Chimera 
Chimera: 1a:a creature of Greek mythology b:an imaginary monster compounded of incongruous parts 
2:an illusion or fabrication of the mind; esp. an unrealizable dream 3:an individual or part consisting of 
tissues of diverse genetic constitution…
*~~~~~@~~~~~*
	The director paced nervously in her office.  The dig was behind schedule, and her 
company was in danger.  They had missed three deadlines already, having failed to find even 
shred of evidence of the presence of the Artifact.  The Overlord was not pleased, and when he 
didn’t get what he wanted- when he wanted it, heads rolled. Literally.  The director sat down 
behind the worn desk in the corner of her little trailer.  All around her, she could hear the shing of 
shovels, the grunts of workers, and sometimes the screams as careless people fell to their deaths, 
plummeting off the catwalks into the bottomless abyss her company had dug it’s way into and 
proceeded to search.  Night had long since fallen, and the warm artificial glow of the yellow work 
lights shone through the window.  She opened the top folder in a pile of papers on her desk, 
wondering how to speed up the team’s progress.  They already knew whoever found the Artifact 
would be rich beyond dreams and instantly in the overlord’s favor.  They also knew that whoever 
cost the dig either time money or progress would be executed; often in the slowest and most 
painful fashion possible.  Perhaps another threat looming over their worthless heads would get the 
job done.  The Director rubbed the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger and sighed.  
Perhaps the Wrytiss, the carnivorous worm-like creatures kept as pets Yes, that would work.  Set 
oh, say, four Wrytiss loose in the camp. Call it an accident.  The workers would understand. It 
would certainly have eased her worries to have known exactly what the Artifact actually did.  But 
no one knew that except perhaps the Overlord, and if he did, he was keeping it to himself. Of 
course the Artifact was there, there had never been any question of that.  All the clues found so 
far pointed to this cavern.  Now all she had to do was get those slaves out there to find it before 
her people paid the price.  

	Jerlan hacked away at the walls of the pit with a determination only total terror 
could inspire.  The Wrytiss were gone now. That was good.  They had taken the worker the next 
chain over.  That was bad.  They had not taken Jerlan.  That was good.  Now, there was only the 
rock, the pick, and the pain of mutilated fingers forced to claw the rock away when the pick 
became too heavy to lift... Or Jerlan became too weak with hunger and lack of rest to lift it.  
More! Not enough excavated!  Work harder! No, not the lash! Thoughts raced across the mind in 
a familiar chaos; twisted images burned into the eyes, screams pierced the ears, sensations ripped 
through the body.  They say all things come in threes...  Then the fall.  The world blurred, seen 
through eyes filled with tears grit and blood.  Silence.  Another had fallen, and Jerlan had Visited 
the fallen and died as well.  Why? Turn to the wall once more. Dig. Search. No crying, there is 
only this. Work. Death.  A scream in the distance.  Jerlan tried not to Leave, but the compulsion 
was irresistible.  Go. Go see. It was beginning again. A bell sounded, signaling the coming of the 
winds.  First a slight breeze escaped from the bottom of the abyss, then a gale.  A hungry blast, 
searching for victims in the workers above its source.  But Jerlan would not let go of the wall. 
When all the others might die, Jerlan would live.


	If any of the workers had been looking up at the cliffs that ringed one side of the 
quarry, before the overseer reminded them of their task they might have seen the glint of a 
telescope lens in the shadows.  Of course, no one ever did look up.  The watcher silently took in 
the events below with a clenched jaw and a weeping soul.  Reconnaissance.  That was all it was. 
Don’t get involved, don’t let anyone know you’re watching, and damn it, don’t get caught...  The 
words of his teacher echoed in his memory as he fought the urge to run down to the aid of the 
helpless whimpering mindless shells that had once been his clanmates.  Slowly, carefully, he 
reached around to his pack and took out the recorder.  A sudden gust of wind blew right through 
his cloak, chilling him to the core.  Ten years he thought. They’ve been slaves of the overlord for 
ten years, and only now we begin work to get them free?  He shivered as the wind picked up, 
blowing his long dark hair into his eyes and mouth; finding all the cracks and holes in his tattered 
clothing.  Damn. It was cooling off when I left camp, I should have counted on the winds here to 
help it along.  He tried to adjust his cloak, taking pains not to bump the recorder as it created an 
image of the defenses and conditions of the prisoners.  He shifted his weight just a bit to remain 
hidden... and suddenly felt himself falling, the ground below rushing up to meet him as he 
dropped like a child’s rag doll; limbs flailing, trying desperately to right himself before he hit the 
bottom.  A thud rang in his ears as the numbing darkness washed over him.

	The door was closed.  A gloved hand reached out and knocked sharply two times 
and the door opened slowly. The Director stepped into the light, her once carefully bound hair 
sticking out in all directions, her eyes bagged and rimmed with red and smudged makeup.
“Yes?” She asked, her voice hoarse from stress and lack of sleep.  She looked again, her 
eyes focusing this time.   “Oh, guard master. I’m sorry, I didn’t realize it was you. I suppose it 
was the light.”  She yawned, covering her mouth.  The guard master smiled kindly.
“That’s all right director, we’re all running low on sleep lately.”
“Do you have anything to report?”
“Actually, I do for once.  Someone was caught snooping up on the southern rim.  
Apparently he fell off the ridge, we have him in the medical ward now. He should be awake to 
talk within a day or so.”  He reached into a pocket and brought out a battered looking piece of 
technology.  “My men found this with him, he was using it to record an illusion of the camp.  
What do you want done with it?”
“Oh, lovely, more complications.”  She gestured to the recorder.  “Go over that image 
and check what it was focused on.  What was he looking for, who why was he here, and how did 
he get past the guards.” She paused as another idea occurred to her.  “Who was on the posted on 
the ridge tonight, anyway? I want them brought to me.” 
“They’re dead. We think the intruder used a garrote.  They were choked to death before 
they could sound the alarm.”  A wave of cold and nausea rolled down the Director’s spine. 
Please, she thought let me be wrong... All emotion gone from her voice, she asked with complete 
calm
“Who was on guard?” The man in the doorway looked at the floor, face suddenly solemn.  
“Tell me, Tanna. That’s an order.”  He sighed.
“I’m sorry, Director.”  The world seemed to fall from beneath her feet.  The director 
leaned against the doorframe, grateful of its solid strength.  The tears came, and she would not 
stop them.  Some things were more important than dignity.
“Dorian!”  Sobs racked her body, and she crumpled to the floor. “No...”
* * *
	He who had been the watcher awoke to find himself under the burning gaze of 
those he had been observing.  There was something wrong, the world was blurry and his head felt 
like someone had taken a sledge hammer to it, and then proceeded to suck out the contents of his 
skull.  His chest wasn’t much better and his stomach was a simmering coal against his spine.  
Where-? I fell off.  Oh. Oh, shit.  
***^^^***

The cold breeze swirled through the air, ripping those who had been distracted out of 
their day dreams and jamming them back into painful reality.  A bundle of dirt-darkened oily rags 
stirred in on a ledge and emitted a soft moan.  None of the other workers turned to see Jerlan 
slowly sit up. No one noticed when the discarded pick was grabbed embedded in the ground and 
the chink chink of one more tool added itself to the cacophony in the pit. The winds began to pick 
up speed and a bell tolled in the distance. Somewhere deep within the minds of the slaves, the 
meaning of this was understood, but their reaction to the sound was instinct.  Thousands of  
bodies scrambled for the shelter of the walls. Workers were trampled and their dying screams 
mingled with the screams of those struggling for life.  One slave however had not moved and was 
still hacking at the ledge.  More interested in their own survival that in anyone else’s, no one left 
the relative safety of the far walls to help Jerlan.  If they had had any conscious thought, they 
would have believed the lone figure digging at the ground to be insane... then again, they were all 
insane.  The winds were swirling faster now, an angry ice-taloned roc with wings of darkness.  
An unearthly wail rose from the depths of the abyss and echoed the shrieking of the slaves as if it 
was trying to join in the fun.  More! Faster! So close now, dig! digdigdigdigdig...  The pick was 
abandoned in favor of the more direct approach of scrabbling fingers against the clay in the hole.  
Pain and blood did not exist; the mental anguish of the other slaves for once eclipsed by the task 
at hand.  The sound and wind and cold reached a pinnacle and seemed to become a wall around 
Jerlan.  Now. Get it now.  It’s right there.  The winds swirled around Jerlan, hot and moist now, 
like the breath of some giant behemoth panting in anticipation.

              “Director!”  She started at the sound of her name and turned to see an officer 
walk in to the interrogation room.  She nodded for him to continue.  “We have completed our 
analysis of the prisoner’s recording.  We believe he was attempting to get information on the 
quarry.  Shall I continue to examine it?”
“No, that’s all. Please bring it to me, I may have some use for it.”
“Yes, Director.”  The man’s heels clicked sharply as he turned and marched away into 
the darkness.  The Director turned back to the task at hand.
“You know,” she said in a deceptively sweet voice “it’s very nice to have people who 
respect your authority.  One might say we have a bit more than respect here, we’re like a family 
you see.”  She reached over to a tray and picked up a long thick painful looking needle. “And a 
family does not react well when one of its members is murdered.”  The needle was slowly, 
carefully, and in direct sight of the prisoner, screwed into a syringe filled with something yellow.  
“The serum in this needle is designed specifically to make someone more susceptible to pain.  We 
could do this the easy way, but I wouldn’t enjoy it as much.  So please, take your time.”  The man 
on the table swallowed, his throat visibly jerking with the effort.  She smiled, a dark smile filled 
with loathing and anticipation.  The man struggled on the table but the leather straps around his 
limbs and body prevented him from escaping.  Only his mouth could move freely and as the 
needle pierced his flesh, he used that freedom to the best of his ability.  He screamed.

              He couldn’t move. Every nerve was filled with liquid fire, the pain 
unimaginable.  Something was preventing him from loosing consciousness, and although he 
longed for that peaceful cold void, he knew he would never achieve it.  He would never leave the 
moment, there had never been anything else.  Only pain.  The woman’s face loomed over him, a 
beautiful distorted vision of cruelty.  She said something, but he could not understand.  He 
couldn’t concentrate on anything but the pain.  She spoke again.
“Why were you spying on this instillation?  Tell me and I can make it stop.”  Stop.  
Another cry of agony ripped from his throat.  “Don’t tell me, and I can make it worse.”  She 
released her bone-crushing hold on his arm and the blaze of pain faded to a smoldering ember.  
“There now, isn’t that better?  Tell me and it doesn’t come back.”  Doesn’t come back. His 
loyalty and his instincts of self preservation were locked in a grueling battle; self preservation 
eventually won.  At last, he forced out 
“Slaves.  Conditions, we wanted to know—”  His mind made one more attempt to stop 
him, but his tongue betrayed and his lips seemed to move on their own accord.  “—defenses.” He 
gasped, dizzy from the effort.  She smiled; a cold, emotionless smile.
“Good.  That’s a good start.  Now.  Who sent you?”  The words were flowing freely now, 
anything to keep the pain away just a little bit longer.  
“The clan of Stalking Panther.”  He would say no more than he had to in answer to each 
question, stalling for time before his torturer grew disinterested and decided relive her boredom.  
Maybe she would never run out of questions and he could stay forever in this half-life of lurking 
pain.  She would never make it stop completely, that he knew; but at least it wouldn’t get worse.  

              The clan of Stalking Panther.  Of course, it all made sense now.  Most of the 
slaves in the pit had been acquired from Black Panther; now Stalking Panther.  The Director 
shook her head.  She had expected someone to try and deprive her of her work force eventually, 
but she hadn’t thought it would take them ten years!  Alright, she had waited long enough. 
“Tell me again, how did you get past the guards on the rim?”
“Strangled.”  She bit back an angry comment and continued the little game.
“Why? Did they see you?”
“No.”
“Revenge then? You wanted to kill two of my men because their commander was partly 
responsible for your clan’s abduction?”
“No, just had to be sure.  They might see me on the way out.”  She felt the tears swell in 
her eyes, stinging as she held them back.  
“So that’s the only reason? Killing my men because ‘they might see you on your way 
out?’  MIGHT??”  Her voice was shrill.  You took my son from me because of a possibility!?”  

Some people say that right before you die, your entire life flashes before your eyes.  For 
the man on the table, there was only a blank void; his mind in the process of shutting down out of 
fear.  He didn’t want to know what she was going to do to him; yes, it could always get worse.  
With that stuff she’d pumped into his arm, a mere pinprick could send him into paroxysms of 
agony.  Not only had he failed on his mission,  he was going to die; very painfully.  Through half 
deaf ears he heard her; screaming curses only a grieving mother would dare use.  He almost 
didn’t notice it when she picked up a small wicked looking hook from somewhere out of his 
range of vision.  All his attention centered in it however, when she spoke; completely calm and 
collected.  
“The punishment will fit the crime then.  Since you would spy on me, mine is the last 
face you shall ever see.  When I grow tired of watching you grope your way around the camp like 
a deranged sparrow, You will rejoin the rest of your dear clan in the pit; serving me until you 
wish you had been the one strangled.”  The hook was lowered toward his right eye with exquisite 
care and slowness.   He tried to struggle, but the bindings were successful in their design and he 
could not move at all.  Death, claim me now.  If nothing else, he would not give her the 
satisfaction of crying out.  He was prepared.  He would not…    

Two screams mingled with the howling winds in an eerie trio of pain.  An explosion of 
pure impenetrable light spread outward from the pit area, engulfing everything in its path.  The 
Director looked up from her task, a mix of wonder and terror on her face.  The man on the table 
whimpered at the sound of the metal hook, clattering to the floor.  Tears ran down the left side of 
his face; they would never again touch the right side.  He thanked whoever had been listening as 
he saw the reflection of the light in a small window, racing toward them and heard the panicked 
shouts of those outside.  Soldier and slave alike turned to flee, but it only bought them a few 
seconds before they too were swallowed.  Once inside however, they found not annihilation, but a 
calm, warm night.  A lone figure in tattered oily rags walked away from the work pit, ignoring the 
grunts and noise as slaves returned to their tasks, all distractions now out of sight and therefore 
out of mind.     

Part three

In the street-like spaces between the bivouac tents and trailers, workers went about their 
business, ignoring the new body in their midst; an shadowy rag-clad figure wrapped in a tattered 
blanket.  Just another slave. Some were still confused by the night’s earlier strange phenomenon, 
but most didn’t even remember it, concentrating instead on their given task and by that keeping 
their lives.  They all looked alike for the most part; gaunt bodies encrusted with sweat and dirt, 
hair long and unkempt.  Some wore the rags of discarded soldier’s uniforms, worn to tatters with 
age and brittled over time by their own bodily excretions.  Others wore less.  Some of the luckier 
ones had managed to steal a blanket or a pair of boots and now held them close, guarding them as 
a miser would a pile of gold.  Few words were exchanged in these dusty roads, and never by the 
slaves themselves.  They were forbidden conversation and many of them had not spoken since 
they had been brought to this place; there was really nothing that had needed to be said.  Three off 
duty soldiers lounged in the entrance to a tent, casually discussing the night’s events; they didn’t 
seem to care all that much about it.  Although slightly worn looking and grubby, they were a stark 
contrast to the appearance of the slaves they watched quietly shuffle past.  One of the soldiers, a 
petty officer by the bands his sleeves, lazily stuck his foot out; hoping to trip one of the passing 
workers. 

Jerlan walked. It didn’t matter where just yet. At last, the joining was complete and the 
next step in the journey could begin. The direction to take once out of the compound was 
obvious- to the north, but first Jerlan had to find an exit to this maze of tents and people.  
Suddenly, a booted foot shot out from the shadows in the closest tent.  It was too late to stop, 
Jerlan was already falling.  As body slammed down to meet dusty ground, a contemptuous 
chuckle could be heard from inside the tent.  Jerlan got up and resumed walking, once more 
looking for a way out.  
“And where do ‘ya think you’re goin’?”  The men in the tent laughed, and shoved Jerlan 
down again. Why? 
“Aw, leave it alone, Jix.  What’d it ever do to you?”  Jix grabbed the bottle his friend held 
out and took a swig. 
“Oooh, Hobbs don’t wanna hurt a poor lil’ buggie? Aww, that’s so cuuute.”  He ground 
the heel of his boot into Jerlan’s back.  The third man laughed boisterously in the shadows, too 
drunk to say anything else.  Jerlan tried to rise again, only to be stopped by the Jix’s heel.  The 
exit.  Where is the exit?  “C’mon, where’re ya’ going?”
“Jix, it probably doesn’t even understand you.  Let it go.”  
“Naw, I like it. I think I’ll keep it for a while.”  Jerlan’s eyes flashed; not with anger, but 
with a strange yellow light.  Hobbs noticed this and turned to his companion, a strange expression 
on his face.  
“Uh, Jix…?”  Jerlan reached up a hand and grabbed Jix’s boot. 
“What’s the matter, Buggie?  Does it hurt?”  He pressed down harder.   Something 
happened.  Jerlan’s hand tightened around the laughing man’s boot, and it began to glow a dark 
yellow,  the glow spreading up Jix’s leg.  He stopped laughing suddenly and looked down. He 
gasped and his eyes went wide as it reached his neck; a scrabbling hungry flood of yellow light.  
He screamed as his eyes flickered yellow with the same intensity as Jerlan’s; the light pulsing to 
the beat of his heart.  Then it went out.  Jerlan shoved Jix’s body off and stood up, once more 
heading off in search of a way out.  Suddenly a bottle crashed down over Jerlan’s head and 
everything went black. 

The director looked over the desk at her three senior officers; the guard master, General 
Ronson, and Dr. Gennet, the leader of the archeology team. 
“Gentlemen, Doctor, I apologize for the short notice, but I’m sure you all know why I 
called this meeting.”  Ronson was the first to speak.
“Director, that slave that killed one of my men; I think that slave might have had 
something to do with tonight’s light display.  The men who brought it in wouldn’t stop babbling 
about it.”
“Where is this slave now?” the guard master asked him.  
	“Under heavy guard in the medical ward with a broken head.”  
	“I’ve spoken with the medical personnel who did the autopsy on Private Jix.  They say he 
died of heart failure due to extreme old age.” The general cocked his head.
“But Jix was only 47!”
“According to the medics, for all that he looked normal on the outside, his internal organs 
were those of a man four times his age.”  She held up her hand to forestall any further corrections 
from the general; his mouth already open.  “They don’t understand it either, that’s why you’re all 
here.”  She turned to Gennet, the only one who hadn’t spoken yet.  The woman seemed to be lost 
in thought, brow furrowed in concentration.  “Do you have and ideas on this?”
“I think,” she replied in a soft voice filled with wonder and realization “we’ve found our 
Artifact.” Ronson stared.  
“Pardon?” the guard master asked, not understanding.  
“Well, think of what we do know about the Artifact.  The cave paintings my team found 
in the badlands to the north depict a man on fire but not being consumed.  He’s shown ruling over 
the people.  A group of people bowing to a… something.  We couldn’t tell what they were 
worshiping, but I have a feeling that’s what we’ve been looking for.” 
“Wait a minute, so you’re saying that slave found the artifact?” Fine. We’ll just take it 
and we can be done.”
“You’re going to just hand it over then? Give up what might be the greatest scientific 
discovery of a lifetime?  We’ve spent ten years on this, we should at least get to study it.  Don’t 
tell me you’re not the least bit curious, Director.”
“We’re so behind schedule, if we don’t at least inform the overlord of our success, we’re 
all likely to be executed soon.  I’m not opposed to studying it though.  Doctor, you have 6 days.”
***^^^***
	
	The world was a blur, distorted shapes colors and sounds, blended together to form a 
reeling cacophony of sensations.  Everything was oddly distorted, almost two-dimensional.  
Waking from the painful parody of sleep, he had no pretenses as to why this was. She’s going to 
come back, she’s going to blind me and then she’s going to torture me.  There was no time for 
pain, no time for fear, or self-pity, he had to get away before she returned.  He tried to look 
around, but as a lance of white-hot agony shot through his skull, he thought better of it; instead, 
turning his head to survey his surroundings.  His arms and legs and torso were still bound to the 
table by thick leather straps, but his head was free, and they seemed looser.  He wiggled his wrist 
in its restraints, and found that by twisting it just so, he was able to slip it out.  Doing the same on 
the other side, he reached up, and, after fumbling a bit with the catch, was able to undo the strap 
around his chest.  He sat up, shaking with the unexpected effort; his vision filled with stars.  
Bending over, he freed his legs and levered himself, inch by arduous inch, off the table. Dim light 
filtered in through one small window set near the top of  the wall, and the room was totally bare 
save for the table and trays of implements he had recently been so familiar with.  A wave of ice 
shot along his spine as he noticed the small bloody metal hook on the floor, still where the 
Director had dropped it after she… after she…  He forced himself to focus on his escape.  As a 
precaution, he picked up the syringe, still half full of yellow liquid, all that, and it’s still half 
full!? and a long, thin, rather blunt looking knife off the tray. He tucked the knife into his shirt 
and held the syringe tightly in his hand.  Not trusting his legs to support him, he leaned heavily on 
the table and shuffled toward the doorway.  Suddenly, he stopped.  
YOU  It was not so much a word as a feeling.  He was not alone.

	There was someone here, a presence, different than the guards at the doorway. Feigning 
unconsciousness, Jerlan tried not to succumb to it, but found it was impossible to concentrate.  
Some person’s overwhelming pain and fear called out with an urgency that was impossible to 
ignore.  It should not have happened after the Joining!  The compulsion was too great and 
suddenly Jerlan was seeing the world through the eyes- no, make that eye of someone else.  
YOU  A question, as much as a statement of fact.  Who was this, and what was he doing 
that had caused Jerlan to be pulled in? He seemed to acknowledge the extra presence in his mind, 
then forget about it; loosing conscious thought to the one Purpose eclipsing his mind’s chaos.  
Must get away.  No more, must escape. Not her! Out! Away! Freeoutawaygonediepainno! 
FREEOUTAWAYGONEDIEPAINNO!  The mental maelstrom threatened to swallow the 
inadvertent visitor as well as the host.   STOP  He stopped, seemingly unaware that the thought 
had not been his own.  THE DOOR. The man walked toward the door, then collapsed as he left 
the support of the table.  Nononono! Getawayhurryhurryhur-  THE DOOR  He began crawling 
toward the door.  TURN;  THAT WAY  He dragged himself along the corridor, heedless of the 
cold concrete floor against his palms and knees. NOW RELEASE ME  The man’s desperate 
mental grip loosened just enough to let his passenger slip free.  He continued to drag himself 
down the hall, doggedly crawling toward the shadowed doorway at the end of it without knowing 
how he had decided this was the right direction.  
 
“Hey! You there!”  A gruff voice filled his ears as he stopped, trying to blend in with the 
shadows.  He heard the clatter of wood around the corner as the guards knocked their stools aside, 
standing up suddenly.  Then he heard a whisper of fabric and a gasp from one of the guards.  
“What the—”  Three thuds, of something soft and heavy falling to the hard floor echoed 
in his ears, his senses heightened from panic.  He huddled in the shadows of the corner, willing 
himself not to be seen; not to be caught.  Seconds seemed to stretch into years as he crouched 
against the wall, his breath coming in shallow, silent gulps.  He waited. There was still no sound 
from the guards, and he eased himself up to a standing position, bracing his hands against the 
walls on either side.  Every muscle shivered, and he could feel the sweat, running down his face 
and mixing with his blood, molten pain in the open wound that had just hours before been his 
right eye. It doesn’t matter now. Move.  He made his way along the corridor, leaning heavily on 
the wall.  When he reached the corner, he stopped and flattened himself against it, ready to bolt if 
anyone saw him.  

The ones guarding the door had been neutralized.  The… other presence Jerlan had felt 
before was still there, but he had released his mental stranglehold, and seemed preoccupied with 
something else.  The hallway was silent, and there was no reason to remain here.  Jerlan quietly 
stepped over the two withered corpses in the doorway and slipped into the shadows of the 
corridor beyond.  Keeping to the darkness of the sides, Jerlan slowly crept forward, back-tracking 
the route the guards had taken when they had come to take their posts at the door.  Jerlan froze as 
a footstep echoed through the darkness.  

He could hear something scraping against the rough walls.  His hand?  Rats? Or was it 
something more sinister?  Was someone coming?  Then it stopped.  He started moving again, 
more carefully this time.  Somewhere, a door slammed and voices muffled by distance and 
twisting passageways mixed with the clomping of booted feet on stone.  They were headed this 
way!   Warm lantern light flickered at the end of the long hallway, softly melting away the 
shadows.  A woman’s iron cold voice cut through the distance as it seemed to cut through his 
soul.  It was her!  If he stayed where he was, he would be caught.  He could go back the way he 
had come, but what good would that do?  He had to get to that door!  He fingered the syringe in 
his hand.  The light and the voices were getting closer now, he had to get out!

Jerlan knew they were coming, and, once captured there would be no escape.  There was 
one exit in this place, and the people in the hall were in the way.  It was nothing that could not be 
dealt with however.  Bare feet padded against cold stone as Jerlan ran toward the exit and those 
that blocked the way.  

He was about to run toward the far end of the corridor, toward the Director and her 
guards, but stopped as he noticed someone else was already doing so.  Coming up from behind 
him on the opposite side of the hall was a short blanket-clad figure, silently running full speed for 
the exit.  It didn’t seem to care that it probably wouldn’t survive.  He watched as the guards ran 
forward, one of them kicking the runner’s legs out from under it; another grabbing it’s wrists 
behind it’s back.  Then something must have happened that he couldn’t see, because the guard 
holding the wrists suddenly began convulsing; his body rippling with an unearthly yellow light.  
The guard screamed as his skin began to pucker, then to slough loose all together. His hair 
silvered, crawling down his back.  It looked as if he was trying to let go but he couldn’t seem to 
release his grip.  Then he fell.  The other Guards stood back in horror as the man’s body hit the 
floor, a gaunt, withered, specter of their own future.  They knew their own futures were imminent 
as the Director gave her orders.

“Capture it now!  It must not be allowed to escape!”  She stood at the back of the group, 
not knowing what to do. She knew her own life was worthless if she failed to contain the Artifact, 
but having her life drained away or accelerated or whatever this was, was not a good alternative 
either.  She moved to the back of the group as the guards advanced toward their intended 
prisoner, ready to run if they failed.  “Be careful, I want it alive!”  

He knew what he had to do; he couldn’t get out until the guards were gone, and they 
wouldn’t leave until they captured their assailant, or were defeated.  If they captured the cloaked 
figure, they would no doubt catch him as well.  Then again, if he joined in the fight, how was this 
person supposed to know whose side he was on?  He didn’t want to be on the receiving end of 
one of whatever strange spell this was.  He saw another of the guards go down, wincing as the 
woman’s face contorted, a grisly vision of mortality.  The Director kept behind the guards, 
obviously not eager to share their fate.  Then she turned and ran, shouting for more soldiers as she 
did so.  She was going to bring the whole army in here!  Grateful for this distraction and the 
chance to regain what was left of his strength, he ignored the pain and lunged for the fray.  

These ones had been easy to get rid of, but the woman at the back had called for more 
when she ran away.  The escape must be made now.  Jerlan tried to push past the guards, not even 
draining them.  It was not very successful.  Fists now.  Feet, teeth.  The remaining guards 
continued to close in.  Jerlan drained another, but the three that were left drew their daggers, 
pommels raised. 
“Keep going, I’ll help you!”  Someone shouted, and Jerlan heard a cry from one of the 
guards.  Then there was only one left.

The serum was gone, but the cold weight in his pocket reminded him that he wasn’t out 
of options yet.  The person in the ragged blanket stood still, watching him.  The last guard 
stepped back, still staring that the one she had been ordered to capture.  Slowly, without moving 
her eyes, she raised her dagger and thrust it through her heart.  He stood; not quite understanding 
what had just happened, until distant shouts and the tromping of boots jolted him out of his 
stupor.  They were coming!  He glanced at his rescuer, then ran out the door.

Jerlan watched as the wounded man attacked the guards, injecting them with something 
then scratching their skin.  Jerlan watched as the last guard took her own life, then watched as the 
man ran out the door and into the night.  Why not follow?  There was a chance he might know 
something useful. 

***^^^***

	They ran for what seemed like hours, evading patrols and keeping to the shadows as 
much as was possible with the bright moonlight.  Finally, a semblance of shelter; a tall boulder, 
large enough for them to rest behind for a while.  Breathing heavily, the man staggered against 
the rock’s face, desperately groping for a hand hold or some sort of support.  He found none, and 
collapsed in a heap on the ground, shaking.  The cloaked figure helped him sit up against the side 
of the boulder, the rocky ground grinding and shifting beneath him as he was moved.  The person 
put one callused hand against the man’s chest, and the other on a crag-cactus growing from a 
crack in the boulder’s face.  Long needles pierced skin, staining both the plant and the ground a 
deep scarlet, but the blanket-clad shadow made no sound.  A soft yellow glow emanated from 
under the cowl, not enough to illuminate a face.  the small cactus began to glow.  First from deep 
within, then spreading outward until the entire plant was pulsing with light; the only dim spots 
where the blood had touched it.  The man was glowing too now, but he didn’t seem to notice.  
The cactus grew taller, blooming now, a single bright pink blossom, tinted orange from within. 
The blossom withered and fell, petals scattering on the ground.  The cactus too began to wither, 
drying up and shrinking in on itself.  Soon, it was reduced a pile of dust; caught, and swirled 
across infinity by the breeze.  

	He could feel the life returning to his overtaxed muscles and nerves.  It was as if he was 
filled with spring, he was the scent of new plants in the sun, was the feeling of cool clear water 
against warm flesh.  He knew it wasn’t a dream; no dream was this… true.  Slowly, the feeling 
faded, and he found himself sitting against a rock on the ground.  The moon was gone and the 
false dawn hinted at the day soon to come.  He jerked back to reality, remembering why he was in 
this position.  There was no pain.  he felt no pain, only… alive.  Hardly daring to hope, he closed 
his left eye… blackness.  He quelled the surge of grief and pain that welled up within him.  Not 
physical pain though.  That was gone.  He opened his eye again, and was not surprised to find 
what looked like a pile of dirty rags and an oily blanket.  It was slowly, regularly going up and 
down.  Looks like we both needed rest.  He tore a strip of fabric from his sleeve, shivering as the 
unexpected weight of the knife bumped against his chest, and wrapped it around his head, 
covering the upper right side of his face.  Something sank within him as he noticed there was no 
difference.  He looked over at the sleeping form on the ground.  Who was this person?  Was it a 
person?  No one he knew of had that kind of power, and only the Medicine Men and Medicine 
Women practiced any kind of Higher Magics.  He crept over, careful not to disturb the sleeper, 
and peeled back the hood, filled with anticipation.  
What-- She’s just a little kid!  Her small grimy face looked so peaceful asleep.  He found himself 
wondering what her face had looked like while she had killed all those guards… He shook off the 
thought.  His eye traced the outline of her face, her thin, hollow cheeks, her overlarge eyes, sunk 
in from malnutrition, her dark snarled hair,  her long mouth; a smiling mouth, he decided.  Yes, a 
mouth like that was made for smiles and laughter.  He wondered if she had ever laughed in her 
life.  Don’t worry, my friend.  You’ll be happy soon enough.  His mission hadn’t been a total 
failure, he mused.  She probably spent her entire life inside the camp, she was what, eight? Nine?  
This girl probably knew everything they might possibly need to get the rest of the slaves free.  
More importantly, she was free now.  One of the clan had returned.  The sun was rising, creating 
dancing patterns in the shadows beneath the rocks and on the high cliffs.  He bent and picked up 
the sleeping child, cradling her like the most fragile of sculptures.  He looked toward the north.
	“Come on, let’s go home.”


Chapter 2

Legs were strange things, Jerlan mused.  They moved back and forth, carrying the 
body upright in an unbalanced wobble.  Step. Fall. Catch yourself on the other leg. Step.  
Bend the main joint, flex another smaller joint to propel the body forward, then stop the 
motion by repeating it again. It was so… so...  Jerlan floated along on limbs numb from 
exhaustion. The sun-baked ground crumbled against their feet as they walked.  Time did 
funny things in the sun, and they had long ago lost track of how long they had been 
walking; it seemed as if it had been days.  Jerlan did not know where they were going, 
but it was the right direction, so it did not matter anyway.  

	He would take the girl back to the Home and then she could be with her family 
again.  Her Clan. He wondered what to say to her; could she even understand him?  How 
badly had she been treated while she was in the pit?  Had he just imagined it when she…  
He raised his hand to touch the strip of cloth around his face.  
	“So. What’s your name?”  He asked finally.  Silence.  He turned to look at her, 
and her face was blank.  “I’m Tandir, but everyone calls me Tan.  You’re gonna like 
Panther Home, I know you will.  Everyone will be happy to meet you, you’ll get to know 
them all.  There’s even a couple of other kids your age you can play with.”  He stopped 
walking.  She went a few more steps, then stopped as well.  She turned to face him, 
cocking her head quizzically to one side. 
He raised his hand, thumb extended, and pointed to his chest.  
“Tan.” He pointed at her, but she did not move.  He put his hand over his heart 
and repeated his name.  “Tan.” She mimicked his gesture, placing her hand over her 
heart.
“Tan.”  She said, doubtfully, as if she did not understand the purpose of this 
exercise.  He smiled, and pointed to himself again.
“Tan.”  He squatted down and chose a large pebble from the rocky ground.  
“Rock.” He said, holding it out to her.  He pointed at a nearby plant.  “Cactus.”  He 
pointed at her and waited.  
“J- Jer…lan.”  Her voice was hoarse from disuse.  She pointed to herself.   
“Jerlan.  Tan.” 
“Skraakk!”  They both jumped when a piercing screech echoed off the rocks 
around them.  
“Wha--?”  Tan whirled in the direction of the sound, prepared to grab Jerlan and 
run.  

The fat desert bird did not look up from its meal.  A sudden sharp pain in the gut 
reminded Tan of his hunger; he hadn’t paid much attention to it until now, concentrating 
instead on evading the search parties spreading out over the badlands like hungry vermin.  
His quarry had not moved, content to pick at a small piece of rot on the ground.  
Carefully, he crept up behind the bird.  
“Skraaakk!”  With a shower of greasy feathers, it hopped to the side, angling 
around to face its’ would-be hunters.  It looked up to glare at them; face contorted in 
avian indignance. Tan moved closer, slowly, a rock gripped tightly in one hand. 
“Skraakk! Raaaakk!”  The bird flapped its’ wings, adding a bit more oily black 
contrast to the rocky ground.  With a grunt, Tan dove for the bird, trying to get it in the 
head with the rock.  The bird moved quickly, and he missed; the rock slamming down on 
the hard ground an instant before the rest of his body did the same.  He groaned, raising 
his head to glower at the bird, who returned his glare with equal intensity.  The bird 
returned to its interrupted meal, and Tan scrambled to his feet.
“Yaaaahh!!”  He charged the bird, swinging wildly with the rock.  It hopped 
backwards a bit with each swing, just enough to get out of the way.  The weight of the 
rock combined with a lack of food began to take its’ toll, and Tan’s movements slowed.   
Finally he bent over and leaned on his knees, breathing heavily.  The bird stared at him 
for a while, then cocked its’ head.  “What!?”  Tan bit out, glaring at the scavenger.  It 
gave a last insulting 
“Kraaakk!”  and hopped up into the air, leaving nothing but a bad smell and a 
shrinking shadow on the ground.  

***^^^***

The sun would set soon, and Tan was gradually becoming less and less concerned 
about the searchers.  They hadn’t found anywhere safe to spend the night however, the 
large sheltering boulders having gradually given way to great red and tan layered cliff 
faces.  There were other things to fear in this desert besides soldiers.  His stomach began 
to complain violently, churning against his bones as he trudged onward.  The girl—
Jerlan, he reminded himself, had not said anything since she had told him her name.  She 
had not given any indication of hunger or thirst, and seemed more like a shadow; a barely 
felt whisper of wind, than a person.  He licked his parched lips and tried to speak.  His 
throat caught on the motion, and he started again.  
“We should probably stop somewhere soon, it’s getting late.  Trust me, we don’t 
want to be in the open like this once the sun goes down.  Do you have any ideas?”  
Silence.  Jerlan turned slowly and fixed him with an apathetic stare.  “O…kay then.” He 
looked up at the cloudy sky, perhaps hoping for a sudden flash of inspiration, perhaps 
praying to the Powers for help, he didn’t know.  One side was darker than the other, and 
he followed the gradation across the great dome of the heavens to the other side, a great 
swirling dance of color that reached out tendrils of light in one last, desperate attempt to 
hold off  the impending darkness just a little longer.  He imagined he could see the 
mythical     Sky-tent in that blazing orb of scarlet; it’s fires stoked to keep the Powers 
warm through the night.   

The call of a bird echoed through the meandering ravine, bouncing off countless 
water-worn cliffs before it reached them, a shadow of it’s former self.  As the last light 
faded from the horizon, Tan found himself looking over his shoulder nervously.  Funny 
that he’d been perfectly happy to sleep in the open last night, just so long as the soldiers 
didn’t find him.  Maybe it had been the shock of that… that… thing Jerlan had done, 
maybe it had just been exhaustion.  Now that he was relatively recovered however, his 
imagination had recovered as well.  He recalled the words of the Clan’s shaman; his great 
uncle.  “Never dismiss an active imagination as insanity, it’s just a heightened awareness 
of what might be.”  The memory of the voice took on a tone loaded with his uncle’s 
particular brand of wry humor.  “It’s a gift from the Powers, and those who receive such 
a gift invariably need it.”  He took little comfort, thinking about that particular quote.  A 
pebble shifted, echoing with jarring volume in the twilight’s silence.  Tan’s head jerked 
in the direction of the sound, and relief filled him as he realized it was only Jerlan.  He 
glanced at her face, hoping to see a flicker of emotion, some sign of alertness, anything, 
but he was again met with that same puzzled-yet-apathetic stare.  It wasn’t right; just to 
look at her face, she didn’t look quite right somehow.  He just couldn’t place it until- Her 
eyes! He realized with a shock  They’re glowing!  That was it.  Sure enough, Jerlan’s 
eyes were in fact emitting a faint –but definitely there- yellow light.  Just like when she… 
He reached up to touch the bandage on his face again and decided not to comment.  

In the last of the rapidly fading light, Tan saw what he had been looking for; a tall 
piece of rock, fallen against the cliff face.  
“Here.  We can sleep here tonight,  there’s shelter on two sides.”  He sat down 
against the rock, and Jerlan followed suit.  Tucking her knees up in a fetal position, Jerlan 
fell asleep.  Now how did she do that?  He wondered in amazement.  She definitely 
understood him, at least about most things, there was no doubt about it.  He forced a 
smile; Jerlan might have been asleep, but he needed the smile now too.  Closing his eyes, 
he fell into an uneasy sleep.

Jerlan woke with a start and sat up straight.  Something was coming, something 
bad was coming fast, and all the animals knew it.  She didn’t even have to know what 
they were, they knew, and now she knew too.  With a growing feeling of panic, she 
stood.  The dark air was absolutely still and soundless.  Turning to run, she heard it.  A 
low steady rumbling, at first more felt than heard.  She stopped, when Tan jerked to 
wakefulness, eyes wide.  He looked around in a panic until his eyes stopped on her.  He 
sighed, apparently relived that she was still there.  Then he frowned.  He heard it too.  
The distant rumbling was getting louder, and more clear.  
“What the hell--?”  He bit off hie response in terror.  More like a roar now.  She 
could bear it no longer.  She screamed, one short panic filled screech, seized Tan’s hand 
and ran; dragging him behind.  She only stopped when she saw it; hurtling towards them, 
an towering wall of angry, crashing, blackness.  A hungry behemoth shrouded in the dark 
of the night.  

Then it hit them.

***^^^***

The first thing he realized was that he was on something solid.  The second was 
that he was alive.  Tan rolled over on his side and coughed up the gritty water.  Ugh.  He 
thought dejectedly*,  I didn’t know you could have a flood without any rain.  He sat up 
with a shock, and got about halfway before he lay back down again with a thud, 
groaning.  
“Jerlan?”  He called into the inky darkness, and got no response.  “Jerlan!?”  The 
world suddenly seemed to disappear in a flash of bright, unbearable light, and a 
simultaneous  blast of thunder exploded, shaking the world.  

When he had recovered enough from the shock, Tan set about trying to take in his 
surroundings based on that last image burned into his brain.  He was in a cave.  That 
much, he knew for certain.  Smooth rock walls and ceiling, blackened slightly by smoke 
stains.  At least I didn’t look up to see the drooling teeth of some hungry beast.  He 
groaned, and –slowly this time- sat up.  He couldn’t see much of anything, the only light 
reflecting from the glowing clouds and through the mouth of the cave.  His eyes would 
adjust in time.  
“Jerlan?  Please, answer!”  No, she won’t answer, she’s gone.  She’s probably 
dead.  No, don’t think like that, she’ll turn up.  He argued with himself inwardly Of 
course she won’t.  And somehow, it’s my fault.  I could have saved her, somehow, there 
must have been something I could have done and I was too stupid and afraid of the dark 
to figure it out.  It’s my fault I’ve as good as murdered a little girl, and if that wasn’t bad 
enough, she was the only one outside the work camp who knew about it.  He mentally 
slapped himself.  No. stop thinking like that, that is bad enough. What are you saying!? A 
soft whimper echoed through the cavern, and he stopped.  

She could feel the pressure of his mental anguish; begging her spirit to go try to 
ease it, whatever it might take.  This was not needed.  One part of Jerlan noted; coolly 
logical and dispassionate.  Another, more primal part cried out in desperation, frustrated 
at not being allowed to fix what was wrong.  She sent anger at that part of her that was 
not herself, then mentally lashed out at it when her scream of frustration was muted to a 
whimper.  It calmly accepted her abuse and kept calculating.

There was a Presence in the cave, it could only be what was sought.  It called out 
to Jerlan; a thing of scintillating energy.  It must be joined.  It was right there.  Something 
that was not quite excitement, not quite impatience, shot through her.  It must be healed.

San could hear a muffled rustling, as of wet fabric across the cave.  Relief flooded 
through his aching body as he saw the faint glow of Jerlan’s eyes.  Unnerving as it was, 
he was glad to see it.  Another flash of lightning- he was prepared for it this time- 
illuminated her face.  Tears? He wanted to walk over and take her in his arms, 
comforting her, but he doubted she would appreciate that.  She had shied away from him 
every time he so much as brushed against her by accident.  Trying to distract her, he 
started another one-sided conversation.
“Do you think there’s anything in here that will burn?  My castings maybe 
limited, but I can at least make a spark or two.”  She did not answer, but the now rain-
filled sky outside the lip of the cave seemed to.  Another flash of lightning lit the cave 
with something that was not quite daylight, and he saw the remains of a fire pit, with a 
stack of desiccated animal dung next to it.  He grinned, but that grin faded with the next 
flash.  A human skeleton lounged against a rock near the fire pit.  “I don’t think he’s 
going to miss this much.”  He said, suppressing a shudder as he crossed over to the pile 
and placed a few patties in the pit.  He concentrated his energy around the pit, and felt it 
give.  One more directed push and a fire was blazing merrily, filling the wet dark cave 
with flickering orange light.  Looking around at the walls, Tan saw what the lightning 
had failed to show; the walls were covered in crude figures and pictures.  All drawn in 
red brown and black, animals ran, hunters brought back their quarry, and people went 
about their daily lives.  “Wow.”