They were nomads. People with no real place to stay. They go where the wind blow them, and back then, the wind blew south, out to the wastelands where people seldom venture.

The path was not of their own choosing, for the last town from where they came from had an outbreak of an unknown disease. Hundreds died and were dying. They said it was something in the water. The nomads boil their water before drinking, thus only a couple of their children got sick, while the town's folk fell one by one, mouths frothing, bowels bleeding...

"Witchcraft" They said. 

"They have brought this into our land!"

"Finish them all before they finish us!"

The nomads did not think they would actually go through with it, but 8 of their own were lost before they got to leave. Not to the pestilence, but by the townsfolk's hands, their minds crazed by the fever that comes with the unknown disease.

They chased the nomads to the wilderness, blocking all other paths. They thought that the wasteland would finish them off, for they themselves cannot. But these people were an old race. Older than the towns. Older even than the wasteland.

Cautiously, the head nomad made his way to the swamp, keeping off the sucking mud and the poisonous gas, the secret paths passed from elder to child. For others, it may seem a mere swamp, but to these people's eyes, it is a kingdom lost in time.

"The fallen tower points to Inanis, where the Dark resides." they whisper "You should never go there." These instructions are passed by the elders to every child when ever they are in the wastelands.

"You should follow the shadow of the turrets when the sun starts to set," they say, "walk the parapet that leads to the outer gate, from there you shall see the rampart, and beside it, the bridge that goes over the moat. Only there can you walk safely to the other side."

They go silently. The Dark may be in the south-most part of the swamp, but it's shadow can wander the wasteland in search of prey. No one has actually seen it. No one has lived to tell the tale, but some of the elders have heard its prey before their screams got cut short. They say it came from a dark star, that it was the star itself, and looking at it will cost you your soul.

"Listen well, children, you youngsters will soon take our place. Soon it would be you that leads our people out of the wasteland."

"Yes elder." answered a child, the most inquisitive in the group. "But what if the dark comes to us? What do we do?"

The head elder stops, turns around, and gently places a hand on his shoulder.

"The Dark has been trapped in the middle of the keep. Only its shadow can slip out to take souls from unsuspecting travelers who loose their way. But we have a way to prevent that." He raised his hand to cover the child's eyes. "The Dark steals souls through people's eyes." he continued, "Thus you must avert your eyes when it approaches."

"But how do I know when it comes?" the child asks again.

"When darkness rises from the earth. When the world looses sound. When your breath seems to be sucked out from your very lungs."

He must have noticed the child going pale, for he smiled and ruffled his hair.

"Fear not," he said with a wink, "even if the Dark itself arrives, we elders have a spell that would trap him in a container for another thousand years."

"Will you be teaching us that spell too?"

"In time... Though I hope and wish it would not be too soon. Now, We must get going, the sky is beginning to... "

He did not get to finish. There came a blood curdling scream. People came rushing from the back, their mouths open, but no more sound came out. They were yards away when they fell, their eyes wide open, hands scratching their throats.

"Take the children through the outer gate!" shouted the head nomad. Several others were suddenly behind the children, urging them along the way.

They were about to pass the outer gate -- an enormous gnarled tree, long dead and fallen, making an archway through which led to more swamp land, but before they could pass, a dark swarm, like a dense smokey curtain, rose from the ground in front of them.

"Cover your eyes!" yelled the elders above the screams around them. "Don't look!"

They desperately covered the children, surrounding them, using their bodies to shield the innocent eyes from the carnage. But one child couldn't look away. An eye stared through a gap between the arms. The dark curtain seemed to billow and twirl and weave together to form a dark silhouette of a tall man.

"He's escaped!" some of the elders shouted from the front, trying to turn the dark away.

"Don't look" again they say, but still, the child cannot look away.

The head elder's voice takes a different tone and the wind begins to howl. A scornful laugh, turning into a scream of rage-- like a wild animal cornered. Desperate.

The dark image bends over. Silvery light being sucked into it, the people in front , falling one by one, until only one remained -- the Head Elder. He held a small vial in one hand and a green twig in another. He crushed the vial. It made no sound as he mouthed words that reached no one's ears. He aimed to throw the twig at the image, but before he could, the dark figure convulses. Its head jerks up, showing two yellow eyes that pierced through the darkness.

Bright light filled the whole swamp. The last thing the child saw where those two yellow eyes staring at him...

. . .

"Well?" said the merchant, "What happened next?" He asked wide eyed at the young monk sitting across the table.

"That's it, actually..." replied the monk with a weak grin, scratching the bandage which covered half of his face.

"What? You call that a horror story?" the merchant threw his hands up and tried to stand up, but the four empty pints of rum in front of him made him slip to the floor instead. He tried to pull himself back up on his chair to no avail.

The monk stood up with a sigh, helped the merchant up and went back to his seat. The tavern was almost empty and they were seated at the farthest corner, yet he leaned closer and looked around before he whispered to the merchant, "The story is meant to be told the way it is, to make you feel like you were in the story itself..." the merchant's eyes were beginning to droop by then. The monk patted his shoulder to wake him up. "Hey, I did may part of the bargain," he told the drunken man, "a story for a story..."

"Yeah, yeah..." replied the other, "A good story for another..."

"But I want to know what happens next, Tenebris!" asked a voice from under the table. The monk ducked down and saw a wide-eyed child hiding underneath.

"That's enough, Kit," said his drunken companion, "now go back to the kitchen and help your mother with the dishes!" the kid stuck out his tongue and ran out of reach of his father's hand. "Little rascal, you wouldn't think he was down with a fever just this morning."

He took the satchel tied around his bulging waist and took out a tattered looking manuscript. "Not that I have any idea what this book's all about. " he dropped it on the filthy table. The monk quickly picked it up and checked it for stains. "Really, you're lucky that volume didn't find it's way to the privy, it would have been more useful for wipin' someone's ass..."

"Thank you, Sir Vente, I am indeed lucky it didn't end up that way." replied the monk, his visible eye showing genuine gratitude. "But are you sure all you want for this is a single story?"

"Yeah, yeah..." replied Sir Vente, "Our small village is so out of the way that we hardly get any visitors, sometimes it takes years before travelers pass us by. Stories such as these are hard to get by." he frowned and looked at the book. The young monk was currently tucking it in his own satchel, gently, like a priceless heirloom. "Really, you're lucky that volume didn't find it's way to the privy." He said with a laugh.

"I was rather surprised when you asked me about it, I almost forgot it was still around. When I was younger I used to look at the pictures and wonder what they meant. All I remember my dad saying is that his father's great, great uncle brought it from down south in his merchanting days. He thought the maps and drawings would lead to some kind of treasure... but it seems to be nothing but a book of fairy tales... the weird writings were no help either, not one of the places he'd been to have ever seen such writing, and believe me, being a well known merchant in his time, he's been to everywhere!"

"Well, in a way, it is a book of fairy tales, of folktales to be precise. I am indeed thankful it didn't end up in the privy." said the priest, his one visible eye showing genuine gratitude.

"What do you plan with that anyways?"

"I am like you, in a way. I collect stories too, old stories, and this book tells the story of a very old group of people." he closed his satchel and smiled sadly at sir Vente. "I have been looking for this chapter for a while now, I really am indebted to you for giving it to me."

"No, no, we are the ones who are indebted to you. The whole village would have suffered a great loss if not for the medicine you prepared for us. We never would have known that such humble weeds could break a fewer so easily. More of our people would have died if not for your help."

"It is my job and my pleasure to help people as the lowly messenger of the order of Lord Curatio the Holy Healer." says the priest, his hands together in prayer, "I am forever seeking people to help."

"Brother Tenebris, is it true then that you will be leaving us soon?"

"Yes, in fact, I am on my way to the next village right now."

"Do you mean the village of Saccharum? I heard a group of armed bandits have ransacked the place and left more than half of it's villagers dead..."

"Yes, I heard of the news this morning, I have decided to go there as soon as I am able and offer all the help I can give."

"Then you should take all the provisions you need, the village is about a day away from here on horseback, I can lend you a horse and my wife can prepare some food..."

"No need, Sir Vende, I am a lowly servant of the healer Lord Curatio, our people eat from the earth as we travel on foot. The land is our home and our sustenance, she will provide for us."

"Are you quite sure? Because when you first arrived here, you dropped in front of the vilage gates due to hunger!"

"Ahaha..." laughed the monk, "It was just a minor complication! A minor complication!

With that, the monk made his way to the town gates past two sleeping guards. "Goodness begets goodness" he said to himself as he held on to his satchel. "It was lucky of me to come here when I did. The last village with the same sickness got all it's inhabitants wiped out."

"Fool," said a voice "you should have accepted the provisions. After all you did for them..."

"The book is payment enough"

"Ahahaha... a single book? And how many are there still left? 20? 30 more volumes missing?"

"I have all the time in the world." Tenebris started down the path.

"Do we now?"

He no longer answered. With his gaze straight ahead, he walked on beneath the afternoon sun. They were passing a bridge later, the sun long gone, when he heard the sound of galloping.

"Horses, 18 and 2 wagons, men about 30 of them."

"Who are they?"

"Outlaws."

"Then we must..." Tenebris lost his footing and fell over, just as he went into the water, a group of men on horseback passed the bridge. They didn't notice the young monk bobbing in the shallow depths of the narrow creak.

"Haaa!" Tenebris quickly checked his satchel, "Good thing this is water proof!" he waded out of the creek and proceeded to climb the bank towards the village they came from.

"That is the wrong way" said the voice.

"I have to help them. They might be the same bandits who ransacked Saccharum village yesterday..."

"And that is your business because?"

"I am a monk of the order of..."

"Yeah, yeah, yadda yadda, I've heard all that! And you plan to stop these bandits by healing them?"

"No, I can..."

"You can die again."

"You won't let me."

"..."

All the while, the monk ran back to the village with all his might. Once, twice, three times he tripped, his knees skinned, his palms raw for but a second before the wounds closed without leaving a mark. He did his best to reach the village in time, but when he did, the huts were already on fire.

"It is too late." said the voice.

"No, I can still help..." Tenebris ran to the nearest body he found, a young man, the same sentry who waved him goodbye as he left the village that afternoon. Just yesterday, he was one of the first whom he healed, one of the patients who lay dying of high fever.

"He's gone. The soul has escaped the vessel."

"Then someone else..." he heard a soft groan and saw a body pinned down by the fallen roof of a burning hut. "Don't worry, I can help you!" he put his back in the roof. With such a frail frame, one would never have guessed how strong the monk was, but the fallen debris was lifted up as Tenebris pulled the body out.

"It is leaving."

"I will pull him back." Placing the palm of his hands on the man's bloody chest, he closed his eyes in concentration. Tendrils of silvery light seeped from his hands to the tattered body beneath it.

The body gasped for air. The eyes flickered open and saw the priest in front of him. "Lord Curatio... you have come to save us..."

"Hush," said Tenebris, "stay here while I help the others..." He left the man partially hidden behind the smoldering hut and ran to the next nearest body.

"They are coming back this way."

"I still need to..."

His arm raises up involuntarily. It stopped a spear aimed at his side. The bulging bandit wielding it seemed dumbstruck, staring at the covered right half of the priest's face, then at the thin arm holding fast at his weapon. Tenebris' arm jerked suddenly, breaking the spear, and in one fluid sweep, buried it into the bandit's armor, piercing a lung.

"No!" yelled Tenebris, "No killing!" he let go of the fallen villager who was now gasping for air and pulled the broken spear out of the bleeding bandit, but before he could place his hands on him, more of them arrived, called by his sudden outcry.

They were bloodied, carrying spoils and women, young men and children tied up behind them.

"What do you do now, healer?" asked the voice, "How do you plan to save them all?"

"Shut up. There need not be bloodshed."

"Gahahaha!" Laughed one of the bandits, the biggest in the group, "It's a bit too late for that, don't you think?" saying that, he throws a body in front of Tenebris, it was Sir Vende, his throat slit open, his life long gone. "That one gave quite a fight, and here we were thinking that the village was at the verge of death from some sickness. Who woulda known we'd be getting quite a big group of slaves from here." The bandit laughed again.

"Is he worth life, Tenebris?'

"Get him. That's another 300 from the slavers."

A rough looking bandit came close to the priest, but before he could reach him, his arm flew away in the other direction.

"They deserve death" says the voice

On his right hand he held a knife from the stabbed bandit. His left arm falls limp on his side, his good eye glazed over.

"Get him!" Screams the bandit leader. The rest of his gang bolt towards the priest, arms bearing weapons, but the single dagger parried them all, one by one, his movements so fast, the bandits could hardly follow.

"Bring the oil!"

A bandit suddenly douses Tenebris with burning oil, his clothes quickly caught fire, the surviving villagers scream in terror. But before their eyes, the fire burned down, as if it was sucked in by a vacuum, sucked into the priest's bandaged eye. The cover was partially burned, showing beneath a parchment of paper with red writing on it. The parchment cracked, revealing a glowing yellow eye.

"I thank you for breaking the seal" said a voice that was not Tenebris.

The priest's lips broke into an ugly snarl. The bandits seem to hesitate, "Kill him!" commanded their leader. His men stepped back, but a foolish one, with a wail, ran to Tenabris, brandishing a sword. The priest's arms reached out, like welcoming a lover in his arms, but as the man jumped at him, the body stopped in mid air. The man's back snapped, his arms and legs folded impossibly backward, his body collapsed into itself, like a toy compacted into a ball. The rest of the bandits stepped back. Most of them dropped their weapons and ran away.

"Where the hell are you going?!?" yelled the leader, his view was obstructed by his men so he did not witness how the man was killed. His other men ran for their lives.

Heaving a large blade from his side, he faced back and looked to where the weak looking priest was, the idiot who was foolish enough to fight back. But the man was right in front of him and his presence sent a chill down his spine. Face to face, he was staring right into the priest's eyes. One was black, depth-less. Unfathomable. The other shone a golden light, 2 yellow pupils on top of the other.

He tried to scream, but no sound came, though his throat was sore. He felt his body melting, getting sucked into that golden eye. 

What the villagers saw would haunt them for the rest of their lives. There was the bandit leader, a mountain of a man, floating in front of the frail priest, who, just that morning, saved the town from an unknown disease. The bandit's body shook, his head thrown back with a sickening snap, and from his eyes, silvery light like tiny bolts of lightning was sucked into the priest's slightly open lips. They could hardly scream in fear.

"More" said the voice as the last of the light passed through his mouth. "We need more"

"One is enough!"

"The others are trying to get away"

"Let them be! I need to help the rest of the villagers..."

"I wonder ..." the priest chuckled.

"You have to go back."

"Why should I?"

The priest's left arm swung up, covering the right eye. Carved on his palm, partially covered by his burned glove, was a pentagram with symbols around it.

"By order of Lord Curatio, the Lord of Light and Healing, I send you, Zalam, back into the void of Inanis."

"Ahahahaha! This again?!" laughed the priest. "I should have cut off your left arm when I had the chance!"

The laughing died, the priest fell in a puddle of blood, beside the dead bandit's misshapen body. The village people watched, horrified, and gasped as he began to stir. Tenebris raised an arm, as if reaching out to something, then pulled it back and covered his face. With his other arm he propped himself up and staggered into a sitting position. The villagers stepped back, ready to run away.

Tenebris raised his head up, his right eye still covered by his hand, and looks at the frightened villagers. "A-are... are you... oka--"

"Don't kill us!!" the villagers shout.

"Please spare us!"

"No, I could never..." a rock flew in the air and hit his shoulder.

"No! Don't get him mad!" shouted one of the villagers, the others ran away, but the rest were still tied together and couldn't get far.

"Please, I only want to help..."

"Just go away!" it was Sir Vende's wife, her clothes torn, clutched in her arms was their son Kit, bleeding from a wound on his head. "Please just leave us be!" She was trembling. But her words were the kindest he heard that night.

Sadly, Tenebris rose to his feet, dusted himself, and shuffled out of the village. By the gate, he reached from behind a bush and took the satchel he hid earlier.

"Kukukuku... told you so." said the voice inside him.

"they were just shaken by what happened."

"Aren't they all?" replied the voice. "They love you while you help them and call you Lord Curatio reborn, then curse you when they learn where that power truly comes from."

"Be silent Zalam. " said Tenebris, "The power I hold comes from The Lord Curatio himself. Not from some demon!" but the voice continued its sinister laugh, taunting him.

"So, where now, priest?"

"Anywhere"

"Anywhere? What about that village we were headed for?"

"News fly fast in these parts. If they see me..."

"Kukukuku... so shall we look for the rest of he books then?" the priest refused to answer. "I can't wait to find them all and finally break free from this container..."

"I can't wait to get rid of you."

"Kukuku... who ever acts first..." the voice said, "who ever acts first."

The priest slowly made his way out of the village. The horizon turned red in the pre dawn light, yet the world was silent. There were no birds to welcome the new day.

"Who knows how long we need to endure each other. Who knows how far. But for now, priest, we travel on." the voice snidely remarked. "I guess you would forever be a nomad."

- END -

Lord Curatio - healer

Tenebris - darkness

Zalam - dark

Inanis - void