, forcing him to improve if he wanted to talk.

And finally, whenever Spirit had a free hour, he would run off to a secluded area and practice his elemental control. He was always careful, never letting the blaze get out of hand. Gradually his abilities grew, until he could hold a blaze the size of his head in his palm for over a minute, throw small fireballs reasonably accurately, and even juggle for several seconds. The elves gave him privacy when he practiced, a fact he appreciated. The practice helped calm him and allowed him to collect his thoughts.

The weather began to grow hot and dry as they neared the plains. Spirit was excited about crossing the vast, featureless expanse. He’d heard tales about it from almost every merchant that had passed through Caren: it started with dry, grassy plains around the border, but the center was choked by sand and dust, devoid of any living thing. Some of the merchants claimed that Death lived in a valley in the center of the wasteland, emerging only to prey upon those whose time had come. But Spirit had scoffed at these tales, laughing with Zarn at the wide-eyed traders gesticulating crazily about black-skinned devils with hounds bigger than a full grown horse.

Slowly, the training with Kelken stripped all the fat off of Spirit’s body, leaving him lean and muscular. His mind grew sharp from his lessons with Lilten and Bella. Soon he could speak elvish almost as well as any of the others— albeit with a bit of an accent.

Several weeks after he joined the group, they stopped at a small town near the edge of the plainst. Already Spirit’s lips were cracking from the lack of moisture, and the sun beat relentlessly down upon the motley assortment of shops and houses. Cacti surrounded the village, their sharp spikes grim previews of the grit and determination needed to cross this barren desert. The wooden buildings were covered in sand, the tiny grains eating away at the decrepit walls. The town had an almost forlorn feeling to it, and it made Spirit nervous.

They had set up camp on the outskirts of town, near a small oasis. A tiny copse of trees concealed a small spring-fed pool, and there was enough grass for the horses to have a final, hardy meal before they entered the scrub grass of the plains. Bellirn and the others were inside the general store buying what supplies they would need for the trip across the desert, and Spirit leaned against the porch railing, waiting for them. Scanning the horizon, he sighed. No matter which direction he looked, the view was the same: flat, featureless scrub as far as the eye can see.

“A bit daunting, isn’t it.”

Spirit jumped and spun around to find Bellirn standing behind him, arms crossed..

“How did you do that?”

He laughed. “I never tried to hide. You’re just distracted.” He stepped forward to lean against the rail beside Spirit. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” the boy said quickly, looking away.

Bellirn turned his head to look at him, his brown eyes full of concern. “You can’t hide it from me. Something is bothering you. It’s written all over your face.”

Spirit sighed again. “It’s nothing big,” he began haltingly. “It’s just… I get the feeling something bad is going to happen. Like there’s a huge storm on the horizon headed straight for us, and as hard as I try, I can’t avoid it.”

Bellirn draped his arm over Spirit’s shoulder and gave him a rough hug. “It’ll be okay Spirit. All of us have journeyed through the desert at least once. We’re going to be fine.”

Spirit nodded and leaned back on the railing. The sun was setting over the bleached earth, casting splashes of rosy color over the tiny village. It sat on the land like a great big ball of molten gold, shining in the light of its own radiance.

After several minutes of brooding silence, Bellirn reached into the pocket of his jacket. “Oh, I almost forgot. I have something for you.”

Spirit looked over, interested. “What is it?”

Bellirn produced a piece of folded paper and held it out to Spirit. Excited, the boy opened the paper and laid it against the rail. “It’s a map,” Bellirn explained as Spirit gazed at the winding roads and magnificent lakes. “It shows a bit more detail on the Isles of Parmeia then any human map would.” He reached out and touched the map with a slender finger. “This is the village where we are now, and we’re going to travel across the desert—” He drew the finger down, straight through the heart of the plains. “—like this. The journey across is going to be rather long and hot, but we should be able to make it in a little over a month.”

Spirit studied the route Bellirn had indicated. They were on the north-western edge of the plain, so they would proceed in a more south-easterly path until they hit the heart of the desert. Then they would skirt around it, cutting through the tail end to arrive practically on the shores of Lake Luchina, where the Islands of Parmeia were. Spirit nodded to himself, attempting to allay his fears. The plan was solid, and if they met any wild beasts, the elves could surely handle them.

He looked at Bellirn and forced a smile onto his face. “This is awesome. Thanks.”

Bellirn smiled a concerned smile, and something told Spirit his deception hadn’t fooled the keen elf. But Bellirn just ruffled the boy’s hair. “Don’t worry Spirit. I’ll make sure you get to Parmeia safely. That’s a promise.”

Spirit nodded halfheartedly. Behind them, the doorbell jingled as the elves exited the general store. “Okay Bellirn,” he said quietly. Then they all began walking up the lonely street, back to the caravan.

                                    *                      *                      *

Bellirn and Lilten were cooking a brace of pigeons they had caught earlier that day over the fire, and Spirit decided to use the time to take a quick bath. Grabbing a towel from Bellirn’s belongings, Spirit headed off into the tiny grove of stunted trees.

A pool sat at the center of the grove, surrounded on all sides by the ever-present grass. The only reason you couldn’t see the pool from the campsite was the thick grasses and reeds, which in places grew above Spirit’s head. As Spirit entered the shade of the trees, he sighed. The heat, which had been so oppressive all day long, seemed to melt into nothingness under the shady boughs. The wind rustled through the tall reeds, brushing softly against his face. Shards of light fell through the canopy, illuminating the ground at his feet. With light, easy steps he glided between the yellow stalks until he came to the clearing in the center.

The pool was surrounded by short, feathery grass, shockingly green against its brown and gold backdrop. Kneeling, Spirit pulled off his boots and slid his feet into the water. He groaned happily as the cool water caressed his hot and aching feet. He sat there for a little while, just enjoying the peace and time to think. To his surprise, he had found himself missing his friends and family less and less the more time he spent with the elves. He felt as if he finally belonged somewhere, and that somewhere was right here. During the past few weeks, he had found purpose, and he was enjoying it. I still wish I could see them all again though, he thought. Maybe when I’ve finally mastered my gift, I can go back.

Pleased with this thought, he finished disrobing and sank into the water. The cold liquid lapped at his neck, sending goose bumps rippling up his arms. Before his teeth started to chatter, Spirit ducked his head under water. The cold hit him like a blow in the face, but he quickly got used to it. He surfaced for breath, then went back under and opened his eyes.

The bottom of the pool was a muddy world, to be sure. Tiny little fish darted about, nuzzling each other on the side before zipping away. Small plants waved lazily up at him with their leaf-like fronds. Occasionally one of the little fish would swim down to the bottom and dive headfirst into the mud until he was halfway in, his tail wriggling madly. After a moment, he would pull himself back out, already swallowing some poor insect that had burrowed beneath the surface.

Spirit watched their antics for awhile, enjoying himself, then rose to the top again. He breached like a whale, gasping for breath. They have no clue what is going on outside of their little pool. I doubt they even realize there is more to the world.

He swam about for several more minutes, then clambered onto the bank and toweled himself off. As he pulled on his shirt, he caught sight of his reflection in the water. Surprised, he knelt for a closer look.

His face was more tanned then he had ever seen it, even after a month of working in the fields. His muscles rippled across his arms and chest, stripped of all body fat. Evidently his workouts with Kelken had paid off. A grin spread across his face. He barely even recognized himself anymore. Gone was the helpless little orphan boy that Rixar had beaten up with impunity. A new man stood in his place, a man who could defend himself, make his own destiny. After several more moments of examining his reflection, he stood and continued to dress.

He was just picking up his shirt when the reeds rustled, then parted and Elissay stepped out holding a large staff. Spirit jumped, instinctually clutching his clothing to his bare chest.

Elissay looked down at the ground. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize.” She turned to step back into the reeds.

“No, wait.” He lowered his arms, letting them dangle at his side. “You’re fine.”

Slowly, she turned back to face him, leaning the staff casually against her shoulder. She had changed out of her usual dress, and was wearing a tight-fitting shirt and pants. Her blonde hair was pulled back behind a headband, and her cheeks were flushed red with embarrassment.

Spirit found a heat rising in his face as well, but he did his best to ignore it. “What were you going to do?” he asked, indicating the staff.

She looked relieved at the distraction. “The staff is my preferred method of defense, just as the throwing knife is Kelken’s. I was coming here to practice. I didn’t know you were…” she paused, her blush rising.

“Right,” Spirit said, fighting another wave of heat and failing. For some reason, all he could think about was the way that little strand of golden hair was falling over her rosy cheek… Whoa Spirit. Calm down, he told himself. “Well, don’t let me stop you,” he said, pulling on his shirt.

She stood there for a second with a thoughtful expression on her lovely face, then she started slightly. “Stop what?”

“Your practicing,” he said slowly.

She giggled softly. “Ah. My mistake.”

He shrugged. “No big deal. I’ll see you back at the campsite then.”

She nodded and swung her staff back into her hands.

Spirit strode back into the tall grass and let out a long breath. Well, that was a bit awkward, he chuckled. Unconsciously, he glanced back over his shoulder at the clearing. He started to walk away before what he had seen registered in his head. Turning, he peered through the rough stalks in amazement.

Holding the sturdy length of wood in both hands, Elissay whirled across the small clearing, swinging the staff over her head to bring it down on a rock with a resounding crack. Whipping about, she spun her body like a top, driving back an invisible horde of enemies. With a quick jab, she knocked one off of his feet then leapt into a backwards somersault, landing just in time to smash another in the skull. Then she was off again, spinning and leaping across the clearing. Back and forth, up and down, each blow laden with deadly precision.

Spirit sat down, the tall grass shielding him from her gaze. Despite the waving stalks, his eyes never left her twirling form as she danced across the grass. Each movement was a graceful as a swan, yet swift as a striking snake. Spirit couldn’t help but stare in slack jawed amazement.

After what felt like an eternity, she gradually slowed until, with a final strike, she stopped. Sweat poured in waves down her face, her chest heaving from exertion. Straightening, she twirled her staff one last time, then began to walk towards the campsite. Grinning uncontrollably, Spirit jumped up and hurried over to her.

“That was amazing!” he exclaimed.

Elissay whirled around. “You stayed and watched me?” she asked, surprised.

Spirit’s grin, if possible, grew wider. “Yeah, and it was the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen! Can you teach me? Please?”

She seemed taken aback by the request. “Are you sure? The art of the quarterstaff is not nearly as popular as swordplay, or archery. Bellirn or Bella could teach you either of those.”

Spirit was already shaking his head before she finished. “No. I want to learn to wield a staff. It just seems more…” he searched for the right word. “Original.”

Elissay blushed again, but a hint of a smile crept onto her lovely face. “Well, if you truly wish to learn, I will not stop you. We can begin our lessons after we enter the plains.”

Spirit let out a whoop. “Thank you!” He grinned again, unable to help himself, and pulled back some the gently swaying reeds. “After you.”

Smiling, she inclined her head and stepped into the opening. Spirit followed close behind her, and together they wove their way towards the slowly rising stream of smoke.