Every step he took increased the aching in his legs, and with every heave of his chest, fire filled his lungs. Targ had no idea how long he and his companions had been running; time seemed to have frozen since the trio had escaped the battle scene, blending everything into an eternity.
Not much longer. Thought seemed vague and disjointed through the blinding pain, as if he had already collapsed into unconsciousness. Any minute now my legs will collapse beneath me.
His companion, Gailen, threw frequent worried glances back at him, as they swerved around small bushes and trees with no true destination save away from the horrible battle behind them. He can tell I can't make it much longer. It must be obvious.
The young man slowed to fall back to Targ's side, his brown eyes reflecting unmistakable signs of worry. Sweat slicked Gailen's shoulder-length dark brown hair, transforming his curly locks into nearly straight strands sticking to his neck and face. Targ suppressed a wry smile at the idea that he could register such details when their lives were weighing in the balance. But then, what is one supposed to think about just before one dies?
Targ's thoughts were interrupted by the third member of the group, who appeared from behind a bush. Her dark blonde hair was pinned in a half-pony tail, and fell to her shoulders in a jumbled mess, and her dark blue eyes showed traces of the fatigue Targ felt as she looked up at him.
"Gailen, we need to rest. Can you not see he's beginning to limp? At this rate we wouldn't be able to run much farther anyway."
"I-I can see that, but-" Gailen sputtered.
"No buts, Gailen! We're not going to be any good for anything when we make it to our destination if we keep pushing ourselves like this!" The girl, Alena, shouted. The conversation was, however, a moot point. When Alena appeared the entire party had stopped, and it took only moments for Targ to seize the opportunity to fall to the forest floor, gasping for breath.
"Alena, we don't know how far behind us they are!" Gailen pleaded.
"Gailen." Alena spoke in a cool voice, her tone expressing confidence that she was in complete control. Targ could understand why, after all, Gailen would have a hard time winning the argument with Targ passing out in exhaustion on the ground. "Think about it, we have no reason to believe they are even still following us anymore."
Her words were spoken matter-of-factly, but they were scarcely out of her mouth before an unearthly silence descended on the forest where they now stood. The silence was always the first signal of the arrival of 'Them'. Neither he, nor anyone else yet knew what to call it, the most he'd heard them described as were 'shadows' or 'nightmares that walked'. Whatever name would eventually be assigned to them was a decision for poets one day far off, all that really mattered now was that they were drawing near. Gailen and Alena immediately dove behind the nearest tree for cover, only inches from where Targ lay in the dirt and brush of the forest.
Lying as he was on the forest floor, Targ was mostly concealed by the undergrowth, and thus only elected to roll to his stomach for a better view of where the new arrivals would likely appear."Well..." Gailen whispered, "Do we run or fight?"
"A lot of good running did us last time." Alena snorted.
That is true. Targ frowned. Last time the battle was all but over in just minutes. Gailen's construct story was no match for them. In the end all it really did was buy time for us to escape. Now it seems it was a brief reprieve at best.
"I don't think I can go on." Targ whispered in reply. "Even if I forced myself to stand again, I won't last much longer any way."
"Then we fight." Grim determination lined Gailen's face as he spoke. "Alena you are going to have to help me."
"Gailen, I only know the one story well enough to use it." She said softly. "And there was nothing in it about battles, so I have no idea how they will react under those conditions."
"It doesn't matter, Alena, your 'Mahote' story is going to have to be good enough, or..." Gailen paused. "...We won't be able to run away again."
Running; it seemed like that was all Targ had done since he had woken up in a castle room only two months ago. How he had gotten there, or where he was from, he did not know. The old man who greeted him then claimed to be a 'Sage', a part of an elite group of people who worked magic by the telling of stories. Apparently certain people were born with the talent to bring these stories into reality. Targ was not too clear on all the particulars of this magic-although these practitioners refused to call this 'talent' any sort of magic.
Martell, the old Sage, had told him about a storm that brought Targ into the world. Apparently once every thousand years a stranger to the world would be brought to a remote forest where a great, cloudless storm would somehow summon them. These strangers, Martell told him, would always bring a wealth of stories and information from their world, and this world would thus profit immeasurably from their arrival.
At least, that is what the old man had told him the legend said. True enough Martell found him in a remote forest, unconscious in the middle of a bizarre storm, but if Targ had truly come from another world and been transferred to this one, he had no recollection of his previous world. Even his name was not from this other world, Martell had given it to Targ when he did not know what to call him and tired of simply saying 'the stranger'.
Several days after Targ awoke, Martell decided to pack a few of his belongings together, and travel with Targ to a council of Sages. Two other Sages joined them during the trip, bringing with them their two apprentices. Little did they know they would run across 'Them' on their way to the council. During the ensuing battle, Martell shouted to Targ and the two apprentices to flee for their lives. That had been three days ago, and they had scarcely dared to rest since. Once already 'Them' had caught up with the trio, and the results were anything but pleasant.
"Guys...if we stop arguing and be quiet, maybe they won't find us?"
"That would be a fool's wish." A deep voice spoke from the bushes near them, silencing for the moment Alena and Gailen's argument.
Gliding into what passed for a clearing in the dense forest they were in, was the tall figure of a man in a flowing black cloak. A wide-brimmed hat sat upon his head and unnaturally cloaked the features of his face in shadow. His arms were held open wide as if to show he was unarmed. A tailored black suit ran the length of his body, and he wore a pair of dark gloves on his hands. Darkness swirled about his features, everything from his voice to his height seemed to be constantly shifting and changing. Sometimes he seemed feminine, other times he appeared fiendish, or even bestial.
"Now that it is apparent you cannot hide from us, let us talk." He said smoothly.
Before either of the other two could decide on an action, Targ picked himself up off the forest floor, and he spoke to the spokesman of 'Them', while brushing himself off.
"What exactly do you want to talk about? I mean, are you lost? Do you need directions? Or do you need some other kind of help?"
The shadowy figure stared at Targ for a few seconds, apparently surprised at his questioning, before finally speaking. "I had heard you were not quite right in the head. I see now that this is true. What a pity." The man shook his head slightly in disgust.
"Just tell us what you want!" Gailen shouted, growing impatient.
"Why, I would think that would be obvious. We desire you to join us." The dark man smiled before quickly continuing. "Think before you answer...the two of you have the talent, and your schooling is far from complete. In fact, one would say it was sadly lacking based on our last encounter.
"What about Targ?"
Alena shot Gailen an incredulous look, and opened her mouth to speak. Gailen quickly brought a finger to his lips to head her off, leaning to whisper in her ear. "We need time, I'm just trying to get it."
It was likely a trick of the wind that allowed Targ to hear his words at all. If the man heard Gailen's words, he gave no indication of it, replying to Gailen's question with a laugh. "What about him? He appears to possess no stories, and if the talent is there within him, it seems to be as dormant as his memories are. Would you give your lives meaninglessly in a vain attempt to save someone as worthless as him?"
"Worthless to you, maybe!" Alena snapped. "But he is our friend, and we won't leave him behind!"
"Very well then!" It hissed, like a giant serpent, "I grant you permission to take him with you, to your graves!"
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