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Chapter Ten
Chapter Ten
In all my life, I had never been asked such a strange and agonizing question. If the hope of resuming life as it had always been was still there, even after being the full focus of the Dreamfeeder's sucking, needful, reality-shattering energy, this was the moment when it collapsed, leaving behind but a husk, a lump of confusion, but, beneath which there was a persistently thriving flicker of purpose and hope. Perhaps this very spark lies always in every human heart.
Since our story first began, it was there, providing needed strength in dark primordial forests when those who toiled for our existence today glimpsed the eye-shine of cunning predators watching them with mad hunger from the darkness; always there, shimmering at the bottom of even the most cynical souls, hoping and striving for a future that is not bleak, for a fate of life and enduring love and hope. That everlasting light may never die, but some of us forget that it is there.
"I just want to stop this from getting any worse, I told Bluewind, trying to keep my face from screwing up with emotion as it rose. "I want this thing to die."
The Indian shoved his hands into his pockets, and cocked his head, thus deepening my impression of him as birdlike.
"If you think killing and violence is the way to solve this, you are wrong." He declared. "Just as my brothers were. They were strong and courageous, but they used only their physical strength. Your Dreamfeeder won't succumb to human physical strength. It is pure will, and if anything it will be halted by the same thing. Now, we must go."
He turned from me and shouldered through the doorway. I followed.
No calming voice spoke in my head, no Muse. Perhaps because there was no room in the midst of my own racing thoughts.
Emma was busily stirring rice and a few other ingredients in a large red bowl, humming an unfamiliar tune to herself. When she heard us enter, she asked, "You two leaving?"
"He wants to go see it." I said exasperatedly. "I don't think it's a good idea."
The Chief sighed and stopped, turning to face me. "If you drive me to see this Dreamfeeder I will show you what can be done. It does not involve running and hiding, and it does not involve killing. At least not for this entity."
"Then what do you plan to do?"
"It is not what I can do, but what you can."
"Please explain, Chief. I'm no good at riddles."
"You have more understanding of this beast than I. Now are we going to stand here or are we going to act? Time is short."
"All right. Come on." I started to walk towards the door.
Emma regarded us worriedly. "Is there anything more I can do? Letting you two go off alone makes me feel just awful."
"No one is ever alone." Chief Bluewind explained, and again I was stumped on the meaning behind his cryptic words.
The impatient Indian almost seemed beyond fear. Perhaps, even though he had seen a Dreamfeeder and witnessed the dissolving of friends as they slept like I had, he had traveled to the mental realm beyond fear, beyond worries of the future and fate. From what I understood about him, his steely expressions and profound statements could have been a front, but his eagerness to see the Dreamfeeder suggested he knew a lot more about it than I did.
But why is he being so mysterious? The Muse suddenly piped up in an inquisitive tone. This is too important to withhold information. Does he expect you to figure it all out on your own?
I don't know. Going back there without knowing is one thing I don't want to do, but if I don't go now, he might change his mind about helping me.
Then get in the car and go see what's cookin, Molly.
I went up to Emma and we hugged goodbye, she told me to be strong and brave, not to regret anything, and that the high consciousness would ensure that all worked out as it should. I wished that I had been spiritual enough to have some faith in what she said, but not even a smidgen was there. In fact, those murmured assurances seemed almost like a subtle goodbye, as though she was aware of the possibility that she wouldn't see me again.
As I let Solo out and put him in the backseat, the Chief slid into the passenger seat carefully, as though he were afraid some metallic maw might open up from somewhere in the car. He didn't give me the impression that he was used to riding in a car, even after excursions from the reservation via hitchhiking. While Emma stood in her driveway and waved goodbye her hand flailing flamboyantly like someone watching a ship containing adventurous friends push away on a journey, I drove away.
The Chief said hardly anything on the way there, and though I asked several questions, he seemed not to hear. He merely stared out the window, watching the scenery we passed with intense interest. He regarded the cell phone towers as though they really were Martian tripods. At this point, if they had suddenly begun walking and obliterating cows, I probably wouldn't have been surprised. Shocked, but not surprised.
Solo, curled up in the back, pretended to be asleep but occasionally he leaned over to study the Chief on the other side of his seat. He wagged his tail and smiled; the doggie seal of approval.
There was so much I wanted to know, but at the same time the prospect of new knowledge seemed poisonous, an even greater taint. Maybe something the Chief had to say would so deeply rock me that hope would be impossible, improbable. Maybe there really was no way to kill the Dreamfeeder, but if there was a way to stop it, I was game.
Only a few blocks from home, I began to get tenser. I repeatedly glanced at Bluewind, but he still made no haste to answer questions or clear up any fear. The dread I had for this entity exceeded anything I had ever been frightened of before. Even people, with their mindless rage, could usually be dealt with if others were willing to act, but the alien intellect of the Dreamfeeder and its vast power made it almost invincible. Surely it had a weakness. If it was fire, or bombs, I would use them as a last resort of that meant preventing the deaths of more people it intended to feed upon, but right now I wanted to protect the only home I had, because if there was another way to get rid of it, the home would be the only thing that let me resume the life I once had. Maybe this was a selfish wish; maybe it was a justifiable need for survival. Nonetheless, I pleaded with destiny in what seemed like a prayer. I asked for a way that didn't involve destroying my home. Maybe, without sufficient faith, the most poignant pleas for assistance would go unheeded, but I tried.
As I turned onto the road only a few miles from home, Chief Bluewind turned to look at me. His eyes were unreadable, but his expression seemed pained. He took a deep breath. Then another, as though breathing had become harder.
"What's wrong?" I asked.
He closed his eyes, and mumbled something I couldn't understand, perhaps in his native language.
Then I felt it too, an extremely subtle almost pulsing pressure in my head, in my guts. It felt like the air was thinner, as though we were in a higher altitude, and the closer the car went to the house, it seemed to get worse. Either this was tension, raw nerves at work, or the unearthly changes, even in small ways, had already begun.
"I feel its aura." Chief Bluewind said softly. "It's worse than I thought before. We must hurry."
I pressed my foot on the accelerator, picked up speed, not yet over the limit but almost there. "Check the jar," I said.
He had put it on the floor, near his feet, and when he lifted it up and showed it to me I saw not two but three tendrils, which no longer flopped spasmodically but quivered subtly, as though they were resting before they grew again.
"They can split apart and make copies of themselves like a damn ameba. And so quickly. That explains all the stuff on the walls and floor in such a short amount of time. God."
"Molly, have you ever had any strange experiences at this home before?"
"No. Never." I shook my head vigorously. "This just happened only a week or more ago…so suddenly. It started with dreams. Terrible dreams."
His brow furrowed. He said nothing in response.
I tried to concentrate on not being afraid, to tell myself that after seeing this thing four times in all its hideous detail the fear should wear off. But this was a new kind of fear, a kind the old Molly would never have sunk to. It was purely superstitious, nameless primal dread of the unknown, of horrifying surprises this growing thing could spring upon us. Maybe it even knew we were coming. Maybe it felt the mind of the Chief, as well as my own. If we could feel its oppressive aura, surely the steadily widening reach of its telepathy could pick up on our fearful ones.
If we can sense it, this pressure, can other people? Does it extend for miles now? Is it becoming that powerful? I thought maybe that idea about this thing eventually dominating the world might have been paranoid rambling, overreaction.
Me too, Molly. I sure hope it still is. Surely the universe hasn't become that much of a madhouse. Surely something overrules when it gets too bad.
Finally we reached the house. Apparently someone had taken the driverless vehicles, for they were gone. Everything had a deceptively calm look. The leaves were still falling gently from branches with each gust of wind. Squirrels played, chipmunks scampered, birds chirped, but there was an underlying wrongness that was more apparent than ever, more felt than seen. That pressure was stronger, evidently a real thing, and I felt it everywhere, even in my bones.
But I didn't want to think about bones.
From the backseat, Solo howled piteously as we both got out of the car. When I opened the door, he stayed where he was, wanting no part of this place. After stroking and coaxing him, I finally gave in, shut the door, and let him stay.
The Chief stared at the house for a moment, stone-still. He was tense, as though sensing watchers of some kind and thinking they might attack. Nothing came, and then he did a peculiar thing. He reached into the pocket of his jacket and withdrew a brown leather pouch about the size and shape of a baseball. He opened it circled the house with it, sprinkling a coarse white powder around its perimeter. Following him, I didn't ask why.
He made the stuff last, and then sprinkled the last and most of it around the cellar doors. The dead heart-like things were gone, and there were no signs of anything else growing in the dirt. A thick gluey mud had formed from the rain, and our boots made sucking-squelching sounds as we walked.
The Chief didn't open the doors. Neither did I. We just stood there, feeling the vague pressure and the questing energy of the visitor.
Bluewind's eyes were closed again, and his lips moved silently.
Praying again, of course...I just don't think this thing is going to respond to anything like that, but it's a nice thought.
"Before we go in, do you want to come inside, see if we can talk about how to…" I trailed off.
He nodded solemnly. "Let's not take long."
Opening the front door, I almost expected my house to be covered in alien vines, a canopy of frenziedly feeling appendages hanging from above while a second hungry sac peeled open and showed us our skeletons. But it was seemingly as I had left it, with not even any signs of human intrusion, although the vehicles were gone.
The Chief, when I told him to feel free to sit down on the sofa or chair, quietly dropped cross-legged onto the green area rug on the floor. I didn't expect this, even though the term Indian Style had come from his people's customs.
He looked so out of place in my little modern home, but I truly felt out of place. The pressure in the air came with that disconcerting smell. It was subtle, faint, but repellent.
I was about to use the kitchen faucet to pour water into the coffee pot, but then I thought of where the water came from and what might be in it. Even thinking about it inspired roiling nausea.
With that came the other feelings in a rush of despair and longing for the life I once had, as well as guilt and pity for my best friend, the oblivious paramedics, fireman, and cop. My old life seemed so innocent compared to this; even with its ups and downs it was far better than living like this. Even my abusive boyfriend, the first I ever had, never filled me with such dread when that icy reptilian rage swelled in his eyes without warning and sent hopes of Happily Ever After plummeting into an abyss.
In this sudden flood of emotion, the dam of numbness collapsed, and a feeling close to panic rose so strongly that I felt as though my legs were about to buckle. I gripped the kitchen counter for support as Kat had done. My chest felt tight, and the madness-plagued Molly suddenly screamed within me, in some other language louder than I had ever heard before. It was like a siren, an inhuman wail, then a lower more ominous tone like radio garbling, a voice whose words could not be discerned.
Clutching my temples now, as though these vile thoughts could be stifled that way, I said in a choked voice, "Chief. I'm…I…how do we stop this? How do we make it stop? How?"
"Molly, you must calm yourself before I tell you."
"Just tell me." I argued, wincing as the whispers and screams became louder, more intense.
"You must listen to me, not to them, Molly. Not to them. You can stop this yourself. You don't have to listen to it. Tell them this is your mind and that they must leave." The Chief stared at me, his eyes fogging with what might have been a measured fear.
"How do you know what's going on in my head?" I wailed, becoming disoriented as a thick dark cloud formed in my vision. I was slipping into unconsciousness.
The Chief stood up, started to walk towards me, and I was clutched by a ridiculous, irrational fear that he wasn't what he appeared to be, that he was in league with them. He was squinting, wincing, and his dark face distorted and deepened with the tide of shadows that flowed across my eyes. "I hear it too, Molly, but it's going away. Tell them to go away."
Then, a clear angry voice blared so loud, more like a real audible scream than a thought.
Why are you doing this? Why? Why? You're making it worse, making it painful, making it MAD! Don't make it mad, you idiot! Don't you dare! Go down and see it! Let it show you. I want to see! I want to know, but you're stopping it! You're blocking its way in! I want to dream, have to, need to! You're wasting time, making it mad! WHY? WHY? Damn you! How could you? You're keeping us apart, keeping us away from the only happiness we can ever achieve. WHY?
Even in all its misery and stark raving madness, in all its blind demonic hate, that voice was mine, mine and yet of something else, something that was fighting me for control of my own emotions and perhaps my very mind. It drowned out the voice of the Muse, washed away my own thoughts, smothered Chief Bluewind's urgent advice, almost sent me reeling with its sheer intensity and psychotic relentlessness. Then finally I shouted back at it, thinking as loud and hard as possible.
No! For God's sake, just stop it! I'll never dream. You're not even real! Shut up and go away. You won't do this anymore. You have no control over me.
Then it was quiet. Abruptly quiet except for my own thoughts, and it was such a wonderful feeling to be alone inside my own head. Even the whispers faded, and I was only aware of them subliminally, if at all.
I took deep breaths, deep breaths of that slightly tainted air. The Chief stood silently in the doorway between the living room and kitchen, his eyes cool and concerned and blue.
I reached into the fridge and pulled out lemon-lime soda, to wash away that unnamable taste in my mouth. Beads of cold sweat slid slowly down the nape of my neck. I was tired, so damn tired of fighting this thing. Sleeping seemed like such a good escape.
Molly, don't you even think about it. That's crazy Molly speaking back. Don't invite her back in. Don't.
I was distracted from these weary thoughts when the Chief went back to the living room and sat back down on the rug, again cross-legged. He closed his eyes, folded his hands in his lap, and began to chant in a low rhythmic murmur. Fascinated, but also slightly concerned, I watched him. The words were unfamiliar, and as it went on it seemed less like a chant than one side of a conversation.
"Chief?" I said, walking into the living room and standing near him. "You still with me?"
He didn't answer. He was eerily still, his wrinkled face placid, free of emotion.
Is he connecting with that thing? Is he dreaming?
"Chief, what are you doing? It's dangerous!" I warned.
Panic swelled at the thought of Bluewind suddenly going out of control under the influence of the Dreamfeeder. He would be far more formidable than Solo had been, far more violent.
I kept saying his name, and was just on the verge of touching his shoulder to wake him when he said softly, "Silence, Molly. Please. I'm not talking to it, not dreaming."
Then about thirty seconds passed before the chanting started again. I sat in the armchair and waited, still worried that in this trance-like state his mind would be seized by the Dreamfeeder as quickly as Solo's and Kat's had been.
Maybe five minutes went by. I stared at the wall. He had stopped chanting and was silent, still.
The subliminal whispers could be heard more clearly now when focused on, but I couldn't make out the context of what they said. I didn't want to. My mind felt like a door held closed only by a flimsy latch and a frail deadbolt, and something from the other side was pounding, hammering, demanding entrance. I refused, afraid that the screams for rest would start again if I let my guard down even a little, that the power of this being would surge at me and force me to sleep.
Finally when I was about to lose patience and wake the Chief from his trance, he said, "It came in here through a vortex."
"Huh? You mean like a…portal?"
"Yes." He still hadn't opened his eyes or moved anything but his lips.
"A portal from where?"
"Anywhere. We aren't sure. That place it showed you, perhaps."
"We?" Who're you talking to over there?"
"My people."
"How are you talking to them just by sitting there and closing your eyes?"
"It's more than that. You have a lot to learn. No time for that now."
"Is it telepathy?" I wondered.
"Whatever you may call it."
We sat in silence for a while. Up on the wall, the black and white clock ticked steadily. It seemed to be mocking me.
The Chief stretched like a cat. His bones made small brittle popping sounds. His eyes still didn't open.
"This place of yours, who did you buy it from? Do you know its history?" He asked.
"No, not really. I bought it from a guy named Joe Stanley. He told me it was renovated, brand new, only two tenants living in it before. Two ordinary families."
He was silent for another long moment. Then I asked, "Where is this portal?"
"We don't know. But we have to find it. This beast may not die, but we must try to send it back where it came from."
Fear and uncertainty was suddenly accompanied with a giddy hope. Maybe the Chief could help me after all.
He finally opened his eyes and regarded me with a wary but compassionate stare. "Molly, there is something else I pick up as well. For years, you have been depressed and angry because of the way life has been for you, but you have been too busy to realize it on more than a subconscious level."
My jaw popped open. I didn't know whether I was frightened, confused, or astonished at what he said. Maybe it was a mixture of the three. How the hell did he know this?
"From the instability of your first boyfriend and the later sadness that ensued, to the loneliness, grief, and anger toward your father's death and your mother's indifference, all of which you've projected into your novels, you have unconsciously been sending out thought forms, to which this Dreamfeeder is attracted. Maybe this explains why it is in your cellar. Perhaps not. All I'm saying is, we must find this vortex and put a stop to the negative energy before this gets out of hand."
For a while I could not speak, could not move. Even the internal whispers had quieted down. How the Chief could know so much about me when I hadn't even told Emma so much, was not clear. It was a creepy, wondrous, baffling somewhat comforting feeling that this man I hardly knew and had sought help from could know about my life and how I felt. I realized that I may have written the novels to vent. They were mostly mysteries about murder and deception, and although they almost always had satisfying if not happy endings, the characters sometimes went through much strife and violence. I had never before connected this with my life, and was not aware of the similarities of these stories to what occurred within the chapters of my own.
But what jarred me the most was the notion that my own thoughts could have contributed to this whole mess. It seemed insane. But the strange truth of it rang too right.
"I don't get this. How could I ever have attracted this thing?" I inquired, voice quivering against my will to steady it.
"Molly, you do not understand how truly powerful thoughts are. They have energy of their own, unseen substance, and since this entity gets what it yearns for primarily with its thoughts, it isn't surprising that this would happen. The misery of my family when I was a boy, whenever we lost someone to disease or an accident, created negative energy strong enough to lure the thing into our world and allow it to take root in the cave without nature's beauty and grace to restore the balance and send it back where it belonged. I know this is so hard to understand, but you must listen and try not to fear. We have to find where this thing came in, and figure out how get it out where it entered. It's been done before, and that's probably why I'm even alive today. You must become a spiritual warrior, able to take the arrows of this dark energy. We will find the way to transform this energy if you will only change your mindset and open your heart to love and peace."
How in the world could a thing like this deserve any love at all?
"There are all kinds of creations, Molly. This Dreamfeeder as you call it is still a form of creation and has its place and purpose wherever it came from and belongs. Once we resolve its origins and return it to its rightful place, you will truly understand the evolvement of your own soul."
These amazing, disturbing truths, told in that soft voice free of malice, spoke profoundly to the doubting part of me that still wondered about this man and how sincere he really was. I didn't hesitate to believe what he said, but if he had told me before the Dreamfeeder arrived I would never have believed him. Even if he had tried to warn me not to go near such a monstrosity I probably would have laughed as the paramedics, firemen and cop had done, and descended to a doom born of pride, with a mind pickled in supposedly rational ideas.
The almost grandfatherly concern in Chief Bluewind's eyes banished the feeling of being alone in such a terrifying situation. But I burned with shame because the deaths of five men were partly my fault and even the knowledge of why this happened could not bring them back to life and clear my haunted conscience. The Muse made haste to reassure me that this wasn't true, but it did that with almost everything I found disapproving of myself. It was the optimist, the hopeful positive person that I should have been all these years, despite what happened to change me. Maybe if I had been none of this would have happened.
"Molly?" The Chief said. "Are you all right?"
"Yeah." I replied, but he probably knew I was lying.
"You could never have predicted this. It's foolish to think that. If not you, someone else would have brought it in. This was destined to happen. The Dreamfeeder does not care whom it uses as a doorway."
"Those men died because of me."
"Don't think any such thing, Molly. You only tried to help your friend."
"It tried to take me to whatever nightmare it came from."
"Well, it didn't succeed, did it?"
I could find no reply to that. Gradually my emotions settled, became less intense. The voices spoke up again, and still could not be understood. They seemed agitated.
The Chief said, "The thing does seem grotesque to us, evil and dangerous. But in its own world, it has its place. Just as Earth has not conquered the negativity inherent here, the world it comes from hasn't, either. One day all evil here on Earth will be absorbed. We will have fought our battles and emerged victorious and strong. You must remain strong and absolute through this, and do not operate from any level of negativity. The Dreamfeeder hasn't learned it can't get its own way. It has its own forms of tantrums to get what it wants. It also desires attention in its own way, Molly."
"Yeah— it desires to eat people, Chief! Come on! It deserves neither attention nor love."
"You're not considering the higher schemes and levels of Creation."
"I just don't want to be on the dinner menu, and I don't want anyone else to be."
"That is what I am trying to get to here," he explained.
"The first way to conquer the danger is to understand it."
"Yes, I understand plenty about it, more than I care to…and…I think if you want to see it, we should go now. Maybe if you do you'll see how hard it is to use the-love-all-that-is-evil approach." I said reluctantly. "But an insane part of me…deep down, does want to love it, to embrace what it wants to do. So I have to cling to my hate and fear for it so this need doesn't become any stronger."
He nodded, his expression cautious but seemingly free of fear. He probably wasn't convinced of my need for hate and terror, but at the time I didn't know what was missing in myself, which was the very same thing that aided Bluewind long ago during his first encounter with the Dreamfeeder.
"If this thing is more powerful than when I last saw it, if it can move better, we run, okay?"
He didn't answer.
"I don't know how yet to send it back where it came from, but I suppose it would help you to get a look and feel of it. Not too close though. Never get too close. Not with your mind, especially not your mind."
He nodded.
We walked out to the side of the house and pulled open the cellar doors. The Chief winced at the sudden crimson glare, and I assume he felt the pressure of the pulse. I wondered why we hadn't felt it like this in the house. Maybe it could get to us better when there weren't walls or barriers.
The stink of it was worse than before, nauseating, suggestive of familiar things but too strange to be natural. The Chief went ahead of me, down the stairs. I didn't want him to, but he insisted.
"Be careful." I warned. "Don't slip."
He was as graceful as a cat, even on that slimy floor.
We went slowly further into its dark beating heart. The inner and outer pulse and its rhythm with the light seemed stronger than before, harder to resist.
I gripped Chief Bluewind's hand, thankful that he understood why and was here to help me.
All over the walls, the root-like things were even thicker, nearly twice the width of human fingers, surely destined to become full fledged tendrils with dexterity to catch and hold. They curled up into the ceiling, as though trying to grow through it, and even more hung down limp, brushing against us as we passed.
As we passed the wine racks I saw two circular gray and red speckled things, each as large as softballs and sporting numerous twitching whisker-thin feelers, which stretched across the floor and writhed as we passed by them. I struggled to understand what they were, to no avail. They pulsed and jiggled, as though filled with some god-awful fluid and ready to burst. It would be easy to assume they were filled with malignant life even worse than what had already grown. Monster seeds.
The Chief seemed as stiff with fear as I was, which was disconcerting considering his knowledge, but he walked broadly, surefooted, such a brave old man. Maybe the Dreamfeeder of his boyhood hadn't grown this much before it was thwarted. Maybe this was more than he'd ever seen.
Then we almost walked into a thick film of slime which hung over the doorway like a sheet of glass. It was partially translucent, not quite a liquid but not quite solid. The twisted reddened forms on the other side were blurred, and walking through such a disgusting door was too much to bear. Before I could say anything, the Chief reached into his pocket and withdrew some kind of dagger, and slashed the mucus. It fell away with a thick slithering noise and hung like broken gossamer strands. We were instantly blasted with the offensive odor and the grotesquery of the Dreamfeeder, which shocked me because it had grown again, a burdensome weight which huddled in the corner of the room, too fat to be supported by its own tendrils.
We stood there, out of its reach, and reacted with a flinch as the strong, eager, deceptively friendly-sounding voice of the Dreamfeeder spoke in both our heads simultaneously, as I later learned.
Molly Harland brought a friend. It's a friend of Molly Harland. Hello, friend. Hello.
The tendrils, some as thick as anacondas, lashed back and forth excitedly. Indeed, this thing thought I had finally come to my senses and was bringing it a hearty meal.
My guts quivered and my heart thumped uncontrollably, but not too fast where it didn't stay in the rhythm of the Dreamfeeder.
I squeezed the Chief's hand and looked at him. His pale eyes flashed a constant bloody red. His lips quivered slightly as he took it all in.
Why won't you come? Come close? The abomination invited teasingly.
We made no steps backward or forward.
The Chief pocketed the dagger, reached into his jacket, and pulled out a similar pouch to the one he used earlier. He whispered something about sage, and poured a pile of dusty powder into his wrinkled hand. Then he cast it into the room, chanting his own rhythm that went against the Dreamfeeder's.
The tendrils seemed to draw back, as though surprised, and the bulging form in the corner shuddered.
You won't come because you're afraid? Afraid? Why? Why are you afraid of restful peaceful dreams? Don't be afraid, ever. I am here. Come close. Come.
We made no attempt to neither respond and comply nor run away. This confused the thing terribly, I believe.
"Molly, I want you to pray with me right now, drown it out, right now." The Chief whispered above the squishing-squashing organic noises and our own frantic breaths.
We joined hands and we prayed to the higher beings, to angels, to nature spirits, to everything we could think of that was good. The Dreamfeeder spoke too, trying to talk over us, telling us this was silly, pointless, but we ignored it, and that seemed to agitate it even further.
The small hanging tendrils above us were longer than before, and slid slowly and sickeningly across our faces and throats, but we ignored that too because they were still too fragile to do harm. The primal fear of creepy-crawlies spoke up loudly. I wanted to scream at this revolting attempt to get our attention, and it was hard to dismiss, but we kept praying. The Dreamfeeder kept protesting.
When we were done, it said, Molly Harland, you brought me a friend, but why, why won't he come close? I only want to give him peace, why does he fear? I feel, I feel him fear. Why does he speak to them, those that don't hear, and not me? Why do you, Molly Harland? Why do you? Strange and pointless. Strange. Please listen. Please dream.
There seemed to be an oddly beseeching note in its tone, and genuine perplexity. How could the damned thing really think I would bring it supper after I had so recently tried to kill it? What was the reasoning behind that? There was none. It was warped beyond human understanding.
As though reading my thoughts about my recent attempts to destroy it, the Dreamfeeder declared, I forgive, Molly Harland. I forgive. You fear but I forgive. Come close. Come. Bring your friend and come. There is still peace for Molly Harland, but come.
"No." I told it firmly, so confused and frightened at its change of attitude, trying to talk some sense into a senseless void of a mind. "I don't want to die."
There is no death. No death. Just life, life if you're ours forever. Don't believe? Let me in and I will show you, show you what lies beyond here, beyond death.
"You will leave now." Chief Bluewind abruptly commanded in a stronger braver tone than mine had managed to be, and to my surprise he held the dagger in his right hand. "This world is not yours. You do not belong here. You will leave. Go back where you came from. There is plenty for you there."
No, Bluewind, no. Bluewind doesn't understand. You don't. I come to bring peace, only peace. Not death. You don't understand. Foolish and strange. Pointless. Bluewind is strangest of all. Molly Harland understands, but not you. Why?
The Chief still clutched the dagger in his hand, and the thin tendrils were moving across its sleek blade and across his bony knuckles, as though feebly trying to gain possession of it.
Bluewind offends, threatens. Put it down, don't use it, no. No use, no use for that. Wont work, just a toy. Wont work.
A sound echoed in my head. It was like some smug, crackling, bizarre parody of a laugh, or just the impression of one. Apparently it thought us to be amusing, didn't see the truths we tried to convey, the simple truths that even a creature as simple as a dog could emotionally understand. This thing was not only of the darkness; it was insane, and I understood that other Molly felt so alien because it wasn't me at all. Just a sliver of it which had crept in through some unguarded chink in my mind. The Dreamfeeder's sick excuse for logic went against everything morally in the human realm, and this was perhaps more offensive than its horrid appearance that somehow mocked the physical bodies of every single creature on Earth. Part of my fear for it was quickly replaced with a hot, bitter loathing.
"Why the hell are you?" I asked it, maybe for no other reason than to hear my own voice aloud.
I am here for the plan, the plan of this world. The others have no need. They are done. You suffer, you need…me. You need me.
The tendrils twisted and squirmed more energetically when it talked, as though these movements were gestures.
The thing was impossible. In all my fear a dark humor crept in at the absurdity of it. In all its hideousness, there was something about it which almost seemed like a sick joke. An infinitely sick joke produced by a madhouse universe that made no attempts to scale down the humor for man to comprehend and laugh at.
I realized I was drifting into a daydream, losing control. Darkness swam across my eyes, a miasma of quick sinuous darting forms of various dazzling colors, particles that drifted like strange snow. I had to hate it, but I wanted to love it. I wanted to fight but also to relinquish control. I snapped out of it when Chief Bluewind put a steadying hand on my shoulder.
"I've seen enough," he told me, and his voice seemed muffled, drifting in and out with the beating of the inhuman heart which strove to encircle mine. "Let's…find the vortex, find its source….only thing to do."
I nodded dumbly, and we turned to leave. The little tendrils groped for us, not strong enough to prevent our departure but stronger than before.
Where are you going, why? Stay, just stay, Molly Harland and Bluewind, stay and dream. You go where no one wants you, where you don't need to go. Just stay and dream. You choose wrong, wrong, you don't see, if you see you'll know, wont ever have to fight, wont ever have to fear. Mine forever; I'll take care…take care….take care of you.
I felt its fury rise, its potent, sudden fury like fire surging from a volcano. It was so mad that it couldn't reach us, couldn't grab us and pull us back and hold us there until we fell asleep. It knew its current limitations and hated us for not obeying. It raved and raved, growing angrier the farther we got to the stairs. I couldn't block the impossibly loud thoughts out. Couldn't get rid of the unclean feeling in my head. Maybe the Chief felt the same way, or maybe he handled it better. Nonetheless, he seemed just as eager to get out from this hole as I was.
When we reached the top of the stairs it howled, and we clutched the sides of our heads at the intensity. When the cellar doors fell shut, it became only slightly less so, and we hurried away from it. So crazy it was, trying to outrun thoughts.
When it finally lowered to a dreary whisper, we halted in the grass, gratefully breathing in the cool air and staring at the beautiful sky.
He turned to look at me, his eyes almost the same color as the relatively benevolent void that hung above.
"Oh, Molly." He whispered, shaking his head. "How could you have faced this thing alone that long? How could you tolerate it without even knowing how to deal with it?"
Unable to find an answer that made sense, I responded breathlessly, "I had to."
A shudder passed through me, and then another stronger internal chill that spread through my guts and robbed me of words. I collapsed to the grass on my knees, consumed with painful, violent retching.
I wondered if the Dreamfeeder's air would prove to be poisonous in time, and if those exposed to it for long enough could suffer even worse symptoms than vomiting. Perhaps it even contained something that induced sleep, a gas that was the otherworldly equivalent of a sedative.
My stomach heaved, my pulse throbbed. Chief Bluewind patted my shoulder consolingly, and the Molly who loved the Dreamfeeder told me of the many excruciations I would suffer because I did not submit to their twisted bidding.


text:
They are at it again. This time Google is in the frame for allegedly tracking iPhone users' browsing habits without their permission or knowledge.
Some claim that millions may be affected by this privacy violation. However, so far, only about 70 people care enough to join a claim that Olswang are making against Google on behalf of the agitated victims.
This is groundbreaking in England. Usually, privacy infringements of this type are dealt with by the Information Commissioner, whose powers are now tough enough to deter data companies from misusing personal data. Instead, Olswang are mixing things up, by reportedly contending breach of privacy, confidence and computer misuse (computer misuse surely is better redressed as criminal matters).
It is unclear if the claim relates to the misuse of personal data (of the Data Protection Act kind) or some broader breach of privacy rights (such as that exists in England). As this claim develops, it will be helpful for this distinction to be clear. Conflating the two concepts makes understanding the claim and consequences difficult.
This is legally game-changing and matters to internet users, Google and data-driven companies.
Implications for users
Users will stop using services, if internet companies persist with gently, though sometimes not, disrespecting privacy boundaries in pursuit of growth or innovation.
A tacit understanding that users can control privacy is enough to keep us sharing. In exchange for free services, we trust the internet giants to keep our data safe and not to share or mine it. We accept that our data, personal or not, is used to target ads towards us. However, we are uncomfortable with companies going beyond this.
Where in place, internet companies must abide by privacy controls, as user trust is the glue keeping all this together. Internet companies certainly should not be doing anything that users don't consent to, or are not informed about, even if we do hastily click to accept volumes of terms and privacy policies.
As the recent example of Instagram shows, users revolt when internet companies overstep the digital trust line. Internet companies must maintain users' trust if this is going to work in the long term.
Implications for Google
I cannot imagine that Google will allow this case to go all the way in enabling a judge to rule on its behaviour. The claimants too would need steely resolve and a few deep breaths before stepping into the ring with Google. But Olswang are making it difficult for Google to obfuscate by taking this aggressive tact to get its attention.
In contrast to regulatory actions, which are perceived as being behind closed doors with a vetted public report at the end, a court case is different, since it's more exposed to the public. It could bring more unwanted attention Google's way. However, it's early days on that front and unlike the American example in 2012, Google aren't yet flinching.
Google's biggest challenge will be from the court of public opinion, when the users demand en masse that Google stop taking liberties in its legitimate pursuits to explore data.
Implications on data-driven companies
This case will also have far-reaching implications for how other online companies use data. Some companies trade data, some collect it and others profile and analyse it. Largely, companies use data to provide users with products.
Most of the time data, personal or not, is just used for marketing purposes. Sure, it's creepy to think that someone is sifting through raw data to determine the best time to sell chocolate, but that's modern life. It's legal and legitimate (of sorts).
The real problem is if the Googles of the world continue to erode trust and make it difficult for everyone else to use technology on a level playing field. Suddenly all companies are perceived as data voyeurs and by and large, they are not interesting, beyond understanding what product to flog next.
Brett Farrell is general counsel for an online financial services company. He tweets at @BrettTechLawyer
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subset: commoncrawl


text:
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Well there I was out for my usual Saturday club ride a few weeks ago, happily riding along in the group, feeling good and enjoying the training but then all of a sudden with no idea how I find myself sitting on the road instead of on my bike with a shoulder that hurt like a (insert appropriate expletive!). It turns out that we had a bit of a "riding incident" which I still don't remember a thing about, but I'm told I did a fantastic superwoman flying impression - until I came to land and got it all wrong and came down on my head & shoulder instead of my feet!
Am ambulance had been called & so off I was hauled to hospital for what I assumed would just be some quick x-rays & sling (as I knew instantly I'd broken my collarbone having done it before from other sports) & then sent on my merry way. However; it came as a very rude surprise to me that not only was my collarbone broken, but it was so badly broken that it required 9 screws to put it back together in the end, but the real kicker of the news was that it had punctured my lung! Oh and just because that wasn't enough, they threw in at the end that I'd managed to break my shoulder blade as well!
So off I was hauled to the resuscitation unit, which was when it all got a little bit scary as I was immobilised for a while, but then once they decided I was stable & my head & neck were ok I was shipped off to the high dependancy unit where I spent the next 9 nights. I ended up needing a chest tube & they had to reinflate my lung before they could put me under to fix my shoulder, which all ended up taking a week to do (long story!) and then a couple of days to make sure my lung stayed up & pain was under control etc before I was allowed home.
It meant I missed the All Nations tri (it happened while I was in hospital) and will miss London Revolution this months and Dragon Ride & Windsor tri next month and it's pretty doubtful I will be recovered & fit enough to do Vitruvian as it's minimum 6 weeks just to get back to normal activities such as driving and my physio has said I'm looking at a absolute minimum of 3 months to fully get back to swimming / biking / running, so I think it's safe to say this season has gone down the drain well & truly!!
So while I'm stuck at home recovering & being a one-armed bandit, please feel free to entertain & cheer me up with stories that ruined your race / season!!
Thanks all for the best wishes all; has to be said now that my shoulder is re-attached life is much more comfortable & now it's just waiting for the healing to happen then let the rehab begin! Got a copy of all my x-rays & CT scans today; there are some funky 3D images of the damage in there, they look well cool!
Will - ow, ow & ow again!!! That sounds horriffic What on earth do they do to fix that (or don't I want to know?!)
Wolf - ouch, good luck! Hopefully will mean you can come back better & stronger though?!
Rafiki - I don't know, I still havent seen her!!! I'm told that she is ok though by the guy from the cycle club that has her & when I was talking to the guys in my local cycle shop they said looking at me chances are she is ok; they said normally the bike gets it or the rider gets it!
Ouchio, good to see it doesn't seem to have dampened your spirit. What you need to do is enter a nice IM next year.....
I don't have proper dramatic injury stories. I am more likely to be found scuppering marathon training by falling out of a pair of cork wedges after a significant amount of gin, or having a scarred hand for a year from a hot cup of tea / bike cleats on wet floor moment. A nice lady did drive into me at 70mph a few days before my first half IM, causing my car to be hit on three sides by various vehicles / items of road furniture, which was nice. Not sure if it counts though, as the race went ok as long as I only tried to breathe to one side....
I've been told by my surgeon that marathons are deffo out from now on - so that means no more IMs. Ever.
you said 9 screws, not 9 breaks. apologies.
Shaz life happens sometimes it's how we deal with it that counts. The inportant thing is your heroically put yourself between the pavement and your bike to stop it getting damaged. Plus you did a proper injury so you can get strange looks everytime you go past a metal detector at an airport. Hope you recover well and quickly but just make you take care.
Throught for you you could always go to the vit anyway and ever marshall and/or drink some wine watching everybody's pratfall, putting there helmut on before there top and transition and then wundering why they can't get there T-shirt on etc... Depends if you would enjoy the day or if you would be thinking to much about what would happen if you where doing it?
wow hope you are ok Shaz!!!! Jeez I shant moan about my hand infection then... not sport related injury but its bloody painful and hampering training the last few days
really hope you recover well... Ive had a couple of concussions (with helmet) off the bike and fractured a vertebrae last year after a run in with a car but I recovered and got back out there.. you'll do the same!! Just take it easy and maybe enter a future event to get you motivated once you're back training! Good luck!!
jevans - I'm told that someone else came off as well but he was apparently more annoyed about ripping his new assos jersey than his bruising! But his bike apparently got a bit mangled & needed some repairs as someone ran over it (!) so I guess that does fit with the rider vs bike damage story!
dtb - ouch that sounds nasty but glad you were ok & able to complete! The spirits were tested a few times in hospital I can assure you, but at the end of the day it's happened & there's nothing I can do about it now; just have to accept it, focus on rehab when I can start that & make sure I do everything I'm meant (or in my case, not meant!) to do and making the best recovery possible! But you mean & nasty folks on here are having a bad influence & are making me think about lanza next year, but I think I should probably be sensible & at least wait to make sure I can move my arm again first!
ironwolf - that's gutting, am so sorry to hear that Are you still able to compete in shorter events though I hope??
cake / gas - absolutely, I'm much cheaper to fix than my bike so thought it was the only honourable thing to do
I may still go to vit but as part of a relay (again - had to do that last year due to knee injury!); I'm planning on a sprint or 2 in September as the swimming will take time with my shoulder & running I will have to start again with my knee, but the bike I should be able to build up again quite quickly so should still be able to do the relay thing hopefully! Any volunteers for the swim & run
chick - wow, sounds like you've had a few incidents! But good to hear that people can dust themselves off & get on again, as I think the mental recovery plays as big a part as the physical. In some ways I think not remembering what happened is a good thing, but in other ways it's a bad thing - I think it's going to be quite hard for me to trust riding with other people again knowing that's what caused it, but I suppose it's like being hit by a car; you just have to accept that what you do is a risk and whether you choose to accept that risk or not!
Thanks all for the best wishes - good news so far is that wounds are healing very well such that I can now shower again ( was getting really bored of sponge baths!!) and have follow up with the surgeon next Friday where I will hopefully get his blessing to start physio / rehab!
orca - I have absolutely no memory of it, including a few minutes before & after and I'm yet to hear first hand from someone who saw it themselves what exactly happened, so while I've heard bits & pieces 2nd hand I don't know exactly what happened yet.
If any use because of cost and practicality me and Silent Assassin are probably doing a Ironman in France instead of the IM branded race next year. I don't have a link handy but would work out slightly cheaper and with more wine. You could always rough it with the boys or even do both?
Just make sure you look after yourself and heel up first or we will all mollycoddle you till you go as insane as the rest of us.


text:
"That was a grand speech sir," a portly middle aged man said as he walked beside Alucard. Compared to the rather extravagant Alucard, he was old, plump and washed up. Soft wrinkles were beginning to appear on his face, and he was completely bald. The only hair on his whole face was his mustache that made him look like the monopoly guy's long lost brother.
"Why thank you Lowen, I thought it went very well. So, what shall I take care of next?" he asked.
"Well, you have a break, and then you have an interview with a local news station and then were moving on to the next city,"
"Good, I'll be in my room at the hotel. Call me when it is time for the meeting and fax me the name of city that I am going to, all right?"
"Yes, sir Alucard," Lowen replied, with a bow.
Alucard smiled before he opened the door to his long black limousine and sat inside. He took one last look at the portly Lowen before telling the driver to take him back to his hotel.
A small grin crept onto to Alucard's face. The speech had gone well, his heart was still racing and the nerves from standing in front of all those people where driving him crazy, but he liked it. He was never one to back, down, but that was by far the largest crowd that he had seen since this whole thing had started. Since he had awakened.
As he drove through the city of Orion, what he saw was beautiful and peaceful. Young children could play and there mother wouldn't have to worry about anything. The houses were all condo's and they had their own commercial district and several schools. It was an all around good place and he wouldn't have mind growing up here as child, but that was to much to ask for. Closing his eyes Alucard relived a fateful conversation with his father.
Alucard was just a young boy, maybe ten or eleven years old, as he walked into his fathers room. Wide hazel eyes looked at his father who was seated in his chair looking at the fire that danced within the fire place. A cigar was pressed in between his lips and every once in a while he would remove the cigar and let out a large puff of smoke.
"Father..." the young Alucard would begin.
"Yes?" his father would reply.
"Why do we live here?" he would asked.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, I'm the only kid for miles, I've never been into town. I've never gone to a real school . I've been locked in this house all my life," Alucard paused, "I want to see the outside world. I wan to go to school. I want friends!"
"Alucard, that is impossible," his father would say.
"Why? Why is it impossible?"
"They are horrible disease carrying creatures. They are imperfect and if you were to go down their before a certain time, you to my son, would become imperfect. This world has fallen and I believe that it is time to start a new. I am laying the path way of your destiny and you must follow it, that is why you are a Macbeth,"
"But I don't want to be a Macbeth. It's stupid!" he screamed like a little child.
"You'll soon get over it boy. Soon you'll see everything the way I see it, and when that time comes I will fully accept you as my ward. Now leave me,"
Alucard did in deed leave and from that day on he questioned what it meant to be a Macbeth, and just like his father had said, he soon got over it. He watched the world from his window, and saw the violence. He heard the fighting. He felt the pain of people dying and he knew the world was imperfect. Alucard grinned. It was strange. He acted so childish back then, a time when he didn't understand, but he understood now.
The driver pulled up to the hotel and with a slight nod of his head Alucard exited the vehicle and entered the hotel. The women that worked at the receptionist desk, eyed him, small smiles on their faces. He smiled back, before sliding his hands into his pockets and making his way over to the elevator, hearing the words of the various people who saw him. All were good, and all were surprised to see him.
He entered the elevator alone and hit the button that would take him to 15th floor and to his master suite. The elevator was quick, as if it knew that he wanted to get to his room. It slid to halt on his floor and without even making a sound Alucard entered the empty hall and made his way toward his suite. Opening it, he removed his jacket and laid it on the bed, before he made his way over to the large full length mirror, and removed his white button up shirt.
His eyes looked at the black tattoo like symbols that raced over his chest and arms. Large, and primitive was what he use to think of them, when they first started to appear over his body. But now, what he saw was the way to power. He watched as the symbols went along with his very skin, every curve and dip of his well built chest. He grinned, as he saw a pair of hands appear gently on is arms.
"I didn't even hear you come in," a woman said.
Alucard turned around to see the only woman that he loved standing in front of him. Her long brunette colored hair raced down her back. Dressed in a black night gown that matched every curve of her body. Her face was smooth and the color of apricots, which he thought was perfect. He placed a hand on her cheek gently, before pulling her into a tight hug, and then releasing her.
"Well some one is in good spirits I see." she said.
"Why wouldn't I be Mandy?" he asked.
"Don't know. Wonderful speech by the way," she said, kissing him on the cheek.
"Thank you," he said happily, "So are you leaving today?"
"Yes, but I'll be back soon. It'll be a quick trip and then I'll be back in a couple of days. Just tell me what city your in and I'll meet you there,"
"All right, I'll miss you,"
"I know, but you'll survive a few days without me," she said, as she walked away, and entered the bathroom, closing the door behind her. Alucard sat on the freshly made bed, his arms resting on his legs. He rolled his shoulders. He felt weak, he needed sustenance, but he wasn't going to get it from Mandy. He waited a few minutes before Mandy exited the bathroom, dressed in a gray business suit. Her long hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and a little bit of lipstick was pressed onto her lips. She grabbed her bags from the bed, kissed Alucard and then she was gone, something that Alucard had gotten use to.
He let out a yawn before he leaned back and grabbed his phone from his pocket. He dialed a number quickly.
"Hello, Juiz, can you come by for a bit,"
"Of course I'll be there in about a half hour,"
"Of course see you then," Alucard said, as he hung up the phone and smiled. He looked at his hand a black glow now surrounding it. He was going to get what he needed.
After a short wait, he heard a knock at his door, and quietly he went and open it. There she was, Juiz Montella. Her skin was an olive color and her eyes were shimmering jades . He smiled and placed a hand on her shoulder, as she entered the room. She let out a yawn and started to sway as the black aura started to wrap around her.
"What's going on?"
"I need you Juiz," he said, his whole body began to glow. Juiz life was disappearing as he stood there. Her life was entering him replenishing him. It was like a wave a golden energy that sped up his arms and into his heart. It was the only thing that kept him alive. After a few more minutes, Juiz collapsed forward, leaning against him, eyes now dull and life less. He let go of her, and let her body slid to the floor.
"Much better," he said as he grabbed his phone again, and hit one number and then pressed talk, "It's me,"
"Hello sir,"
"Do you have anything yet?"
"No, we've been searching, but we haven't found the butterfly yet," a deep voice boomed over the telephone.
"All right, keep searching and keep me updated," he closed the phone and then tossed it down onto the bed, cursing under his breath. It's not desperate quite yet, I still have a few moves up my sleeve, Alucard thought to himself as he sat down the bed.
He had been searching for what felt like an eternity. Sending out probes, to find something he was beginning to think it didn't exists. But his father had told him everything, if this plan was going to succeed he would need to get that obstacle out of the way and do it quickly. But he wasn't sure if he was ever going to find what he was looking for. It was a cat and mouse game right now, and it wasn't going anywhere at the moment.
There was a loud ringing from the fax machine. Walking over to it, he saw that the next city he was going to was Cranebrook Meadows. He grinned, he had a good feeling about that place. He folded the paper up, and dialed for Lowen with his cell phone.
"Lowen, I need you to find me a new hotel and send up the usual clean up crew," he said.
"You did it again sir?" Lowen asked.
"I need sustenance and that is the only way I can get it. Just send them up,"
"Yes, sir," Lowen said.
"I have a good feeling about that city. Cranebrook Meadows," he said, as he ran a few fingers through his hair, a small grin on his face.


text:
The Reunion
They spent a while relaxing and idly talking about their lessons when they heard a scuffle behind them and somebody's footsteps, they stood up and saw Gh'tarn walking towards them.
"Where in the world have you been hiding?" Kilik demanded to know immediately.
Gh'tarn had a confused look on her face as she neared them. "I stopped hiding an hour ago; I was called to the Head Hero's office." All three of them frowned "Have you been looking for me this whole time then?" she added with a cruel grin.
"No comment" Huji said roughly which made Gh'tarn laugh silently.
"Oh never mind, anyway the Head Hero wants to see you brother, he said it was urgent and you should be by the duelling chamber entrance by the pillar in five minutes once I finished talking to you" she said to Kalt.
Kalt sighed and got up brushing himself off. 'I'm sure I haven't done anything wrong in the past few hours, so what could he want? And in a place where he never really goes to, something's up' Kalt thought to himself.
"Are you going to join us for dinner later?" Kilik asked as she also stood up by stepping on Huji.
"Probably, depends on how long he wants me for" Kalt said in an annoyed tone, being the jewel of the academy was a tad annoying at times.
"I can safely say I don't envy you mate for being Druff's little summon toy" Huji said as he got up after Kilik removed her support foot and brushing the dirt off of him.
"Yeah being awesome is hard" Kalt said jokingly. He started walking towards the mountain while wondering how fast he had to go to get there.
"I would hurry if I were you brother! You only have four minutes left after all!" Gh'tarn called out to Kalt as he picked up the pace.
Kalt give a little affirmative wave and starting running at the mountain with the picture of the pillar outside the duelling chamber in his mind.
Huji watched him and grinned at the girls. "Look, he still has to run to do it, I can do it while jogging" he added to his smugness.
Kalt kept the image in his mind and started channelling his energy in his feet to throughout his body and eventually his eyes glowed golden as his body started shifting in and out of transparency.
He suddenly felt the pillar in front of him and reached out to grab it and burst his energy into rays of light.
His body fazed out of focus as he entered a warping state and he finished the spell with the final incantation.
"LIGHT STEP!" he chanted.
He appeared in front on the pillar but was going too fast; he slammed his feet down to stop but ended up skidding across the floor and ramming into the pillar. He fell backwards and rubbed his nose after he landed. 'Looks like I still got to slow down on the re-entry' Kalt thought to himself.
"Actually I'd say you have to speed up overall Hee Hee Ho Ho!" said a familiar old man stepping out from behind the pillar.
"Xectix!" Kalt yelled.
Kalt shot up and jumped at Xectix and hugged him round the waist and almost picking him up. "Easy now boy I'm not as young as I used to be, you can't go around treating me like a young one anymore" Xectix wheezed.
Kalt beamed at him while Xectix just analysed him closely making a weird humming noise.
"Is it me or have you grown a little since I saw you?" Xectix asked inquisitively.
Kalt grinned largely and bolted upright. "Well that's what happens to people who you don't see for nearly a whole year now, what have you been getting up to this time?"
Xectix hopped and patted Kalt on the head. "I'm glad you asked, but onto more important matters! As I said you need to go faster, you were three seconds late."
Kalt moaned. "Three seconds during the light step? Come on I'm still practicing! I'm nowhere near your level but I am doing the best I can! And if I do go that fast how am I supposed to stop crashing into things like that pillar there!"
Xectix smiled and went to lean on the pillar with a significant Kalt like imprint on it now. "That Kalt is lesson two" he put simply. "One that I'm still learning" he added under his breath.
"I heard that" Kalt grinned.
Xectix slipped and fell on the floor with a loud bang that made Kalt burst into a fit of giggles. "Huh? Oh wait yeah... you're a Ranter, you hear those things don't you... damn" Xectix moaned quietly
Kalt regained himself and helped Xectix up, his beard was still long and grizzly like it always was, still hiding Henry in there somewhere, still only wearing shorts even though it was quite cold in the academy.
"So why are you hear all of a sudden?" Kalt asked him.
"Because it's your birthday, why else?" Xectix smiled.
"Any news on the bandits?" Kalt asked intensively.
"Yes but you're not ready to know as I have said before, I don't want you to go off hunting them before your training is complete" Xectix replied with his eyes closed and clicking his tongue.
"Thought so... how's Henry?" Kalt said disappointed.
"Henry has been acting weird lately, he doesn't seem to want to be a stick anymore" Xectix said looking concerned.
"Oh? Well what does he want to be?" questioned Kalt.
"A tree" Xectix said looking sad. "But oh well; not long now boy and you'll be getting your weapon, any idea what you want to forge?"
Kalt smiled and started reminiscing about his long nights awake studying about possible weapons from books he could forge.
"Nothing complicated you know, something that works, Huji said he's thinking of making a Kendama, while Kilik said she might want a spiked whip. I'm thinking simple like a sword or something."
Xectix crossed his arms and replied, "Nearly all of the greatest heroes in history have used swords, is history about to repeat itself? Will Kalt be the hero of legends, will he be able to take his place as the true saviour of the land?"
Kalt poked Xectix in the head and Xectix jumped. "You were thinking out loud again."
Xectix slapped his forehead "damn it!"
Kalt laughed at him and started walking around the empty corridor lighted up by the fires on the walls. "it's ok, you've said worse without realising it."
"Yeah I have haven't I" Xectix said dreamily. "Oh how has that light spell I taught you been coming along?"
Kalt laughed and shook his finger. "That spell? Finished it ages ago! Watch"
Xectix leaned forward with a worried look as Kalt faced the other way towards a wall. "No wait Kalt! WAIT!"


text:
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"Very good service, times of drop off and pick up worked perfectly. Would recommend to anyone"July 22, 2013
"This is a good service except that the parking service were not aware of my booking when I arrived and I did have to wait a short time after I landed before my car was brought to me. Otherwise though these issues were rectified promptly and I would definitely use the service again."July 2, 2012
"Excellent service. No delays. Only one slight problem - on our way to the airport we rang to say that we would shortly be arriving, but no-one answered the phone. Fortunately we had two cars to be picked up and the other driver had already made contact so he was able to tell me where to take the car to be picked up."June 24, 2012
"Just brilliant, friendly & on time ... made my journey hassle free, will use again"June 1, 2012
"I have had a very positive experience with Southampton Stress Free Meet and Greet. I could not have asked for better service and had my car driven off within a minute of arrival at the airport. Returning I was in my car and off the airport withing five minutes of telephoning the chauffeur. It takes all anxiety away from the departure and arrivals of flying.
Instructions were concise and easy to follow.
I would recommend it to anyone travelling."
"This was an excellent service - prompt, friendly and price fair - thank you"May 14, 2012
"Excellent service."May 3, 2012
"Airport parking was good friendly and reliable. Also car was left and returned at a suitable place with little walking to do with luggage."April 20, 2012
"excellent service and perfect timing.
On time to meet me at drop off with details instructions and the same when i arrived back home.
Highly recommended and i would definitley use again.
Many thanks :-)
"Very good and friendly service. Timing was excellent.
Shame about the usual rottweilers on duty at the airport approaches - it's the only thing that spoils an otherwise very user friendly airport."


text:
Day Five.3
Before I proceed on to the supermarket I stop at a gas station to grab some jerky. Counterintuitive perhaps, but who knows what I will find at the supermarket. I step into the open business and grab a package of jerky from a display, stepping around the mess a warm ice cream dispenser has made on the tiled floor. I notice dog snacks strewn about the floor but some are left unopened and I grab them for Cleaver.
When I come back out I see a small pack of dogs, wrestling over an indiscriminate object across the street. Cleaver barks at them viciously and begins to pursue them but I shout at him and he stops, just standing, hairs on end. I shake my head I notice that this pale beige truck still has fishing tackle in the back, nestled next to my backpack. I pull a red-orange can of spray paint out of my pack and decorate the tail end of the truck:
Civilization or BUST
My continual reminder to not get too comfortable here. Eventually this bumper sticker of sorts will find its meaning, I promise myself, but not today. Tossing the can into the back I step into the driver's seat and begin to pull away when I realize two immense black dogs are standing in my way, blocking the road. I lay on the horn and one of them wanders off almost immediately, but the other starts barking furiously and pointedly at Cleaver. Cleaver's response takes on the volume of a banshee's wail, deafening me and shaking my chest with each snarl. I watch the hairs on my arms rise as he then sits still, growling ferociously. After several strained moments the final dog releases a few more sharp barks and wanders off, appeased for the moment.