Divine Rage

Peter huddled down close to Gabriel so he could whisper without being overheard.

"Still in a bad mood then?"

The heavens roiled with thick black cloud, sundered by the bright flash of lightning, sky ringing to the din of crashing thunder.

"A bit." Gabriel confirmed.

"Drama queen." St. Peter said. "Creates the entire universe in six days, and he's making this much of a fuss about fifty thousand words in a month."

Heart's Desire

As the great swell of music slowly died away, he looked up into her face, eyes bright and full of hope.

An orchestra this time.

"Well, dearest?" he asked. "Only say you will be my bride and I will give you your heart's desire."

She pulled her hand from out of his. "Never," she said. "Never, never, never."

His face fell, and he brushed away tears from his eyes before they had the chance to roll down his cheeks. He stood. Looked down at her where she sat, his mouth opening a crack but he had no more to say. Head hanging he trudged from the room, turned in the doorway and said, "I will return tomorrow, dearest one." Then he left, letting the door fall shut behind him.

She went to the window and looked out across the land, the rolling green fields, the dark forests, the great swelling river that ran through it all, originating in the mysterious great mountains far in the distance. A vast world of adventure that she had yet to sample.

She looked at the door the prince had used to exit the room and thought, yet again, of her heart's truest desire.

The key that would open that damn lock.

Paydirt

A job's a job and I needed some way to help pay my bills but I had imagined myself waiting tables or working in a bar. Just a regular part time job until I could pick up more hours at the factory. Then Kelly's cousin called at the house and handed me a name and an address, told me to get down here fast and don't bother with looking fancy.

I spent ten minutes trudging across perfectly manicured grass as the last of the light was going, desperate to find my contact before it got too dark to see my way. There was a shack with a light on so I knocked at the door and took the gruff response as permission to enter.

When I pushed the door open I was greeted with the sight of a grizzled old guy lighting his pipe with a guttering match. He was the sort of geezer you expect to see leaning over fences handing out ominous advice to unwary teens in some schlock horror movie.

"I'm-" I started.

"You my replacement?" he asked.

"I've-"

"Cheating me out of my pension is what he's doing." The old guy sucked at his pipe noisily. "Drunk, my ass! You need something to keep the cold out of your bones."

"I'm looking for Mister Barnes..."

The old boy stood up, pulled his coat on, his pipe clamped between his teeth so when he spoke to me it was through gritted teeth. "He's out back." He jerked his head in the general direction, and then pushed past me as he left.

I heard a truck fire up as I went back of his shed. Stuck in the newly turned dirt of a fresh grave was the shovel I expected I'd be using as the town's new gravedigger. Mr Barnes was nowhere to be seen.

Engelbert Says...

He stared at her small hand wrapped in his, knuckles white and high-lighting fine blue veins, fingers wrapped tight about his own, and he remembered how they'd met.

Such an unexpected find. He remembered how they'd immediately clicked, as if they'd known each other for decades, as though getting to know her was part new and part recalling her moods, her body and the secrets she kept hidden from everybody else.

But things were different, circumstances had changed. He had changed, though she had somehow remained the same. There was no kind way to end this, he had to let go.

When he did, she didn't stop screaming until she hit the rocks, far below.

Plague

My corruption has colored the tales you call history, devastating nations and sending paupers and princes alike to their graves.

When the men of Alexandria fell to their knees, clawing at the pustulant boils that disfigured their faces and bodies, it was my caress that laid the curse upon them. When London lay decimated by the "Black Death", it was my dark gift of flea-ridden rats that choked the life from them. When the great flu claimed one hundred million souls, my choking cough started the infection, virulent spittle on the faces of a thousand disgusted travellers.

And as I take your alms my hand leaves the mark of death upon your offerings. My deadly touch lingering to claim whoever next samples your wares.

Hey, sour gummies, neat!

The Great Snow Bear Hunt

The last of his servants had fled the night before, joining the porters from Conall's Valley who'd abandoned him two days earlier. They had laughed and dared him to come retrieve the fees he'd paid them. He would have his revenge on them all, but first he must slay the great snow bear and could afford no deviance or wasted resource until his plan was complete. Even now the plan hung in the balance for if he were to find the bear and slay it how was he to transport the carcass back to the temple in Stygia unaided?

First things first though. Slay the bear and harvest the more easily preserved and transported organs, then stash the rest of the beast until he could fetch it later. At this time of year the body would not spoil, buried in the frozen earth, and it was still several months until the partial thaw of Spring.

Having hidden the bulk of his alchemical equipment and whatever loose items around the camp which might prove of interest to wandering beasts or human pilferers, he hoist his pack high on his back. The massive holdall was stuffed with preserving jars, provisions and a selection of poisons and potions which were very much the tools of his trade.

Legend had it that the great snow bear roamed a broad step like plateau in the mountain range, reachable only by a treacherous path and it was this that he now hauled himself along. Even the easiest going was fraught with peril and taxed every last muscle and sinew as he fought his way up sheer inclines foot after foot. With each agonized step he muttered an invocation to bolster and enervate his sinewy body, slowly finding himself closer and closer to the summit. Then, no more than ten feet from the top, his foothold faltered and he tumbled wildly down the steep slope, futilely grabbing at shrivelled weeds for handholds only to have them pull free in a shower of frigid dry soil. With a crash he jammed against a stunted bush that stubbornly clung to the jagged path.

Now the weight of the massive pack threatened to tilt him back towards his head over heels tumble to a certain death, so without a thought for the consequences he shrugged himself out of the straps which now cut into his shoulders and ached to tip him over to his doom. With relief he was at last free of the pack and after a brief rest and some arcane ministrations to his scuffed and bloodied limbs returned to his climb.

By the time he pulled himself up onto the plateau's floor it was midnight and he was totally spent. He lay oblivious upon his back until the call of a night bird shocked him back to sense and, warily, he looked about. Lit only by dim moonlight the plateau had an eerie quality and the hairs on his neck stood to attention as an unfamiliar wave of hopelessness wrung him out.

With a curse to olden gods he shook himself from these feelings of despair and attended to a closer inspection of the plateau by whatever light there was, for even had he dared to without his pack he goodn't strike a light. The plateau was, as to be expected, almost perfectly flat with just a single gnarled old tree standing very close to the edge where he was. A hundred yards or so across the plateau was the mouth of a terrific cave, decorated about with tumbled boulders and rocks apparently fallen from the mountain range which continued ever upwards towards the grey skies that framed the mountainside beyond the plateau.

Eyes fixed upon the massive cave mouth, he patted at his clothes as though entered in some compulsive ritual. He stroked his hair, rubbed at his chest, felt along the seams of his pockets, at the belt at his waist and finally checked the tops of his boots. Then just as he prepared to head towards the cave a movement from the tree caught his eye and he spun to face it.

Until now he had not seen it but a great shadowy figure perched within the branches of the tree and with a start he realised that he was looking at a vulture, its wings drawn up about its scrawny body. What did this weird vision portend? There were no vultures to be found in this cold country and the carrion bird could mean only one thing. Tonight someone would die but who would it be?

"You'll not dine on my flesh this night graverobber!" he raged.

"I had not wanted to eat you," came a gruff reply in awkward stilted Stygian.

"Who's there?" cried the Stygian, switching to flawless Cimmerian, reckoning this to be most appropriate. Now, as the figure became clearer he could see that this was no vulture but simply a man wrapped in a ragged fur cloak. But the Stygian was still wary for even now that he could see no trace of vulture in the man's appearance, he was yet sure of what he had seen.

As he drew closer he saw a weathered Cimmerian, as he had correctly guessed, garbed for war.

"I said who's there?" he said sharply. "What do you want?"

"Plain to see that I am here, stranger," said the Cimmerian. "as to my purpose, well... I hunt the great snow bear."

"Pah!" spat the Stygian. "You hunt squirrels and birds if you choose to clamber amongst them. Why else would you be up there?" Then after a moment's thought he said, "What can you see from your lookout?"

"Why, I do believe I see the great snow bear," said the barbarian and he nodded his head to indicate that the priest of Set should turn and look.

What the Stygian saw was even more imposing and fearsome than he could have imagined. It would have taken a team of elephants to haul this beast home. Padding from the cave's mouth on all fours its shoulders stood taller than a man. Its head alone was almost two feet wide with raging pink eyes that shone bright against pure white fur. It stopped and sniffed the air letting out a low rumbling questioning groan that seemed to shake the Stygian's bones loose in his skin.

He turned back to the barbarian in the tree. "You will not interfere with my business here. You will not cross me and you will not aid me. I hunt the great snow bear and I, and I alone, will slay it."

He turned sharply and strode towards the bear. He felt no fear now and indeed a feeling of bloodthirsty elation was bubbling up from his gut spreading warm rage to his very fingertips. This beast was huge but it was just a beast and no match for a priest of Set.

He flung his hands towards the mighty bear and at once it was haloed in bright blue light as sparks leapt about it's shaggy coat dancing from ear to ear and front to rear. When the dazzling show was done the bear lazily turned to regard the priest, apparently none the worse for the magical assault. With a curt word the priest sent another more focused blast of lightning directly into the face of this king of bears, landing a terrible smoking ruin directly upon its soft pink nose.

With a roar that surely shook the very mountains to their roots in the ancient earth the bear launched itself with horrible pace towards the priest, who stood momentarily frozen by the blood-curdling sound. With only inches to spare did he throw himself to one side before the bear could land upon him and instead it charged past him towards the edge of the plateau.

With familiar ease the bear turned with uncanny agility before the precipice and hurled itself back towards the Stygian who was now back-peddling furiously to create some distance between himself and the moving wall of death.

Plucking a brooch from his chest he flung it at the bear and as it arced through the air it grew and twisted until it landed on the bears head as a spider as big as a cart. The evil many-legged creature scuttled about the bears back but the priest could see it could find neither purchase for it's spindly legs on the thick stiff bristles of the bear's hide nor opportunity to sink its fangs into the great beast's flesh. With an irritated swipe of a paw the bear turned it to sickly orange pulp and continued in its mission to rip the  Stygian to pieces.

Simultaneously the priest pulled a long needle from the top knot of his hair and a glass-bladed dagger from his boot and hurled these both towards his nemesis who simply batted them aside in his fury.  Stymied for now, the priest dashed once more past the hurtling monster and swung about, pulling a folded parchment square from his belt. With feet to spare he flipped this at the bear's head unleashing a cloud of powder directly into its face but its steamy breath clouding the frigid air harmlessly dissipated the threat of the black lotus dust.

Then, certain his fate was sealed, the priest felt a strange sensation as though the weight was lifted from him and he suddenly found himself hauled up into the tree beside the Cimmerian. A moment later the tree shook and shuddered but it did not fall.

The barbarian leaned in towards the Stygian and said. "And NOW do you see why I'm up here?"

Perhaps But Not Today.

Marcus looked at Talosh and wondered what thoughts ran through that head of his.
"I watched the sun rise this morning," he said.

Talosh roused himself from his daydream and turned to regard Marcus, keeping his back pressed to the rock where he crouched. "Did you not sleep last night? he asked.

"Oh, I slept well enough," said Marcus, "but I've always been an early riser." He shifted uneasily against the rock, vainly trying to find a confortable spot. "I never really paid that much attention to the sun's rising. This morning was different. I lay awake in the dark and actually noticed as the sky began to pink and as the first rays crowned the horizon. I watched as the shadows fled along the grain field yonder and saw the light halo the black smoke rising from Ganderhome. I don't know why but it made me feel better. Stupid notion... It felt like the light makes everything better, drives away the uncertainty, expose the things you didn't want to see. Forces you to confront them. Does that make any sense?"

Talosh nodded slowly. "I understand." He said nothing for a while, as though gathering his thoughts then continued. "Once I was travelling the desert to Samaland. It's a small desert, not like the Great Yarosh or even like the salt flats hereabouts. It's just a sandy thumbprint in the grand scheme of things and easily crossed though the going is unpleasant enough. I was making my way to the festivities they hold each year in Samarkhan, the capital. There's singing and dancing, many sacrifices and much in the way of fleshy delights. They are a wanton people but fun if you're of a proper mood. Improper mood I should say. In any event I was not. In fact I was beset by a most melancholy despair, nor could I even put a finger on why I was so disposed."
"I was travelling at night, when it is cooler and the sand is not so likely to whip at your eyes, and as I trudged towards my goal I took notice of the moon. It shone bright and clear and full that night and the stars themselves were dulled to insignificance by comparison and a curious notion struck me. It was as though a great black blanket was hung across the sky and the moon a peep-hole through to a lighter, brighter, happier place. I stood and regarded it, and because my breath clouded the cold night air I held it in as long as possible, just staring up at the moon and wishing myself to be in that better place which I could only glimpse. Eventually I was forced to take a great gasp of air and the moment passed but that thought has stayed with me since."

They sat awhile in a silence. interrupted when Talosh said, "I should like to see the sun rise this morning. Like your self of old I have never paid much heed to dawn but with your words in my head perhaps I will take it into my heart. Will you wake me when it's time?"

"Certainly," said Marcus, "and when next the moon is full I will look at it and see if I observe that better place of which you spoke."

"I regret to say, but that is most unlikely," said Talosh. He stood and stretched. From cloven hoof to wicked claw he stood ten feet tall, barely half the height of the rocky ledge on which Marcus was perched.

Craning his neck, Marcus looked down at the demon, surrounded about by the heavy vines Marcus had used to reach his sanctuary but which had torn free when the demon pursued him.

"You're going to have to come done from there eventually," said Talosh levelly.

Marcus plucked a few berries from the straggly, lop-sided bush that clung to a crevice beside him. "Perhaps," he said, "but not today."