4

Of the Fifth.

“Do you comprehend the hurt you’ve caused?! I trusted you!”

“You left me! For a year — an entire year — alone, I. Without a message you departed!”

“I expected you await faithfully; you realise not the harm you cause me!”

“But what of that you’ve caused me?”

“Ha! Men! So proud of their pride they weep when it is brushed by too swift a breeze! I know now why I pledged chastity…”

“Ah? And of it, what? A fear to be hurt by one you loved?”

“Yes! And so, you have proven my father and my brother right, and thus thricefold hurt me!”

“Off it!”

“No, sir! ‘Leave him a year,’ they said. ‘Leave him a year and he shall forget you a month, so ‘tis a mortal’s memory.’ As they say, it is!”

“That the gods of Fate and Prophesy utter syllables that mould future truths… does this not occur to you?”

“That gods may craft their own Fate and Prophesy; that gods become their own truths… such knowledge must escape you, mortal man. I see now why you are no god.”

“You condemn me from apotheosis?”

“Nay. You condemn yourself, fleeting being without concern for another’s feelings. Explain, mortal man, how you deserve immortality when you are infidel to your own devices, to your own heart? How dare a being of hypocrisy claim himself worthy of a title demanding one be absolute?”

(Later, found pierced to a tree trunk on golden parchment):
Despite the plethora of relatives, despite my ever-burning twin, I am alone, and oft without companion.

Therefore, I so deeply cherish our dalliances, our friendship. You comprehend me in ways others cannot. Who else but you may claim to understand the true thrill of the chase, the peace of a hunt’s end, the purity of an arrow’s flight, a spear’s throw?

Apollo shoots to maim; we shoot to pacify.
Ares throws to murder; we throw to rectify.

I would offer Athene, but my sister must plot before releasing her taut string, before hurling her spear; she knows the thrill of scheme, not of chase.

Hera chooses to never understand another but her own; Aphrodite is swayed by her passions in a way we daren’t venture; Demeter offers half of our will, as the other is for weeping over lost causes.

Thus, Hunter of mine, I beseech you: join me as we once were. I love you. I miss you.

“Artemis.”

I awoke in my bed, covers thrown awry, the last word uttered in my dream hot upon my mind, pillow on the floor, panting and clammy. My heart felt as if it was required to beat its way from my chest; I sat on the edge of the amorphous blob I slept upon and allowed myself recovery from whatever nightmarish occupation hosted the event of the night’s dreaming. I could scarcely recall specifics, but the dramatic things — the water pulling me down, the attempt to resist my end, a woman’s scream, the harsh swirling of sand, the bone-snapping grip of the creature, slurred vision, her name — stuck all too clearly. I took seven deep breaths before trusting myself to stand and venture to the bathroom, the chamber in which I commenced my morning routine. When I appeared downstairs, Mum and Claire were eating together and talking; Claire was in her pyjamas, and Mum in her nightgown, the latter with her hair in its long, curly, free form whilst the former kept hers in a ponytail. Both wore their glasses.

“Ah, good morning, Lorcán! How did you sleep?”

“I slumbered well, Claire. Of yourself?” Claire tilted her hand back and forth.

“I’ve slept plenty worse, but it wasn’t as restful as I’d have liked. I’ll nap again today a few times, I think, to catch back my stamina.” Her eyes lingered over mine, instilling in me the reminder that we had a secret, the two of us, and that I should not even posit the implications of sharing it.

“You take your time, sweetheart,” Mum said as she pat Claire’s non-spoon-holding hand. Claire grinned through a bite of her cereal. “Are you off with your girlfriend again, Lorcán?”

Claire nearly choked on her food. “You’ve gone and got yourself a lass to fancy, little brother? I’m sorry I was in your way; I’d have left much earlier, y’know, if you’d let me.” I vigorously shook my head in denial of the concept.

“No, no… nothing of the sort. Rhiannon is a comrade of mine.”

“Comrades go on dates too, you know,” muttered Claire into her bowl. I snatched from beside her a napkin and placed upon it a slab of toast.

“Not mine. Not with me, at least… you know what I mean.”

“Methinks he doth protest too— “

“No Shakespeare for you, madam!” I cried in mock anger towards my mother. Claire and Mum let loose their laughs with both eyes and mouths, and it was completely lovely. I’d forgotten how full the house sounded with my sister about, and how warming it was to the heart.

“Wait,” spoke my sister, “you said Rhiannon? As in, of the Shae family?”

“The self-same, aye. Why?”

Claire shrugged, a dreamy grin upon her face. “I remember Ellesnara, the older sister. From what I hear, Ellesnara is the toughest cookie in the bakery, and her sister’s not far off. You do nothing but attract the most brutal of women, it seems.”

Between Violet and Rhiannon and Charlie, I couldn’t disagree. Instead I drank the smoothie Mum offered me and blessed Mum and Claire a grand day before venturing off onto Hollowhaven’s streets towards the place Rhiannon had left me a text message to find.

“You realise that ringtone is entirely obnoxious,” said Rhiannon when she heard the flapping arrival of a crow through my phone’s speaker. The notification indicated a message from Claire that I refuse to share with anyone because of how outright embarrassing it was to have one’s sister wishing their younger brother good luck maintaining a relationship with a family crafted from marble and steel.

“Is it?” I asked, eyebrow raised. “I find it comforting.”

“It’s a freaking….” Rhiannon shook her head as her index fingers caressed her temples. “Never mind that. I have news for you.” We sat inside a tea and coffee shop, a table set for four currently holding half as many but oddly appearing as if it were to find the members of its empty seats soon.

“Oh?”

“I love how that’s your response to big things. I can’t wait for you to meet a famous angel Maorga or something and just go, ‘Oh.’ Or, better yet, you watch half the world explode and your house burnt to ashes and shrug. ‘Oh,’ you’d say, and I would know that some things never change, no matter how fucked up it gets.”

“I’m glad you find it comforting.” The glare I’d riled from Rhiannon was absolutely priceless.

“The Piper wants to meet you.”

“The Piper?” Rhiannon nodded.

“The Piper. The one that everyone pays. You should meet her at least once if you’re truly determined to become a shaman. It’s a weird ritual thing.”

“Who is the Piper?”

“A Destiny Scribe. Sounds cultish, I know, but Destiny Scribes are sort of the Fates’ cousins. They record actions instead of lives, so they don’t interfere directly, but they can foresee an event — like an earthquake or fire destroying certain historical libraries — and undermine some aspect of it — like replacing the actual library with a carbon copy replica so that the information within the Library remains intact.”

“So, they’re the photojournalists of the cosmos.”

Rhiannon snickered before agreeing with my perception of Destiny Scribes. “Just don’t say that to her. Also, Ellesnara wants you to come along with her on a meeting. So, both the Piper and my elder sister will be joining us soon.”

Startled, I said, “A cosmic photojournalist is going to exist in this space...?” The windows and walls of the tea and coffee shop were flimsy, as I could tell, in comparison to someone of obviously great power. Rhiannon shook her hand, connoting a lack of need to fret.

“The Piper is a stable possessive creature, dude. Her appearance won’t blow off the roof or anything. Ah, here she is.”

I turned to the door and watched as a girl no older than Charlie entered the shop. Along with her walked three people, none of whom seemed to walk but glide alongside the maybe fifteen-year-old lass. Her eyes were a sparkling shade of green I could only imagine emanating from the most beautiful of emeralds; her straight brown hair reached her shoulder blades. She wore a horizontally striped cardigan with shades of sombre grey and blue and cream and forest green and a pair of dusky blue corduroys; her feet wore white socks and potato shoes. Behind her right ear was a pen with a cap shaped like a flower; she extended a pale hand to me and smiled.

“I’m the Piper! Nice to finally meet you, Lorcán.”

I took her warm hand in mine and shook. “And I, you, Ms Piper.”

“Just Piper is fine.” Piper sat down in front of me, and a small notebook materialised from her sleeve. “How are you today, Lorcán?”

“I’m well, thanks. And yourself?”

The Piper grinned and looked to Rhiannon. “Is your sister coming?”

Rhiannon answered, “She’ll be here soon, I think.”

“Good. I’ll make it quick, then. Lorcán, you have entered a dangerous world full of things much scarier than me, and creatures infinitely more absolute. I hope you’ll be worth writing about, though from what I can tell thus far, Lorcán, you can become certainly more than just a footnote.”

“Are there those who are only worth a footnote?”

The Piper unleashed a harsh chuckle that did not belong in the same space as the girl’s mouth. “You’d be surprised how many don’t even make the book these days. Humanity has gotten boring, but maybe somehow that shall all be changed, hm? Ellesnara looms, rounding the corner. Do my quill a favour, Lorcán.”

“What’s that, Piper?” The Piper turned to me as her fingers grasped the handle of the door, her form losing focus in my sight.

“Make it yearn to move again; make it want to write. Until another time, perhaps, or never, the most likely instance. Ciao.” A person walked through the space the Piper had, until the simultaneous moment, stood.

“Ah, Ellesnara,” Rhiannon greeted.

Ellesnara nodded and replied, “Rhiannon. Do I smell the Piper?”

“She left not quite a moment ago.” Ellesnara sat down where the Piper had been. Ellesnara was tall, with reddish-cinnamon coloured hair that shot down her skull like broad phoenix feathers. Her eyes were covered by glasses that seemed incapable of absorbing light, for they were coloured entirely white. There was a moment where I was certain that Ellesnara was watching and reading me as I attempted do so with her; the moment lasted what seemed an eternity of awkward silence. The freckled face of Ellesnara suddenly grinned.

“He’s vaguely interesting. Doesn’t even hesitate to stare me back. Tell me about yourself, Lorcán Maeve. What have you been through?”

I thought of my mother’s encounters with cancer, and of my father’s inability to stay near, and of Claire. I reviewed the question and answered, “Nothing, really.”

Ellesnara quipped, “Well, that has changed. Get up, Lorcán. We’re going on a field trip.”

“You can’t seriously be considering taking him out this early in his potential career, Ellesnara…”

Ellesnara clicked her teeth and snarled daringly at her younger sister. “Has to start somewhere, right? You think you’re ready Lorcán?”

I answered, “Not particularly. But I never really do.” Ellesnara pat my back rather roughly before leading the way from the shop.

“At least tell me where you’re taking him,” sighed Rhiannon.

“Aw, sis! You’re so protective of your friend!” Ellesnara’s tone was enough to coerce Rhiannon’s lips into a snarl. “I’m just dragging him to check up on Stuart. Won’t be but a little visit, don’t you fret your little head.”

Ellesnara’s tone was devoid of the humorous aspects of sarcasm, and I realised that she was the alpha of the two Shae siblings before me, the one who made decisions and had them obeyed without criticism. It was like watching two wolves preparing to duel, and the beta recognising that it was not its place to do so. Rhiannon gave me a glance that would take me awhile to decipher before turning on her heel and walking in the opposite direction. Within a short while, I was following Ellesnara through her home. Of the four paths within the Shae house one could see from the doorway, the one leading to Ellesnara’s was the red hallway, the walls of which yielded at the top to golden illuminations in the form of a Celtic knot. Upon closer examination, the knot seemed to be writhing, as if — Ellesnara yanked me into her room and shut the door. Her room was completely black, to the point that nearly nothing reflected within.

“Not many lads come to this place. Consider this a blessing. Now, we’re going to visit a friend of mine, Stuart, who sent me a distress call about twenty minutes ago.”

“You’ve waited twenty minutes to answer a distress call?”

She rolled her eyes and snarled, “I answered it, but I never acted upon it. Jeez... what type of person doesn’t answer a distress call?”

“The type who waits twenty minutes…”

The glare from behind her glasses ceased my tongue, and she continued, “Stuart has been having problems sleeping of late, mostly because his neighbours’ dogs keep going off early in the morning and late in the night. He thinks something is stalking about his neighbourhood, which I would care less about if I hadn’t scanned the area myself and seen something worth checking out. Thus, we’re on our way.”

“Where does Stuart live?”

“On the mainland. Doesn’t matter, though, since I’ve got one of these,” she said as she opened her closet doors and shoved me into a column of glass embedded into her wall.

The glass smashed me into a trillion cross sections of myself so that I could look at all the various bits of myself there, the trillions of copies of myself, the infinite reflections of my existence; I stumbled onto the front stairs of the viridian house. The sky was filled with stars still, so I presumed myself to be upon the western coast of the mainland. For a moment, there was silence; then, dogs all about the neighbourhood commenced howling hysterically, barking and crying and whimpering. It started from a great distance away, but I could tell that the madness encompassing the dogs was moving in a linear fashion closer and closer to the house at which I stood. Instinctively I looked upwards; there was a pair of red celestial bodies overhead that were going in circles, a fact I found heavily suspicious. Perhaps Stuart was under watch by the government or something… I wondered this less than I wondered why it seemed like the dog disease was getting closer. To see from a better vantage point, I decided to scale the porch and onto the roof of the house via the balcony. I realised soon that my idea was a grand one; upon seeing the distance, I noticed that there seemed to be a dark fog looming closer to the house.

“That doesn’t look friendly,” stated Ellesnara.

“Not quite menacing, either,” I said.

Ellesnara — who I remembered in that moment I was speaking with, and so winced — chuckled. “You don’t see things as I do. No one does. Literally. But trust me, Lorcán: this thing’s a rogue and mean. Are you prepared?”

“As much as I can be, I suppose,” I replied.

Ellesnara pulled from seemingly nowhere an enormous sword shaped like a rotor blade; the hilt was not, as typical of swords, at the bottom of the blade, but in the middle of it, perpendicular to the sword itself, in the manner a hammer is constructed, with its mallet centred upon and perpendicular to the handle.

“How does a sword as yours even function?” I wondered aloud.

Ellesnara smirked again. “With practice, obviously.”

The fog surged upon us, and I realised that it was not at all a fog, but a cloud of screaming creatures with long, thin arms and ragged, black wings. I was taken up by the cloud and tossed into the air; Ellesnara swung her blade and cleaved in twain the part of the cloud reaching for me. I regained my senses enough to safely land in a nearby tree and launch myself towards the cloud again, thinking of what I could do to banish them from this place. As I was in the air flying towards the foggy mass, I saw a gang of five riding on horseback towards the house. I realised that the horses were completely black, with fire sparking from their hooves and snouts and backs, and their riders appeared a great deal like goblins or orcs, depending on one’s connotation of either.

“Riders!” I screamed.

“What?” yelled Ellesnara as she spun her sword about, dispelling the cloud that attempted fly towards us.

“Riders on black horses that spew fire, five of them, heading here.”

A wicked grin appeared on Ellesnara’s face. “This became a lot more interesting,” she said before tossing her blade in the air. “Finish the cloud; I’m going inside for Stuart!” And so Ellesnara disappeared, leaving me to fend off the creature I realised was actually just a flying centipede. Or millipede; I didn’t feel up to counting the legs.

“How do I stop these?” I asked myself. Within the pit of my stomach, I felt something yearning to be released; I felt the urge to extend my arms, and so I did, rapidly and with great force. The creature slammed headfirst into a faintly blue barrier; I continued following my movements, clasping my hands together as if catching a ball, spinning about on my foot and releasing the ball beneath me. The creature crashed into the ground, its screams filled with fury and frustration as the earth sent it back to its plane. I looked at my hands in semi-amazement before climbing down from the roof of the house and inside. I found Ellesnara talking to a young man cowering behind a desk in a dark bedroom, lit by naught but a single candle.

“C’mon, Stuart… you can’t stay here anymore. They’re coming for you,” Ellesnara spoke.

Stuart whimpered, “This is my ancestral home. We all have lived and died here; I see no reason to be an exception.”

“The riders seem to have stopped riding,” I said, peering out the window and watching as the five of them dismounted and commenced heading towards the house.

“Just let me die, Ellie.”

“Shut up, Stuart. You’re being stupid.”

“You’re being illogical.”

“You’re both being ridiculously verbose when our lives are in danger,” I muttered as the first rider gingerly outstretched their booted toes, as if testing the waters before jumping in. I felt the candle snuff itself suddenly, and the grin upon the rider’s face was utterly terrifying.

“Get out of the house, Stuart, and onto the roof. I’ll meet you there in a moment. Lorcán, it’s up to us to stop the riders.”

“What are they?” I asked.

Ellesnara smirked, regarding me as if I were a child. “Demons, kiddo. Pretty low level, in comparison to the ones I’m used to, but tedious nonetheless. Especially when you have to protect a coward and make sure a newbie doesn’t off himself by mistake.”

As if finally realising what this experience was, I exclaimed, “Oi! You’re sending me against demons when I’ve just for the first time faced something not originating upon this plane…”

“Second time. The Siren, y’know,” Ellesnara mentioned glibly.

I rebutted, “Rhiannon took care of that for me!”

Ellesnara shrugged, adjusting her glasses before dashing down the hallway. “Remember, Stuart: get to the freaking roof!” she yelled over her shoulder as a massive explosion sent her flying through a wall and into the bathroom two rooms over from where she’d been. The demon turned its fiery mask of a face towards me and commenced snarling and stomping closer, each monstrous step leaving a print of orange blaze that showed no means of ceasing. I realised that, were they all composed of fire, the house would probably burn down soon. Stuart was scarcely stifling his screams in the room behind me.

“Hello, there,” I said to the demon. It clacked its teeth and pulled from its hip a black blade that sparked and crackled like a wildfire in a forest. Its first lunge I was easily able to dodge; I ducked and it swung its sword into the wall, which caused a hesitation in the flow of their attack that I instinctively exploited, as if I’d been fighting for centuries; I rose between the demon and its sword and punched it in the nose, sending it reeling backwards and onto the stairwell. I performed a jump back kick that sent the creature into its comrades and down to the base of the stairs again.

“Mine!” I heard Ellesnara howl before surging past me with the velocity and grace of an infuriated leopard. She raised her sword and smashed it through the chests of two of the demon riders; they screamed in fury and anguish before vanishing in a plume of dark smoke that encompassed the entire hallway. I felt myself thrown into the ceiling and slammed on the floor as a rider with a whip had been waiting for me from the other staircase. It cracked its whip about my ankle and yanked me towards it; I yelped in pain and surprise, turning onto my back so that I could face my aggressor.

A backfist to the Achilles’ tendon forced the demon to leap a bit, which distracted the demon enough for me to slide through its legs and spin, sweeping it with my legs. The demon fell into the wall, its head breaking through the softer substance. We both rose to our feet, eyeing the other. The demon lashed out with a metallic claw that would have scraped my face off had I not pre-emptively fallen onto my butt and rolled backwards, onto my toes. As the demon stepped forward I launched myself into its torso; the demon grasped me by the sides and spun with my weight, sending me flying through the wall behind it and into the other room. I turned in the air so that my feet went through the window first; my hands shot upwards, somehow clasping the upper edge of the window frame. The momentum I had was sent upwards, and I was able to flip once in the air before falling and catching the bottom edge of the frame and pulling myself back inside. The demon was upon me before I could catch my breath, and the kick it gave me left a crater in the ceiling. The demon caught me and threw me again, this time into the hallway. I bounced once and slid the rest of the way to the end of the hall.

I was a more than a bit dizzy, but my adrenaline and want of survival allowed me to rise to my feet and sidestep the punch that awaited me there; I jabbed the demon in the neck twice and pushed my heel into its knee, which caused a loud crack as the demon buckled from the swift and powerful assault; I cried out in fury as I elbowed it in the temple and stomped on its stunned neck. The demon struggled to rise; I drew a line in the air from the space above the demon down and a column of energy sent it crashing through the floor and onto a then-broken table. I heard something behind me and spun into a crouch, pulling back on an invisible string and firing an arrow of what appeared to be azure electricity; the demon standing there was blown out the window I’d previously been used to break.

“Damn it!” I heard Ellesnara shout in frustration.

I ran to the staircase and saw what she’d sworn about; the horses were charging towards the house, enormous chains between each coupling composed of flame and the dark steel that the sword and whip and mail the demons were wearing. Ellesnara ran on the wall and leapt up to surpass the stairs before grabbing my hand and leaping up the ladder that she pulled down with a swift jerk of her fingers; she was about to leap up the ladder with me in tow when the floor fell from its holdings and gravity yanked her from the spot she was jumping from. I clasped onto the ladder and watched in utter shock as the entire lower half of the house was levelled. My mind flashed to a certain cartoon as I was suspended in the air for a few moments before plummeting to what I presumed to be my coffin. The impact jarred me internally more than externally; I felt my neck snap in a most uncomfortable fashion and my torso felt twisted dramatically; wood pierced my left leg. But, I realised as my eyes snapped open, I was quite alive, albeit in loads of agony. I coughed, feeling that my lungs weren’t as collapsed as I’d assumed them to become from the fall, and looked about the darkness that was the fallen house.

“Ellesnara...?” I heard a shaky voice cry out inquiringly. “I think I did something good.” A hand exploded from a pile of rubble five feet from where I lay in a heap, and from the aforementioned pile clambered a dusty and overall pissed Ellesnara. She flashed a cold smile towards the unharmed Stuart.

“Oh, you did something good, Stuart? And what was that, hm? Ensuring that no demons would even be here tonight, when you know that every year your birthday brings the riders? Or, I know, fucking proofing your goddamned house against them?!”

“Well… no, incidentally. But I did WATCH OUT!” His cry of alarm was caused by the sudden surging forth of a remaining demon. There was an arc of silver and the demon was dismembered, and Ellesnara again faced Stuart. “Oh, nicely done.”

“Stuart…” growled Ellesnara, whose glasses I held a great reverence for, to hold back the glare inevitably heading towards Stuart but restrained from his view. I’m certain that she would have slain him with a glance.

“I found the Book, and I sent the horses back to Hell. I think that’s good, right?” Stuart was beaming, hugging the book to his chest, proud of his minute achievement despite the fact his house was destroyed and the three of us very nearly killed. “And since I have the Book, I can make sure that this never happens again.”

“You say that every fucking year, Stuart.” The way that Ellesnara made the swear into a bi-syllabic word sent a chill down my severed and leaking spine. There was a slight smile upon her face, though, that made me think that they were still comrades at the end of the day. “Try not to lose it this time, hm?”

Stuart promised with a toothy smile, “I’ll try.”

“And you don’t have to lose it just to see me again. You can always call or something. Jesus…”

Stuart said with a sheepish grin, “I like seeing you in action.”

“I’ll make you a video or something. Ah, fuck…. The mirror’s broken.”

“My spine appears to feel that way, too,” I groaned.

Ellesnara crouched beside me, holding her mouth in a way that revealed her admiration. “You really got yourself hurt here, hm?”

“Just a bit, aye,” was my reply.

Ellesnara chuckled. “Home, then, for us. See you, Stuart.”

“Bye, Ellesnara!” he called out as a murkiness enveloped Ellesnara and me before reversing the plunge we’d taken earlier. Where previously it felt as if I were shattered into trillions of pieces, the return felt as if I were returning above water’s surface, breathing once more in the air to which my lungs were genetically accustomed. I sat up from the floor, hyperaware of my sense of physical self. Breath came in heaves from my mouth, as if I’d not breathed for ages. Ellesnara slapped my back once.

“Can be a doozy, the first time especially. Congrats, Lorcán; you’ve just made your first trip into the Fourth.”

“I thought you’d said we were visiting the mainland,” I panted. She chuckled.

“Never said it was on Zero, though. We just spent an hour or so in the Fourth. That’s kind of why you’re out of breath; your physical form isn’t used to the absence of your consciousness. Well… absence isn’t the proper way to explain it. More like an expansion covering various planes simultaneously.”

“How does the mirror work?” I inquired.

Ellesnara said, with a devilish smirk, “You’re full of questions for someone who a few moments ago had a severed spine.”

“I’m to ask about that momentarily, actually.”

“Ask my sister for the details about things; I only provide the experience, y’know? Anyhow, get out of my room! I’m trying to sleep!”

Thus, I was kicked out of Ellesnara’s room and left to find my way out. I ventured again down the hallway and, upon preparing to step past the staircase and through the door, realised that someone was suddenly behind me. I turned to see Rhiannon standing there, her eyes glowing silver as she stepped lightly down the stairs; when she reached the level I stood on, they returned to the green I was used to.

“How was it?” she asked, looking me over as a nurse does a patient who walks into the hospital with a broken arm.

“Not that bad. Hurt when I was there, but all the wounds I acquired seem to have faded entirely.”

“That’s what happens to most things if they return to their planes of origin without serious harm done to them.”

“Has someone ever died upon returning to their plane?” I asked.

Rhiannon nodded. “Quite a few people, yes. My other sister did. If the damages done you there are so great that your spiritual self is harmed beyond repair, you shall perish in your plane as well. And sometimes people get trapped in another plane, which causes their plane of origin to reject them. Those are the kids who disappear after getting locked in a faerie ring or something of the sort.”

“That seems pretty terrible,” I said, to which Rhiannon shrugged.

“So long as you’re careful about it, honestly, all is well and good. What did you fight?” We sat down on the porch steps. The sky was bright and blue, still; I presumed it to be about noon, give or take an hour.

“A few demons and their horses, and this thing that exuded a fog from its pores and had arms all over its body. The latter looked like a centipede, and the former wore black steel armour and set fire to just about all they touched.”

“Did you vanquish anything?” Rhiannon asked.

I nodded. “The centipede, and a demon or two. Your sister took care of the other three riders, but the horses took down the house of her friend Stuart.”

“Ah, Stuart. He loves calling on Ellesnara.”

“He has a crush on her?”

Rhiannon snorted. “I’m pretty sure she’s his ideal woman, but he’s too finicky to mention it, and too cowardly. I guess you’re coming to realise how the whole casting thing works, hm? You must have, to survive and all.”

I shrugged and leaned back on my hands, letting my legs droop over the edge of the stairs. “Sort of,” I replied. “When I was fighting, I had to allow instinct to take over rather than really plot out whatever I was doing. It seemed that the magick was cast better when I didn’t think of it and just acted.”

Rhiannon nodded. “Well, if you think of action you are causing the action to be potential; when you act, it becomes kinetic. That’s my understanding, at least. And recall that there is the Cosmic Law of Will, which states that what you wish to cause by casting shall be caused, lest a greater opposing force overwhelms it. It’s like pushing a boulder up a hill; if gravity can overtake you, you’ll never be successful. But if your strength is high enough, you can strain yourself comfortably. Did you form a weapon whilst you fought, like my spear or Ellesnara’s ridiculous sword?”

I shook my head in denial. “The closest I came to it was acting as if I were drawing back a string to fire an arrow, but nothing materialised.”

“That’s interesting. I got my spear by a similar process, except I got tired of having it exist in a purely aethereal form. Thus, I forged it in my Individual Heart, and it is bound entirely to me, which means that I can draw it wherever I am. I suggest you read your Tome to figure out how to do the same. Most shaman have a particular weapon they like to use when fending off creatures, and it’s really handy to not have to worry about condensing the weapon to match the density of the plane.”

After assuring her that I would, I asked, seeing that the usual fire in her eyes was dimmer than usual, as if she had expended much energy while Ellesnara and I were gone, “Are you alright, Rhiannon?”

“Hm? Yeah… I’m fine. I may go take a nap, though, since I’m a bit tired. See you later, I guess.”

After seeing me out, Rhiannon entered her house again, leaving me to walk back to mine. I took my time returning home, thinking about the intense moment I’d just had. I felt that I was on the cusp of something big, as if the universe were welcoming me into its truer sense of self. I felt proud to be included on such a scale of being, I realised, for it is a powerful thing to be accepted by the cosmos in the sense that I could influence the greater battle between balanced and imbalanced. For it isn’t really a fight of good and evil; those aren’t absolute enough to be the cause of a cosmic war. The universe is generally fair, and a shaman’s task is to ensure that this remains true for everyone, that no one gains an upper hand over another. A 1:1 ratio is impossible, certainly, but it is our job, I believed in that moment, to ensure that the cosmos is run as close to that ratio as possible. The world about me ran grey, and I walked upon a forest path. Beside me appeared the Hunter, wearing his white hunting cloak. The hood was down from his head, lining the space about his neck with fur; he wore the cloak in a manner that hid all but the bow and quiver upon his big shoulders. He stood two heads taller than I, and I understood in that moment why they called him a giant.

“Do I not need the Tome to speak with you?” I asked.

He shook his head and grinned. “No longer. I believe the memories of me that reside within your existence are strong enough to provide ample summoning of my essence.”

I felt tempted to further understand what he implied, but I was so distracted by the beauty of our surroundings it slipped my mind. Instead I asked, “What forest is this?”

“The one I first hunted in,” he answered.  “The forest of my birthplace.”

“Ah,” I said, surveying it and struggling to find the words to encapsulate the perfection of the wood, “it’s beautiful.”

The Hunter nodded, adding, “Even more so in colour. I wish you could see it as I do, but mayhap in a dream such an occasion shall arise when you may gaze upon this island of grace and splendour. Hephaestos constructed it entirely to be the nursery of my parents’ children. River nymphs and Aurai care for it, and Dryads. If I weren’t so concerned with disturbing the peace of Ortygia, the Spire would be there, built of the mountain that my mother held me atop after I was born. I seek to preserve the island, however, and thus I shan’t move the Spire there.”

“I understand that,” spoke I, in reply.

The Hunter acknowledged, “You went onto another plane today.”

“I did.”

“You fired an arrow.” We stopped walking and looked at each other; his eyes revealed nothing of his intentions, and, finding the maintaining of such a glance disconcerting, I was about to step as if we were still walking, but the Hunter had something in his hand, a bow.

“What’s this?” I asked.

“The first bow I ever made, composed of the trees of Ortygia. The string is something I found on Ortygia as well, a compound of carbon fibres and silk. The string shan’t break, but I’d beware the bow, for the power it can hold is limited. I figured that, since from now on you’ll be making deeper plunges into the battle for balance, and growing your awareness of your power, that you would need something similar to certain spears and swords, for similar reasons.”

“What does having the bow do, precisely?” I inquired as I took the bow in my hand.

He explained, “Think of it as a catalyst for unleashing your power, similar to a wand or wizard’s staff.” I nodded, comprehending.

I queried, “Did you solely use a bow, Hunter?” He shook his head and opened the clasp of his cloak, allowing me to observe the arsenal he carried. Upon his right hip sat a short sword, probably a cutlass used to carve or finish off animals maimed beyond healing; a shield sat atop the hilt of the blade, a plain silver shield with a dent or two in it. A spearhead poked out from behind the left side of his neck; from the right bulged a club.

“No hunter goes with only one weapon. Not if he is truly seeking the thrill of the hunt, or properly hunting. But that is irrelevant; you must attune the bow to you. When you find the Binding mechanism of the bow, be sure to add yourself to it in a manner that allows it to appear when you require it. I would use an emotional memory, as those are the least yielding to time and yet remain attuned with the wielder. Until next time.”

A breeze again took from my perceptions the greyed world of whatever twilight realm from whence the Hunter to me spoke, and I was left with a bow in my hands. Within moments I’d scaled the slight incline leading to Maeve Manor and entered my home. No one was within; I entered my study and closed the door, placed the bow on the table and opened the Tome. Soon I found the section regarding Bounds and the like, and then the subsection speaking of binding to oneself a weapon.

To paraphrase the part that I read, it stated that I must explicitly — in the agreement binding the weapon to me — name the weapon, identify the planes in which it may exist, identify the plane of its origin, and state the circumstances in which I would be able to summon it. The Tome explained that a shaman’s weapon in many ways becomes their comrade, as they shall go through much together. Use the power of this bond to increase the density of your weapon, and you could create something much stronger than you’d think. I cleared space on my floor (a task much simpler than most, since my study of a room was sparse in mess) and grabbed my inkwell; with a brush I found in my desk drawer, I painted the Binding Circle as portrayed in the Tome, placing the symbols precisely as they were put in the diagram. Within minutes, the Circle was complete; I’d named myself, the bow, the planes upon which it could exist and of its origin, and input that I could summon the bow only when my mind was at the peace it had been when fighting the demons at Stuart’s home. I then stood in the part of the Binding Circle dedicated to me as I placed the bow in the part dedicated to it. We — the bow and I — stood in a Venn diagram, and in the centre loop where the circles containing the bow and I were the inscriptions detailing the agreement between the bow and myself.

A shimmer of light, the appearance of being beneath water, the feeling of a friendship forming, and the evaporation of ink; the bow was gone, but I felt it upon my shoulder.

From downstairs, my name was called; I replied that I was coming and ventured down to see Claire and Mum standing in the living room, holding a couple of bags from the market down the way from our home.

"Hello," I said.

"Hey," replied Claire. "We just got back from Riley's; we were going to make sweet potatoes and ham for supper."

I raised an eyebrow and shrugged as I uttered, “Sounds good. Is there any particular occasion aside of your return that inspired this?” The denial from Mum in the form of a shaken head was validated by Claire’s verbalised sentiment.

“How was your day?” Mum asked me. “Do anything interesting?”

“I met Ellesnara Shae, Rhiannon’s sister.”

“You’re still alive?!” gasped Claire. “Remarkable!”

“Ah, she’s not that bad. I think… I can’t be sure…” The feeling of utter rejection when she’d kicked me out of her room still stung a bit.

“So, Rhiannon is integrating you into her family, hm? Have you met her parents yet?” Mum’s attempt at subtle questioning was overwhelmingly overt, and thus horrendously thwarted.

With an aggravated sigh, I answered, “I have not met them, and I don’t think I will any time soon.”

“Why is that?”

I shrugged as a response to Claire’s question. “Not the foggiest.”

“Hand me the cinnamon, Claire?” Mum asked. Claire tossed the spice towards Mum, who caught and redirected it into its place on the spice rack as if she were some former pro-volleyball player. The rest of the evening was immensely satisfying, for it was composed of speaking with my sister and my mother, revelry as sweet as the potatoes, bliss as filling as the ham.