| SORCEROUS SIGNALS |
| Written by Christopher Schmitz / Artwork by Chaz Kemp |
| Make a donation to this writer |
| The Last Black Eye of Antigo Vale |
The horse-drawn cart jostled to a stop before
the gated outpost. Two strong men
approached and offered a warm greeting,
checking for indicators their visitor had
affiliations with the embargoed Trade League.
"Where is your offering and what is your
purpose in Antigo Vale?"
Leaning forward, the driver procured a canvas
sack of miscellaneous sundries to pay the
gatekeepers. "I've come to conduct personal
business with Master Jervis, one of your
village's Elders." Eyes darted to the rapiers
tucked inside the guards' cloaks, careful not
to linger too long and cast suspicion.
Nodding, the gatekeeper motioned to his
partner who went to work the pulley system
and raised the gate. "Stay on the path that
leads over the bridge and beyond the gorge.
Do not stray into the woods, friend; I tell you
this for your safety. The road remains
harmless until dusk. See that you're inside
the village by then."
With a grin, the traveler nodded. "This is not
my first time to Antigo Vale."
Solemnly, the guard lowered his gaze. "Let's
see that it's not your last, then."
Cracking the reins, the driver urged the
horses forward, across the sheer ravine cliffs and towards the destination. The wagon passed into the
gnarled, black trees that buffered the town, and disappeared.
***
Antigo cast a sidelong glance at Flick as the eligible women of the village ignored them. The preened
ladies followed tradition; before the harvest dance, they paraded before the males in a ritual performed
by many of their parents. The pageant announced both eligibility and lack of agreeable suitors.
Flick returned Antigo's sardonic look, screwing his facial features to match. Not one of the women had
even glanced their way. Flick shrugged and poured a flagon of euphoric djat-berry ale, the second most
exported resource produced only by their secluded community.
Scowling, Antigo shook his head as the last lady walked past, seeking the young soldier nearby. Antigo
looked down and compared his small stature and thin limbs. He possessed too few qualities women
found desirable. Named after his heroic ancestor, 'Antigo' was synonymous with strength; he was
anything but.
Antigo looked past the girls and frowned. The females all flocked around Franco, the town's most eligible
bachelor, vying for his attention. They practically swooned when Franco adjusted the way his sword hilt
fit. Antigan females were habitually attracted to the strong warrior-type.
As Antigo sauntered over to pour a tall cup of his own, Master Jervis stood to pronounce the beginning
of the festival dance. Antigo paid no mind until he'd filled a tall stein. He held little hope for finding a wife.
Clinking his cup against Flick's, Antigo suggested, "Let's get out of here?"
Flick's upper lip moistened with froth. "I'm game. Where to?"
"Anywhere, maybe the Precipice?" Antigo shrugged.
"So long as I can bring my ale."
"I'll do you one better." Antigo settled a ten-liter keg onto a hand truck and motioned for Flick to follow.
They didn't feel at home in this celebration, or even in the community. As orphans, they shared a
common bond that made them both outsiders.
At the center of the square, a band struck up a tune, eliciting applause from the dancers. The uproar
distracted Antigo and Flick; they almost collided with Master Jervis.
Over the music, Jervis shouted as he leaned in closer. "Young Antigo, so sad to see you leaving this
early."
He merely shrugged. "There again seems no interest in me as a suitor this year."
Jervis nodded slowly, hesitant and methodical. "Nevertheless, it is imperative we find you a mate—and
soon."
Antigo shrugged and waved the notion off. It seemed farfetched.
Again, Jervis leaned forward, closer this time. "We must find you a wife…before it's too late."
Something about the way the old man spoke rattled him, perhaps the urgency in his eyes. Antigo
nodded to the Elder.
"I will stop by to see you sometime during the harvest. We have important matters to discuss." Jervis
slapped Antigo on the shoulder and slipped back into the crowd of revelers.
Confused, the friends shrugged and wheeled their keg away from the festival tents. Fireworks crackled a
farewell behind them while their cart rattled between the worn ruts of hard-caked earth.
Sweating, they finally collapsed against the stone altar atop the Precipice, a natural rock outcropping at
the village's outskirts. Catching his breath, Antigo ran a thoughtful finger along the grooves etched into
a natural stone slab; glyphs and symbols covered the face of the Precipice.
Flick turned from the small fire he'd coaxed to life with flint and tinder.
"They tell a story to remind us of the pact made when Antigo Vale was founded," he told Flick. "It's the
ancient rules to keep the unmentionable ones at bay." Master Jervis taught him that bit of history after
his family perished in a house-fire long ago; his parents and two siblings all died.
Fireflies skittered lazy trails through the forest's edge as the two watched the celebration fireworks from
afar; only the insects were brave enough to tempt the beasts of the forest. With minds swimming in the
gentle hum of ale, they cast sidelong glances to the murky wood; it enveloped their minds when looked
at, as if calling to them.
Antigo stood to stretch. His friend slumped over the cask, completely pickled. Shuffling off the Precipice,
he stumbled to the trail, and saw a group of near-drunk teenagers roving through the deep-violet illiac
fields, daring their peers to step into the sinister woods. At first, they lacked any reverence for the trees'
sinister reputation. One boy jostled another and tripped, scattering a pile of stacked stones at the tree
line, near the moss covered Old Woods Gate. They all joined together to quickly restack them, leaving
the rock smeared with animal blood at top. Finished, they departed solemnly.
Antigo waved to his snoring friend and stumbled homeward. It was a warm night with a red sunset. Flick
would be fine till morning.
***
Daybreak erupted with a vengeance, scattering rays across the morning fields like grain heads scattered
by a violent wind. It revealed too much for the booze-addled mind.
Terror flooded Flick's mind and clouded his vision; he barely even noticed the illiac flowers he crushed
while sprinting across the field towards Antigo Vale. He fled the edge of the woods, seeing only the
destination ahead locked in tunnel vision; dread forbade him to look behind. They could be chasing him—
so horrible he couldn't even think their name let alone imagine what they looked like! He'd rather die
never seeing the creatures bearing down on his heels.
Flick stumbled and pitched headlong into the crop. Obscured by waist-high shoots, he lay still for a
moment. He could only hear the sounds of his own panicked breathing; no pursuit came.
Hung over, he'd awakened at the Precipice and wandered off to urinate. Near the dark woods…that's
where he'd found it!
Panic crept in again and he clambered to his feet—continued sprinting. He still had to reach the council
Elders as soon as possible. They had to know Master Jervis was dead.
***
In the busy market square, Antigo trailed after the hunched, old crone, carrying burdens for her as she
shopped. Bersham seemed more absent-minded than usual this morning. She paid more attention to
the nearby councilmen than the street vendors. Custom in Antigo Vale mandated enough Elders arrive
each market day so they could form a quorum. Trade was the lifeblood of their town with buyers and
sellers coming through the narrow pass to buy precious illiac flowers or distribute their wares each day.
Antigo struggled to lug the heavy bag of sundries after her, stepping around travelers who came to
purchase a bundle of dried illiac, no doubt to help heal the cripple lagging to the rear of their group. As
the elderly woman tossed him miscellaneous grocery items, Antigo wondered why she'd chosen him for
service. He could barely even manage carrying the woman's supplies.
Bersham swung her face to him, exposing a crisscrossed network of age spots and darkened veins. The
lines might once have been tattoos. "Antigo! Hurry up," she snapped.
Years ago, she demanded the council assign Antigo, an orphan boy, as her helper. The council nearly
always caved to Bersham; she knew many secrets. Since then, he met with her weekly to do chores and
shopping, but she'd also taught him many things. Bersham tutored him for one day each week and
rigorously instructed him. If she were not such a strict taskmaster, he might have regarded her as a
friend.
Noticing Bersham perk up, Antigo turned to match her gaze. Flick rounded a corner, running wildly for
the councilmen. Bersham grinned as if she'd expected something to happen this morning.
The crowd parted and Flick collapsed at the feet of Master Kale, head of the village leaders. Between
heaving breaths, he exclaimed, "Master Jervis is dead!"
Struggling under the load, Antigo barely managed to follow the old woman as she scuttled towards the
group of gathering Elders.
Councilman Grimms removed his hat. "So that explains Jervis's absence today." He nodded solemnly to
the other men in his company. "What are the circumstances of his death?"
"It was them." Had Flick's face not been so pallid, one might have thought the words spoken with
reverence.
Antigo watched Bersham's face set as she turned away from the council's clamor. "Come, Antigo. I've
much to teach you this day."
He obediently followed, glancing apologetically back to Flick while departing. Cries for emergency meetings
reached Antigo's ears, an argument between Kale and Grimms; the council summoned Franco.
"Much to learn," the crone prattled, paying no mind to the chaos behind them. "The signs are proven;
the vision was accurate. The blood of our hero weakens. Soon, boy, you will be a man. You must become
the man."
***
As Antigo mashed Bersham's gourds into a paste she could more easily eat, the old woman dusted an
archaic book. The embossed letters on the tome's spine read "History, Volume 1." Like all the other
Antigan children, he'd learned to read as a child, but history wasn't taught in school. History was far too
dangerous, left only for select scholars, with some historical periods kept taboo. Only a select handful of
Council Elders were privy to the darkest moments of Antigan history, now one less with Jervis dead.
Bersham set her heavy book onto the table and flipped it open. The age-speckled pages cracked slightly
as they fell in sheaves. "Today, you will learn the dark history of our wonderful little community."
Antigo sat. Passing her the plate of yellow mush, he turned to better look at the antique book.
"I thought only the elders kept the history?"
She playfully smacked him across the back of his head. "What do your eyes tell you? I obviously keep the
history as well, but mine goes back further. I've paid greater attention to detail." She pointed to an
opened page.
Antigo touched his lips with his hands as he read the title page. He'd learned the habit as a child; one
couldn't accidentally speak the ineffable name when you squeezed your lips. The boldfaced print spelled
their name, blasphemous, written so plainly.
With fear-induced awe, he fingered a small patch of cloth glued to the page. He'd never seen that shade
of purple before. For more than an hour, Antigo immersed himself in history.
Bersham sat nearby, hands folded in her lap. "We were not always called Antigo Vale. Once, we called
this place Bethshador, long before the ineffable coven emerged."
A crude sketch depicted a figure shrouded by a plum-hued cloak. Curiosity burgeoned in his mind; a
lesson echoed across his brain, a schoolboy's chant he'd been forced to memorize. He quoted, "We must
never speak their name. Antigo's oath must always remain. Lest we beg for death and pain, we must
never speak the ineffable name."
"A horror of the worst sort," Bersham agreed. "A night terror, a shadow and a blight upon our once
verdant woods. We will always fear them if we are afraid to even say their name. History erred on the
side of caution; you may speak their name. The Skekstatsiis can no longer be summoned by name." She
flipped a page to an old map labeled Bethshador. Only smaller borders and a handful of altered
landmarks were noticeable. "If we wish to see this threat diminish, you must first understand it.
Bethshador was the original village: a man-carved dale set amid a kinder sort of forest."
Antigo nodded obediently, taking it in. The date near the map's legend labeled it over three hundred
years old.
"Recite the tenets of Antigo's blood pact," Bersham commanded.
"Antigo's blood must never run stale. Entering the woods is forbidden; a man takes his own life by doing
so. Do not speak the name of the ineffable coven. Keep the borders sound. Antigo's blood must never
run stale." He looked to her for confirmation.
"The entire covenant with the Skekstatsiis hinges upon Antigo's blood—upon the blood of your family.
This is why Jervis was so adamant about finding you a spouse."
Antigo shook his head "I don't understand."
Bersham sighed, shaking her head. "Each season you delay, the weaker the blood pact becomes. A great
unrest stirs within the forest."
"So I must immediately marry to hold the demons at bay?"
"Such was Jervis' plan…" she trailed off. A glimmer of sorrow clouded her vision and Antigo intuitively
knew they'd been close.
She shook off the sadness. "But that is not a solution to the problem. We must destroy the Skekstatsiis
before my power fully wanes with my ailing body."
Bewildered by her comments, Antigo looked apprehensive.
"You need to understand. You must harness your strength. The prophecy says Antigo's line will fracture
into three parts, in three children, each receiving one of your ancestor's strengths: the powers of mind,
body, and spirit. With this power you can defeat the Skekstatsiis once and for all."
A rapping at the door interrupted them. Bersham covered her secret book with a heavy cloth as Antigo
went to answer the door. A beautiful woman with pale skin and raven-hair stepped inside.
"I seek Antigo," she said with a gleam in her left eye, flowing hair cascaded down her head, obscuring her
other. "I'm told he's a man of great importance and still unbetrothed; I find myself in a similar situation."
Flattered, Antigo stood straight and stepped towards her. Bersham's withered arm seized his wrist.
Pulling him close, she whispered, "I do not know this woman. She is not from this village."
Glaring at the stranger from the corner of her eyes, Bersham implored, "Return to me in one hour. If you
deem Jervis' plan best, marry this girl immediately; if not, I will make you understand. Remember, I sense
a great strength within you."
Antigo nodded, and then escorted the woman to her horse-drawn wagon. As the door closed on
Bersham, she cast a hesitant look towards him. After it clicked shut, she grabbed madly for herbs and
potions.
***
Under the guise of small talk, the mysterious woman drove her cart through the lush illiac fields. "I come
from a place nearby. I'd hoped to visit the town's library; my people have a keen interest in history. Tell
me, where can I find the archives of this town?"
"I'm afraid we Antigans keep a tight lid on that. Delving into our history is forbidden; only the Elders
keep those records. There is great fear in our past; we live by a code so we don't walk back into those
ancient dangers. You are, no doubt, a little familiar with the blighted woods?"
"Yes," she grinned. "I am familiar with this forest. I must unlock its history."
Antigo glanced at her fearfully. He'd told her too much if she was a spy from the covetous, foreign Trade
League.
Abruptly turning, she stated, "I lied to you, Antigo." Stepping to the ground, she walked a short
distance, making him follow. "This is where I did it, where I killed Master Jervis."
"What?" Antigo stammered
"I'm telling you I have no marriage intentions. But I did come to find you. I am Shanda, your sister."
"That's impossible. Shanda died when I was young!"
"You're wrong, little brother. What do you truly know of the village council, their plots and schemes?
What do you really know about history except those few things they allow others to learn? Have you
ever even seen their books of history?"
"What do you expect of me?" Mind reeling, he realized she was baiting him for information.
"This era is unraveling, brother. Soon, Antigo Vale will be but ash and soot. Join us."
"Us?" His ears began buzzing with adrenaline and temptation.
"The coven. They alone offer true power; you need but seize it while the opportunity avails itself. We are
warriors, not scholars; we need someone to discern the clues in history, the keys to unleash the
Skekstasiis!"
Every instance of rejection and denial flooded his mind. He could have anything he wanted?
"We need you," she repeated. "Over the centuries, the coven has forgotten the details of their blood
pact. The restraints are clouded by many years. We need the accurate history to fill in the blanks and
siege the city."
Antigo slightly warmed; he desperately desired her flattery. What he truly wanted was to be needed.
Desired. Respected.
"No!" His sudden, adamant refusal surprised even himself. Deep inside, he knew this was correct. "This is
not right."
Shanda stared at him with her one, cold eye; her hair now fell aside so Antigo could see an eyepatch
covering its mate. "So be it, brother." She shoved him and hopped onto her cart. "I will take what I need
by force!"
Antigo fell as if a thrown by a wild steed. Shanda somehow possessed superhuman strength. Bruised,
he looked up from the dirt and watched the dust rise as her cart sped towards the town.
***
Out of breath, Antigo burst through the door to Bersham's home. "My sister is alive!" he exclaimed.
"And she's in league with the Skekstatsiis!"
Bersham, silently meditating, stirred a bowl of crushed incense. She replied simply, "I know."
"You know?"
"I forget things as I age, young Antigo; I'm not accustomed to aging. After you left, I remembered a
part of prophecy I'd forgotten. One descendant of Antigo will fight alongside the Skekstatsiis in a great
battle."
"They're gonna kill us all! We have to get out of here," he grabbed the elderly woman.
"No!" The ferocity in her voice rocked him back, making him sit. "We must fight! You must find a way to
destroy the Skekstatsiis. We must restore the wood, it is my calling and it is your destiny."
"What? How?"
Shouts rose outside, followed by a muffled explosion. Bersham lit the incense and spun arcs with a
leather cord affixed to a talisman. The bullroarer made a droning hum that dampened the chaos outside.
"Their attack has begun. You must go back now, send your spirit through ether and time. Concentrate
on the smoke and free your mind to the astral plane. But be careful! This is more than a mere vision; do
not alter the course of history!" Using ash from the burnt incense, Bersham drew a symbol on his
forehead.
He patiently stared at the curling smoke; a million questions flew through his brain. The sounds of
distant battle distracted him; an explosion shattered the air. How could he possibly concentrate under
these circumstances?
A mosquito bit his neck. He slapped it and looked up from the smoke that crawled skyward, coming from
a fire nestled inside a fire pit. Looking downwards, he didn't recognize himself. Drawing a sword from his
hip, he caught his bearded reflection in the blade; he was no longer Antigo.
***
"It's happened again!" a villager cried, rushing towards the men gathered around the campfires. "Three
more are dead. Shriveled like husks, just as the others!"
A grizzled man spoke. "We cannot take much more of this, standing watch every night against the—this
unspeakable threat. None will work the illiac fields anymore! They see purple cloaks in every copse of
petals."
"What say you, Nimuk?" The man speaking nudged Antigo who returned a blank stare. The stranger
didn't wait for a reply. "We must abandon Bethshador!" A chorus of assents and disagreements
circulated.
"For the past year, we've fought these…things," a man defended. "Our champion will defeat them yet. If
it's possible, he'll find a way."
"Where is Antigo, anyway?" another voice complained.
Nimuk perked his head up at Antigo's name, but it no longer belonged to him.
"He's with the witch," another replied, across the crackling fire. "Probably consulting her in more ways
than one." He made a crude gesture.
"I am no witch," came a soft, but forceful retort. A beautiful woman and large man stepped from the
shadows. "I am a dryad. Besides, Antigo would never dishonor his wife as you suggest, not even for my
sake." She shot the muscular warrior a lusty look. "I am attached to Antigo's line, just not as you may
suspect."
Antigo extended a burly arm to the watchman. "Tell me, Suphra, you're sure the coven struck again?"
"The Ganner family was murdered like the others, completely desiccated. I cut them and they did not
bleed."
Nodding solemnly, Antigo turned to Nimuk. "Do you still agree we can defeat these beasts?"
Nimuk nodded, looking first to his forefather, then to Bersham. The nymph regarded him back with
curiosity. "We can and will end them, Antigo."
The warrior nodded, his confidence salved. "Brothers in arms," Antigo called. "Our last plan failed."
Frowning, Nimuk remembered what he'd learned from Bersham's book. Their warriors had gathered and
called upon the name of the Skekstasiis, baiting them from the woods. The monsters tore through their
militia like bladed whirlwinds.
"We have learned many important things about our enemy in this last encounter. Hear me, men, we
must strike at the heart of this beast. We cannot tolerate their gluttony within our own borders! These
demons feed upon our souls; they prey on our families! Now, we will bring the fight to their home."
The most stalwart among them nodded, desiring to launch an offensive. The skeptical dissenters
fidgeted.
"This time, we will battle upon the fiends' own doorstep!"
"And you know where this is?" one of the men called out.
"We struck a deal with forest dryads long ago. These monsters have invaded that domain with their
cancer, despoiled the wood. Despite the corruption, the dryads still know their own forest." Antigo
deferred to the dryad.
"This enemy has long been known to my father, but only recently has it risen with such malignant fervor.
At first light, I can lead you through the woods. Tomorrow we will have victory or death, but on our own
terms."
Antigo drew his sword and pointed it into the black sky. "Victory or death!" His followers grunted a shout
of agreement. "We strike in the morning. Go home to your wives; for some, it may be your last night."
While the crowd began dispersing, Antigo took Nimuk by the arm. "My friend, I know you lust for
revenge. No other has remained so vigilant. Your family would be proud of your service in their memory;
and my family thanks you for your watchful eye and sword arm."
Nimuk grasped Antigo by the forearm. "Until tomorrow."
Antigo nodded and departed.
The dryad tiptoed nearby, looking at Nimuk curiously. "Lieutenant? Has something changed in you?
Something is different."
"I am simply me."
The dryad wrinkled her youthful face. "No, there is something new. You have a new sort of inner
strength."
"I am simply me."
She nodded, accepting his answer, and departed. Nimuk stood alone to outlast the night.
***
Brave men screamed as the Skekstasiis tore through them with jagged blades. Antigo, Nimuk, and the
dryad darted through the trees, heading for the Skekstasiis' camp, built over an ancient temple ruin.
Each man knew the risks, but not making this assault would condemn everyone.
Each man had been briefed prior to the assault. "Do not look into their stoney, black eye," the dryad had
warned. "These demons can rip a man's soul from them and devour it. Equally dangerous as their relics
is their skill with the sword; like me, they were once dryads, far stronger than most of you."
While they were all willing to risk their lives, Antigo and Nimuk's mission was to protect the dryad. Only
the dryad knew the way.
Holding up a hand to stall them, the dryad's companions crouched in the underbrush. The silence felt
deafening. A grizzly bear meandered nearby; the stench rolling off it nearly overpowered them. Hide and
rotting flesh hung off the reanimated corpse; exposed joint and sinew clicked as it walked past them and
out of sight.
The dryad briefly explained, "The coven creates these monstrosities to act as sentries, guarding their
domain. Quickly now, there's no time to lose, straight that direction!"
The three sprinted through the woods. Antigo pulled into the lead, and Nimuk just behind. The dryad
screamed. The two men turned to find their companion caught in a crude trap; a row of spikes pierced
her lower leg.
"That way!" She pointed. "You must go, now! Destroy the source of their power! I'll be fine."
The warriors nodded and left her behind. Out of breath, they arrived at a circle of crude, hide covered
huts. Sickly green smoke from putrid incense wafted through the holes at their peaks; it mingled with
the airborne cries of distant, dying friends. At the center of the camp rose a stone monument, built on
the base of a ruined temple. Stone below, a mound of obsidian gravel heaped upwards and plateaued.
Antigo and Nimuk dashed onward, climbing the mound of tiny, black pebbles, reaching the top, flat
stone. It was a giant altar. Opposite a stone bench adorned with potted plants rose a pillar topped with a
black, marbled orb the size of Nimuk's head. It pulsed with evil; a veiny, mauve vine curled out from a
tiny groove, wrapping around the column.
"This must be it," said Antigo. Looking down, the surviving remnants of his army began filtering through
the woods. "We must destroy it and end this madness!"
Nimuk studied the crude, stone table. Upon it laid thirteen eyeballs, plucked from the skulls of the
Skekstasiis, and dried under the sun like a fruit offering.
Suddenly, with a burst of purple fabric and shrieks, the coven returned in defense of their god. Along
with them, they dragged the dryad, a blade laid against her throat.
Antigo drew his sword and held it high above his head, threatening to sunder the coven's deity.
For the first time, the Skekstasiis acted hesitant. Only two of them ascended their altar, one beast with
spikes protruding through his cloak, and the one who held the dryad.
"Do it, Antigo! Destroy it!" she yelled.
"But they'll kill you!"
"They dare not assassinate the dryad princess, one of their own," she said.
Suddenly, Antigo reeled as the coven leader caught his gaze with his own. The warrior shuddered,
trembled for several seconds, and then recoiled, shaking off the creature's spell. The demon straightened
in surprise.
"I am stronger than that! You'll not find me such easy prey!"
Nimuk drew his own sword, thinking he'd anticipated Antigo's plan. He swung it like an axe, but the blade
shattered against the orb's vile, tempered root.
Nimuk's arm curled to his side, jarred with cold pain. The spiked demon stared into his eyes, now.
Nimuk's mind screamed, turning inward on itself; his stomach turned to rot and he tasted blood. His
ears rang, echoing infinitely loud. A shiver of pain caressed his body and he felt a supernatural tug as the
demon tried to rip the man's soul from his core. Nimuk hardened his resolve and squinted back at the
beast, finding the strength to look away.
The dryad glanced sympathetically at Nimuk who slumped with exhaustion, "Only Antigo has physical
strength enough to split a Pranic Vampyre's heart. His body was blessed by the deity."
In the confusion, a third demon clambered up and took a potted plant from the bench. Extending a claw,
he touched the potted sapling's trunk; it shriveled, leaves paling. The dryad screamed like she'd been
stabbed; she sagged, limp.
"What do you want?" Antigo demanded. Panic crept into his voice. "What do you want for her?"
The dryad looked up and stammered weakly, "Destroy it." A spiderweb of ruddy brown veins darkened
her cheek, marring her beauty.
The demon presented the clay pot and wilting tree. It threatened to torture the dryad further.
"Give me the girl! I once swore to her father that she'd remain safe in my village, that my family would
always protect her."
She screamed again as the fiend sapped more life from the tree. Tears streamed down her face. "You
don't understand? The Skekstasiis leader is my father! The orb has seduced even him!" Her eyes
fleetingly glanced at the other potted plants nearby; they lay broken like shattered, petrified wood,
practically stone.
"An oath is an oath!" Antigo screamed against his surprise. "I have loved you, Bersham, not as I would
my wife, but were I unspoken for! If it is in my power, you must live!" He turned to the coven leader.
"Tell me now! What do you want for the life of your daughter?"
The otherworldly voice emanated from below the purple shroud, "Your essence, your blood. All of it,
running red."
Eyes locked on the young dryad, Antigo vowed, "You may have it, but we make a pact this day! You will
release her and do her no further harm. You must never again enter our village. We will stack marked
stones around our boundaries, visible from any point on our border." He looked to Nimuk for
confirmation. "You may not cross this line, and you will leave the pass over the ravine free to travel by
daylight."
The demon nodded to the agreement, adding to it. "Your blood must never run stale. Souls of those
ent'ring the wood be ours to impale. This pact decays if your lineage fails. Your blood, your sons', must
never run stale."
Antigo nodded and drew his knife. "The deal is done."
"No!" Bersham protested.
Both Antigo and the demon extended a hand. Antigo let his own blood. The leader of the Skekstasiis
drew a fingernail across his wrinkled, cadaver-white skin; chunky green blood dripped like mud and
honey. They both smeared their blood across the orb.
Nimuk doubled over with nausea; his mind began to separate. "No! I can't go, not yet!"
Antigo looked longingly at the prisoner. They released Bersham as the Skekstasiis leader locked his gaze
on the hero.
Nimuk groaned, keeping his gaze on the gruesome scene, trying to observe as much as possible. "I
haven't found it yet!"
Trembling, Antigo stared directly into the face of his enemy and uttered a curse. "You may take my
blood, and it will sustain you, but my soul will haunt you with its bitter flavor. You will choke on it and
vomit each morning as the sun rises to remind you of your villainy this day."
The monsters said nothing, only staring into Antigo's soul.
Antigo gasped; his skin turned ashen. Blood, like mist, wafted from his eyes and his body shriveled like a
baked cornhusk.
The gruesome scene faded to black. Suddenly, Nimuk saw no more.
***
"Noooooo!" His scream seemed to turn inside out as Nimuk faded away. Once again, he was Antigo.
Bersham swayed gently in her rocking chair. "That did not take as long as I'd suspected. You were gone
only an hour."
"I failed, Bersham. I saw no way to defeat them."
"But you must defeat them…the prophecy!"
"What prophecy? I should have some kind of strength derived from my ancestor?"
"Yes! Mind, body, and spirit, the powers of will, strength, and heart."
"I don't see how anything but superhuman strength can help, and Shanda already has that."
"You must tell the village what you know, rally them just as Antigo did in the days of Bethshador." Staff
in hand, Bersham pushed her door open.
Antigo saw a twinkle of hope in her eyes, that same spark in her soul that he first saw over three
hundred years ago through another's eyes. "I will try, for the oath my family swore."
Stepping outside, he saw buildings aflame and heard the echoes of explosions. Flashes like fireworks
issued nearby, with bursting reports. Antigo rushed towards the smoke, leaving the old woman to catch
up, as she was able.
Down the streets, smoke poured out of buildings in the village square. Woman and children ran back and
forth carrying buckets; most of the men fought against a lone threat.
Shanda single-handedly held off the town's warriors. Standing atop her cart amid the burning buildings,
she easily defended against any brave enough to rush her. Most who had tried lay dead on the ground.
Amid parries, she shot explosives from a modified mortar tube meant for launching yesterday's fireworks.
Amid smoke and chaos, Antigo and Shanda's eyes met. She grinned in reply and leapt through the
smoke behind her, escaping.
Antigo ran to join the other villagers. Catching movement in the corner of his eye, he whirled to see his
sister slink silently out a nearby door, an antique tome under her arm.
"Shanda!"
As if it was a game, she turned and smiled. "Goodbye, brother." Shanda sprinted away as the house,
once belonging to Master Jervis, detonated with alchemical flame, masking her escape.
Almost blinded, Antigo continued to the village square. He found Flick working one of the fire teams.
Seeing the need, he helped carry buckets with the women and children.
Bersham finally arrived. She quickly set to mending wounds of the injured warriors, setting bones and
salving burns. The blackened stain of chemical fires tarnished everything.
As the infernos finally came under control, Antigo stepped out and walked over to the gathered warriors.
Only few of them remained unscathed.
Franco stood against Shanda's broken wagon; the horses lay dead in the yoke. Clearly in charge, he
chugged the last of a canteen and tossed it to Antigo. "Go fill that for me," he ordered.
Antigo ignored him and tossed the empty container aside. "Men, I'm familiar with this threat. I've faced it
before; my knowledge is critical."
Franco arched his eyebrows. "You've faced this threat before?" Moving his hand to hilt he asked, "You
have defected to the Trade League?"
"The Trade League? Are you insane? They could never unleash a power like this! And when have they
ever used aggression against us?"
"Insane? What do you even know about Antigan politics? I've rarely seen you away from your
nursemaid's side or consorting with the flower pickers," Franco mocked. "You have no idea how badly the
outside world needs our goods, the healing power of illiac petals."
"If you don't listen to me, there won't be enough flowers in all our lands to fix the damage done!"
Franco drew steel. "Is that a threat?"
Antigo put his hands up in surrender. "You are consumed with pomp and politics and we've all forgotten
how real the danger is that lies within our woods."
Franco sheathed his sword, laughing. "You've listened to far too many fairy tales and gotten delusions of
grandeur. There's nothing to fear in the forest."
"Yes there is, and you fear it too; that's why you've never passed through the dark trees."
"You sound so certain of my movements. How do you know I've never ventured into the forest?"
"Because you're still alive, Franco. I demand to speak to the Elders about this."
"They have far more pressing concerns than your wild accusations. There's no danger in these woods
that I cannot handle. Your monsters never existed!"
"Then why do we keep the stone markers? Why the gate guards and warnings? Why does nobody voice
the ineffable name that's been on our lips for so long?"
Franco crossed his arms. "This legend is a ruse to keep the Trade League from plundering our fields and
raiding our borders. The buffer is a clever fiction. None of it was ever real."
The crowd of warriors murmured an assent, siding with Franco.
"If you're so sure, then speak the terrible name! Call out for the Skekstasiis!" Antigo shouted the name,
ordering the crowd to silence. Fear settled in each mans' eyes. A subliminal growl seemed to ride the
winds.
Master Kale stepped into the crowd. "Antigo, the council of elders is gathering. Perhaps we need to hear
from you."
Antigo shot Franco a triumphant glare. He turned and followed Kale from the smoke stained square. He
called for Bersham as he passed, "Are you coming?"
"No, Antigo. I must stay behind."
"But the council always listens to you."
"That is precisely why I must stay. This is a matter of discerning prophecy."
He returned a confused look, but followed Master Kale, alone.
Several minutes later, Antigo sat inside the council chamber with the Elders. Kale sat opposite of Master
Grimms, who glared as usual. They sat with Antigo at the middle.
Kale introduced Antigo once enough of councilmen had arrived. Many of them didn't even know Antigo,
except by namesake.
"Let me remind you all that Antigo's father was a fine man, one of us, in his day." Nods and assents
circled briefly. "We have a great deal to discuss about this mercenary who attacked our village. But
before we discuss that most urgent matter, young Antigo would like to proffer a unique viewpoint on the
danger's origin."
"Thank you, Master Kale," Antigo said. A slamming door interrupted him. Franco sauntered in and knelt
next to Master Grimms, his father.
Trying to ignore the breach of etiquette, Antigo summarized what he knew of Shanda. He explained that
she had survived, was privy to super-strength, and in league with the coven.
Grimms and Franco made no effort to hide their amusement. "I suppose I'm to thank Master Kale for
bringing the entertainment? Clearly nobody is taking this nut seriously?" Grimms leveled his gaze at the
other Elders, lingering on those whom he had deeper ties to. "This seems like a clever ruse, concocted to
distract us from the mercenary that sieges us even now! Tell me, last son of Antigo, how much are they
paying you?"
"What?" Antigo stood, defensive and defiant. He looked around, even Kale looked suddenly skeptical.
"You can't turn this around like that!"
"And why not, because you're the heir of some hero? By your account, so is the saboteur outside. This
seems more like an assault by our long-standing enemies? Perhaps they finally hired the warrior women
of Kendra."
Antigo shouted, "That is not the case! The Skekstasiis have returned!"
That name did not carry as much weight within the council chambers. Grimms stared at Antigo.
"Do these beasts even exist, brethren? Have any of you ever seen one? I, for one, am tired of fleeing
some imaginary fear. I don't believe in what I cannot see or experience. I say we let an ancient blight of
history pass away. But for the sake of argument, let's assume they're real.
"We have a long standing agreement with the dark folk of the woods," Grimms debated. "While hostile,
they will never violate our covenant and they will not, cannot cross our border so long as the signal
stones remain visibly erected."
"There is more to the agreement than that! What of the blood?"
"Your blood running stale, what does that mean anyhow? It is the flowery language of an age gone by,
maybe symbolic. Besides, you're still alive, so how can your blood go stale, Antigo? The scholar I've
consulted believes they only included the phrase to help with rhyming structure."
Incredulous, Antigo's jaw dropped. "That's not what it means! It has always been clear the bloodline
must continue!"
"You know this for a fact? Something you've encountered, perhaps in your personal studies?"
He couldn't answer truthfully; he feigned ignorance. Claiming he'd read a book of history would implicate
him in a crime and discount everything he'd already told the politicians.
"Elders," Grimms addressed his peers, "I feel that given the possibility the boy is working with the Trade
League, we must continue behind closed doors."
All of them nodded an assent, even Kale.
As Antigo paced outside the council building, Bersham shambled out of the growing darkness to join
him. "Things are not going well?"
Antigo scowled at the closed chamber. "No." He explained the situation in detail.
Long minutes passed before Master Kale finally came out. Franco slipped out behind the Elder; he shot
Antigo a devious grin as he left.
"Antigo," Kale began.
"I know," Antigo glowered at Franco's backside. "Nobody believes me."
"It's just that…I'm sorry, Antigo. Grimms presents a strong argument. The evidence tying the Trade
League to the attack and Jervis' death seems obvious." Master Kale nodded, then retreated to the
meeting inside.
Alone again, Bersham spat a curse. "The fools have condemned everyone for the sake of political
ambition. They're blind to anything else!"
"Maybe," Antigo suggested, "the Skekstasiis are still tied in some way to their trees? Could that be the
key?"
"Perhaps…but it would not be the same as with me. Their trees turned to petrified wood when they took
the power of the dark orb. Their very souls have turned to stone, consumed and assimilated by the
power of the Pranic Vampyre. They now consume the souls of others, corrupting and joining those to
themselves. If any ties remain to what once carried those dryad's souls, those reasons are beyond my
reasoning."
"So we do nothing? We must at least try!"
"A hero never does nothing, Antigo. I hear in your voice that you know that." Bersham turned away and
stared into the night. "If we're discovered, they will kill us."
"Victory or death," Antigo stated flatly.
"Go home and rest. We leave in the morning; I will take you there."
Antigo again noticed the twinkle in her eye. She knew something. "Has something changed in you,
Bersham? You seem different, somehow."
"'I am simply me.'"
"Good night, Bersham," he smiled.
"Sleep well, Antigo."
***
Antigo climbed the rickety steps to his apartment, exhausted by this day birthed in Hell. He only wanted
sleep, but discovered someone waiting for him.
"Good evening, Brother," Shanda greeted cheerily, like a close family member might.
"What are you doing here?"
"I've come to give you one last chance. Though, it's a shame you seem to have sided so adamantly
against us," she tsk-tsked.
Antigo grabbed a wooden club nearby. "Leave. Now."
"Remember the three powers in prophecy, I know you didn't get our ancestor's strength," Shanda
taunted. "That's why I come to you without fear. Put that twig down before you injure yourself.
"I imagine our poor dead brother had the power of spirit, the ability to rally the hearts of men. It's too
bad our sibling perished so young. What good is strength of will, brother? What power is there in saying
no? Why deprive yourself of this power we offer so freely?"
Antigo's ears burned; he felt buzzing temptation deep within his mind. His inner lusts cried out for
appeasement.
"I'm family. Join me; let us conquer the world! This little town isn't the end." Shanda flipped up her
eyepatch, revealing an obsidian orb where her eye should be; she was Skekstasiis. Plucking it out, she
placed the black sphere in his hand, "One eye is a small price to pay for unparalleled power."
Antigo dropped the stone inside his pocket. As Nimuk, he'd seen thousands of these stones littering the
sloped altar of the Skekstasiis.
"As soon as we finish, we'll spread our influence across the land. These orbs will hatch into new gods
themselves, each vying for supremacy. Our eldest of the ancients will lead this glorious pantheon of
anarchy. You are integral to this."
Silent, Antigo remained devoted to his course. He stowed his own yearnings deep below the surface of
his mind.
Shanda scowled. "Self-denial's no power; it's a curse."
"No! Cursed is your coven. Thirteen fallen dryads devoted to a deity of malice, you're condemned by the
coming light!"
"Then your refusal is complete?" She stood. "I won't kill you, brother. My family will do that. It will be
their honor to kill the last son of their enemy." She slammed the door behind and disappeared into the
night.
Antigo fell into his bed, hoping this was just a bad dream. "No!" he vowed to his sister. "I am Antigo the
Hero!"
***
Under the rising sun, Antigo met Bersham in the eastern illiac fields. In the distance, just beyond a
gentle rise, stood the old woods gate. Once a solid brick threshold, it was now a stacked stone and a
wrought-iron relic.
Cresting the hill, they straightened with surprise. Hundreds of townsfolk gathered in the purple fields
below. Despite the assaults, they'd assembled to observe the last ceremony of the harvest season.
"The festival moved? They haven't held the last rite on the Precipice for decades." With so many people
gathered nearby, it would make entering the forest difficult, undetected.
Bersham replied, "Perhaps you impacted the council after all. But returning to tradition is futile, now."
She cinched Antigo's pack for him. "We'll have to sneak past them."
Master Grimms spoke this year, filling in for the late Master Jervis. The Elder stood atop the Precipice
performing the rite, crushing the first harvested copse of illiac. Flick, in Grimms' employ, stood nearby.
Halfway to the border and knee-deep in flowers, the woods groaned with an otherworldly moan. A
murder of crows screeched as they took flight. The omen drew the eyes of many; thirteen purple cloaks
appeared at the trees edge.
Bersham grabbed Antigo's wrist, holding him back as the crowd's morbid curiosity drew them near the
trees. Spread widely, the shrouded Skekstasiis stood still, like perched gargoyles; they slowly drew their
swords. The village army did likewise.
Antigo began approaching as a fourteenth purple figure came forward, a blazing firebrand in her hand.
Shanda pulled her hood back revealing her face. She stood next to her coven leader, rigid spikes
protruded from every angle of his violet form.
His otherworldly voice permeating the air with a thick, raspy tone, the Skekstasiis leader spoke. "Today
we break free from our prison wood, overcome this fence of stacked stone and blood. Sick of this soul
that makes us vomit, the oath has weakened; our approach is licit. Your souls are ours, so weak and
frail! You! You let Antigo's blood run stale!"
The demon touched torch to fuse. Simultaneously, the blood soaked markers erupted at the field's edge;
explosions rocked the ground, scattering dirt and debris in every direction. Townsfolk screamed, fleeing;
shrieks pierced the air. The village warriors flew into action as Kale hollered an evacuation.
In the commotion, Bersham yanked on Antigo's arm. "Quickly! Into the forest! This is our chance."
Fleeing villagers ran amok in terror. One family knocked Bersham to the dirt in their mad dash for escape.
The old woman shouted to Antigo, "Go! You know the way without me!"
He nodded to his mentor. Turning to the forest, Antigo spotted Franco crossing blades with Shanda;
she flipped up her eyepatch. The morning sunlight glinted off the obsidian orb lodged within her socket.
Fully seized in Shanda's evil gaze, Franco shrieked. He shriveled into a husk of loose skin and hair under
her power.
Antigo fled. He heard Grimms' wailing voice trailing in the distance. "You promised my son would be
spared!"
***
Dashing through the woods, Antigo's chest heaved in great gasps. He ignored the rancid stench. His
body didn't have the stamina Nimuk's had, though he remembered the way as if he could again see
through the ancient warrior's eyes.
Catching movement ahead, Antigo skidded to a halt. His feet slipped and he slid through the
underbrush, slicked with vile slime. Lifting a hand to examine the substance, he recognized it as vomit;
everything nearby had been tainted by the puke of the Skekstasiis.
Peering through the trees, he spotted a sentinel corpse patrolling the forest. A decaying bovine
meandered through the brush; its skin hung partially off, writhing with maggots. Antigo evaded the
creature, slipping around a copse of trees and through a washout ravine.
Crawling out the other side, Antigo saw another necrotic animal. This one, a felted stag of similar
condition, looked more alert. Antigo tried evading this one too; his footstep snapped a twig. The beast
charged, his snorts alerted the other watchers.
Wide-eyed, Antigo jumped into a sprint. The creature lowered its head, leveling its antlers; it crashed
into him, bowling him over. The felt covered antlers split and shattered like soft peat; the bone had long
since rotted away.
Antigo stood in pain as the beast bellowed near his feet. Its guts had ruptured and tangled around an
uprooted stump. Antigo sprinted again, ignoring the pain wracking his body. The other animals would
soon notice and find him; he could hear hoof-steps in the distance.
Soon the smoke curling from the teepees could be seen in the distance. Bursting through a clearing, a
sudden blow knocked him off his feet, throwing him to the ground.
Shanda stood over him, gloating, holding a wooden club. "Really, my dear brother, you should have
sided with us." She pointed her club to emphasize the point.
Antigo scooted backwards as his sister advanced. Just before she could strike again, Shanda cried out in
pain.
"Run!" screamed Bersham. The old dryad's face flushed from the exertion of the chase. She struggled to
hold Shanda in a headlock. "Fulfill your destiny! Find a way to end this madness!"
Without pausing to acknowledge her, Antigo fled for the ruins. Spotting the altar nearby, he scrambled
up the hill of stones. Stained with sweat and dirt, his grunts of exertion mostly overpowered the sounds
of the fighting women below.
Searching feverishly for the potted plants belonging to the Skekstatsiis, he gathered together a pile of
broken pottery, the shards of petrified wood that littered the altar. He came across one very dry potted
tree; it resembled a bare stick thrust into packed earth. Antigo looked to see three teepees collapse as
Shanda kicked Bersham through them.
"I can see you up there," Shanda called, barely winded. "My true brothers will have slaughtered the village
by midday. Then, they will return."
Antigo scooped the pile of debris together. Broken steel shards pierced his skin, cutting deep; he
recognized the metal as pieces of Nimuk's sword. Antigo stood and dumped the heap onto the altar next
to the black, pulsing orb. Confusion clouded his mind as he frantically pieced through it; he didn't know
what to do next.
"I can stop this, sister!"
"You'll do nothing but die!"
He could hear Shanda's footsteps crunch as she walked up the steep slope. Ebony spheres skittered
down the hill, rattling.
"They no longer care about the things that once restrained them," Shanda called.
Antigo glanced at the broken plant matter, then at the Pranic Vampyre; it buzzed in his mind, intimately
calling to him. He knew his sister spoke the truth; there was no hope in the broken plants. The seconds
stretched long as he frantically pressed his mind for a plan, any plan.
Shanda crested the mound and Antigo asked, "Tell me, sister, is it still too late to join the Skekstasiis?"
He slipped one hand inside his pocket.
"You have proven yourself quite resourceful," she smirked. "But I fear you're more trouble then you're
worth."
"Then you would assume correctly." Antigo jammed one of the splintered steel shards into his own eye,
gouging it out.
"What?" Surprise permeated Shanda's bewildered remark.
Antigo turned to the stone table where Bersham's tree rested. With a sickly wet sound, he slapped his
own eyeball down amongst the fourteen shriveled eyes, consecrated to the idol; he plunged into his own
empty socket the black sphere Shanda had earlier given him.
"It ends here, with me!" With blood running down his cheek, Antigo closed his good eye and stared
down at the least aged of the plucked eyeballs.
Shanda screamed and doubled over in pain. She looked up at her brother, pleading, "No! Please! You
may join us, be one of us!" Her skin began to crinkle and her remaining eye shriveled, sinking inward.
"You will lead us! Be our master," she bartered.
"Sorry, Shanda. I fear you and the Skekstasiis would prove more trouble than you are worth." Antigo
furrowed his brows in concentration.
With a trailing shriek, Shanda collapsed, withering. Her desiccated husk gave up a red mist that fed into
Antigo's black eye. He could feel her life force energize and empower him.
Walking to the edge of the rocky platform, he saw Bersham's unconscious body laying a heap, wrapped
in broken tent materials. Her chest still rose and fell. "I did it, Bersham," he whispered. "I found the way."
Antigo returned to the stone table; Shanda's eye had turned to ash. He brushed the dust into the air
where it dissipated and retrieved Bersham's withered plant for safekeeping. "I have inner strength," he
breathed. "I am Antigo the Hero!"
With his black eye, he squinted at the remaining thirteen shrunken eyeballs. Sweat beaded on his
forehead; he could feel the Skekstasiis' resistance, but he'd set his will. His body trembled under the
strain, and the entire altar began shaking violently; it bucked under the contesting energies. With a final
eruption of power, the dark orb, the Pranic Vamyre cracked slightly, as if superheated and plunged below
water. The fissure shed blue lightning and the quakes ceased with a massive tremor that knocked Antigo
to the ground.
On his back, he could see the red mist swirling high above in the sky. It swelled; churning like a storm
head, it funneled downwards for him.
Antigo rose to his feet, still holding Bersham's plant. In a red flash, the conduit found him, enveloped
him. Antigo bellowed, his body felt stretched, incapable of containing all that power. He screamed, trying
to slough off the raw energy coursing through his body. His body flashed white, and then Antigo blacked
out.
***
Cold pinpricks needled Antigo's face, stirring him back to consciousness. Opening his eyes, a cold gray
sky welcomed him. He sat up under sound of raindrops shaking the leaves. More than leaves rustled:
footsteps crunched; someone was climbing the altar.
Glancing left, he found Bersham's tree sprouting out of a dirt pile; the pottery had been dashed to
pieces when he'd fallen. The tree bloomed with white flowers and green sprigs.
Antigo gathered the loose dirt around the roots to protect it. He looked up to see Bersham approach.
She appeared just as he remembered from Nimuk's day. Her eyes twinkled again with youth.
"Bersham, your tree?"
"Yes. We must plant it somewhere safe."
Antigo gathered the sapling into his arms. He cradled it in the lower skirt of his tunic; gravely soil
tumbled down into his pockets.
"I knew you'd find a way. I've known since Antigo's sacrifice," Bersham said. "Now, this cleansing rain will
revitalize the forest, make it new and wash away the necromancy of an age gone by."
For several long moments, the two stood and basked in the soaking drizzle. The healing water washed
away hundreds of years of curse. Finally, Bersham drew a large symbol on the altar floor. Descending the
altar of the Skekstasiis, Bersham carried the Pranic Vampyre like the head of a defeated enemy. The
crevasse that now marred it collected a rivulet of rain, making the orb cry bitter tears.
"What will we do with it?" Antigo asked.
"It is a leftover, an evil remnant of ancient days. Even weakened, we might not be able to destroy it
under our own power, and it may be dangerous to try. It's no longer a threat if we destroy its children
and lock it away forever."
"Children?"
Bersham procured the coven's thirteen remaining orbs she'd collected while Antigo lay unconscious. As
she took them from her hip pouch, Antigo distinctly noticed her youthful hips. She threw the spheres
upon the altar. "These kind are easily destroyed." Once safely beyond the ruins of the Skekstasiis,
Bersham knelt and recited an incantation. Her spell called fire from the sky and in one stroke of intense
flame, the black stones melted to slag.
Antigo could feel an otherworldly growl in his mind. The orb cried out in pain and rage, echoing as
feedback through Antigo's mind. It continued to mentally fight as they dropped the sinister globe deep
into a scorched crater left over from Bersham's spell and backfilled the hole with scorched gravel.
Finished, Antigo again took up the sapling in his shirt and led Bersham by the hand. As they walked, she
asked where he led her.
"Let's plant your tree at the center of the forest. Let it be the first blooming green thing at the center of
a restored woodland." As they continued walking, his eyes couldn't avert themselves from the dryad's
lithe and supple body.
Bersham was just as Antigo remembered, just as alive as the tree within his hands. A sparkle in her eyes
welcomed the glances; in reality they'd known each other for a very long time.
Digging fingers into dampened earth, they made a hole and planted her tree just as promised. The sky
cleared and cast rays of sun into the glade.
Despite the mood, a gloom rose deep inside Antigo's mind, calling like a distant knock upon a door. He
pushed the darkness down, squelched it with sheer force of will. When it passed, he smiled at Bersham,
still crouched at the base of her tree.
Antigo squinted against the buzzing pain in the remote parts of his mind. "I don't know if I can contain
all this power. It beckons to the darkest parts of my mind."
"As I foretold days ago, you've become a man, taking a wife." Bersham's eyes twinkled, connecting
intimately with his. She leaned forward and kissed him. "I also saw great strength within you. My visions
rarely leave one wanting. I know you alone have the ability to contain this darkness, if you so choose."
Digging his forefinger into his socket, Antigo dislodged his black eye and crushed the black sphere under
heel.
"So what now, Bersham?"
"Now we go home."
***
They walked together through the awakening forest. Antigo grinned, trading glances with the woman
he'd soon marry. He brushed the dirt from his tattered tunic and stuffed his hands into his pockets.
Grabbing handfuls of dirt, he emptied them as they meandered among the trees.
His fingers curled around something hard and his mind latched on to it. The last black orb rested within
Antigo's pocket, mixed among the potting soil. He emptied his other pockets and smiled at Bersham
through the burning in his mind.
He knew he could control it. He'd hide it away and forget about it.
Today was their day, their time. However, some future event might require he retrieve the orb? It would
be his secret; he could control it.
Antigo took Bersham's hand in his own. Today was their day.
the gated outpost. Two strong men
approached and offered a warm greeting,
checking for indicators their visitor had
affiliations with the embargoed Trade League.
"Where is your offering and what is your
purpose in Antigo Vale?"
Leaning forward, the driver procured a canvas
sack of miscellaneous sundries to pay the
gatekeepers. "I've come to conduct personal
business with Master Jervis, one of your
village's Elders." Eyes darted to the rapiers
tucked inside the guards' cloaks, careful not
to linger too long and cast suspicion.
Nodding, the gatekeeper motioned to his
partner who went to work the pulley system
and raised the gate. "Stay on the path that
leads over the bridge and beyond the gorge.
Do not stray into the woods, friend; I tell you
this for your safety. The road remains
harmless until dusk. See that you're inside
the village by then."
With a grin, the traveler nodded. "This is not
my first time to Antigo Vale."
Solemnly, the guard lowered his gaze. "Let's
see that it's not your last, then."
Cracking the reins, the driver urged the
horses forward, across the sheer ravine cliffs and towards the destination. The wagon passed into the
gnarled, black trees that buffered the town, and disappeared.
***
Antigo cast a sidelong glance at Flick as the eligible women of the village ignored them. The preened
ladies followed tradition; before the harvest dance, they paraded before the males in a ritual performed
by many of their parents. The pageant announced both eligibility and lack of agreeable suitors.
Flick returned Antigo's sardonic look, screwing his facial features to match. Not one of the women had
even glanced their way. Flick shrugged and poured a flagon of euphoric djat-berry ale, the second most
exported resource produced only by their secluded community.
Scowling, Antigo shook his head as the last lady walked past, seeking the young soldier nearby. Antigo
looked down and compared his small stature and thin limbs. He possessed too few qualities women
found desirable. Named after his heroic ancestor, 'Antigo' was synonymous with strength; he was
anything but.
Antigo looked past the girls and frowned. The females all flocked around Franco, the town's most eligible
bachelor, vying for his attention. They practically swooned when Franco adjusted the way his sword hilt
fit. Antigan females were habitually attracted to the strong warrior-type.
As Antigo sauntered over to pour a tall cup of his own, Master Jervis stood to pronounce the beginning
of the festival dance. Antigo paid no mind until he'd filled a tall stein. He held little hope for finding a wife.
Clinking his cup against Flick's, Antigo suggested, "Let's get out of here?"
Flick's upper lip moistened with froth. "I'm game. Where to?"
"Anywhere, maybe the Precipice?" Antigo shrugged.
"So long as I can bring my ale."
"I'll do you one better." Antigo settled a ten-liter keg onto a hand truck and motioned for Flick to follow.
They didn't feel at home in this celebration, or even in the community. As orphans, they shared a
common bond that made them both outsiders.
At the center of the square, a band struck up a tune, eliciting applause from the dancers. The uproar
distracted Antigo and Flick; they almost collided with Master Jervis.
Over the music, Jervis shouted as he leaned in closer. "Young Antigo, so sad to see you leaving this
early."
He merely shrugged. "There again seems no interest in me as a suitor this year."
Jervis nodded slowly, hesitant and methodical. "Nevertheless, it is imperative we find you a mate—and
soon."
Antigo shrugged and waved the notion off. It seemed farfetched.
Again, Jervis leaned forward, closer this time. "We must find you a wife…before it's too late."
Something about the way the old man spoke rattled him, perhaps the urgency in his eyes. Antigo
nodded to the Elder.
"I will stop by to see you sometime during the harvest. We have important matters to discuss." Jervis
slapped Antigo on the shoulder and slipped back into the crowd of revelers.
Confused, the friends shrugged and wheeled their keg away from the festival tents. Fireworks crackled a
farewell behind them while their cart rattled between the worn ruts of hard-caked earth.
Sweating, they finally collapsed against the stone altar atop the Precipice, a natural rock outcropping at
the village's outskirts. Catching his breath, Antigo ran a thoughtful finger along the grooves etched into
a natural stone slab; glyphs and symbols covered the face of the Precipice.
Flick turned from the small fire he'd coaxed to life with flint and tinder.
"They tell a story to remind us of the pact made when Antigo Vale was founded," he told Flick. "It's the
ancient rules to keep the unmentionable ones at bay." Master Jervis taught him that bit of history after
his family perished in a house-fire long ago; his parents and two siblings all died.
Fireflies skittered lazy trails through the forest's edge as the two watched the celebration fireworks from
afar; only the insects were brave enough to tempt the beasts of the forest. With minds swimming in the
gentle hum of ale, they cast sidelong glances to the murky wood; it enveloped their minds when looked
at, as if calling to them.
Antigo stood to stretch. His friend slumped over the cask, completely pickled. Shuffling off the Precipice,
he stumbled to the trail, and saw a group of near-drunk teenagers roving through the deep-violet illiac
fields, daring their peers to step into the sinister woods. At first, they lacked any reverence for the trees'
sinister reputation. One boy jostled another and tripped, scattering a pile of stacked stones at the tree
line, near the moss covered Old Woods Gate. They all joined together to quickly restack them, leaving
the rock smeared with animal blood at top. Finished, they departed solemnly.
Antigo waved to his snoring friend and stumbled homeward. It was a warm night with a red sunset. Flick
would be fine till morning.
***
Daybreak erupted with a vengeance, scattering rays across the morning fields like grain heads scattered
by a violent wind. It revealed too much for the booze-addled mind.
Terror flooded Flick's mind and clouded his vision; he barely even noticed the illiac flowers he crushed
while sprinting across the field towards Antigo Vale. He fled the edge of the woods, seeing only the
destination ahead locked in tunnel vision; dread forbade him to look behind. They could be chasing him—
so horrible he couldn't even think their name let alone imagine what they looked like! He'd rather die
never seeing the creatures bearing down on his heels.
Flick stumbled and pitched headlong into the crop. Obscured by waist-high shoots, he lay still for a
moment. He could only hear the sounds of his own panicked breathing; no pursuit came.
Hung over, he'd awakened at the Precipice and wandered off to urinate. Near the dark woods…that's
where he'd found it!
Panic crept in again and he clambered to his feet—continued sprinting. He still had to reach the council
Elders as soon as possible. They had to know Master Jervis was dead.
***
In the busy market square, Antigo trailed after the hunched, old crone, carrying burdens for her as she
shopped. Bersham seemed more absent-minded than usual this morning. She paid more attention to
the nearby councilmen than the street vendors. Custom in Antigo Vale mandated enough Elders arrive
each market day so they could form a quorum. Trade was the lifeblood of their town with buyers and
sellers coming through the narrow pass to buy precious illiac flowers or distribute their wares each day.
Antigo struggled to lug the heavy bag of sundries after her, stepping around travelers who came to
purchase a bundle of dried illiac, no doubt to help heal the cripple lagging to the rear of their group. As
the elderly woman tossed him miscellaneous grocery items, Antigo wondered why she'd chosen him for
service. He could barely even manage carrying the woman's supplies.
Bersham swung her face to him, exposing a crisscrossed network of age spots and darkened veins. The
lines might once have been tattoos. "Antigo! Hurry up," she snapped.
Years ago, she demanded the council assign Antigo, an orphan boy, as her helper. The council nearly
always caved to Bersham; she knew many secrets. Since then, he met with her weekly to do chores and
shopping, but she'd also taught him many things. Bersham tutored him for one day each week and
rigorously instructed him. If she were not such a strict taskmaster, he might have regarded her as a
friend.
Noticing Bersham perk up, Antigo turned to match her gaze. Flick rounded a corner, running wildly for
the councilmen. Bersham grinned as if she'd expected something to happen this morning.
The crowd parted and Flick collapsed at the feet of Master Kale, head of the village leaders. Between
heaving breaths, he exclaimed, "Master Jervis is dead!"
Struggling under the load, Antigo barely managed to follow the old woman as she scuttled towards the
group of gathering Elders.
Councilman Grimms removed his hat. "So that explains Jervis's absence today." He nodded solemnly to
the other men in his company. "What are the circumstances of his death?"
"It was them." Had Flick's face not been so pallid, one might have thought the words spoken with
reverence.
Antigo watched Bersham's face set as she turned away from the council's clamor. "Come, Antigo. I've
much to teach you this day."
He obediently followed, glancing apologetically back to Flick while departing. Cries for emergency meetings
reached Antigo's ears, an argument between Kale and Grimms; the council summoned Franco.
"Much to learn," the crone prattled, paying no mind to the chaos behind them. "The signs are proven;
the vision was accurate. The blood of our hero weakens. Soon, boy, you will be a man. You must become
the man."
***
As Antigo mashed Bersham's gourds into a paste she could more easily eat, the old woman dusted an
archaic book. The embossed letters on the tome's spine read "History, Volume 1." Like all the other
Antigan children, he'd learned to read as a child, but history wasn't taught in school. History was far too
dangerous, left only for select scholars, with some historical periods kept taboo. Only a select handful of
Council Elders were privy to the darkest moments of Antigan history, now one less with Jervis dead.
Bersham set her heavy book onto the table and flipped it open. The age-speckled pages cracked slightly
as they fell in sheaves. "Today, you will learn the dark history of our wonderful little community."
Antigo sat. Passing her the plate of yellow mush, he turned to better look at the antique book.
"I thought only the elders kept the history?"
She playfully smacked him across the back of his head. "What do your eyes tell you? I obviously keep the
history as well, but mine goes back further. I've paid greater attention to detail." She pointed to an
opened page.
Antigo touched his lips with his hands as he read the title page. He'd learned the habit as a child; one
couldn't accidentally speak the ineffable name when you squeezed your lips. The boldfaced print spelled
their name, blasphemous, written so plainly.
With fear-induced awe, he fingered a small patch of cloth glued to the page. He'd never seen that shade
of purple before. For more than an hour, Antigo immersed himself in history.
Bersham sat nearby, hands folded in her lap. "We were not always called Antigo Vale. Once, we called
this place Bethshador, long before the ineffable coven emerged."
A crude sketch depicted a figure shrouded by a plum-hued cloak. Curiosity burgeoned in his mind; a
lesson echoed across his brain, a schoolboy's chant he'd been forced to memorize. He quoted, "We must
never speak their name. Antigo's oath must always remain. Lest we beg for death and pain, we must
never speak the ineffable name."
"A horror of the worst sort," Bersham agreed. "A night terror, a shadow and a blight upon our once
verdant woods. We will always fear them if we are afraid to even say their name. History erred on the
side of caution; you may speak their name. The Skekstatsiis can no longer be summoned by name." She
flipped a page to an old map labeled Bethshador. Only smaller borders and a handful of altered
landmarks were noticeable. "If we wish to see this threat diminish, you must first understand it.
Bethshador was the original village: a man-carved dale set amid a kinder sort of forest."
Antigo nodded obediently, taking it in. The date near the map's legend labeled it over three hundred
years old.
"Recite the tenets of Antigo's blood pact," Bersham commanded.
"Antigo's blood must never run stale. Entering the woods is forbidden; a man takes his own life by doing
so. Do not speak the name of the ineffable coven. Keep the borders sound. Antigo's blood must never
run stale." He looked to her for confirmation.
"The entire covenant with the Skekstatsiis hinges upon Antigo's blood—upon the blood of your family.
This is why Jervis was so adamant about finding you a spouse."
Antigo shook his head "I don't understand."
Bersham sighed, shaking her head. "Each season you delay, the weaker the blood pact becomes. A great
unrest stirs within the forest."
"So I must immediately marry to hold the demons at bay?"
"Such was Jervis' plan…" she trailed off. A glimmer of sorrow clouded her vision and Antigo intuitively
knew they'd been close.
She shook off the sadness. "But that is not a solution to the problem. We must destroy the Skekstatsiis
before my power fully wanes with my ailing body."
Bewildered by her comments, Antigo looked apprehensive.
"You need to understand. You must harness your strength. The prophecy says Antigo's line will fracture
into three parts, in three children, each receiving one of your ancestor's strengths: the powers of mind,
body, and spirit. With this power you can defeat the Skekstatsiis once and for all."
A rapping at the door interrupted them. Bersham covered her secret book with a heavy cloth as Antigo
went to answer the door. A beautiful woman with pale skin and raven-hair stepped inside.
"I seek Antigo," she said with a gleam in her left eye, flowing hair cascaded down her head, obscuring her
other. "I'm told he's a man of great importance and still unbetrothed; I find myself in a similar situation."
Flattered, Antigo stood straight and stepped towards her. Bersham's withered arm seized his wrist.
Pulling him close, she whispered, "I do not know this woman. She is not from this village."
Glaring at the stranger from the corner of her eyes, Bersham implored, "Return to me in one hour. If you
deem Jervis' plan best, marry this girl immediately; if not, I will make you understand. Remember, I sense
a great strength within you."
Antigo nodded, and then escorted the woman to her horse-drawn wagon. As the door closed on
Bersham, she cast a hesitant look towards him. After it clicked shut, she grabbed madly for herbs and
potions.
***
Under the guise of small talk, the mysterious woman drove her cart through the lush illiac fields. "I come
from a place nearby. I'd hoped to visit the town's library; my people have a keen interest in history. Tell
me, where can I find the archives of this town?"
"I'm afraid we Antigans keep a tight lid on that. Delving into our history is forbidden; only the Elders
keep those records. There is great fear in our past; we live by a code so we don't walk back into those
ancient dangers. You are, no doubt, a little familiar with the blighted woods?"
"Yes," she grinned. "I am familiar with this forest. I must unlock its history."
Antigo glanced at her fearfully. He'd told her too much if she was a spy from the covetous, foreign Trade
League.
Abruptly turning, she stated, "I lied to you, Antigo." Stepping to the ground, she walked a short
distance, making him follow. "This is where I did it, where I killed Master Jervis."
"What?" Antigo stammered
"I'm telling you I have no marriage intentions. But I did come to find you. I am Shanda, your sister."
"That's impossible. Shanda died when I was young!"
"You're wrong, little brother. What do you truly know of the village council, their plots and schemes?
What do you really know about history except those few things they allow others to learn? Have you
ever even seen their books of history?"
"What do you expect of me?" Mind reeling, he realized she was baiting him for information.
"This era is unraveling, brother. Soon, Antigo Vale will be but ash and soot. Join us."
"Us?" His ears began buzzing with adrenaline and temptation.
"The coven. They alone offer true power; you need but seize it while the opportunity avails itself. We are
warriors, not scholars; we need someone to discern the clues in history, the keys to unleash the
Skekstasiis!"
Every instance of rejection and denial flooded his mind. He could have anything he wanted?
"We need you," she repeated. "Over the centuries, the coven has forgotten the details of their blood
pact. The restraints are clouded by many years. We need the accurate history to fill in the blanks and
siege the city."
Antigo slightly warmed; he desperately desired her flattery. What he truly wanted was to be needed.
Desired. Respected.
"No!" His sudden, adamant refusal surprised even himself. Deep inside, he knew this was correct. "This is
not right."
Shanda stared at him with her one, cold eye; her hair now fell aside so Antigo could see an eyepatch
covering its mate. "So be it, brother." She shoved him and hopped onto her cart. "I will take what I need
by force!"
Antigo fell as if a thrown by a wild steed. Shanda somehow possessed superhuman strength. Bruised,
he looked up from the dirt and watched the dust rise as her cart sped towards the town.
***
Out of breath, Antigo burst through the door to Bersham's home. "My sister is alive!" he exclaimed.
"And she's in league with the Skekstatsiis!"
Bersham, silently meditating, stirred a bowl of crushed incense. She replied simply, "I know."
"You know?"
"I forget things as I age, young Antigo; I'm not accustomed to aging. After you left, I remembered a
part of prophecy I'd forgotten. One descendant of Antigo will fight alongside the Skekstatsiis in a great
battle."
"They're gonna kill us all! We have to get out of here," he grabbed the elderly woman.
"No!" The ferocity in her voice rocked him back, making him sit. "We must fight! You must find a way to
destroy the Skekstatsiis. We must restore the wood, it is my calling and it is your destiny."
"What? How?"
Shouts rose outside, followed by a muffled explosion. Bersham lit the incense and spun arcs with a
leather cord affixed to a talisman. The bullroarer made a droning hum that dampened the chaos outside.
"Their attack has begun. You must go back now, send your spirit through ether and time. Concentrate
on the smoke and free your mind to the astral plane. But be careful! This is more than a mere vision; do
not alter the course of history!" Using ash from the burnt incense, Bersham drew a symbol on his
forehead.
He patiently stared at the curling smoke; a million questions flew through his brain. The sounds of
distant battle distracted him; an explosion shattered the air. How could he possibly concentrate under
these circumstances?
A mosquito bit his neck. He slapped it and looked up from the smoke that crawled skyward, coming from
a fire nestled inside a fire pit. Looking downwards, he didn't recognize himself. Drawing a sword from his
hip, he caught his bearded reflection in the blade; he was no longer Antigo.
***
"It's happened again!" a villager cried, rushing towards the men gathered around the campfires. "Three
more are dead. Shriveled like husks, just as the others!"
A grizzled man spoke. "We cannot take much more of this, standing watch every night against the—this
unspeakable threat. None will work the illiac fields anymore! They see purple cloaks in every copse of
petals."
"What say you, Nimuk?" The man speaking nudged Antigo who returned a blank stare. The stranger
didn't wait for a reply. "We must abandon Bethshador!" A chorus of assents and disagreements
circulated.
"For the past year, we've fought these…things," a man defended. "Our champion will defeat them yet. If
it's possible, he'll find a way."
"Where is Antigo, anyway?" another voice complained.
Nimuk perked his head up at Antigo's name, but it no longer belonged to him.
"He's with the witch," another replied, across the crackling fire. "Probably consulting her in more ways
than one." He made a crude gesture.
"I am no witch," came a soft, but forceful retort. A beautiful woman and large man stepped from the
shadows. "I am a dryad. Besides, Antigo would never dishonor his wife as you suggest, not even for my
sake." She shot the muscular warrior a lusty look. "I am attached to Antigo's line, just not as you may
suspect."
Antigo extended a burly arm to the watchman. "Tell me, Suphra, you're sure the coven struck again?"
"The Ganner family was murdered like the others, completely desiccated. I cut them and they did not
bleed."
Nodding solemnly, Antigo turned to Nimuk. "Do you still agree we can defeat these beasts?"
Nimuk nodded, looking first to his forefather, then to Bersham. The nymph regarded him back with
curiosity. "We can and will end them, Antigo."
The warrior nodded, his confidence salved. "Brothers in arms," Antigo called. "Our last plan failed."
Frowning, Nimuk remembered what he'd learned from Bersham's book. Their warriors had gathered and
called upon the name of the Skekstasiis, baiting them from the woods. The monsters tore through their
militia like bladed whirlwinds.
"We have learned many important things about our enemy in this last encounter. Hear me, men, we
must strike at the heart of this beast. We cannot tolerate their gluttony within our own borders! These
demons feed upon our souls; they prey on our families! Now, we will bring the fight to their home."
The most stalwart among them nodded, desiring to launch an offensive. The skeptical dissenters
fidgeted.
"This time, we will battle upon the fiends' own doorstep!"
"And you know where this is?" one of the men called out.
"We struck a deal with forest dryads long ago. These monsters have invaded that domain with their
cancer, despoiled the wood. Despite the corruption, the dryads still know their own forest." Antigo
deferred to the dryad.
"This enemy has long been known to my father, but only recently has it risen with such malignant fervor.
At first light, I can lead you through the woods. Tomorrow we will have victory or death, but on our own
terms."
Antigo drew his sword and pointed it into the black sky. "Victory or death!" His followers grunted a shout
of agreement. "We strike in the morning. Go home to your wives; for some, it may be your last night."
While the crowd began dispersing, Antigo took Nimuk by the arm. "My friend, I know you lust for
revenge. No other has remained so vigilant. Your family would be proud of your service in their memory;
and my family thanks you for your watchful eye and sword arm."
Nimuk grasped Antigo by the forearm. "Until tomorrow."
Antigo nodded and departed.
The dryad tiptoed nearby, looking at Nimuk curiously. "Lieutenant? Has something changed in you?
Something is different."
"I am simply me."
The dryad wrinkled her youthful face. "No, there is something new. You have a new sort of inner
strength."
"I am simply me."
She nodded, accepting his answer, and departed. Nimuk stood alone to outlast the night.
***
Brave men screamed as the Skekstasiis tore through them with jagged blades. Antigo, Nimuk, and the
dryad darted through the trees, heading for the Skekstasiis' camp, built over an ancient temple ruin.
Each man knew the risks, but not making this assault would condemn everyone.
Each man had been briefed prior to the assault. "Do not look into their stoney, black eye," the dryad had
warned. "These demons can rip a man's soul from them and devour it. Equally dangerous as their relics
is their skill with the sword; like me, they were once dryads, far stronger than most of you."
While they were all willing to risk their lives, Antigo and Nimuk's mission was to protect the dryad. Only
the dryad knew the way.
Holding up a hand to stall them, the dryad's companions crouched in the underbrush. The silence felt
deafening. A grizzly bear meandered nearby; the stench rolling off it nearly overpowered them. Hide and
rotting flesh hung off the reanimated corpse; exposed joint and sinew clicked as it walked past them and
out of sight.
The dryad briefly explained, "The coven creates these monstrosities to act as sentries, guarding their
domain. Quickly now, there's no time to lose, straight that direction!"
The three sprinted through the woods. Antigo pulled into the lead, and Nimuk just behind. The dryad
screamed. The two men turned to find their companion caught in a crude trap; a row of spikes pierced
her lower leg.
"That way!" She pointed. "You must go, now! Destroy the source of their power! I'll be fine."
The warriors nodded and left her behind. Out of breath, they arrived at a circle of crude, hide covered
huts. Sickly green smoke from putrid incense wafted through the holes at their peaks; it mingled with
the airborne cries of distant, dying friends. At the center of the camp rose a stone monument, built on
the base of a ruined temple. Stone below, a mound of obsidian gravel heaped upwards and plateaued.
Antigo and Nimuk dashed onward, climbing the mound of tiny, black pebbles, reaching the top, flat
stone. It was a giant altar. Opposite a stone bench adorned with potted plants rose a pillar topped with a
black, marbled orb the size of Nimuk's head. It pulsed with evil; a veiny, mauve vine curled out from a
tiny groove, wrapping around the column.
"This must be it," said Antigo. Looking down, the surviving remnants of his army began filtering through
the woods. "We must destroy it and end this madness!"
Nimuk studied the crude, stone table. Upon it laid thirteen eyeballs, plucked from the skulls of the
Skekstasiis, and dried under the sun like a fruit offering.
Suddenly, with a burst of purple fabric and shrieks, the coven returned in defense of their god. Along
with them, they dragged the dryad, a blade laid against her throat.
Antigo drew his sword and held it high above his head, threatening to sunder the coven's deity.
For the first time, the Skekstasiis acted hesitant. Only two of them ascended their altar, one beast with
spikes protruding through his cloak, and the one who held the dryad.
"Do it, Antigo! Destroy it!" she yelled.
"But they'll kill you!"
"They dare not assassinate the dryad princess, one of their own," she said.
Suddenly, Antigo reeled as the coven leader caught his gaze with his own. The warrior shuddered,
trembled for several seconds, and then recoiled, shaking off the creature's spell. The demon straightened
in surprise.
"I am stronger than that! You'll not find me such easy prey!"
Nimuk drew his own sword, thinking he'd anticipated Antigo's plan. He swung it like an axe, but the blade
shattered against the orb's vile, tempered root.
Nimuk's arm curled to his side, jarred with cold pain. The spiked demon stared into his eyes, now.
Nimuk's mind screamed, turning inward on itself; his stomach turned to rot and he tasted blood. His
ears rang, echoing infinitely loud. A shiver of pain caressed his body and he felt a supernatural tug as the
demon tried to rip the man's soul from his core. Nimuk hardened his resolve and squinted back at the
beast, finding the strength to look away.
The dryad glanced sympathetically at Nimuk who slumped with exhaustion, "Only Antigo has physical
strength enough to split a Pranic Vampyre's heart. His body was blessed by the deity."
In the confusion, a third demon clambered up and took a potted plant from the bench. Extending a claw,
he touched the potted sapling's trunk; it shriveled, leaves paling. The dryad screamed like she'd been
stabbed; she sagged, limp.
"What do you want?" Antigo demanded. Panic crept into his voice. "What do you want for her?"
The dryad looked up and stammered weakly, "Destroy it." A spiderweb of ruddy brown veins darkened
her cheek, marring her beauty.
The demon presented the clay pot and wilting tree. It threatened to torture the dryad further.
"Give me the girl! I once swore to her father that she'd remain safe in my village, that my family would
always protect her."
She screamed again as the fiend sapped more life from the tree. Tears streamed down her face. "You
don't understand? The Skekstasiis leader is my father! The orb has seduced even him!" Her eyes
fleetingly glanced at the other potted plants nearby; they lay broken like shattered, petrified wood,
practically stone.
"An oath is an oath!" Antigo screamed against his surprise. "I have loved you, Bersham, not as I would
my wife, but were I unspoken for! If it is in my power, you must live!" He turned to the coven leader.
"Tell me now! What do you want for the life of your daughter?"
The otherworldly voice emanated from below the purple shroud, "Your essence, your blood. All of it,
running red."
Eyes locked on the young dryad, Antigo vowed, "You may have it, but we make a pact this day! You will
release her and do her no further harm. You must never again enter our village. We will stack marked
stones around our boundaries, visible from any point on our border." He looked to Nimuk for
confirmation. "You may not cross this line, and you will leave the pass over the ravine free to travel by
daylight."
The demon nodded to the agreement, adding to it. "Your blood must never run stale. Souls of those
ent'ring the wood be ours to impale. This pact decays if your lineage fails. Your blood, your sons', must
never run stale."
Antigo nodded and drew his knife. "The deal is done."
"No!" Bersham protested.
Both Antigo and the demon extended a hand. Antigo let his own blood. The leader of the Skekstasiis
drew a fingernail across his wrinkled, cadaver-white skin; chunky green blood dripped like mud and
honey. They both smeared their blood across the orb.
Nimuk doubled over with nausea; his mind began to separate. "No! I can't go, not yet!"
Antigo looked longingly at the prisoner. They released Bersham as the Skekstasiis leader locked his gaze
on the hero.
Nimuk groaned, keeping his gaze on the gruesome scene, trying to observe as much as possible. "I
haven't found it yet!"
Trembling, Antigo stared directly into the face of his enemy and uttered a curse. "You may take my
blood, and it will sustain you, but my soul will haunt you with its bitter flavor. You will choke on it and
vomit each morning as the sun rises to remind you of your villainy this day."
The monsters said nothing, only staring into Antigo's soul.
Antigo gasped; his skin turned ashen. Blood, like mist, wafted from his eyes and his body shriveled like a
baked cornhusk.
The gruesome scene faded to black. Suddenly, Nimuk saw no more.
***
"Noooooo!" His scream seemed to turn inside out as Nimuk faded away. Once again, he was Antigo.
Bersham swayed gently in her rocking chair. "That did not take as long as I'd suspected. You were gone
only an hour."
"I failed, Bersham. I saw no way to defeat them."
"But you must defeat them…the prophecy!"
"What prophecy? I should have some kind of strength derived from my ancestor?"
"Yes! Mind, body, and spirit, the powers of will, strength, and heart."
"I don't see how anything but superhuman strength can help, and Shanda already has that."
"You must tell the village what you know, rally them just as Antigo did in the days of Bethshador." Staff
in hand, Bersham pushed her door open.
Antigo saw a twinkle of hope in her eyes, that same spark in her soul that he first saw over three
hundred years ago through another's eyes. "I will try, for the oath my family swore."
Stepping outside, he saw buildings aflame and heard the echoes of explosions. Flashes like fireworks
issued nearby, with bursting reports. Antigo rushed towards the smoke, leaving the old woman to catch
up, as she was able.
Down the streets, smoke poured out of buildings in the village square. Woman and children ran back and
forth carrying buckets; most of the men fought against a lone threat.
Shanda single-handedly held off the town's warriors. Standing atop her cart amid the burning buildings,
she easily defended against any brave enough to rush her. Most who had tried lay dead on the ground.
Amid parries, she shot explosives from a modified mortar tube meant for launching yesterday's fireworks.
Amid smoke and chaos, Antigo and Shanda's eyes met. She grinned in reply and leapt through the
smoke behind her, escaping.
Antigo ran to join the other villagers. Catching movement in the corner of his eye, he whirled to see his
sister slink silently out a nearby door, an antique tome under her arm.
"Shanda!"
As if it was a game, she turned and smiled. "Goodbye, brother." Shanda sprinted away as the house,
once belonging to Master Jervis, detonated with alchemical flame, masking her escape.
Almost blinded, Antigo continued to the village square. He found Flick working one of the fire teams.
Seeing the need, he helped carry buckets with the women and children.
Bersham finally arrived. She quickly set to mending wounds of the injured warriors, setting bones and
salving burns. The blackened stain of chemical fires tarnished everything.
As the infernos finally came under control, Antigo stepped out and walked over to the gathered warriors.
Only few of them remained unscathed.
Franco stood against Shanda's broken wagon; the horses lay dead in the yoke. Clearly in charge, he
chugged the last of a canteen and tossed it to Antigo. "Go fill that for me," he ordered.
Antigo ignored him and tossed the empty container aside. "Men, I'm familiar with this threat. I've faced it
before; my knowledge is critical."
Franco arched his eyebrows. "You've faced this threat before?" Moving his hand to hilt he asked, "You
have defected to the Trade League?"
"The Trade League? Are you insane? They could never unleash a power like this! And when have they
ever used aggression against us?"
"Insane? What do you even know about Antigan politics? I've rarely seen you away from your
nursemaid's side or consorting with the flower pickers," Franco mocked. "You have no idea how badly the
outside world needs our goods, the healing power of illiac petals."
"If you don't listen to me, there won't be enough flowers in all our lands to fix the damage done!"
Franco drew steel. "Is that a threat?"
Antigo put his hands up in surrender. "You are consumed with pomp and politics and we've all forgotten
how real the danger is that lies within our woods."
Franco sheathed his sword, laughing. "You've listened to far too many fairy tales and gotten delusions of
grandeur. There's nothing to fear in the forest."
"Yes there is, and you fear it too; that's why you've never passed through the dark trees."
"You sound so certain of my movements. How do you know I've never ventured into the forest?"
"Because you're still alive, Franco. I demand to speak to the Elders about this."
"They have far more pressing concerns than your wild accusations. There's no danger in these woods
that I cannot handle. Your monsters never existed!"
"Then why do we keep the stone markers? Why the gate guards and warnings? Why does nobody voice
the ineffable name that's been on our lips for so long?"
Franco crossed his arms. "This legend is a ruse to keep the Trade League from plundering our fields and
raiding our borders. The buffer is a clever fiction. None of it was ever real."
The crowd of warriors murmured an assent, siding with Franco.
"If you're so sure, then speak the terrible name! Call out for the Skekstasiis!" Antigo shouted the name,
ordering the crowd to silence. Fear settled in each mans' eyes. A subliminal growl seemed to ride the
winds.
Master Kale stepped into the crowd. "Antigo, the council of elders is gathering. Perhaps we need to hear
from you."
Antigo shot Franco a triumphant glare. He turned and followed Kale from the smoke stained square. He
called for Bersham as he passed, "Are you coming?"
"No, Antigo. I must stay behind."
"But the council always listens to you."
"That is precisely why I must stay. This is a matter of discerning prophecy."
He returned a confused look, but followed Master Kale, alone.
Several minutes later, Antigo sat inside the council chamber with the Elders. Kale sat opposite of Master
Grimms, who glared as usual. They sat with Antigo at the middle.
Kale introduced Antigo once enough of councilmen had arrived. Many of them didn't even know Antigo,
except by namesake.
"Let me remind you all that Antigo's father was a fine man, one of us, in his day." Nods and assents
circled briefly. "We have a great deal to discuss about this mercenary who attacked our village. But
before we discuss that most urgent matter, young Antigo would like to proffer a unique viewpoint on the
danger's origin."
"Thank you, Master Kale," Antigo said. A slamming door interrupted him. Franco sauntered in and knelt
next to Master Grimms, his father.
Trying to ignore the breach of etiquette, Antigo summarized what he knew of Shanda. He explained that
she had survived, was privy to super-strength, and in league with the coven.
Grimms and Franco made no effort to hide their amusement. "I suppose I'm to thank Master Kale for
bringing the entertainment? Clearly nobody is taking this nut seriously?" Grimms leveled his gaze at the
other Elders, lingering on those whom he had deeper ties to. "This seems like a clever ruse, concocted to
distract us from the mercenary that sieges us even now! Tell me, last son of Antigo, how much are they
paying you?"
"What?" Antigo stood, defensive and defiant. He looked around, even Kale looked suddenly skeptical.
"You can't turn this around like that!"
"And why not, because you're the heir of some hero? By your account, so is the saboteur outside. This
seems more like an assault by our long-standing enemies? Perhaps they finally hired the warrior women
of Kendra."
Antigo shouted, "That is not the case! The Skekstasiis have returned!"
That name did not carry as much weight within the council chambers. Grimms stared at Antigo.
"Do these beasts even exist, brethren? Have any of you ever seen one? I, for one, am tired of fleeing
some imaginary fear. I don't believe in what I cannot see or experience. I say we let an ancient blight of
history pass away. But for the sake of argument, let's assume they're real.
"We have a long standing agreement with the dark folk of the woods," Grimms debated. "While hostile,
they will never violate our covenant and they will not, cannot cross our border so long as the signal
stones remain visibly erected."
"There is more to the agreement than that! What of the blood?"
"Your blood running stale, what does that mean anyhow? It is the flowery language of an age gone by,
maybe symbolic. Besides, you're still alive, so how can your blood go stale, Antigo? The scholar I've
consulted believes they only included the phrase to help with rhyming structure."
Incredulous, Antigo's jaw dropped. "That's not what it means! It has always been clear the bloodline
must continue!"
"You know this for a fact? Something you've encountered, perhaps in your personal studies?"
He couldn't answer truthfully; he feigned ignorance. Claiming he'd read a book of history would implicate
him in a crime and discount everything he'd already told the politicians.
"Elders," Grimms addressed his peers, "I feel that given the possibility the boy is working with the Trade
League, we must continue behind closed doors."
All of them nodded an assent, even Kale.
As Antigo paced outside the council building, Bersham shambled out of the growing darkness to join
him. "Things are not going well?"
Antigo scowled at the closed chamber. "No." He explained the situation in detail.
Long minutes passed before Master Kale finally came out. Franco slipped out behind the Elder; he shot
Antigo a devious grin as he left.
"Antigo," Kale began.
"I know," Antigo glowered at Franco's backside. "Nobody believes me."
"It's just that…I'm sorry, Antigo. Grimms presents a strong argument. The evidence tying the Trade
League to the attack and Jervis' death seems obvious." Master Kale nodded, then retreated to the
meeting inside.
Alone again, Bersham spat a curse. "The fools have condemned everyone for the sake of political
ambition. They're blind to anything else!"
"Maybe," Antigo suggested, "the Skekstasiis are still tied in some way to their trees? Could that be the
key?"
"Perhaps…but it would not be the same as with me. Their trees turned to petrified wood when they took
the power of the dark orb. Their very souls have turned to stone, consumed and assimilated by the
power of the Pranic Vampyre. They now consume the souls of others, corrupting and joining those to
themselves. If any ties remain to what once carried those dryad's souls, those reasons are beyond my
reasoning."
"So we do nothing? We must at least try!"
"A hero never does nothing, Antigo. I hear in your voice that you know that." Bersham turned away and
stared into the night. "If we're discovered, they will kill us."
"Victory or death," Antigo stated flatly.
"Go home and rest. We leave in the morning; I will take you there."
Antigo again noticed the twinkle in her eye. She knew something. "Has something changed in you,
Bersham? You seem different, somehow."
"'I am simply me.'"
"Good night, Bersham," he smiled.
"Sleep well, Antigo."
***
Antigo climbed the rickety steps to his apartment, exhausted by this day birthed in Hell. He only wanted
sleep, but discovered someone waiting for him.
"Good evening, Brother," Shanda greeted cheerily, like a close family member might.
"What are you doing here?"
"I've come to give you one last chance. Though, it's a shame you seem to have sided so adamantly
against us," she tsk-tsked.
Antigo grabbed a wooden club nearby. "Leave. Now."
"Remember the three powers in prophecy, I know you didn't get our ancestor's strength," Shanda
taunted. "That's why I come to you without fear. Put that twig down before you injure yourself.
"I imagine our poor dead brother had the power of spirit, the ability to rally the hearts of men. It's too
bad our sibling perished so young. What good is strength of will, brother? What power is there in saying
no? Why deprive yourself of this power we offer so freely?"
Antigo's ears burned; he felt buzzing temptation deep within his mind. His inner lusts cried out for
appeasement.
"I'm family. Join me; let us conquer the world! This little town isn't the end." Shanda flipped up her
eyepatch, revealing an obsidian orb where her eye should be; she was Skekstasiis. Plucking it out, she
placed the black sphere in his hand, "One eye is a small price to pay for unparalleled power."
Antigo dropped the stone inside his pocket. As Nimuk, he'd seen thousands of these stones littering the
sloped altar of the Skekstasiis.
"As soon as we finish, we'll spread our influence across the land. These orbs will hatch into new gods
themselves, each vying for supremacy. Our eldest of the ancients will lead this glorious pantheon of
anarchy. You are integral to this."
Silent, Antigo remained devoted to his course. He stowed his own yearnings deep below the surface of
his mind.
Shanda scowled. "Self-denial's no power; it's a curse."
"No! Cursed is your coven. Thirteen fallen dryads devoted to a deity of malice, you're condemned by the
coming light!"
"Then your refusal is complete?" She stood. "I won't kill you, brother. My family will do that. It will be
their honor to kill the last son of their enemy." She slammed the door behind and disappeared into the
night.
Antigo fell into his bed, hoping this was just a bad dream. "No!" he vowed to his sister. "I am Antigo the
Hero!"
***
Under the rising sun, Antigo met Bersham in the eastern illiac fields. In the distance, just beyond a
gentle rise, stood the old woods gate. Once a solid brick threshold, it was now a stacked stone and a
wrought-iron relic.
Cresting the hill, they straightened with surprise. Hundreds of townsfolk gathered in the purple fields
below. Despite the assaults, they'd assembled to observe the last ceremony of the harvest season.
"The festival moved? They haven't held the last rite on the Precipice for decades." With so many people
gathered nearby, it would make entering the forest difficult, undetected.
Bersham replied, "Perhaps you impacted the council after all. But returning to tradition is futile, now."
She cinched Antigo's pack for him. "We'll have to sneak past them."
Master Grimms spoke this year, filling in for the late Master Jervis. The Elder stood atop the Precipice
performing the rite, crushing the first harvested copse of illiac. Flick, in Grimms' employ, stood nearby.
Halfway to the border and knee-deep in flowers, the woods groaned with an otherworldly moan. A
murder of crows screeched as they took flight. The omen drew the eyes of many; thirteen purple cloaks
appeared at the trees edge.
Bersham grabbed Antigo's wrist, holding him back as the crowd's morbid curiosity drew them near the
trees. Spread widely, the shrouded Skekstasiis stood still, like perched gargoyles; they slowly drew their
swords. The village army did likewise.
Antigo began approaching as a fourteenth purple figure came forward, a blazing firebrand in her hand.
Shanda pulled her hood back revealing her face. She stood next to her coven leader, rigid spikes
protruded from every angle of his violet form.
His otherworldly voice permeating the air with a thick, raspy tone, the Skekstasiis leader spoke. "Today
we break free from our prison wood, overcome this fence of stacked stone and blood. Sick of this soul
that makes us vomit, the oath has weakened; our approach is licit. Your souls are ours, so weak and
frail! You! You let Antigo's blood run stale!"
The demon touched torch to fuse. Simultaneously, the blood soaked markers erupted at the field's edge;
explosions rocked the ground, scattering dirt and debris in every direction. Townsfolk screamed, fleeing;
shrieks pierced the air. The village warriors flew into action as Kale hollered an evacuation.
In the commotion, Bersham yanked on Antigo's arm. "Quickly! Into the forest! This is our chance."
Fleeing villagers ran amok in terror. One family knocked Bersham to the dirt in their mad dash for escape.
The old woman shouted to Antigo, "Go! You know the way without me!"
He nodded to his mentor. Turning to the forest, Antigo spotted Franco crossing blades with Shanda;
she flipped up her eyepatch. The morning sunlight glinted off the obsidian orb lodged within her socket.
Fully seized in Shanda's evil gaze, Franco shrieked. He shriveled into a husk of loose skin and hair under
her power.
Antigo fled. He heard Grimms' wailing voice trailing in the distance. "You promised my son would be
spared!"
***
Dashing through the woods, Antigo's chest heaved in great gasps. He ignored the rancid stench. His
body didn't have the stamina Nimuk's had, though he remembered the way as if he could again see
through the ancient warrior's eyes.
Catching movement ahead, Antigo skidded to a halt. His feet slipped and he slid through the
underbrush, slicked with vile slime. Lifting a hand to examine the substance, he recognized it as vomit;
everything nearby had been tainted by the puke of the Skekstasiis.
Peering through the trees, he spotted a sentinel corpse patrolling the forest. A decaying bovine
meandered through the brush; its skin hung partially off, writhing with maggots. Antigo evaded the
creature, slipping around a copse of trees and through a washout ravine.
Crawling out the other side, Antigo saw another necrotic animal. This one, a felted stag of similar
condition, looked more alert. Antigo tried evading this one too; his footstep snapped a twig. The beast
charged, his snorts alerted the other watchers.
Wide-eyed, Antigo jumped into a sprint. The creature lowered its head, leveling its antlers; it crashed
into him, bowling him over. The felt covered antlers split and shattered like soft peat; the bone had long
since rotted away.
Antigo stood in pain as the beast bellowed near his feet. Its guts had ruptured and tangled around an
uprooted stump. Antigo sprinted again, ignoring the pain wracking his body. The other animals would
soon notice and find him; he could hear hoof-steps in the distance.
Soon the smoke curling from the teepees could be seen in the distance. Bursting through a clearing, a
sudden blow knocked him off his feet, throwing him to the ground.
Shanda stood over him, gloating, holding a wooden club. "Really, my dear brother, you should have
sided with us." She pointed her club to emphasize the point.
Antigo scooted backwards as his sister advanced. Just before she could strike again, Shanda cried out in
pain.
"Run!" screamed Bersham. The old dryad's face flushed from the exertion of the chase. She struggled to
hold Shanda in a headlock. "Fulfill your destiny! Find a way to end this madness!"
Without pausing to acknowledge her, Antigo fled for the ruins. Spotting the altar nearby, he scrambled
up the hill of stones. Stained with sweat and dirt, his grunts of exertion mostly overpowered the sounds
of the fighting women below.
Searching feverishly for the potted plants belonging to the Skekstatsiis, he gathered together a pile of
broken pottery, the shards of petrified wood that littered the altar. He came across one very dry potted
tree; it resembled a bare stick thrust into packed earth. Antigo looked to see three teepees collapse as
Shanda kicked Bersham through them.
"I can see you up there," Shanda called, barely winded. "My true brothers will have slaughtered the village
by midday. Then, they will return."
Antigo scooped the pile of debris together. Broken steel shards pierced his skin, cutting deep; he
recognized the metal as pieces of Nimuk's sword. Antigo stood and dumped the heap onto the altar next
to the black, pulsing orb. Confusion clouded his mind as he frantically pieced through it; he didn't know
what to do next.
"I can stop this, sister!"
"You'll do nothing but die!"
He could hear Shanda's footsteps crunch as she walked up the steep slope. Ebony spheres skittered
down the hill, rattling.
"They no longer care about the things that once restrained them," Shanda called.
Antigo glanced at the broken plant matter, then at the Pranic Vampyre; it buzzed in his mind, intimately
calling to him. He knew his sister spoke the truth; there was no hope in the broken plants. The seconds
stretched long as he frantically pressed his mind for a plan, any plan.
Shanda crested the mound and Antigo asked, "Tell me, sister, is it still too late to join the Skekstasiis?"
He slipped one hand inside his pocket.
"You have proven yourself quite resourceful," she smirked. "But I fear you're more trouble then you're
worth."
"Then you would assume correctly." Antigo jammed one of the splintered steel shards into his own eye,
gouging it out.
"What?" Surprise permeated Shanda's bewildered remark.
Antigo turned to the stone table where Bersham's tree rested. With a sickly wet sound, he slapped his
own eyeball down amongst the fourteen shriveled eyes, consecrated to the idol; he plunged into his own
empty socket the black sphere Shanda had earlier given him.
"It ends here, with me!" With blood running down his cheek, Antigo closed his good eye and stared
down at the least aged of the plucked eyeballs.
Shanda screamed and doubled over in pain. She looked up at her brother, pleading, "No! Please! You
may join us, be one of us!" Her skin began to crinkle and her remaining eye shriveled, sinking inward.
"You will lead us! Be our master," she bartered.
"Sorry, Shanda. I fear you and the Skekstasiis would prove more trouble than you are worth." Antigo
furrowed his brows in concentration.
With a trailing shriek, Shanda collapsed, withering. Her desiccated husk gave up a red mist that fed into
Antigo's black eye. He could feel her life force energize and empower him.
Walking to the edge of the rocky platform, he saw Bersham's unconscious body laying a heap, wrapped
in broken tent materials. Her chest still rose and fell. "I did it, Bersham," he whispered. "I found the way."
Antigo returned to the stone table; Shanda's eye had turned to ash. He brushed the dust into the air
where it dissipated and retrieved Bersham's withered plant for safekeeping. "I have inner strength," he
breathed. "I am Antigo the Hero!"
With his black eye, he squinted at the remaining thirteen shrunken eyeballs. Sweat beaded on his
forehead; he could feel the Skekstasiis' resistance, but he'd set his will. His body trembled under the
strain, and the entire altar began shaking violently; it bucked under the contesting energies. With a final
eruption of power, the dark orb, the Pranic Vamyre cracked slightly, as if superheated and plunged below
water. The fissure shed blue lightning and the quakes ceased with a massive tremor that knocked Antigo
to the ground.
On his back, he could see the red mist swirling high above in the sky. It swelled; churning like a storm
head, it funneled downwards for him.
Antigo rose to his feet, still holding Bersham's plant. In a red flash, the conduit found him, enveloped
him. Antigo bellowed, his body felt stretched, incapable of containing all that power. He screamed, trying
to slough off the raw energy coursing through his body. His body flashed white, and then Antigo blacked
out.
***
Cold pinpricks needled Antigo's face, stirring him back to consciousness. Opening his eyes, a cold gray
sky welcomed him. He sat up under sound of raindrops shaking the leaves. More than leaves rustled:
footsteps crunched; someone was climbing the altar.
Glancing left, he found Bersham's tree sprouting out of a dirt pile; the pottery had been dashed to
pieces when he'd fallen. The tree bloomed with white flowers and green sprigs.
Antigo gathered the loose dirt around the roots to protect it. He looked up to see Bersham approach.
She appeared just as he remembered from Nimuk's day. Her eyes twinkled again with youth.
"Bersham, your tree?"
"Yes. We must plant it somewhere safe."
Antigo gathered the sapling into his arms. He cradled it in the lower skirt of his tunic; gravely soil
tumbled down into his pockets.
"I knew you'd find a way. I've known since Antigo's sacrifice," Bersham said. "Now, this cleansing rain will
revitalize the forest, make it new and wash away the necromancy of an age gone by."
For several long moments, the two stood and basked in the soaking drizzle. The healing water washed
away hundreds of years of curse. Finally, Bersham drew a large symbol on the altar floor. Descending the
altar of the Skekstasiis, Bersham carried the Pranic Vampyre like the head of a defeated enemy. The
crevasse that now marred it collected a rivulet of rain, making the orb cry bitter tears.
"What will we do with it?" Antigo asked.
"It is a leftover, an evil remnant of ancient days. Even weakened, we might not be able to destroy it
under our own power, and it may be dangerous to try. It's no longer a threat if we destroy its children
and lock it away forever."
"Children?"
Bersham procured the coven's thirteen remaining orbs she'd collected while Antigo lay unconscious. As
she took them from her hip pouch, Antigo distinctly noticed her youthful hips. She threw the spheres
upon the altar. "These kind are easily destroyed." Once safely beyond the ruins of the Skekstasiis,
Bersham knelt and recited an incantation. Her spell called fire from the sky and in one stroke of intense
flame, the black stones melted to slag.
Antigo could feel an otherworldly growl in his mind. The orb cried out in pain and rage, echoing as
feedback through Antigo's mind. It continued to mentally fight as they dropped the sinister globe deep
into a scorched crater left over from Bersham's spell and backfilled the hole with scorched gravel.
Finished, Antigo again took up the sapling in his shirt and led Bersham by the hand. As they walked, she
asked where he led her.
"Let's plant your tree at the center of the forest. Let it be the first blooming green thing at the center of
a restored woodland." As they continued walking, his eyes couldn't avert themselves from the dryad's
lithe and supple body.
Bersham was just as Antigo remembered, just as alive as the tree within his hands. A sparkle in her eyes
welcomed the glances; in reality they'd known each other for a very long time.
Digging fingers into dampened earth, they made a hole and planted her tree just as promised. The sky
cleared and cast rays of sun into the glade.
Despite the mood, a gloom rose deep inside Antigo's mind, calling like a distant knock upon a door. He
pushed the darkness down, squelched it with sheer force of will. When it passed, he smiled at Bersham,
still crouched at the base of her tree.
Antigo squinted against the buzzing pain in the remote parts of his mind. "I don't know if I can contain
all this power. It beckons to the darkest parts of my mind."
"As I foretold days ago, you've become a man, taking a wife." Bersham's eyes twinkled, connecting
intimately with his. She leaned forward and kissed him. "I also saw great strength within you. My visions
rarely leave one wanting. I know you alone have the ability to contain this darkness, if you so choose."
Digging his forefinger into his socket, Antigo dislodged his black eye and crushed the black sphere under
heel.
"So what now, Bersham?"
"Now we go home."
***
They walked together through the awakening forest. Antigo grinned, trading glances with the woman
he'd soon marry. He brushed the dirt from his tattered tunic and stuffed his hands into his pockets.
Grabbing handfuls of dirt, he emptied them as they meandered among the trees.
His fingers curled around something hard and his mind latched on to it. The last black orb rested within
Antigo's pocket, mixed among the potting soil. He emptied his other pockets and smiled at Bersham
through the burning in his mind.
He knew he could control it. He'd hide it away and forget about it.
Today was their day, their time. However, some future event might require he retrieve the orb? It would
be his secret; he could control it.
Antigo took Bersham's hand in his own. Today was their day.
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