

The Nine Enthusiasts

A Work in Progress

by

Magda Baltatu

Alexandra Iulus

Miruna Cristiana Paun

Matei Cristian Manea

Daniela Mihai

Andrei Postaru

Teodor Dumitrescu

Robin Wildt Hansen

Cristina Popovici

Edited (on an ongoing basis ) by Robin Wildt Hansen

Copyright © 2018 by the authors

All rights reserved

CONTENTS

Foreword

Accidentally

Tharius

A Plan No One Saw

Edward the dragon slayer

Blind spot

If God Was A Woman

Shadow of Yesterday

#  Foreword

by Robin Wildt Hansen

This collection of short stories is the result of a seven-week Creative Writing and Self-Publishing course that I taught at Fundația Calea Victoriei in Bucharest, Romania.

Each participant wrote a short story during the course. In the last minutes of the final session, we uploaded the book together. It was a highly climactic moment – to be honest I hadn't been sure we would make it on time. But we did; and that was a testimony to the effort and involvement that each participant had put forth, in many cases extraordinarily so.

I am highly impressed by the level of imagination and professionalism put forward by my students, and it is my guess that some of them will become professional writers.

Extra credit goes to Teodor Dumitrescu, who created a formatting template that each participant could apply to their story; Miruna Cristiana Păun, who gave us her own artwork for the cover when we were hurrying to get everything ready for upload in the last session; and Alexandra Iulus, who wrote not only her own story but also the story that we planned together during the first sessions of the course.

As the subtitle says, this anthology is a work in progress. That means that each participant can update their story and send it to me for re-upload. It also means that my editing and feedback is something that is happening on an ongoing basis. Although most stories are written at a very high level of English, none of the writers are native English speakers, so mistakes do occur. Due to time constraint, I was not able to edit the entire document flawlessly ahead of the first publication; however it is my goal to edit it on an ongoing basis. The goal is to have a great, free anthology of short stories, that is updated periodically. I very much hope you will enjoy it!

About me:

My main mission is to find and give expression to the realities that lie beyond the surface level of easy truths.

I am a graduate of Theology and Religious Studies and an avid student of mythology, neuroscience, modern physics and psychology. I have carried out extensive field research on the Afro-Brazilian religion Candomblé.

I am the author of the transcendental novel, The World, about psychiatry and spiritual initiation; the self-development book, Conscious Living, about how to boost self-discipline and consciousness; and the Danish novel, I hver vores skyttegrav, about Danish-Romanian culture shock.

Check out my website.

# Accidentally

by Magda Baltatu

"Oh my God, you guys are never gonna believe this. Check out this video I found on Youtube. I never thought someone could actually do that with a lightbulb."

A bout of laughter erupted as the three colleagues sitting next to him tilted their office chairs towards Marc's screen. "Ouch, that had to hurt!" he added, giggling incontrolably.

"Make sure you're not working yourselves too hard, boys", he heard a voice behind him. His team leader, Christian, was eyeing them up on his way out.

"Yeah, so that's the correct way to give a 'dig' command, you also have to specify the source", he said in a professional voice, instantly correcting his posture.

As Christian left the open space area, Marc turned around to wink at his colleagues, but he soon realized they had already moved on to the next attraction. They were all standing gathered next to the glass wall. A woman dressed in a short skirt and heels was making her way along the outside of the building, all the while staring at her own reflection in the mirror wall, running her hand with outstretched fingers through her hair, her lips slightly pouting. Inside the building, two of the guys were standing on either side of her, posing with their hands through their hair, pouting, while the third one was taking a picture of them.

From the outside, the glass office building completely mirrored everything that surrounded it, but from the inside everything was just a glass wall. Their ground floor office was a perfect sightseeing spot for the entirely male IT Infrastructure team, who could gawk, stare, make fun and catcall without being seen or heard.

It was already a quarter past five, but Marc was in no hurry to leave; even watching stray cats chasing their tails on Youtube was more appealing than the impending football match with Juniper. As he went to the bathroom one last time before leaving work, he caught a look of himself in the mirror while washing his hands. He was wearing the T-shirt he received last week for his birthday from his colleagues. It had 'But first, coffee' written on the front and a picture of a mug of coffee taking up the entirety of his front shirt, which made his bead-like head look oddly out of place. His skinny arms and black brim glasses added to his geeky image.

"Jesus, I hate this T-shirt. Don't worry, Marc, it's just for today, otherwise you'd get asked about why you're not wearing it, " he said to himself consolingly.

Every weekday, Marc would go with his colleagues for the usual 10 a.m. coffee break in the courtyard. He wasn't going because he liked coffee, or because he particularly liked spending more time with his colleagues than was absolutely necessary, but because they were also joined by the two girls from the HR department. They were the ones who had actually made the purchase of the T-shirt for his birthday. "If they'd only know that I don't even like coffee," he smiled to himself in the mirror.

By the time Marc returned to his desk, the others were back at their workstations, wrapping up the day's social media browsing, so he lazily packed his laptop, headphones, mouse and coffee mug in his locker and headed towards the outside parking lot.

When he approached his car, a dark blue 2009 VW Golf, he saw that a red Mini Cooper was blocking his car. Although the business park was next to a metro station, a lot of people came by car, occupying every parking spot that existed. Those who came in later had no choice but to double park, blocking other cars.

"Oh, enough with the coffee already!" he muttered to himself when he noticed the coffee sticker on the reservoir. He started to dial the number the driver had left in the window, all the while muttering profanity under his breath. A few minutes later, Marc gaped as the slim, blonde woman wearing a short, fitted skirt and heels approached him, smiling.

"Hi, I'm Jen, sorry about this", she said, flashing a sparkly smile. "I hope I haven't kept you long."

Christian scratched the back of his head akwardly, continuing to stare at her.

"Well yeah... I mean... No worries."

The girl got in the car and moved it a couple of meters forward and then stopped.

"Were you on your way out?" she yelled, with her head stretched out the window, waiting for him to leave so as to take his parking spot. Marc returned from his daydream and hurried to his car.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, right away m'am", he mumbled as he got in the car as fast as he could and left with a screech, after nearly killing his engine.

"What a pair of legs", he thought while exiting the familiar grounds of the business park. It was built ten years previously on some land that had not so long ago been covered in corn. Twenty years ago there was nothing more in the area than the remnants of the once flowering Communist industry, now home to an interesting blend of corporate techies, smartly dressed girls working in banking and sweaty, boozy workers from the car part factory, welding companies and typography.

He exited the office grounds by heading left onto a one-lane boulevard, shielded by old, bushy poplars. There were only a few cars on the road at this hour; usually everybody would leave at 6 p.m., blocking the streets for a full hour. Parallel to the road, on the right hand side, was a tram line, mainly used by blue-collar workers from what was left of the industrial sector.

He usually liked to leave after 6:30 p.m., to avoid the traffic, but tonight he had the game. "The damn football game... How Marius talked me into it again I don't know. They needed another guy for the team, and I'm the only one with no life, no plans; no wife or children". He glanced at the car clock and noticed he was running slightly late. He was ten minutes behind schedule because he had had to wait for Jen to move her car.

"I'm such an idiot with women", he said to himself as he sped past another crosswalk. "Why the hell didn't I ask for her number?" He let his own words sink in for a few moments, before the realization hit him. "Wait, I do have her number, I just called her to move her car, didn't I?"

He lunged for his phone that he had thrown on the passenger' seat, to make sure he still had the number. In the second his eyes returned to the road, he heard a loud bang and saw a black figure spread all over his windshield. He threw all his weight onto his right foot, hitting the breaks as hard as he could, and heard the figure rolling on the bonnet and then falling with a loud thud.

Marc felt the heat of the summer sun on his face, his eyes droopier than usual, his head still spinning. His ears were ringing from the sound of the newly found silence. He had no idea how long he had just sat there, on the driver's seat, without moving. He saw a black clad figure crossing the street in a hurry, yelling, and disappearing before his car, but he couldn't make out what it was saying and, in fact, he couldn't tell whether it was real or he had just imagined it. He finally got out of the car and went around to the front. There, on the pavement, was an old woman, lying in a small pool of blood, with her limbs sprawled in an unnatural position. He felt sick at the sight, the sight of blood made him queasy.

His mind came into focus. He heard the distant sound of an emergency vehicle and finally realized that the man in black was actually a security guard from the building across the street and was yelling at him.

"I said *First aid kit*! Do-you-have-a-first-aid-kit?" He started to speak very slowly, like you would speak to someone who wasn't that bright. Marc nodded and ran to the back of the car to get the black box from the trunk.

The first to arrive was a police motorcycle, for no obvious reason than to stop him in case he decided to leave the site. A police car arrived twenty minutes later, the officer that was driving it in a seemingly good mood. Last but not least, the ambulance. By this time, the police had taken pictures, made measurements of the breaking distance and written down the witness accounts, and Marc was allowed to move the car so as not to obstruct the passing traffic. As he stood by his car, watching the unconscious body being hurdled on the stretcher, his colleagues drove past, recognising him and signalling to him incredulously, trying to find out what had happened. He even recognised Jen in her red Mini, her well-manicured hand sticking out the window. Her long nails were painted a bright red and she was holding a lighted slim cigarette between her fingers. His attention focused on the red nail polish, his mind seeking refuge from reality.

"So you're saying she just came out of nowhere towards the car?"

The muscly policeman was looking down on him from behind his Ray Bans between scribbling away at his report. Policeman Martin's well-defined jaw line gave off an air of confidence, sweetened by the constant smile playing on his lips and by his warm hazel eyes.

Marc felt the beads of sweat on his forehead connect into one big bead, rolling towards his hairline.

"Yeah, I didn't even see her. Will she be alright? There was a whole lot of blood," his voice trailed off weakly, his mouth feeling dry. The hot June sun was now beginning to lose its power, but now the heat from the melted tar on the road was rising, scorching him.

"I was looking at the damn phone," he thought to himself. The guilt was stinging him, still unable to process everything. "Perhaps I would have stopped earlier her if I was actually watching the road."

"She'll be just fine, the paramedic said she just broke her nose. Blow here", the policeman said as he extended the breathalyser. *

The traffic light finally switched to green and Marc started his car, turning his head from left to right two times to make sure no one was getting ready to cross the road at the red light. A long honk jilted him out of his mechanical movements and he gently pressed the acceleration. The Audi behind him overtook him after the first ten meters, and then another three cars followed. After that, there was no one else to hinder him going 30km/h.

After passing an empty crosswalk, he began to pick up speed again. A few meters ahead he could see two people on the right side of the road, at the end of the tram platform, waiting for his car to pass in order to make a run for it.

"These damn guys. That's what the damn crosswalk is there for, so you guys would just cross it, but no, you have to jaywalk, don't you?" he said between clenched teeth.

His eyes were now fixed on the two people on the right, watching them tilting their heads this way and that, anxious to cross the street. He could see their body in alert, with their hands and feet fumbling, searching for the perfect moment to cross the street. One of them made a move to run towards the middle of the street, but the other one held him back, his head towards Marc's car.

"Yeah, you saw me. You chumps just stay there," Marc said, his foot barely touching the pedal now. He wasn't going to take any risks with them. "They've probably had a few beers after work at the tavern next to the station, who knows what they're capable of".

Just as he was finishing his thought, the one that was being held pulled himself out of the other one's grasp and made a run for it in the exact moment Marc's car was passing the group. There was a loud thud, caused by the body rolling on the bonnet, a screech of tires as Marc hit the breaks, another thud as the body hit the pavement. In the distance, a shrill yell of a woman.

After a moment of taking it in, he realized what had happened. He felt the hate rise up in him, stopping in his throat, where it gnawed at him.

"Un-fucking-believable!", he yelled as he got out of the car, both his hands outstretched towards the sky. "You saw me coming, didn't you?" he continued screaming at the victim's friend, who had thrown himself over his friend's body to check for his vital signs. The man raised his head toward Marc, his olive face incredulous, with an air halfway between concern and disbelief.

"Now is not the time, man. Give me a first aid kit, we have to stop the bleeding. And call an ambulance", he added as Marc was making his way toward the trunk of the car, trying to calm down. As he returned, he examined the victim closely. He was a rather short guy in his mid-30s, unkempt longish wavy hair hanging in all directions. He was wearing faded clothes that were now splattered with blood. "He must be one of the workers from the welding company across the road," Marc thought to himself. The guy was moaning slightly, his hand pressed to his forehead. "Take your hand away for a bit, I'll put some gauze on it", said his friend, his hands trembling while trying to rip open the white package.

Marc kneeled too beside the victim, and the familiar smell of sweat, melted asphalt and car exhaust returned to him. "Jesus, this is the second time in two months. The police are never going to believe I can be so unlucky. I have to make myself as innocent as I can". He moved in closer, helping the worker stop the bleeding, all the while trying to make out if he had been drinking.

"West Court Park again? In this traffic?" Policeman Martin looked at the analog clock on the wall. It was ten to six in the evening, the worst possible time to be called to the other side of town. "We'll be there in forty minutes", he said as he placed the receiver back on the thirty-year-old landline phone back at the Traffic Police headquarters. He stretched lazily, his long, muscly arms over his head, he removed his legs from his desk and said to the portly police officer sitting at the other desk, reading the newspaper: "Get the car, rookie. We have another jaywalker."

As they reached the accident site, exactly forty minutes after the call, policeman Martin saw Marc talking to a crying woman in her late 40s, his hand cupping her elbow.

"What? Not this guy again!", he said as he took off his Ray Bans to make sure his eyes weren't deceiving him. Martin got out of the car and headed towards the two, who were deep in conversation.

"I've never seen anything like this before," the woman went on, sniffing. "He just jumped on the hood."

"I know, he didn't even move his head to see if there was any car coming from the left. I hadn't even seen his face, all I saw was his back and his hair", added Marc as Martin stopped beside him.

"So, jaywalker again, huh?", he asked Marc with his ever-present smile. The woman stopped sniffing and looked at Marc, pulling her elbow. "Wait, you hit someone before?" she asked him, half afraid.

"Yes, but it was just an accident, just like this one. You saw it yourself, there was nothing I could do, he just ran for it without making sure there were no cars passing. You know, I read that seventy percent of all accidents happen because of jaywalkers. Is it true, officer?"

Marc was starting to panic. "This is not going well. Even the witness is turning on me. Maybe I shouldn't have even spoken to her at all", he thought to himself.

"Yeah, something like that," concurred Martin. He wasn't very interested in statistics, or even laws for that matter. He was just doing his job, writing down the facts, sending his reports. What happens with the case after was not his concern anymore. Once in a while though, a case caught his attention, perhaps a detail seeming out of place, or one of the people involved acting strangely.

Martin eyed Marc carefully. He had a good memory, and even though he wasn't interested in details, he couldn't help but notice. There was a slight change in him since two months ago, but he couldn't put his finger on it. He seemed taller, a bit bulkier. Perhaps he had started going to the gym. He remembered Marc from last time clearly as daylight; his meek appearance, his livid complexion, his geeky coffee T-shirt.

As policeman Martin returned to the car, his colleague remarked: "Twice in two months, same place, same MO. Do you think he does it on purpose?"

Policeman Martin smirked "Neah! You saw the statistics, 70% of all accidents in the city are caused by people jaywalking. Besides, I'm a very good judge of character and I know his type: quiet, introverted-IT guy. He wouldn't hurt a fly", he concluded, feeling particularly pleased with himself.

"Yeah, but what about all those cases we hear about in the news", insisted the rookie, "about those guys who are good with computers and play video games 10 hours a day ... who then suddenly just crack and start shooting everyone?" Policeman Martin glanced at the rookie from the corner of his eyes, his lips creased in a small smile. The rookie reminded him of his little brother, always so serious, always borrowing books from the library, always reading the news.

"You saw his bonnet, now he has to go to the car service to fix it. He wasted three hours from the accident until he could go home. If he did it on purpose, he risks having a criminal record, and that doesn't look good with the corporation, does it? Why would anyone go through all that trouble? Cheap thrills? My guess is this guy is just an unlucky bastard, the wrong man in the wrong place", trailed off Martin. "But then again, I'm not a detective, I'll let the right people do their job."

"Whatever you say, boss," said the rookie putting the newspaper on the back seat and starting the car.

*

As Marc's face was hit by the light that had just turned from red to green, the woman crossed the street, running as fast as her heels would allow. Marc saw her out of the corner of his eye, his face still half-turned towards the light.

He was now on a larger boulevard, in the north part of town. A couple of weeks and two interviews after his last accident, he had successfully moved to a similar position in a new IT company. The atmosphere was almost the same as in the old company, but the number of employees was significantly larger, and so were the number of new opportunities.

He switched to first gear, took his right foot off the break and his left slightly off the clutch. The car moved ever so slightly in front of her. She banged her right leg on the license plate and lost balance. She fell on her hands and knees, and stayed there bewildered for a second.

"Oh my God, are you alright?" cried Marc as he got out of his car. "Did you hurt yourself?", he added in a mock concerned voice. Moving in closer, he noticed that the woman was in her late thirties, and very attractive.

"Yes... I'm sorry, about your plate, I was just in such a hurry to catch that bus. And it seems now I did miss it," she said, in a disappointed voice.

"No bus is worth running after, milady," he said taking her hand and helping her up. "You have to watch out for yourself," he added smiling, keeping eye contact. He extended her a card. "Here, call me when you get home. I want to make sure you've arrived safely and you're feeling well."

"Thank you so much. Sorry again, I hope I didn't do any damage to your car," she said, still a bit dizzy and not knowing what to make of what had happened.

*

"Some people are just asking for it", he said with a crooked smile, his eyes glinting malevolently as he pinched the acceleration slightly before hitting the brake. The speed was just enough for the car to push the old man's legs slightly, knocking him off balance. Bingo!

Perfecting his timing had not been easy at all, but it had totally been worth the effort. He missed a few great marks because of breaking too soon, but he just couldn't risk the police showing up again. After experimenting with the clutch and the break for a while, and installing a new bumper on the front, he is now completely confident in his car and his skills.

# Tharius

by Alexandra Iulus

In the 19th century, the rich people of Northern Europe were parading increasingly bigger houses and castles, which required a lot of furniture to provide support for all their telephones, typewriters and other fancy new belongings. Leaving the green plains behind, many of the not so fortunate ones migrated to higher altitudes, in search of wood to chop up and turn into whatever the wealthy customers wanted. Around that time began the history of Lumberton, a village located, in a valley shielded by mountains. The valley was conveniently crossed by a river and close to a forest that would ensure the daily nourishment of the hard working people. In 1856, there were twenty white cottages covered in red tiles, each housing a lumberjack and his family.

The Gingerbreads were one of those families. The head of the family was well respected in the community as a skilled and strong lumberjack and had an appearance worthy of his name. His son Tharius was 12 at the time and his favorite thing to do was wandering around in the forest and climb the mountain to sit quietly and draw whichever appealed to him that day. Birds, clouds and trees fascinated him. Tharius wasn't particularly fond of his classmates, because all they had talked about was chopping wood and making their families proud. He felt peculiar, because he didn't really care about lumberjacking, in spite of his father pestering him to learn the craft and stop wasting his time drawing, because that wouldn't secure his future.

One Saturday morning, Tharius was snatched out of bed by his father, who was determined to teach him to handle a log. The boy's bulging eyes were in sync with his pounding heart as an axe was put in his hands.

"Now just lift it above your head and just stick it in the log as hard as you can, it's easy !" said his father.

Tharius closed his eyes, horrified by what was asked of him and dropped the axe on a side of the log, causing a splinter to fly to his face and make a deep cut near the corner of his mouth. When the blood started flowing, he couldn't hold back the tears anymore. Hearing the commotion, his mother rushed out to see what had happened.

"This sissy boy of yours will never amount to anything!" his father shouted behind him.

His mother tried comforting him with a bowl of blueberries, his favorite treat, but Tharius ran to his reliable hiding place, the forest. He sat down under a tree, head bowed towards the brown leaves, thinking how he would never be good enough for his father. Suddenly, he heard a voice : "Tharius, I have been watching you come alone here to draw. A talented boy like you shouldn't cry over people's opinion of him. My name is Oona and I see wonderful things awaiting for you in the future". Right in front of him was this majestic white owl who appeared to be smiling. Tharius was bewildered, he didn't know what was more shocking: that owls can talk, that it knew his name or that it pretended to foresee his future. Oona spoke kind words to him until he regained his composure and went home. That night he went to bed pained by his wound, but happy he had made a friend after all.

In the years to come, whenever Tharius was mocked at school or berated by his merciless father, he would retreat to the forest to be comforted by Oona, who always knew the right thing to say. Most of the times it made him smile, which caused a soaring pain in the mouth scar, the constant reminder of his inability to chop wood. When he was 15, he secretly fell in love with Freja, a blonde blue eyed girl at school. She was the kind of popular kid that compelled his words to knot in his throat. Every time his colleagues made fun of him, he felt a whirl like rage spinning inside, but he never mustered the courage to fight back. In most cases, a spontaneous rain had started, stopping just as he had cooled off. .

Growing up, he withdrew from his family and the villagers by moving to a modest house on the fringe of Lumberton. When he turned 25 years old, he was working in the timber factory because he still hadn't acquired the proper skills for lumberjacking. His boss was one Goon McThug, who always managed to unsettle his employees with his cold metallic look, beefy figure and vicious pet wolverine, invariably by his side. Most workers were saying he's a hard worker and he deserves to be in that position, but also hated the way he always bragged about things and made them feel small.

Tharius had the habit of visiting the local pub a few times a week. He sat alone at a table and watched Freja showing her dimples and front teeth gap as she was serving drinks to customers.,. Sometimes she lingered at his table to complain about her pet magpie stealing one of her earrings, which happened every other day. Freja could ramble about anything and mesmerize Tharius nonetheless. One night, when they were debating trivial daily events, Goon slammed the door and entered the pub, surrounded by his entourage of faithful sycophants. When he saw Freja talking to Tharius, he shook his head and clenched his jaw., His dragon tattoo was throbbing like it was getting ready to spit fire. He leapt to Tharius's table and forcefully kissed Freja, who blushed a little, because she had admired his power. "What are you doing talking to my woman, you no good ginger?" he then yelled at Tharius. "Get out of here before I chop you up like a log!"

Freja squirmed, but stayed close to Goon, trying to calm him down. Tharius felt the whirl inside him again, wanting to explode with a series of offences at his boss, but all he could do was what he had always done, bow his head down and leave.

Once out of the pub, he ran until he found himself in front of the timber factory. "Stupid timber, I hate you and I wish you would just disappear!", he screamed at the top of his lungs, emboldened by the silence. A storm broke out of thin air., A sudden hunder made him want to cover his ears and menacing lighting followed seemingly trying to split the sky in two. One of the lightings stroke the factory and a flame appeared. It only took a few minutes until the fire stretched throughout the whole building.

Tharius was standing there like a statue, with cold hands and tight muscles. Hearing the villagers hurrying to check what had happened, he once again ran into the forest. There was Oona, his faithful confidant, peaceful as ever.

"Oona, why does it always rain when I get angry? Did... did I cause all of this?!"

The owl smiled at him with relief and said "It was about time you acknowledged your power. You had always thought you were different and now you know why."

"But... I never meant to hurt anybody ... what will happen to our village now? The factory was our sole provider ..."

Tharius was in shock and kept babbling. What if the villagers blamed him ? Where would he go ? But mainly he wondered what the use of possessing these powers was if all they accomplished was to hurt people.

As always, Oona was there to guide him to the right path. It explained that his powers could also be used for good, if he so desired. It disclosed the existence of spirits living in the forest that no man could normally see, but it knew a way to get in touch with them. They went deep into the forest, carefully stepping on the moist ground, guided only by the moon light. A glade opened in front of them and Oona announced they had arrived. Misty spirits surrounded them on Oona's call. The owl told them the whole story about Tharius and the fire he had accidentally started. The spirits laughed at first, pleased with the perspective of trees not getting cut down in the future. But seeing Tharius so desperate to make things right, the spirits agreed to negotiate a deal with him. They offered to rebuild the factory, but obviously they had wanted something in return – for every tree that is cut down, another one had to be planted, otherwise, all axes in the village would become blunt, forcing the inhabitants to find work and food someplace else. The forest had sheltered the spirits since the beginning of time and they hated to see it being decimated every year. Tharius agreed to the pact, still a bit fearful and confused, but reassured by the solution.

The next day, all the villagers gathered to debate on the disaster that was upon them. They were mortified at the thought of being out of work and unable to feed their families. Everybody had turned to Goon for advice, but he was lost for words, thinking without the factory all his prestige will soon fade away. When Tharius appeared, sun reflecting light on his head like an aura, peculiar owl on his shoulder, everyone was amazed by how different he suddenly seemed.

"People of Lumberton, I must confess that I caused the factory fire.", he said, provoking a small riot. "It was an accident, I was not aware of the magical powers I possessed", he shouted. People's fists stopped shaking as their state shifted to awe and surprise. "I can have the factory rebuilt, but there will be consequences." He told them about the pact with the forest spirits and they listened to him with respect for the first time in his life. In the past, he would have been wary of such behavior, but in light of recent events, he embraced it as the norm. He felt more confident than ever, now that he knew there was something some special about him. Even Freja looked at him with admiration, while Goon grew helpless and ignored.

The villagers agreed to accept the spirits' help, relieved that they wouldn't have to change their jobs after all. That night, Tharius summoned the spirits, which flew around exerting their powers and rebuilding the factory from scratch. "Don't forget our deal, Tharius, if you people won't plant new trees, it will be the end of Lumberton", they warned him before going back to the forest. He confirmed dutifully, proud to be responsible of averting the menace.

In the morning, the people saw the new factory and cheered Tharius, proposing he'd be their leader instead of Goon. He smiled, surprised by the scar not hurting anymore and accepted the new position.

Goon found himself abandoned by his trusted entourage. He had no idea who he was without the praise of others, so he set his mind to take a journey alone.

Once the crowd scattered, Tharius saw his father standing like a rock, gazing with raised corners of his lips. He approached Tharius and gave him a hug for the first time since he was a small child. "I am proud of you, son!" Tharius had longed to hear those words all his life and couldn't believe this was really happening. His heart seemed to grow in his chest and overflow throughout his body.

Oona was contemplating the scene from a tree branch above. "I told you wonderful things would come, Tharius. Cherish what you have", it said and spread its wings towards new horizons. His eyes sparkled with anticipation as he watched Oona, feeling like he was the one flying. "The future is magical", he thought to himself.

# A Plan No One Saw

Miruna Cristiana Paun

## Chapter One

We are each told we are born alone and we die alone and for most this is true.

But I am from a different time, a different life. I am bound by rules most have come to know as myth, legends and fairy dust sprinkled on the drowsy lashes of infants in soft beds.

I am something else, something that no longer has a name, just a memory of practice and ritual. This notion, however, of singularity is foreign to me. I have never been alone, not in this life or the one before, or the one before that. I am half of a whole. An all-encompassing unity. I am a twin.

She's been with me since the beginning, my reflection and completion. Where I end, she begins. We are maiden, mother and crone, forever bound by a loop of time unforgiving, and the moon that commands us forth.

Cycle after cycle we arrive through another scorching birth, holding hands, soles touching. Toes, wrinkled pink and minute, curled possessively inward.

Her curling fiery tendrils are always the first thing I ever see. They almost suffocate me, wrapped tight around my small nose and mouth. As we're pulled apart, cleaned and swathed, there is no cry. No newborn tears shed with wails that rattle the wooden walls. Just her violet eyes awakening in search of mirrored amber.

Foreign large hands inch toward me, seeking out the soft infant flesh I am encased within, readying a dampened washcloth to clean off the excess amniotic fluid. It tickles, new and familiar at once, the cloth almost too harsh for me, skin pinkening on my chest and belly under each careful cursory swipe.

I see their eyes, stealing glances at each other, midwives watching our mother and her new brood. Our mother bleeds, I can feel her breath weakening, but the talent of speech has not returned to this new form yet. Mute and helpless, I watch her chest, reaching for her, whimpering, trying to get close, to return to her warmth and pulsating heartbeat.

"What shall you call them Ambeth?" The sudden question of the youngest midwife holding my sister, anointing her body with balms and soft wrappings, startles my mother. Her eyes look stricken, feverish, lost for a moment, searching the stacked logged walls of the cabin as if they held her answers.

The scattered candle flames dance in each corner of the room, wicks sparking and spitting, hissing at the late hour. The wind beyond the thick glass windows, howls like a starving hollow beast, beating upon the walls and rafters, forcing snow to pile ever higher and faster, burying us slowly within a soft chrysalis of ice and white flakes.

"The one you hold...she is Noreen, and the other watching us now, Maxine..." the breathless sounds are soft but clear, bellied strength still within and I feel their eyes turn to me as one lays my sister Noreen in her mahogany crib.

I relish the hope those words give me, perhaps she has the strength to endure after all.

But with a shuddering cough, so harsh and penetrating, wracking her exhausted frame, ebony hair plastered to her alabaster forehead, I am placed down on my back hurriedly and can no longer see her.

Rushing footfalls toward the matrimonial bed and the washroom tell me the midwives are working, trying to ease her discomfort if nothing else, trying to keep her spirit here, and not let it pass beyond our reach. A clay pitcher falls, breaking, water spraying far enough droplets land on my warm cheeks like tears. Silence follows, and tentative leather slippers creep once more close to the bed.

The silhouettes on the wall to my right, one of the few things I can see with these new eyes without needing to be moved, show the two women covering something on the bed with a sheet. Muffled sobs reach me, and eventually silence.

Noreen from far off to my left starts gurgling, fussing, straining in her crib before a wail rips from her lips. I feel her pain in my chest, a tearing inside so searing I feel branded by it, gasping. Air escapes the tiny mouth I now have, fingers I can't yet control grasp at the air, reaching for what has already left us, bare and alone, too soon, far too soon. We are alone for the first time, and already lost.

## Chapter Two

"I'm heading to the market, need me to add anything to my list for you?" I waited patiently for Noreen to pause the mending work she was hunched over.

Her belly large and rotund, it pulled on her back, soft premature crow's feet peeking out around her eyes from the strain of moving. Violet finally met Amber, blinking momentarily, bleary from exertion on something so minute for so long.

I soothed her curls of fire once she reached me, long now after twenty-seven years, reaching past her waist, and placed a protective hand upon her gravid belly. Rubbing the soft skin through the thin dress I recalled the gentle being that placed the seed of this babe in there.

"Do you miss him?"

Placing a hand over mine, she gave me a sighing sardonic slight smile, squeezing my fingers softly, looking toward the door then back to her belly.

"I always miss him, Maxine. My Julian was...unique. He understood us, he didn't question the things we said or how we knew. He didn't question the bond, nor the need for us to never separate..." A shadow passed over her soft round face.

"Now with little one so close to joining us the absence has become acute. At times I can barely stop myself from..." the shadow deepening into a broken sob, I drew her close, mindful of her belly. I felt her hands wrap around my arms, overly strong fingers always surprising me with their grip.

"You can stay home tonight, I'll tell the council members I can do the sessions on my own for the next few months. Until you're recovered enough to go yourself once again." A small grateful smile greeted me before she took the list from my hands and completed it with the items she needed on the nearby desk.

The Elders of the small township we had settled in had been weary of us, Christianity's hold growing over the highlands after the last of the Jacobite Risings only decades before. So many had perished, homesteads still laid abandoned, crumbling under neglect, the warmth of oil lamps and glowing hearths replaced by thick cobwebs and chained gates, rusting, overgrown with weeds and forgotten medicinal shrubs.

Few sought to migrate so far north anymore, the cold winters and the attraction of Glasgow holding strong, now that the merchants from the former colonies had brought with them monetary delights to use and pursue. The revolution of industry was advancing rapidly, I knew it wouldn't be too long before we would have to move on once again.

The afternoon sun was still high despite the time of year approaching. I had almost secured all the supplies we might need to weather out the cold for the remainder of the year. All I needed now was to gain permission to log a little farther south than our land's border and we would be alright.

There was little time to dwell on the poor father of my beloved Godchild. He had been a kind soul, loving, quiet and attentive. So different than most in this village. The youth had been steadily travelling onward, seeking greener pastures and higher wages. The few that remained were political and far too adamant in their rejection of the old ways. I made us steer clear of those.

Julian was a rare breed, he understood not everything fit in a neat pattern. There were certain things that science had yet to explain but could still be tested and experienced all the same. But then the accident happened.

I wasn't home at the cottage, I had been deep in the village, tending to a child refusing to eat, seeking to cure what was ailing him, possessing his mind and threatening his family. When I returned late into the evening, I knew something had happened, a lone red cylindrical candle burned behind the crosshatch window pane of the living quarters.

Everything was too quiet, the wind oddly vacant, the junipers and alders too still, observing, solemn and dark. No crickets chirped softly, no glow flies wondered about the meadows.

My heart pounded, urgency taking over, knowing I was needed. I set my cloak on the porch, grabbing my pack and ran. I followed the trace of the feeling, knowing it would lead me to the source of the hollow wretchedness trying to borrow within me.

But when I stumbled to an abrupt halt I knew it was too late.

Blood still seeped into the ground around the base of a hollowed out birch. An axe laid wedged tightly into something beneath the bark. White branches broken and splintered peaked out around the trunk. I crept closer, thinking some poor animal had found its untimely end, and then I saw the face.

It was crushed almost beyond recognition, soft eyes frozen in terror. The branches were his ribs, cracked open, true branches piercing my brother-in-law inward.

My head snapped to the left so hard my neck cracked. A scream crept up my throat but I held it in with a shaking hand covering my mouth. I almost stumbled backward, seeking distance, something to lean on, to grasp, to make sense of this, knowing I would find no balm.

I looked back toward the direction of the cottage. My eyes grew wider, the whiteness of them stark even in that low light of the observing moon and my timid old oil lamp. What would she say, what could I do to spare her the pain...the seedling inside her was already three months and growing. The strain of the loss might endanger them. I was terrified, for the first time in my life I truly felt fear, it seeped into my bones like frost across a lake.

Clasping my fingers tightly together, knuckles turning ghastly white, bracing them against my stomach, I crept once again closer to the body. The lamp I had dropped illuminated the remains, already turning ghostly pale blue with rigor mortis. I could sense creatures nearing, wishing to scavenge. He didn't deserve such cruelty, the ravishment of wild things. I had to bury him, somehow I had to give him the honors along with the Christian Rites. I wasn't well versed in the latter but I knew enough to be able to offer what he deserved.

Later, as I returned, exhausted, dirt-covered, with blistered hands and a tear stained face, I was met upon the back porch by the vacant eyes of Noreen. She knew. I didn't have the strength to articulate the words, but she knew. Her simple gold wedding band shone in the light of my lamp, fingers pressing into her still flat stomach. They clutched at the shawl the chilly spring night made her wrap tightly around her frame. I expected anger, anguish, a beast of sorrow and irrational violence to lunge at me, all curls of fire and pain.

Instead, she stood there, stiff and coiled staring out into the forest, beyond me, clutching at her stomach, warring with something I couldn't read, a frown stuck somewhere between crazed fury and the calm after a storm. It puzzled me. When her hand settled on mine, startling me inwardly with its icy touch, the feeling only grew.

"Let me warm up a bath for you, you need to clean up and soak before bed." I nodded numbly, and followed her in. I didn't understand what was happening inside her, but then again I had never lost a husband, there were still things even I couldn't understand. I followed her toward the back room connected to the kitchen, where a small brass tub would be waiting for me, but the candle caught my eye. That lone red candle, thick and cylindrical, made to burn for days if needed.

We had been saving it for our rituals, when specific rites requested such a symbol, the color rich and dualistic, tended to with purpose and meant only to be burned at certain times. It was an instigating candle, begetting both passion and fury, love and chaos, fertility and violence. A frown of puzzlement settled over my elven features but I hid it with my curtain of ebony curls. Amber eyes watched Noreen heating up kettle after kettle of water, balancing them out with buckets we could spare from the well, as I undressed, piling the soiled and ruined cloth on the floor by the door. Soon naked, raven curls covering me up to the small of my back I tested the water and settled in silently, my usual sigh of relief muted.

I washed away the blood and grime, the dirt and horror from my skin. I felt Noreen's hands in my hair, keeping the tendrils above the water, brushing out the twigs and knots, braiding it simply with dainty unnaturally strong fingers.

I felt them on my scalp. They didn't tremble, or shake, once more warm, no chill of shock stiffening the knuckles. The internal frown deepened, how long had she known, how long had she been waiting for me to return.

The doubts once addressed grew, outnumbering other thoughts. I thought I must be going into shock, I must be seeking a rational explanation for the irrationality of fortune and nature that I cannot yet predict. I must be trying to make sense of my grief and looking at the only target in sight. So human, so mundanely human and flawed.

But I couldn't shake the feeling. I couldn't place it, the source kept shifting, and I continued to blame my sorrows at losing kin, the third time already in this lifetime, and so brutally. But something in my stomach continued to direct my eyes to Noreen, and the inwardly, to the vermillion candle that still burned deep into the night.

## Chapter Three

"One more push, you can do it, just one more, her shoulders have peeked through, you're almost done, come on Noreen, just one more."

Coaxing my battered dehydrated sister to let the squirming little life exit into my hands was grueling. I could feel pieces of her pain, filled with near delirium, and I motioned for the midwife to soothe her with more swipes of the warm damp cloth on her forehead, more water to her dry lips, more pillows to elevate her and help gravity do part of the work. Finally with an anguished gasp, the bundle slipped into my waiting arms.

I called the midwife to complete the rest of the birthing work and I cut when and where I was told, letting her take the little bairn from me to clean it off and soak it briefly to trigger the wails I anxiously awaited to hear.

Noreen let her head rest on the wall behind her, neck supported by soft creamy pillows, a plaid blanket only partially covering her breasts now. I pulled on it gently to cover the rest of her from any chill and brushed her damp curls from her forehead, kissing her temple.

"You did it, the seedling is finally with us. I'm so proud of you beloved sister." I felt her face burrow into my neck, an arm reaching up to wrap a hand around the back of it. Nails softly pressed into my nape, scratching and releasing reflexively.

"The little one wants to feed, mistress," I helped Noreen to gently sit up so she could accept the bundle into her arms. Baring her chest once more she helped the little mouth latch on blindly, already hungry, already one of us.

"What shall ye be callin' her mistress?" I smiled at the question of the midwife, curious myself since we had never settled on a choice.

"She is Jules."

The tribute was not lost on me, and I kissed her damp red hair as she bent gently over her daughter.

"She'll be a fine lass, I know it, strong and brave like those who sired her," and with a polite smile the midwife began to clean up, removing the soiled utensils and bedding from the room after checking once more that no bleeding had restarted, and the afterbirth had been vacated and removed. I wouldn't let her dispose of it along with the rest of the after effects, knowing I needed to bury it out by the birch Noreen had claimed as her own birth tree. In time, if I was ever that fortunate, I too would do the same by my own Rowan tree.

Jules began to fuss, and she was resettled against another breast. She latched on with fervor, tiny grasping fingers already strong like her mother's, blind blue eyes milky in the morning light. Tawny hair and perky nose matching her father's. The thought of him still produced a hollow ache in my chest, a failure I could never escape.

Watching the babe feed and drain the last of the nourishing fluid with wonder, I almost missed the look passing across her mother's face. It was that same frown stuck somewhere between a dulled fury and the calm after a storm.

A thought made of stone settled into pit of my stomach, the weight of it hard to ignore, something I never did regardless. But this was my sister, my eternal twin. My reflection incarnate. I didn't understand, emotion hindering my vision, denial coating my throat, clouding my heart.

Something was telling me to be mindful, to watch for signs, of what kind I knew yet not. But I had never been guided erroneously, why would that suddenly change...even for family. It felt like a blasphemous thought the moment it came. But I couldn't deny the truth of it.

I had to be vigilant, I was walking blind now, at war with my own heart. I had to listen to both somehow, and understand.

The milky eyes of Jules found mine, a look of recognition striking through me as she squeezed the breast deeper into her pert little mouth. They shone in her first little timid smile and followed me until I was close enough for her to reach out, tiny fingers nimble fingers latching onto my ebony tendrils. Noreen let me scoop her up gently and watched us through half-lidded eyes.

I cuddled her warm cloth-covered flesh to my own, safety embodied within my slim pale arms. She gurgled in delight, the warmth of her spirit seeping into me, pulsating around my heart. I was enamored instantly, hers from that moment on, my little chestnut cherub, curling around me as her mother once had in the womb. My kin.

When her eyes pierced through me again, both aware and childlike in one, I was struck by the dichotomy of her gaze. She knew me, knew who and what I was. She knew my presence and essence in its entirety without a single word or sound ever spoken.

I chanced a look in amazement at her mother and caught the brief glimmer of that look once again. I shiver ran up my spine as I looked down at my little Jules. My hands tightened involuntarily around her back pressing her closer to me imperceptibly.

She was a gift to us, and I, her guardian.

## Chapter Four

Years passed and the time came to explore our options for if and when we would have to leave the village. The Elders had grown restless in time with our presence, the advice and counsel we had provided, the aid and cures we had administered, no longer holding the reverence and value the old customs had once afforded us.

We pulled back quietly, no fanfare or indignation. No rebellion at the injustice of hypocrites adhering to newly sanctioned rituals of the _good book_ propagated by the crowned heads of southern usurpers.

At times I wondered if Noreen desired to pursue a life in the former colonies now that Jules was of marrying age, fifteen and four months. The idea was vehemently rejected, frontier life harsher than the highlands and no place for three lone women. This coupled with a bone deep hatred for the sacrifices and slavery customary of plantation life, settled the matter entirely.

"We could always go further north, to Inuit lands, perhaps more of our kind remain there, hidden and thriving?"

I considered Jules' idea, it had a hopeful promise to it, my knowledge of the lands and people supporting the logic behind the suggestion.

We looked to Noreen, absently mending a shirt in the rocking chair she adored, by the window. Feeling our eyes upon her she mulled it over, looking between us.

"Well need a boat and money, we'll need to sell almost everything we own, even this house, the land and..." Her voice cut off, eyes darting in the direction of what laid buried on our land beyond the ephemeral memories that bound us to it.

We couldn't take him with us, even as ashes, it was forbidden to exhume a body, especially one after such a death.

For the briefest moment a scowl stained her face, darkening the violet of her eyes violently, but with a blink it vanished.

"We may not live close to the father anymore but he's inside me, inside us, and he would want us to survive mother."

Noreen gazed up at her daughter's words, watching her move closer until she stood close enough to touch. Her long full navy woolen plaid skirt stopping short just a few inches off the ground, simple black slippers peeking from beneath.

I watched her mother's hand touch her skin from her elbow to her wrist squeezing the latter briefly, before nodding silently and letting go. Chestnut curls tilted to the right, considering the silent head that returned back to her mending, before softly leaving the room. A kettle was filled with water in the distance, the smell of hot freshly brewed tea drifting to us soon after.

This was one of many such exchanges that had happened over the years. Mother, daughter and surrogate, stuck somehow in a perpetual battle of wills. Although no harsh words were ever uttered, no mutterings or vicious looks, the undercurrent of tension rarely abated between us, tainting the once peaceful air within.

Five years of such moments had done little to lessen the sting of each occurrence, and I had long since grown weary of their time in each other's company.

The signs I had been tasked to keep a watch for had been scarce and few, for which I have been grateful. Part of me still rebelled against the request, still believing it all to be the fabrication of a mind having spent too much time working between this world and the next.

But as the Elders grew more restless and disrespectful, so did Noreen's ire for the time we spent among them and the villagers. I would catch her at times watching women in the market, at the shops, at chapel, watching their children. Something akin to stricken hunger invaded the violet depths and vanished as quickly as it came.

She had become increasingly opaque to me as the years went on, our bond no longer penetrating throughout one another, easily flowing and exchanging between. It brought me no small sorrow, the rare moments of clarity a balm over my lonely heart.

I kept the pain to myself like I always had, channeling it into growth, into work, into something I could transform and shield us with. My resolve was weakening however, the more I saw and felt her pull away from me. More so as Jules grew, she and I bonding deeper than mere aunt and Godchild.

She was as much mine as she was her mother's and that truth both fed my soul and the guilt that naturally came with the interference. The possessiveness of the lonely and unbound is subversive at the best of times, harder to fight with age.

A cup of perfumed dark brew appeared in front of my face and I took it gratefully, blowing on the steaming surface before taking a sip. The scalding liquid burned me, a punishment I hadn't consciously sought for my errant thoughts but accepting it all the same with a silent grimace.

"Perhaps the lowlands won't be as unwelcoming as we expect. We've visited throughout the years, things are always changing, maybe it's finally time to explore them." The unsolicited acquiesce is not lost on me and I feel an eyebrow rise before I can stop it.

Noreen's eyes dart to me and a small imperceptible shrug meets them in return. She frowns nodding and begins planning with her daughter a trip to the lowlands something investigative and familial, just for the two of them.

I don't press to join because someone needs to remain to tend the homestead and the land. I am still needed in the village, the people continue requesting aid they know only I can provide now. But a cold sliver travels down my spine all the same.

## Chapter Five

Pounding on the oaken front door wakes me two weeks later in the middle of the night. I wrap a shawl tightly around my shoulders, securing it with a brass filigree brooch. My feet find each wooden step quickly in the dark, hand sliding down the smooth railing while the other holds an oil lamp, the only light in the cottage, hearth long since dark and cold.

Pulling with all my strength, the bar lock moves across the door and I pull the heavy object open enough for my head to peek out.

"Mistress Maxine?" Bleary eyed, throat dry I simply nod in affirmation, raising the lamp higher. It's one of the town's officers, out on sentry patrol.

"What can I help you with good Sir, is there an emergency in the village?" Instinctive words escape me, duty already replacing sleep in my foggy mind.

"On the contrary Mistress, I'm the one who should be offering assistance, and apologies for the rude hour." Sensing his deep voice was babbling nervously, stalling, my sense of urgency increased.

"Officer, please, tell me what has happened?" He squirmed under my penetrating almost pleading amber gaze, eyes darting in every direction before settling on the floor at my bare feet.

"There's been an accident, a terrible accident. The Miss Jules, she's..."

But I knew, the moment her name left his lips I knew. My chestnut cherub...she was gone.

"How?" The word bit out of me, striking the poor man squarely, making him stutter uncharacteristically. For a second I realized I didn't even know his name, but I didn't care, couldn't bring myself to care in that moment. The violence and despair were too close to the surface.

"She fell...the stairs by the docks, it was sudden, she slipped, landing...terribly, before plunging into the water. It all happened over a few moments, but when the first mate brought her up it was too late, her neck you see..." He cut off, swallowing, the ache of the memories tangible, radiating in waves, so clear I could see it all as if I had been there. I should have been. I will never forgive myself for not being there.

"And her mother?" He looked stricken for a moment but frowned, clearing his throat.

"The Mistress Noreen was there, she had already climbed up on the docks, secured footing, she had been watching her daughter climb when it happened...I lost sight of her for a moment in the commotion, but the poor woman was shell shocked. Her legs gave out under her, she couldn't stop staring at the body, no sound...she just couldn't stop staring at the girl."

With those words I felt the last beat of my heart resound in my chest, a hollow vacancy taking its place. Leadened limbs sought to pull me to the ground heavily, before I felt a hand under my head saving it from smacking harshly into the oaken floor. Shouts echoed in my ears, words of attention, before a whistle, and another set of footsteps joining the first, running to a halt close by.

Two sets of hands grasped my feet and under my arms, placing me into the rocking chair by the window, closest resting location to the door. The choice made me groan but I had no strength left in me except to slide to the floor. Those same hands wouldn't let me do just that and I snarled at them, vicious even in mourning. The sound made them recoil, sharing a startled look but their warm hearts dismissed it as the grief it was.

It didn't matter what they thought or said of me now. The last pieces had fallen into place and I was ready to face the truth I had long denied.

## Chapter Six

I waited for her sleeplessly for three days and three nights.

Upon the dawn of the fourth, the door finally opened, and a cloaked figure entered. I watched her from my perch upon the stairs high above, observing the tactile gentle grace of her movements as she placed her boots by the door, her shawl on the rocker and her gloves on the window sill.

Her fiery curls were shaken loose from the thick long braid and she sighed, heading toward the kitchen. Coals were lit, a kettle filled, the pantry door opened and closed, small jars placed on the table. I closed my eyes at the domesticity of it all. It was such a heady illusion, so tempting to remain in. Our simple life of duties and practice, helping, healing, coping with the growing resentment of the misunderstanding populace and shortages in funds. We had each other, my reflection incarnate and I, and our beautiful daughter.

But I could no longer see our future. I had been a blind fool, and now, I was truly alone. Utterly and completely alone. The weight of the singularity bared down on me harshly, drowning my clarity and identity with unrelenting merciless disdain for weakness.

I had been so weak, I had loved so deeply and ignored too many things, too many signs.

"Oh! There you are, you startled me, how long have you been up there?" I opened my eyes at the sound of her voice. A soft crystal clear sound, melodic to me even now.

"Long enough dear sister." A frown marred her round pale freckled face as she finished tying an apron around her waist.

"Maxine, what's happened?" An incredulous eyebrow rose above my left amber-colored eye. I didn't try to temper it.

"All I ask is why, why did you do it?

The question hung between us. Silence so thick settled all around, I could cut it with a butcher knife. The oil lamps still burning albeit weakly, flickered dangerously.

Surprise, denial, shock flittered rapidly across her eyes, before that crazed look settled into place, and I lost whatever was left of my family.

Her eyes rose slowly, arms falling to her sides, all pretense and falsehoods falling away at last. A stranger looked back at me, androgynous, ancient and new at once.

"I was tired of the hypocrisy, the lie we lived, that we had always lived..." Pained restless exhaustion echoed in the words.

"We never hid what we were from anyone. We can't help what we are, they know it even if they don't accept it, you know that." I tried one last effort at reasoning, trying to understand her. Harsh dark laughter met my ears instead.

"Don't you see, the lie wasn't what they believe, but what we think of ourselves. Our existence is an abomination, we don't honor the natural laws, we defy them by our every breath. Our line must end, our kind must end."

Bewilderment overtook me, stealing my voice, keeping me silent for a beat, then more.

"Mother was taken from us because of what we are, it was our punishment for being born like this. I kept wondering why no one had sensed the bleeding, why had we been born so infectiously human that we couldn't stop her from dying. I carried that question, that failure until I realized it was punishment, for things we could never erase. The problem was never the new faith, it was us. We keep coming back, birth after birth not for evolution but for atonement. I thought that could be through healing, earning our salvation by giving to others what we could not give to mother. I thought Julian was a gift, for being on the right path, for finally finding a means to end, to our end...but he knew what I was, and he not only accepted it, he encouraged it. Loving what it brought to our lives. A part of me cursed him for that, for feeding what I hated most. I didn't wish for him to..." A sob broke her confession, her love for him still living in some part of her soul.

"When the birch fell, crushing him, I felt a piece of me die with him, I didn't need to go look to know, I felt him, I felt his pain. I took it as the punishment we both deserved for defying..." but her next words were lost with the anger coursing through me.

She had let him suffer, let him bleed out, alone and cold, deep into the night. Abandoned. Her own lover, the father of her child.

"And what of Jules...how could you do that to your own child, your own flesh...heartless heathen..." the last words hissing viciously out of me, biting into her.

The stranger recoiled for a moment before lunging at me. The sudden impact was brutal, the stairs digging into my back, no time to brace myself or secure my footing. We soon tumbled roughly to the floor below, landing with a loud thud, oaken boarding knocking the wind out of my lungs.

Unnaturally strong fingers found their way around my throat, squeezing, violet eyes blazing, all humanity gone from their depths.

"I had hoped she would be born human, she would be the end of us, but the moment she recognized you, seeing you as her other mother, understanding dawning in her blind little eyes, perception years beyond her time so visible, clear as day, my heart broke. I knew she would be like you, like me, like the rest of our cursed kind. So little of her father in her beyond her hair and features. I thought I could breed it out of her, educate her but it was no use. Talent for the rituals and old practices far outweighed anything the age of enlightenment could instill within her, no matter how many books we shared with her. It was hopeless. I thought perhaps the trip to the lowlands would finally be enough to sway her, but all she sought and would talk of was opening an apothecary's den. She continued feeding this wish even as we stepped back onto the land of home. My fury had reached its peak, and I shouted at her to stop. The force of my anger startled her and she reached out to me, forgetting the railing was slippery, barnacles underfoot and she fell, eyes wide still reaching for me..."

I could see the memories awash over her eyes, still haunting her, making her death grip loosen enough for me to gasp out a much needed breath. It burned down my bruised throat but it gave me the strength I needed to kick her off me. We scrambled to our feet, both tired but circling each other like famished vultures. Her eyes still blazed, the haunted look muted, silenced by the fervor of her ridiculous resolve.

Lunging at me suddenly I had only seconds to dodge her reach. The force of the lunge pushed her forward, causing her to trip on the table at the foot of the rocking chair. Survival instincts activated, and she turned midair, still close enough to be able to reach me, taking me with her.

We plunged through the bay window, glass shattering all around us, shards spraying the ground piercing our faces and limbs, making us each scream in agony and shock.

We landed hard on our backs, her body beneath my own, pinned by the metal framing and shards that pierced us. I could hear her coughing up blood in my ear, the sound making me wretch, the smell of it overwhelming me, sobs of panic wracking my frame.

Pain engulfed me, pooling in my chest and I dared a look downward, searing agony scoring my vision from my broken neck, seeing a large jagged shard piercing my chest, both of us pinned together by it.

I felt her last breath leave her as she shook beneath me, convulsing, my weight hastening the process. Guilt and sorrow flooded me irrationally, and I mouthed to her that I loved her, even as I drowned in the red fluid leaking from my lips.

It wouldn't be long before I joined her and perhaps even her husband, but all I could see was our mother smiling, and Jules reaching out to me. I tried to look back, reaching for my twin, but I was alone as the darkness engulfed me.

I called out to her but she was gone. The silence surrounding me, the last of the sun's light and warmth leaving my face.

I still had something to do, something to learn, I could feel it. The urge to pursue the answers still clung to me, even in death. I didn't understand it, what this was, why it never relented, this endless cycle of rebirth and renewal, but I knew it would come to me, once again and this time, I would finally learn what the notion of singularity truly meant.
About the Author

Originally a native of Bucharest, Romania, Miruna Cristiana Paun has lived in Australia and the United States during most of her youth, before settling back in her home city in Eastern Europe where she now makes her home.

A lover of adventurous stories and human nature from a young age, she wrote her first short story at age ten before falling in love with the art of prose. Continuing to hone her craft throughout the following years through both existential verse and other works, she finally ventured to write her first full-length novel at the age of 21, and her second six years later.

This short story is her first published work.

# Edward the dragon slayer

by Matei Manea

Will he be able to finish this one last job or will he find his end trying?

Edward from Rotter-Wald the greatest dragon slayer of all time was coming back home from his last job: a medium-sized dragon, an easy kill for him, but he would do anything for some money. On his way he was thinking "Where is actually home?" He was travelling from town to town in search for jobs, not having a stable house.

When he was young, he lived with his parents in a little poor village called Rotter-Wald. His parents were very poor but they always helped the one in need, so he was taught to do the same. One day, when he was young, a dragon attacked his village, and when the dragon-slayers came, and he saw them in action, he decided that he would like to become one of them. A few years later, he finds in the woods a huge sword with the signs of the Dragon-Slayers Guild on it. He decides to take it, and one week after this he was at the gates of the Dragon-slayers headquarters in the capital. He was strong and they decided to let him take the first test. He passed the test easily so he was accepted and he finished very fast all the trainings. Soon after he finishes his training, his parents die from disease. His first jobs were little, but all the slayers were old, so the Guild soon dissolves, and he becomes one of the last dragon slayers alive. He took this job because he can help people by killing dragons and he can also earn some money to do things that he could not do when he was young.

He was returning to the capital, the city he could call home, because there he has been for the biggest number of times. He goes for his regular drink at his favourite bar, "The happy moose". There, Old Mc'John, the bartender, gave him a letter from the mayor of the biggest city in the country, asking Edward to come and see him immediately. He takes a drink, and goes to bed, thinking of the letter.

The next morning, he wakes up very early takes Thunderstorm, his flying horse from the stables, and leaves for Dermington. He arrives by noon, goes to an inn and then he decided to go and see the mayor. The mayor had a huge house, by the lake.

"Hello, I am here to see the mayor, yell him that I am Edward from Rotter-wald." Said Edward to the guards.

One of the guards goes inside the garden.

"So you are the one here for the job?" asked the other guard.

"What job?"

"Ain't you the guy killing dragons?"

"Yes, I am."

"Than, you will have competition for this one dude. Ya' too old!"

"What?"

"The mayor can see you now Slayer", said the the other guard returning from the garden.

"Ok."

He enters the garden, and there he sees in front of his eyes a huge garden bed, on which it was sited a fat dwarf who was smoking sisha.

"The great Edward from Rotter-wald, the golden-hearted mercenary! Welcome to my palace! My name is Galdwin and I am the the mayor of this city."

"Hello, first of all I would like you not to call me mercenary, or I will took your little fat head off your body, and second, I would like to know why have you called me here."

"I have this one big job for you that can make you rich or kill you my old friend."

"Tell me about it."

"Nearby our city has been discovered a golden dragon who is destroying our crops and kills our people."

"Golden dragons do not exist."

"They do, I have seen him myself."

"I will say no. Good bye mister Galdwin."

"You are right, you are too old for this, Gerhard will sure accept it."

"Who?"

"Gerhard the youngster who is making himself a name in dragon slaying."

"Have a good day."

Edward left, but he could ot take the words of Galdwin out of his head. Maybe he was to old, and there was also this young guy who was taking his place. That night he could not sleep very well, thinking about the opportunity He was already planning to retire and buy a farm, this could be his greatest and last job, and it will also give him a nice amount of money. He decides to accept it, and soon after breakfast he leaves for the mayor's house. He finds him in his chair smoking.

"Hello Galdwin!"

"Hi Edward, what bring you here? Have you changed your mind?"

"I actually have, I will take the job."

"How nice from you, there is only one problem, I have already talked with Gerhard and he has accepted it."

"Then make it a contest, who kills the dragon and brings you his head will get the reward."

"I like the sound of it! I will call now for Gerhard and we will discuss with him too and then you can start your job. Come join me and have a smoke."

"No thanks, I will wait here."

After half an hour, a young man came smashing through the door, his long golden hair was shining in the morning breeze. His eyes were as dark as night, and his face was showing nothing but anger.

"Our deal was not including this old guy right here."

"Calm down Gerhard, deals change over time, and I am the one paying so you should not piss me off. This guy right here is Edward from Rotter-Wald, one of the greatest dragon-slayers who ever existed."

"This semi-dead thing is actually capable of killing something? And I thought that the myths about The Slayer were just stories, and even if he is real, he is now too old to do anything so I will kill him and the dragon too."

"Wait a little my young friend, I can't say if you are as good as you say but I can assure you that i am not so easy to kill, and killing a golden-dragon is even harder, so chill out."

"You will see."

"Calm down guys, the first one who brings me the head of the dragon and the head of his adversary will get the reward."

"So now I have to kill this kiddo?"

"Do not think you will do anything."

"Calm down guys, and good luck."

They left the garden and start to fight in the street, and then, suddenly Gerhard pulls out a knife and stabs Edward in the leg and runs away.

"I will kill you bastard."

Edward leaves crawling to his room to tend his wound. "That little idiot will die."

After 2 days of recovery he decides he needs some training. He rented a cottage in the woods and start his training. He first meditates for a few days, and after he cleared his mind, he begins his physical training, but when he tries to get up from the ground he fells a sudden pain in the leg where he was stabbed. He falls to the ground and screams in pain. He gets up and concentrates to overcome the pain, and with the help of his mental training he manages to stand and begins his training.

After 3 weeks, the two hunters meet, and the mayor takes them to the place where the dragon was last seen. It was on a large field next to a huge forest.

"In the forest is the nest. Good luck and may the best win."

The two hunters enter the forest, and when they remain alone, Edward says:

"Let's finish this here and now. Be ready to die."

"We will see this."

They start to fight, Gerhard punches in the left with his arm, and then strikes right with his sword. Edward dodges this attack very easy and strikes Gerhard's arm with a dagger. Gerhard screams and starts bleeding seriously. His attacks become more chaotic and unsynchronized, Edward could read the fear on his face. With one last strike with the sward Edward finishes him. While he was dying, Gerhard calls Edward.

"You really are good, you deserve the prize."

"Thank's kiddo, and excuse me."

Now Edward was going for his second and last strike, the big golden dragon. After half an hour of searching, he finds the dragon sleeping in his nest. It was amazing, the most beautiful thing Edward has ever seen in his life, the great dragon with his immense golden wings was sleeping on a pile of gold and gems as big as Mount Everest. Edward approaches stealthily, and when he was near the dragon, he delivers the killing strike, with his Slayer sword which was made of silver, the only material which could kill a golden dragon. While he was taking the head of the dragon he heard a voice:

"Well done son. I have waited 50 years for you to be ready to take this great treasure to finally fell a rich man. I am proud of you, Edward!"

"Father you were the dragon?"

"Yes and I have waited for you to become ready and get this treasure."

"But why was it necessary to kill you?"

"This is the way thing work son, you will see."

"Thank you dad, and i am sorry."

"Don't be sorry, you are a great man with a brave heart, good luck Edward."

"Bye dad."

Edward takes the head of the dragon and Gerhard's body and goes to meet with the mayor.

"Here is Gerhard, and here is the head of the dragon."

"Well done, the treasure is yours "

"I want to buy the field and the forest where I killed the dragon."

Edward buyed the field and forest, and with the rest of the money he built a Dragon-Slayer school, and together with his horse, Thunderstorm with whom he could understand just exchanging looks, trained a new generation of hunters, and revived The Guild, a guild which once was the greatest of all, but he will take care to bring it back to it's former glory.

# Blind spot

by Alexandra Iulus

Amy opened her window and took a deep breath. Her nostrils were spoiled with cool, fresh air for the first time in the last two months. The streets looked like a puzzle of dry and wet patches, wandering leaves dancing until they found a suitable place to rest. By the time she and Toby finished the morning walk, the street noise was loud enough to derail one's train of thought. Toby was a black and white French bulldog Amy was watching for some friends while they were on vacation in Spain. She pondered for a few seconds in front of the open wardrobe and decided upon a black and white dotted dress which ended just below her knees, although it had seemed shorter in the store. She carefully straightened her black hair to frame her rosy heart-shaped face. "Something's missing...Got it!", she thought as she completed her attire with a pair of blue topaz earrings which matched her eyes. She fed Toby and gave it a gentle pat on the head. "I'm leaving now, you be good!"

When Amy arrived at the clinic, two of her colleagues were chatting over coffee.

"Good morning!", she greeted with a half friendly, half face paralyzing show of teeth.

"Happy birthday, Sarah!" she said to one of them and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

"You remembered, thank you!", the birthday girl replied with raised eyebrows and a grin.

" _I always remember, but nobody knows when mine is ..._ " Amy said to herself.

The day wasn't particularly crowded at the clinic, just the usual paws bandaging and giving shots to a few cats and dogs. Before leaving, Sarah asked Amy if she could cover for her the following day, since she was taking an impromptu last trip of the year to the seaside. Amy remembered she had planned to go to the park and relax, but as the refusal dialogue was unfolding in her head, she heard "You're the best, thanks, bye!" and nothing other then "Have fun!" came out.

" _God damn it, I need to learn to say 'No' to people...Oh, but I couldn't...._ " she was thinking as she was getting out of the subway and taking the 12 minutes' walk to her building. A child fell off his bike on the other side of the street and started crying. " _Oh, poor thing",_ she thought as she stopped and stared. _"Should I do something? I never react to these things... I should have more initiative ..."._ The kid's mother came soothing and Amy was relieved of her imaginary civic duties.

Amy entered her building and cheerfully greeted a neighbor who frowned and groaned at her. _"This man never says hello back..."_ She scanned her memories of him to figure out if she had wronged him in any way in the past, but couldn't retrieve a convincing event. Amy climbed the stairs to her floor and stopped abruptly. In front of her door lay a woman in animal print tights that didn't really compliment her figure, purple shoes half a size too small and reddish hair that had missed a few salon appointments hiding her bowed head.

"Can I... help you?", she asked with a reluctant voice.

The woman raised her head, measured her from toes to head and replied "Guess who!" It was Amy's sister, Molly. Her emerald cold eyes fixated Amy like studying a painting. She looked away, as she was used to reacting to this kind of unwanted attention. Her stomach contracted and upper body curved forward a bit, as one would do after avoiding a car splash on the day of a big interview.

"Oh, Molly, what a surprise! Let's go inside and you can tell me what you're up to these days."

"This room is so you, bunny girl! This cherry-like sofa, that blue painting over there... Still keeping it neat and tidy I see."

Amy had a flashback to her childhood to every time her sister called her "bunny girl", when she thought that she should be taken seriously regardless of the size of her nose or any other body part for that matter.

Toby approached Molly curiously. "And you got a dog, ugh, keep it away from me, would you? You know I don't like these smelly creatures and having all that saliva and hair on my clothes."

Amy sighed and took Toby in her lap. "It'll just be here for a few days... So what's going on with you?", she digressed.

"Men are pigs and I never want to have anything to do with them again!"

"Umm ... care to elaborate?"

"Joe left me. He just came home one evening and said he can't bear living with me anymore, but I know he has another woman. I never should have married that idiot!"

"I'm so sorry, Molly...Maybe it's just a phase and you'll get back together..."

That just angered Molly, so she proceeded to tell her everything about her disintegrating marriage and spared no saucy detail. Amy was used to giving her full attention to people, but at some point she was wondering why Molly came to her. After a two hours rant, the answer came by itself.

"... so bottom line is, can I crash at your place for a few days, until I find an apartment or something?"

"Oh ...well...yeah, I guess it's ok, you can sleep here on the sofa."

"Great, it will be like old times! Don't worry, I won't be in your way too long. By the way, do you have any medicine? I've been coughing a lot today, I think I'm coming down with a cold"

Amy searched her medicine cabinet and offered an aspirin and hot tea with lemon, encouraging her sister to see a doctor the next day.

"Maybe you would be more comfortable in the bedroom", she said.

"Well, if you think so..."

That night, Amy turned from one side to another on the lumpy couch, hundreds of thoughts keeping her awake. _" I had just gotten used to living alone... Maybe she will find an apartment soon ... Amy, don't be so selfish, she is your sister after all..."_

In the morning, as she was spraying a bit of perfume before going to work, her sister came to the kitchen, rubbing her eyes and yawning loudly.

"Can't you do that somewhere else? That smell is way too strong for you anyway"

Amy sighed and announced she would be late this evening, because she had a date.

"Look at you all grown up.", Molly said in a cartoonish voice. "What's the point anyway, they always break your heart eventually. But hey, do whatever you want, you are pushing 30 after all".

"I'm 25..."

"Right. And take an umbrella with you, it's cloudy outside. Oh, and get me some proper medicine when you return, will you ?"

Her date, Trevor, had a bunch of interesting travel stories about places Amy had only dreamed of visiting, so she mostly asked questions and smiled a lot. When the evening ended, he offered to accompany her to the door, to make sure she got home safe. " _What a gentleman!"_ she thought.

"Well, here we are. Thank you for a wonderful evening!", she said with a smile.

"It doesn't have to end here, you know... "

She bowed her head slightly to the left in hesitation. Suddenly, the door opened and Molly appeared coughing like a long time smoker.

" _Doesn't she lock the door?"_ , Amy wondered.

"Hey, what have we got here ? You sneaky bastard, trying to get yourself inside, eh? Get out of here, you animal! You are not getting your dirty paws on my baby sister!"

Trevor made a grimace and mumbled something along the lines of "Are all women crazy? I don't need this".

"So yeah, I'll call you, Amy... Bye, strange frustrated woman attacking me for no reason."

Amy's whole body froze in shock, her heartbeat accelerated and eyebrows frowned.

"Why did you do that ?" was all she could say after entering the apartment.

"Oh come on, I did you favor, you'll thank me later."

Amy raised her voice a little to match the fireball growing inside her chest.

"You had no right ... !"

"I went to the doctor's and he said I have pneumonia. You don't want to argue with a poor sick woman now, do you ? I have a prescription, can you drop by the pharmacy tomorrow? "

"But..." Amy paused and said she was tired and was going to bed.

" _Who the hell does she think she is ? I welcome her into my home and that's how she repays me?... Come on, Amy, she's sick, don't be like that. She's going through a rough patch too...This is not you..."_ This kind of conflicting dialogue played out for an hour in her head until she decided to give her sister the benefit of the doubt, at which point she fell asleep.

A few days had passed and Molly's health was not showing substantial improvements. One evening, as Amy was returning with a grocery bag in each hand, she discovered her door was slightly open.

"Molly ? Molly !"

"Did you leave the door open?"

"I took out the trash earlier, maybe it didn't close afterwards... I don't know."

Amy looked around and noticed Toby was missing. A quick tour of the apartment confirmed it wasn't there.

"Oh my god, Molly! The dog is gone! What am I supposed to tell my friends? How can you be so careless?"

"I'm sorry... I don't know when it got away, I'll help you look for him if you want, but isn't it smart enough to return on its own?"

"For the last time, it's not mine!" she shouted. "Let's just go, hopefully it didn't get very far!"

Amy's heart was pounding and her palms were moist. She didn't address Molly at all, just called Toby incessantly, hurrying to cover the surroundings. Molly was trying to help, but felt like her sister wouldn't allow her to. They found it after 20 minutes, scared and hungry. It jumped to Amy's lap and licked her soothing hands.

"Oh, thank God!" she sighed in relief. "Molly, you really have to lock the door in the future."

She thought it was no use to start a fight with her sister now that the scare was over. That night, she dreamed of her mother lying in a hospital bed, tubes and wires connecting her to various machines. She seemed to be around 9 years old, holding a teddy bear, tears filling her eyes, unable to speak. Molly was there too as a teenager, stroking her mother's hair and saying she would be all right. "Oh Molly, I'm glad you're here... Family should stick together...", said the mother in a soft voice and then a flat line beeping came out from the machines. Amy woke up suddenly, all sweaty and breathing rapidly.

" _She acted as if I were invisible!"_ Amy was familiar with this kind of restlessness, she had felt it many times before.

The next day she had forgotten about the dream, but woke up sensing something horrible had happened, without being able to pinpoint the specifics. At the clinic, a woman brought in a cat that had been hit by a car. She did everything to save it, but failed.

"Why do you people even have pets if you're unable to take care of them???", she yelled at the owner.

"Hey, don't judge, you don't know me!"

"What is wrong with me? I was such a jerk to the poor woman and she had just lost her cat... I suck... but they really should watch over them more!"

That night, Amy got home exhausted, took a shower and went to sleep, happy that her sister wasn't there yet. At some point, she thought she heard the door opening, then the sound of muffled steps. She raised on her elbows and squinted her eyes, but she could only distinguish a dark figure.

"Molly? Is that you?"

Suddenly, a big hand covered her mouth and a coarse voice whispered in her ear : "If you try to scream, I will cut your throat, do you understand? Just be calm and you won't get hurt".

Amy couldn't breathe or think. Her heart raced wildly. Eyes were bulging from their sockets. Forehead filled with a cold sweat. A shaky arm was stretched towards the nightstand. She reached what appeared to be a lamp. She hit the air where she assumed her attacker's head might be. A bang broke the silence.

"You bitch! When l I get my hands on you..."

Instead of waiting to hear the end of that sentence, she climbed the sofa and gushed to the bedroom, horrified that he might catch her and hurt her badly this time. She managed to enter the bedroom and lock the door. The attacker pounded and kicked the door to no avail.

"Eeeh, why do I even bother... ", he grunted and hurriedly gathered any valuables he was able to spot in light of the half-open door.

Molly awoke to the noise and noticed her sister in a corner, arms curled up around her in a fetal position, bouncing back and front.

"What is all this commotion? What are you doing ?"

Amy wanted to speak, but words jammed in her throat. Her sister tried to come closer, but was rejected with a slap on the arm.

"Is there someone in the house? Should I call the police?", she whispered but still got no reply.

They sat there in silence until the noise of crashed objects and swearing stopped.

Amy raised her head and glared at her sister for a minute, eyebrows coming together and lips pouting in a narrow line.

"Did you forget to lock the door again ?", she asked in the clear semi-loud tone parents use to scold their children.

"I ... I don't know... "

"You...don't... know ???"

"Amy, calm down, you are still in shock ..."

"Oh I have had enough of you telling me what to do! Ever since you came here, all you have done is mess things up! You are the most self-absorbed, needy, irresponsible being I have ever met!"

"Amy, I'm your sister, how can you speak to me this way?", Molly complained with the spoiled tone of a child who wants to avoid being punished.

"You sure have a lot of expectations for a person who doesn't care about anyone else ! Joe was right to leave you, he probably had enough too !"

"Hey, I'm the victim here, I thought my own sister would be more compassionate to my situation! You are mean and selfish !", Molly fought back.

"You are your mother's daughter all right! Ruining my life just like she did father's being all clingy and panicky all the time!"

"Mother was a sensitive woman who needed to be cared for, what is so wrong with that?"

"You are a 31-year-old woman! You need to grow up and take responsibility for your own life! So get packing, 'cause you need to get the hell out of my house right now!" She slammed the bedroom door and grabbed the phone to call the police.

Molly was bewildered and considered having crossed a line this time. The only thing to do was leave, but where ? She decided to check in to a nearby hotel and start looking for apartments in the morning. "She's wrong, I can take care of myself!", she thought.

After taking Amy's statement and some photos of the havoc left by the burglar, the policemen left. Her sister came out of the bedroom with her belongings in a bag.

"Amy ... I'm leaving, I won't be bothering you anymore", she said with a hint of sarcasm. "But you should know you are cut out from the same cloth as me. Take care."

"Goodbye!", came the response abruptly.

Amy locked the door and melted on the couch, head bowed, rubbing her temples. Thoughts crossed her mind like cars in a crossroad at rush hour.

"I just abandoned my sister in need... Am I really mean and selfish?... All I want is to build a life on my own... Is it selfish to put yourself first? ... All I do is give and give and this is what I get in return.... Maybe some people aren't worth the trouble, even if they are family... Maybe there's another way..."

She considered that her sister may not be all bad, but rather suffering. It suddenly dawned on her that her mean behavior might also be caused by pain. Tears filled her eyes as she allowed herself to feel instead of think. She spent all night crying and reliving memories and events that had brought her to this moment in time.

In the morning, Amy went to the bathroom and gazed her face for a minute. For the first time ever, she felt tall and confident. She grabbed a lipstick and wrote a little reminder on the mirror :

" **JUST BE".**

# If God Was A Woman

by Daniela Mihai

A Goddess living among us finds her way back home

Emese closed her eyes and fell into a deep sleep. She found herself in front of Samsāra. Her look stopped on the scene of the fight between the Gods and the demi-Gods. She noticed the detail of a spear impaling the chest of a Goddess. She remembered then the fall in the human realm. She woke up on a glacier island in the far North. From nowhere, an angakkuq appeared in front of her.

'Where am I?' Emese asked him.

'Spirit Guide, you are lost in the human World', the angakkuq answered.

'But, it seems that there is no sign of human habitation here', Emese exclaimed.

'A long journey is waiting for you out there. You will travel from one place to another for decades or for centuries, maybe for a millennium or so. Nobody will know. Actually, nobody will know where you are coming from or where you are going to, how you look or what your real age is. You can take the form of an innocent child, a beautiful young woman or a hideous old lady. You can turn into a bird, a tree, an insect, into any form of life. You will master the Alchemy and you will learn the esoteric part of any religion written since the age of time. You will become a fortune teller. Regular people will come to ask you what the future held. In some parts of the world, you will be a legend. In the desert, you will be a mirage. In other lands, you will be a mystery. Some people will consider you a witch. Others will see you as a fairy. One thing is for sure: any human crossing your path, his or her life will be changed for good.'

The angakkuq gave her two powerful magical objects: a Tibetan singing-healing bowl made of a secret metal fused during an alchemical process and a wooden Egyptian Key of Life made of a branch of the oldest tree from Daintree Rainforest. He told her:

'The combined use of these two objects can create Heaven on Earth bringing love and happiness to anyone hearing the song. Except that this can happen in particular stages in the Universe evolution and only in certain corners of the world. When that moment is about to come, you will return. Now go! Discover humankind and remember as long as you have this bowl and the Key of Life with you, your being will be eternal in this World.'

Then, Emese left to search the meaning of her existence. For ages, she traveled around the globe in a hot air balloon. She experienced almost all possible human feelings: birth and death, health and sickness, strength and weakness, pleasure and pain, love and hate, peace and war, victory and defeat, right and wrong, morality and licentiousness, forgiveness and punishment, harmony and disorder, prosperity and misery, friendliness and envy, trust and jealousy, loyalty and infidelity, passion and apathy, beauty and ugliness, attraction and repugnance, empathy and aversion, calmness and anger, security and fear, confidence and doubt, richness and poverty, joy and sadness, laugh and blubber, intelligence and ignorance, kindness and indifference, hospitality and aloofness, generosity and parsimony, union and separation, ability and incapacity, limitation and freedom, equality and disparity, protection and destruction, courage and cowardice, audacity and timidity, honor and blame, modesty and pride, respect and derision, hope and despair, illusion and disillusion, optimism and pessimism, dependence and detachment, gratitude and ungratefulness, contentment and depression, appreciation and contempt, excitement and boredom, sincerity and hypocrisy, honesty and duplicity, solidarity and disinterestedness, altruism and selfishness, success and failure, fame and anonymity, constancy and changeability. Every time she felt happy, all the people around her, especially people contributing to her joy, were all blessed with happiness. And when she was angry, it was bitter and bitter of people standing in front of her fury and her rage, in particular when an injustice was committed to her or to someone whom she esteemed. She contaminated the world with her state of being and feeling.

After so very long, Emese was heading north again. She hoped to finally accomplish her mission on this Planet. She was flying in her hot air balloon with the wind and the thoughts of people, when, suddenly, clouds gathered from nowhere covering the world under a dense shadow. From up above, it looked like the clouds were crying. Their tears were the first drops of a rain which soon became a shower. The torrential rain became sleet, the sleet became ice stone. Hailstones of all dimensions fell from the sky. A cold was freezing the entire Planet. The Earth was trembling in front of this apocalyptic image. Hundreds of thunders were shaking the red and the black sky. A strong wind started to whistle announcing the end of an Old Age. In that moment, the balloon was struck down by a lightening and it wrecked in the middle of a frozen ocean.

From the glacier island, two people, a man and a woman witnessed the crash. They came with their dog sled to the place of the shipwrecked. When approaching the balloon, the man and the woman were so amazed of what they discovered inside the basket:

'Oh, dear Sedna! A girl fell from the sky!' the woman exclaimed. 'Could she be the child that we expected for so long?!'

Emese was sitting in a foetus position strangling an object to her chest. She had lost consciousness. The man and the woman picked her up and wrapped her in a caribou parka. The man carried her to the sled and they brought her to their home.

When Emese returned to her senses, she found herself inside a sort of a scintillating ice cave, sitting on and covered with animal skins and furs. For the first time in her existence, she had no idea where she was. In the pale light of a seal tallow candle, she noticed her singing-healing bowl. She tried to reach it but a pain in her chest didn't let her. She heard a warm and gentle female voice whispering:

'It's all right. I will give it to you.'

Emese looked up. A woman and a man were sitting next to her. They were all dressed up in furs. They both had grey hair, slanted brown eyes and slightly flatted noses. Their faces revealed an expression of a great kindness.

'How do you feel?' the woman asked her.

'I have a strong pain in my chest and I can hardly breathe. Where am I?' Emese asked them.

'You are in our igloo. My name is Tapeesa and he is my husband, Inuksuk. We live here, in these parts, by our selves. Inuksuk is hunting and fishing most of the time. And I am carving small sculptures in ivory. How about you? What's your name, dear, and what brings you in the far North?'

Emese made a pause before answering: 'I don't know.' Tapeesa looked at Inuksuk.

'You had an accident. Your hot air balloon crashed and you end up on a glacier island.' Inuksuk intervened and explained to her. 'I am sure it's the shock. Your memory will come back to you shortly.'

'The only thing I remember is that I was sailing towards the zenith to spread happiness in the World.' Emese added.

'And how did you intend to do that?' Inuksuk asked.

Then, Emese looked at her singing-healing bowl. It was empty. The Key of Life was missing.

'When we found you, you had in your arms this bowl. We imagined that it must be very important for you, so we took it.' Inuksuk said.

'Thank you. Was this the only object that I carried with me?' Emese asked precautionary.

'Yes, we checked the basket of your balloon. We were surprised to find out that there was nothing more inside of it, only you and this bowl.'

'Most probably it slipped from the singing-healing bowl when the balloon fell and hit the ice.' Emese thought out loud.

'What slipped?' Tapeesa and Inuksuk asked curious.

'The rest of my life', Emese replied.

'You are delusional. You should be resting now.' Tapeesa told her kindly.

Emese closed her eyes and fell into a deep sleep. On the glacier island, the angakkuq was performing a hoary ritual of searching for wisdom and healing. Passwords and symbols opened the door to a realm of dreams.

'I'm back. I wandered in search of the meaning of my existence for so long and I didn't find any.' Emese told him.

'Spirit Guide, it's time for you to return home', the angakkuq said to her. 'You were stuck enough in this world you don't belong to. You were searching for something you couldn't find simply because you don't make any sense here, on this Planet.'

Emese woke up with high fever from the wound in her chest. During the fall, the singing-healing bowl had crushed her breastbone causing her pulmonary contusions.

'I am finally going to die', Emese said with an extinguished voice.

'Nonsense!' replied Tapeesa who had watched her during all this time. 'You will be fine, dear child. You have a long life in front of you.'

Emese started laughing. 'A long life in front of me, you say?!' A screen play of memories from distant times invaded her mind: the creation of the Egyptian pyramids and her education in the art of Alchemy; her life in the court of the Pharaoh Akhenaton and his schismatic cult; the solstice and equinox worships to the Sun and to the Moon in the temples embroidering the top of Mayan and Aztec pyramids; her knowledge of the prophecies acquired from the Pythian priestess in Delphi; her life as a Bedouin trading silk with Nabataeans in the lost city of Raqmu; her patrolling as a royal guard on the Great Wall of China; her dialogues with Socrates, Plato and Aristotle; her distress when humanity decided the crucifixion of Jesus Christ as the most terrifying crime of the human kind; her military activity within the Order of Knights of the Hospital of Saint John of Jerusalem, within the Teutonic Order and within the Knights Templar; her involvement in the rise of Genghis Khan and of the Great Mongol Empire; the first heartbeat of the first child born after a genocide; her long conversations with Rûmî within the Sufi brotherhood; her efforts in trying to alleviate Shâh Jahân suffering after the loss of his true love, the third and the favorite wife, Mumtaz Mahal; her enlightenment as a Buddhist nun in a Tibetan temple hidden inside the sacred mountain Kailash; her meditations mornings and evenings as a hermit in the Sahara desert or at the iced shore of Baikal Lake; her wanderings with gypsy caravans in Medieval Elsass, from one peasant community to another, telling the fortune by palm reading, by Tarot cards, by crystal ball, by casting bones or stones, by Turkish coffee reading or telling the fortune with tea leaves; the sumptuous and luxury balls she attended within the European Royal Courts and her dance with Prince Charming; the letters she exchanged with the Marquis de Sade, Lord Byron and Dostoyevsky; her extraordinary adventure when she was kidnapped during a pirate attack in the Caribbean and how she ended up living with Piraha tribe in the Amazon jungle...

'You shouldn't worry', Tapeesa interrupted her thoughts. 'Inuksuk went for the angakkuq. They should arrive any moment now. The angakkuuq will know what to do to heal your wound. He has saved many lives. He will put you on your feet right away.'

After an interval of silence, Emese asked: 'So you don't have children?'

'No, Sedna didn't bless us with a child until now.' Tapeesa smiled. 'If you accept, we will take care of you as if you were our beloved child that we always wanted to have.'

'I will be extremely happy', Emese replied.

'Have you decided how to call you?' Tapeesa asked her.

'You can call me as you wish', Emese said.

'Because you fell from the sky, I will call you Ataksak. It means Goddess of the ruler of the sky.' Tapeesa baptized her smiling.

'I like it very much.' Summoning up the last of her strength, Emese continued: 'I want you to have this bowl. It contains the great knowledge of healing and the wonderful gift of telling the future. You know, although I appear to you as a child, I have lived many years on Earth and I thought I had lived everything. But with you, I've learned something new and very precious: I've learned how it feels to have parents taking care of me. Thank you, Tapeesa!' and she gave her last smile.

By the time Inuksuk and the angakkuq entered the door, the human matter transformed itself in pure light and source of energy. The magical sparkles in the air hollowed the time and the space with the spell of universal intensity spreading the feeling of risen Divinity. Emese vanished in front of their eyes as if she had never been there. She faded into infinity and she was now round the world.

'She went home', the angakkuk said.

# Shadow of Yesterday

by Andrei Postaru

Half way through its descent from the middle of the sky, the Right Eye of Merwan lay silvery light upon the land with a crooked smile. The wind remained as calm as it had ever been throughout the night, rustling the canopy of leaves ever so gently. As silent as a heartbeat, the petals of a lone Moonflower waved under the weight of air spurned by nocturnal insects.

Breath by breath, she walked closer to the faint embers of a small fire, moving as graceful as the flow of water. Her right hand grew firm as it fully clutched the spear, careful to let the rushing water mask any unnatural sound. Moments later she was upon him, arced and ready to strike.

Yet there was hesitation, perhaps for the first time now. Her eyes bounced back to the the small hunk of roasted meat that was accompanied by a bowl of water and a small pile of white crushed rock that was most likely salt.

She reckoned this man knew of her stalking, and instead of readying for a fight he chose to lay an invitation as he carelessly slept. It was very foolish of him to do so, yet at the same time it felt wrong to simply thrust the spear through his chest.

"I lay no claim upon this place. Could I ever? You are welcome to stay and share in the fruit of the land, as I have", the man spoke with calm in a partly thick voice.

She panicked, taking a handful of steps back and adopting a defensive posture.

"I have no intention of harming you", he continued, still lying as if he were sleeping, "yet I would not stand idle should you choose to strike."

Chills swept down her spine. Careless, this man was not. Her mind fevered, searching for reasons to attack, yet found only one. A painful wound, yet perhaps scarred by now. Was this a time to let it rest, at least here and now? What harm would there be in accepting his invitation?

Eyes aimed straight at the unmoving stranger, she stepped close and picked up the bowl with her left hand, brought it up to her face and breathed deep. _Fresh water_ , she concluded after a long inhale that followed a short one. The tip of her tongue confirmed the assumption due to a lack of taste. Likewise, the hunk of meat did not appear to be tainted whatsoever. It looked as if this man's intentions were honest. For now.

"My name is Radek", he said after a while. "You?"

She hesitated for a moment. "No."

"Hmmph", he grunted. "All right, then. I'm still Radek... I want to stand up now. Talk has little point without looking each other in the eye, no?"

_Reasonable_ , she thought, gripping the spear a bit better.

The man looked unusual at first, despite the moonlight. His skin was tinted blue, very, very slightly, barely noticeable. The nose was flat at the tip, rather than pointy as one would expect, and his eyes gleamed in the darkness of the night. Surprisingly, the most common mark he had was an old burn scar on his left cheek, continuing down to his neck and up to the ear.

"You are a Child of Tael", she said with slight confusion, "Yet you bear the trappings of a killer. The shield behind which man cowardly hides. And yet you are.. _different_."

"I was born of the Thousand and One Islands, yes. Still, my path in life led me to the Order."

"How can one of the Eight have such disdain for his own flesh and blood made common and thrust unto the world?"

"I... uhmm... I don't think I'm good at answering that question", he sighed and paused for a breath. "Far as I can tell, what is the purpose of man in the first place? To be born, to live, and then to join the realm of his creator? How is that any different from me?"

_Maybe_ , she reckoned, loosing the grip on her spear a little and feeling it slide down between her fingers, at least until it reached a point where it rested on its own.

Radek mumbled something as he sighed, scratched his head just above the right ear and then asked in a courteous voice: "Please, sit down. I'll join you in a moment. Just want to check the line, see if anything bit."

Her heart began to race as soon as the words had been understood. Maybe he was planning on deceiving her again. She leapt back, taking an aggressive pose. Once more she hesitated, yet once again she felt like she saw what she wanted to see in his actions, and not the likely truth. To watch carefully and be ready, however, was just fine.

Disturbed by the man's approach, a dragonfly darted away with a faintly bright trail, only to spurn a couple others in its wake. They danced around like whimsical sparks, adding a unique note to the otherwise ordinary symphony that was the forest at night.

She wanted to indulge in the moment, to bask in a wonder born out of nothing but pure coincidence. But was it just that, chance, or was it proof that fate existed everywhere around, from the tiniest of beings to the carefully ordained world of man?

This question, spurned both by the Islander's words and by her own doubt, bothered her greatly.

The man growled, dissatisfied. "Traveling on an empty stomach is just wonderful, isn't it?"

She twitched instinctively, breaking out of thought and realizing she had been careless. Yet again. By contrast, the Islander seemed to pay no mind to her gestures.

"Why are you here", she demanded to know.

"People have disappeared as they traveled through these woods. Even a full caravan, half a year back. Doubt wolves would be that bold."

Her eyes bounced between the two of them, appreciating the distance. "You think it was me", she asked with a tense voice.

"I don't know. I'm not one to jump to conclusions. But I am curious about one thing... well, three actually."

She noticed the change in his voice immediately. This was it, like a wave drawing close to the shore, foredoomed to splash upon the wetted sand.

Still, he had shown hospitality and patience. He deserved his one question, or even three.

"Ask!"

"The markings on your face, bent.. no crooked, from your forehead, around the eyes and circling your lips before collapsing unto them. They are the masque of a trickster. Merwan, by his manling name, yet you might know him by another guise. It, too just as old."

She took a step back as a chill went down her spine. "How do you know of that?"

"Because I was not always what I am today. Once, a long, long time ago, I tried to run away from my duty, from the oath I had not spoken yet. For a while I manged to find solace in the arms of another. Much too beautiful, Verra was. A daughter of the forest, like you."

Was it a lie, or was it truth? She wanted it to be the former, but instead she swallowed dryly, closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

At first the air was fresh and clear, as it were a blink ago. A moment later she felt a faint smell of pine and old rock that grew in intensity with the next inhale. Far to the North and far to the East, where roots sprouted amidst cold stone in the young ages of the world, that is where the two had lived, a lifetime ago. She saw her as he did once. As he still did. Her soft ashen hair, like a bundle of silk to the touch. Her eyes, two gemstones as blue as the cold waters of the North.

"That is where I learned many things, sometimes by accident, sometimes out of curiosity."

"What have you told _them_? Is it because of you that this all happened?" she both asked and accused at the same time, each word harsher than the last.

"It falls to the inquisitor to ask the questions right. Words, as they are, are flawed. Very, very flawed."

"You lie!" she snapped, opening her eyes and brought her spear up, point aimed at him.

"Do I?"

She growled, dissatisfied. He was right. There had not been anything in his voice or gestures to say otherwise.

"Three questions", she said in a more calm voice. "Yet you have not even asked your first."

"In spite of your markings, you bear a beautiful weapon. Does it have a name?"

She bit her lower lip, each row of teeth pulling in different directions as if to tear it apart, and then brought the spear forward. Her right hand moved up from the handle towards the tip, feeling the carvings in the old, dry wood. _Elras, Malothir, Kanna, Ferraserai, Essa..._ so many names, so many lost. The handful of hair braids that spun around the shaft was all that bound them together now, an effigy to last from now until the end of time.

"...Aeria", she answered, her voice trembling.

The Islander grumbled. "Mmmmh... Just like great Emmer flows today, so did Aeria in ancient times. Before man knew sorcery for what it truly was."

"Before time... before the gods..." she mumbled, almost continuing his words. "You carry a sword. Does it have a name?"

Radek walked to the woolen cape he slept on and grabbed the sheathed weapon from beneath. He stepped back by her and pulled the scabbard down about two palms.

"No", he finally said, "it does not have a name. Keeps it honest. As much as some people would want to believe otherwise, I do not like to bloody it unless I have to."

"Then you..", she paused nodding gently, ".. you are better than I will ever be." She burst into laughter. "Is this what you wanted? A confession?"

The Islander shook his head. "No. In all my years I've learned that nothing happens without a reason."

Darkness began to cover the land once more as a playful weave of shadows took over; the moon nowhere to be seen, having been swallowed full by the hungry canopy. On the other side, far beyond the horizon, bright sparks danced across the sky, welcomed heralds of the Left Eye of Chalek. Down below, by the hastily flowing waters of the river, the long dead embers of a fire had found new purpose.

"Many, many years ago", she began to speak in a trembling voice, "man sought to claim these lands for themselves, just like they did in so many other places. That is what our ancestors believed, yet they were wrong; man was much smarter than that. Instead of bloodshed, an agreement was struck. Their world and ours could live aside one another, and even prosper from the differences we held."

"That is how you came to be", the man said dryly.

She nodded. "And many others. For centuries we lived side by side. Good neighbors, they called us. Kin in spirit, we considered them. Yet as you might expect, it didn't last forever. They came marching, heavy boots clanking as they stepped. Their voices sang of one named Markhus and the Order that he had brought forth into this world, how he conquered the past to build a better future. Is that not what you bear in your heart? His song, his glory?"

"I do."

"Then why are you different?"

"Some people are liars and cowards. They want to believe they're in the right, no matter what. If that means to twist the words and meaning of someone so much greater than most of us, they will do so. Without hesitation, even."

"And you?"

"I have seen both good and bad in many. I think you have, too."

"They showed no mercy. Why should I, when my own kin lay bloodied in the dirt and grass? They laughed, and mocked. They took what ever they wanted!"

"And yet wolves eat deer."

"It is one thing to eat. Another to satisfy your desires."

"A man needs pleasure as much as he needs food. You do as well."

She raised her eyes from what remained of the fire to his face.

"What do you say!" she cried with anger.

"You have still not finished your tale", he replied with calm, appearing to ignore her question.

"Why does it matter", she demanded to know.

"Because you try to be two things which you are not. You are not a trickster. And someone who seeks vengeance would have struck me long ago."

"You are different."

"Why does it matter?"

The words made her feel as if her heart stopped. _Why did it matter?_ She did not want to answer, yet it was his second question. He deserved it.

"Because..."

She stopped, breathing as if there was a weight on her chest.

"Because I should have warned them!" she screamed with an unearthly howl. "I heard their trampling and thought they were passers! By the time I knew their true intentions, it was too late. I hid, pretending to be dead, yet still hearing the screams! The sound of blood splashing! Their laughter and chant!"

She drew a heavy breath, and then continued. "Don't you understand? I was to be a witness, to warn others of their treacherous deeds, yet chose to mourn instead. By the time I was myself again, two other resting places laid bloodied, jut like my own!"

"And now here you are, a torment upon the land."

She turned her head towards him. "What?"

The Islander sighed loudly. "Those men..", he began, but paused to choose other, perhaps better, words instead. "Nobody goes marching in armor if they are not ready to fight. And only a fool does so without a plan. And I really doubt they were that, fools. You were taken by surprise. Had you warned your kin, I stake my life that those men would have not attacked that night. All it takes is a single moment. Time on their side, not yours. A cat stalks mice, not blindly rushes into them."

"You can't know that!"

"I do. I hunt the wicked. I have lived, and others have died to my blade, by a single slip."

"Then I have lied to myself without even knowing it."

"No, Eraenia. You only wish you did."

She stopped, perfectly motionless.

"I know your name because it was written on a piece of paper, along with others. Malonthir. Essa. Fereonas. Elras. Too many more. Over two thousand..." The Islander chuckled. "Hmmph... almost one for each day since Dragonsfall... What happened there, too long ago, was a mistake. Those responsible have paid the price in blood, yet only the Order knows of it. One day, perhaps more people will. For now, though, _the night is young, and man too frail_. You do not need to be a witness, for their deeds are well known. You do not need to avenge them, for the greatest price has already been paid. Why are you still here, then, if not for your own selfish desire? Is that not what you blame in others?"

She stood up, her body unearthly still all the time. _What is the purpose of one in the first place?_ Hers, long gone. There was no more need to linger, lest her legacy, her intent, would be as vile as those she once condemned.

"Thank you", she said with a beautiful smile, far beyond what could be found in the realm of flesh and blood. She reckoned it was for the first time in too long to say those words or twist her face like that.

Sure of step, she approached Radek and pressed her dry lips on his left cheek. _Thank you, again._ One last thought to be remembered by as she disappeared between the span of a few breaths.

 Wheel of Life in Buddhism.

 Inuit shaman.

 Sedna is the Goddess of the Sea in the Inuit mythology.

 Her name means _arctic flower_.

 His name means _on the right path_.

