“Okay so we have our warlock, that’s you Eric.” The robed man rolled his eyes as he plucked at the heavy brown cloth draped over his body. Of all of them, he seemed to be wearing the most cloth, though his costume was the simplest design.

“I look more like a monk who got lost in the Himalaya’s!”

“You don’t have a tonsure.” argued Samantha, pins sticking out of her mouth as she made some last minute adjustments to Cat’s costume. Cat always went as a cat. A solid black costume with light patches of white leopard spots along her arms and legs to be interesting. With a name like Cat, she explained, anything else for Halloween would just be plain silly.

“True, Sam.” The final member of the group, kept checking off his friends on his hands. “Then there’s me, the Kyrie warrior,” he paused to flex, looking over his shoulder to watch the wings wobble along with his movements.

“You play Heroscape waaay too much,” Sam snorted, getting up and tugging on Cat’s tail once or twice to make sure it would hold. “There. Now it will sway but not fall off when you bend over.”

“Will I get pins in my butt?” Cat craned to look, anxious.

“No!”

“Guys! Let’s finish getting ready and go!” James anxiously glanced around the yard, the handful of candy he’d already eaten pumping energy to every limb like lightning in the blood.

“Sorry James, sorry,” Sam gave him a playful push and held out her arms. “You have me, the cleric. . . healer person.”

“Me, the cat-girl.” Cat giggled and pretended to attack Eric. “Raaawr!” Eric, being Eric, rolled his eyes heavenward as she jumped on him, handling her slim body with ease.

“Oh thank you Lord! My very own anime cat-girl, just like I’ve always wanted!” Her attack fell apart as she started laughing, as did her tail. Sam gave a sigh of exasperation, and whipped out another pin, advancing upon her friend with a wicked gleam in her eye.

“Come here, seriously your butt is going to be a mass of metal if you don’t be careful. You should have been Eeyore.”

“Oh that would be so fitting at this party,” Eric quipped, “A donkey on anti-depressants.”

“Can we go, guys?” James tapped his watch, artfully disguised as a wrist compass. “We’ll be so late.” Samantha stood back, inspecting the lot of them, and felt a surge of pride. Hopeless at making their own costumes, she had risen to the occasion brilliantly, and decided they would all go as an RP group. Since Cat refused to be anything but, it had all worked out just fine. James had been the hardest, but she dug up leather and odds and ends of fake fur, and even broke apart a feather pillow to get his wings just right. The effect was incredible. He looked authentically Norse, dressed like the small figurine he had brought to her so eagerly. Straps up and down his wrists and legs, buckskin-seeming leggings, and a billowy white shirt with another leather vest over it, had been very hard to do but worth it. His wings arced high above his head, but remained stiff. She wished she could make those move realistically too, but, she was no magician. She was the Cleric. She had been last, and understandably tired when she created her own costume, so she had chosen simply. Wanting to be authentic the whole way, she salvaged the fake fur and leather that had been left from James, and created patchwork pants, and used a corset over a billowy shirt, sewing small feathers here and there. She looked exactly like a traveling healer from the mideival times. Eric had even dragged a tree limb over and whittled it down for her. Like his father, he was good with his hands, and preferred making things out of wood and metal rather than watching football or playing. He thought the idea of magic and RP was ridiculous, but went along with it cheerfully.

Sam ran her fingers across her staff as she glanced at him. Draped with long bolts of cloth with embroidered designs at the edges, he did look a bit mystical and wise. He had declined the beard and moustache to make him look older.

“I’m already the oldest,” he joked, “I don’t need reminders.” Sam glanced at Cat. Yes, that stupid tail would be fine now.

“We are good to go,” she finally proclaimed, feeling her heart swell with pride at the coolness of their costumes.

“YES!” James pulled his keys out from under his vest. “I’m driving!”

“Will your mom be okay with all our cars here?” Cat asked, carefully sliding into the back seat. James shrugged.

“It will provide a distraction for all the window soapers to vandalize instead of her house.”

“You’d better be joking,” Eric glanced out at his car, the beast that ate all of his paycheck each month. “I’d better find my baby safe and intact when I get back here.”

“You will, you will.” Sam soothed, then cracked a smile. “If you cast a spell of protection on it.” His eyes rolled and he turned in the shotgun seat to waggle his fingers out the window.

“Bibbity boppity boo.”

“That was to turn it into a pumpkin!” Sam burst into laughter.

“Oh. Right. Well then, I’m glad I don’t really do magic, or I’d have been screwed.” James pulled out, once he was sure they all had their seatbelts on, and the car sped through the night, slowing only when they passed stray trick-or-treaters; small fairies and pumpkins out for the last bit of candy that each house could spare. It was cute to watch the little midgets, followed not too far behind by a watchful parent or grandparent, sometimes disguised as an accompanying character. They passed a heavily laden Dorothy, followed by her Scarecrow father, hiding the candy he was eating behind great tufts of hay. One particular group held all five Power Rangers, who knew what season, and all were sitting on the grass, trading their candy almost as fast as they ate it.

“Greedy boogers,” Cat said with a smile. “But lucky ones! I want to go trick-or-treating!”

“I want to get to this party.” James laughed. “Elise will be there.” Sam shared a sympathetic look at Cat, who fell silent and went back to looking at the Halloween lights. It was no secret between them what Cat thought about Elise, especially where James was concerned. However, as all males did, James remained awkwardly unaware of how Cat looked at him when no one was looking. James kept talking.

“Elise-”

“Oh my God, please don’t start!” Eric slumped in his seat, clawing at the window in mock anguish. “Let me out, let me out!”

“Don’t be a prick.” James glowered. “I’m just excited to see what she will be wearing.”

“Pfff,” Eric turned to look at Sam. “Translation: Halloween is where most girls dress up as slut-versions of whatever they are, and he knows it.”

“That’s not what I meant!” James protested, going slightly red in the pale light from the moon. “I don’t want to see that, I just-”

“What?” Eric asked mischievously. “You what!”

“You- shut up!” The back seat erupted into snickers as the girls saw the tips of his ears flame.

“Okay guys,” Sam interrupted, smiling. “Let’s not wage war!”

“I’m not.” Eric grinned. “I just think it’s sooo cuuute how red James gets.”

“I do not get red,” the offended one said airily. “I simply want to drop the subject now.”

“Good idea,” Cat said quickly, “because we are almost there.” Eric sat up quickly, and squinted.

“Hey dude watch out for that one trick-or-treater.” Sam peered around James’ shoulder as he moved to the side of the road. There seemed to be a man dressed as a barbarian weaving around the fire hydrant. As they slowed, James had to twitch the wheel again as the man changed direction suddenly. Luckily there were no kids in this part of town, either too far for them to have walked, or they had already wiped this area clean. Again, the man stumbled to the left, effectively cutting James off once more if he had tried to pass.

“Drunk,” spat James, frowning. “What the hell is he doing?”

“Running around and screaming it looks like.” Eric said distastefully. “Pass him and let’s go.”

“I’m trying.” James headed for the oncoming lane, trying to get around the crazy man once and for all. He slowed to five miles per hour, then finally slowed to a crawl when even that became too fast. Something in Samantha made her hit the autolock on all the doors as they started to get ahead.

“You never know,” she said grimly when they all turned to look at her quizzically. For good reason too, for as they passed the man, he suddenly lunged at the car, screaming wildly, bloody froth flying from his mouth to spray on Cat’s window. His eyes were flared wide and nearly lime green, the rest of him filthy and covered in arcane tattooes.

“Oh my God!” Cat shrieked, diving away from the sight. Sam hit the autolock again in reflex, and yanked Cat over to her side as best she was able.

“James GO!” He hit the gas a split second before she yelled, his own eyes frozen on the sight of a wild man trying to beat his way into their car. The car leapt forward furiously, the odometer rushing into red to appease the gas pedal, seconds before blaring lights and sound smashed into them, throwing them into a wide world of pain. They felt James hit the brakes, felt the tires squealing to comply to his rushed demand, and knew only panic, making them brace for final impact. As the spinning only increased, Sam heard Cat screaming, and tried to touch her in a last ditch effort to reassure her friend that all was going to be fine, but the pain all around was too much for her to bear. Pressure like none she had ever encountered before was pushing in her chest, shorting her breath, and making her heart beat like a trapped bird in her throat. As her consciousness faded, she thought she heard laughter around her , and someone chanting, before darkness claimed them all.

To abeia das gontri emmair gonnaher toofhgare loarx polaaei cumaaher dooynt. . .loomaruu

The world began to return, in small pieces. Sound. A flash of light. A voice, and words too strange to register.

“What?” Oh her mouth hurt. It hurt very, very badly, as though someone had just punched her fully in the face, with brass rings on. Ugh, and about the strength of a pickup truck. Oh my god, where is everyone?! Samantha bolted upright, panting and panicked. It was pitch black at first, but gradually she noticed there was light, albeit just a small candle by her bedside table. Where was she, for that matter? Had they taken her to the hospital? Was everyone else alright? A slight glimmer to her left made her look, and her heart leapt in her throat before she realized it was just a mirror on the wall. Shakily, she got up, surprised to find no I.V. in her arm. Was she in someone’s house? She looked around, seeing little by the scant light. The walls were dark brown, the bed was a simple cot, and the table held only the small candle. Other than that, the room was vacant and bare, very small, like a cell. Prison? Did she get thrown in jail? As she walked to the mirror, the cold floor surprised her in its iciness, and telling her she no longer had shoes. Terrific. A moment later, she tripped over the missing leather boots, and cursed as she got up. Brushing back her hair to finally check her injuries, the sight in the mirror astonished her. She was perfectly fine. Her eyes were unblemished, just as hazel as they had ever been, her hair was the same long black, albeit a bit mussed from sleep, but otherwise she looked in the most perfect of health. She fingered her costume, frowning. Why was she still in it?

“Oh.” She whirled around, panicked, frightening the little man just as much as she. He had just poked his head in, surprised to find her not in her bed, before catching sight of her elsewhere.

“Who are you? Where are my friends? Where am I?” He came into the room, small, fat, and half bald, carrying a torch that hurt her eyes it was so bright. She would have started to scream to alert help, had she not noticed the small clattering of dark brown beads at his waist, nearly invisible. A small glimmer of recognition lit up in her brain.

“You. . . are a monk?” His face smoothed of worries, as if he had been anxious she would indeed begin screaming.

“You are awake, we had been worried, but. . . your friends are fine, they sleep still. You are safe, here in the Abbey of St. Lucius, and I am Brother Geld. Does that satisfy your curiosity, sister?” She stared at him for a moment, trying to take this all in. Everything seemed fuzzy and odd, like she’d been sleeping too long. What time was it? Warily she took a step nearer, ready to bolt if need be.

“Not really. I have more questions.” He smiled.

“Usually that is the way of it.” He opened the door again, letting white light cascade into her room, a little more blinding than the torch itself. “ I’m sure you would like to see your friends now. We had a bit of trouble with the Imrii warrior, but I think he will heal nicely.”

“Imrii?” Samantha questioned weakly, hesitantly following him out the door. She didn’t know what was going on, she didn’t understand why this man pretended like he was a monk, when there had certainly not been any monks in her city the last time she had checked all the religious buildings for art class last semester. And what the hell was an Imrii?

“We are so very curious about your party,” he said excitedly, leading her down a hall lit by sconces in the wall. Samantha stared as they passed each one. Only light bulbs gave off white light, yet these lights flickered like ghosts. Special effects?

“My party?” she repeated, then dawning fell upon her. “Oh, the party! We didn’t get there when we hit the other car.”

“Car?” he repeated, glancing back at her. His sandals made a small scuffing sound as they walked, and her head started swimming.

“Please, where are we?”

“I’ve told you,” he chuckled. “The Abbey of St. Lucius. . . ” At her blank look, he waddled sideways, glancing at her with concern. “You do not know where that is? Where are you journeyed from child? The Abbey of St. Lucius is famed across Darrain. We are of the kingdom Baria, subject to Darrain…do you not recognize these names?” Her mouth went dry. This guy was so insane, it wasn’t even funny anymore. “Interesting.” he muttered, and opened a door for her to enter. Hesitently she went through, and was assaulted with a heavy chemical smell that made her spine tingle. It didn’t smell evil, just too clean for the surroundings. More brown walls, but here it was bright enough for her to recognize rock when she saw it. This whole place was made out of stone! Beds stood in rows, only a few occupied as Brother Geld led her down the main aisle. Some were little men, some were female, tended by young and old women in white, strongly reminiscent of nuns. They passed one bed, where two people were arguing. Confused as she was, Sam couldn’t help but listen as they passed, her eyes taking in their odd costumes and their very odd accents.. The man was in bed, sitting up and angry, clad all in gold-seeming cloth, whilst the female was standing over him, hands on hips, in all black.

“-fool, Calamity! You stay there until that leg heals or so help me-”

“Stop being a fussy woman, Spider! I am FINE.”

“The brethren beg to differ, and so help me you will remain prone or I will hire large smelly men to sit on you until you heal!” Sam laughed at this, then jerked as they both stopped and stared at her for a moment.

“May we help you?” The female, Spider, asked rudely. She flushed and bowed her head, embarrassed to have been caught listening in, hurrying away to catch up with Brother Geld.

“So sorry, my bad.” She rushed on, grateful when their arguing started up again as if it had never been interrupted in the first place. “Brother Geld,” she whispered, still blushing. “Who were those two?” He glanced behind, then rolled his eyes.

“Infamous trouble-makers. Still, they pay well for healing and are respectful of our Abbey so they are always welcome, as all children of our Lord are, yet they do make such a racket when they are here.”

“Troublemakers?” Sam chanced a glance behind, nearly stepping into Brother Geld when he abruptly came to a halt at the foot of a rather large bed.

“Here you are. The others are scattered a bit farther as the need pertained, but here is one of your friends. The Imrii.” Sam looked in the bed, and had to look again. At first, all she saw were feathers. Then she saw wings, huge wings, silvery and white with gray and amber feathers in large swooping patterns. Her eyes followed their graceful swoop and saw that the wings were held up by supports, spread out to their full length, which was what required the bed to be so large. Or rather, which is why he was in a bed that was larger than the rest. Sam blinked. They hadn’t removed the faux wings? She reached out to touch one, amazed how big they seemed, then bit her tongue when she realized the wings were warm, and soft like a birds.

“Please don’t touch.” Brother Geld advised, moving to the other side of the bed. “They are still quite sore, and the medicine we gave him would not usually spread to even his wings.” He gave a small resigned smile. “We are not used to treating the Imrii, understand. We haven’t quite got the medicine required. Still, prayer goes a long way.” Samantha was going to go insane quite soon, and wiped her hand on her pants as if that way she could erase the feeling. It was weird and unnatural to feel wings as large as these feeling so real.

“But. . .the wings, this isn’t. . .”

“Sam?” She stepped back as a groggy James voice came from under all the wings. “My head is killing me.”

“Ah! You awaken!” Brother Geld leaned over and removed a sheet corner from covering her friends head. Sam’s throat went dry as she followed the line of the wings to James’ back.

“Oh my God.” she said hoarsely, taking a step back, horror creeping into her voice as she began to realize what it all meant. “What have you done to him?”

“What? What to who?” James croaked, trying to sit up. The wings began to creak in the supports as they moved, and Brother Geld held a hand on his shoulder.

“No, friend, do not sit up. Your wings were badly mangled when you arrived, and it was all we could do to fix them. They shall be stiff for another week or two, but you will have full flying ability after that. Lucius was well with you tonight.”

“What the hell?” James started to sound alert, and panicked as he fought o get upright.

“Oh my God, James,” Samantha mustered her courage and forced herself to touch a wing again, trying to tell herself this was real. “Oh my God. . .your wings.”

“What? Samantha what?”

“Your wings, are. . .” she shook her head wildly. “This isn’t possible, this isn’t real.”

“Samantha!” James hissed angrily, trying again to sit up. “What the fuck is going on?” Next to her, Brother Geld made a quick sign at the word, but she ignored him.

“James, the wings, they are real!”

“WHAT!?”

“They are REAL!”

Samantha sat in delayed shock, her face devoid of all expression. Cat waited simply for her friend to stop staring.

“I would be crying.” Sam whispered. “I don’t know how you are so strong.” For a long while, there was no response, except the constant twitching of the tail that would never now come off. Finally Cat lifted a hand, covered in black fur, except the fingertips, where they turned to claws, and ran it down her stomach, where more fur ran abundant.

“I suppose. . .because. . .I feel beautiful?” There was an undertone of a purr in her voice that Samantha doubted anything human could replicate. At least not with a human throat. “Don’t be sad Sam, I really don’t mind. It sounds insane I know, but…I mean, I’ve dreamt of being a cat sometimes.” Sam looked up at her friend. The fur covered her entire body, complete with the spots, and only stopped at her claws on her hands and feet, and at her face. It began to fade at her jaw and nose , but her nose was changed slightly, almost like a cat’s, and her teeth were sharper. Thankfully she had no whiskers, but her ears pivoted at the side of her head. Samantha tried to look happy, although inwardly she simply had to blanch. She would be screaming bloody murder if she had been turned into half a cat, or even half any animal for that matter, such as James. Half bird, with those wings. He didn’t have a beak or talons, thank God. It seemed only her and Eric got away normal. After she had seen James, she demanded to be taken to Cat and Eric, and had been struck deaf and dumb by what happened to Cat. Eric was sullen and refused to calm down at first, until Samantha had regained use of her voice and got him quiet. She had thought she was handling it well, until she had began talking to Cat. The fact that her friend wasn’t afraid, only mildly confused at her sudden transformation, simply blew her mind. She continued staring at the wall, trying and trying to figure out how any of this madness, this changing and…magic? could have happened.

“What is this place?” she whispered. “Is it like a mad scientist house, where they experiment on people they kidnap?”

“I don’t think so,” Cat sighed, swinging her legs on the bed.

“What are you thinking?” Sam asked quietly. Cat gave her a small smile, her eyes a startling vibrant amber hue.

“I’m thinking. . .it will be a relief not to ever have to worry about shaving my legs again. I mean…what would be the point?” It was such an idiotic thought, that they both dissolved into relieved giggles that despite whatever madness was happening, they were still the same as they had ever been. It felt good, and hurt at the same time, to laugh like this.

“Do you think we are dead?” Sam asked, once they had sobered.

“This wouldn’t have been my first choice of heaven.” Eric said tiredly. He had had to go see James for himself, and slumped on the bed next to them. “Took me a while to find Cat’s room again. James is okay now, but he is still freaked out by the. . . .wings.”

“Who wouldn’t be?” Sam touched his shoulder. “Do you think this isn’t heaven?” He snorted, glancing at the room uneasily.

“If it isn’t, we sure got off easy with the fire and brimstone.” Cat giggled at that, chewing on a claw idly.

“Eric you are funny no matter what seems to happen.” He rolled his eyes.

“Pff!” A ball of fire exploded in the corner of the room, causing all three to scramble off the bed in panic.

“What the hell was that!?” Eric shouted, his eyes glued to the black blasted rock that sat so innocently. Cat’s eyes were huge, and she made a funny sight, her fur sticking up in panic. She looked like a giant fluff ball. Sam snorted, the adrenaline like a drug that seemed to have woken her up, jarring her already frazzled senses. As one, they started laughing, and as they calmed, could finally hear the light knocking on the door to the room.

“Come in?” Brother Geld poked his head in, slightly puzzled as to why they were laughing.

“If it would please you to come with me, I have arranged a guide to lead you back to your people.”

“Back home?” Samantha perked up. “Anything is better than staying here. We could have someone fix Cat and James.”

“I like how I am,” Cat protested with a smirk. “It’s the Cat’s meow.” Brother Geld did a magnificent double take and shot Eric a glare.

“Please try not to set anything else on fire while we walk.”

There was anger. . .a slow pounding of rage and hatred contained by nothing but willpower, flowing through the heartbeat that thundered in Ebon’s head. Unleashed, it would tear free from the confines that held it relentlessly at bay, pursue anything that took its fancy, and destroy any and all prey in it’s path. Crazed and unstoppable, he would rip out the throats of the innocent, spill the blood of every living being he could find, and leap into the highest of tree’s to enjoy the aftermath, throwing his head back and baying his pleasure to the moon. Ah the days past. . .Those were days that he couldn’t afford to enjoy anymore. Not with those Rangers on the loose, ready to wage war on him at the slightest hint of evil action. Rangers. . .

They were created specifically to kill him, as complimenting as that was. Filthy Elves, dug up from the depths of the Elven slums, brainwashed and reformed to hunt him non-stop. They were attracted by death, violent death to be precise, and would travel only when the wind brought them the scent of his passing. Just one drop of blood spilt by violence, one gasp of a muted voice crying out, and they would come, never stopping until they had reached the site of his latest attack. From there they would find his tracks, what little he made, and continue until they either found him, or lost him. Then it would begin again. Dark as night, with eyes like dead wood, they never spoke, only came, again and again. To himself, he sneered, recalling the last time he had attracted their attention. They had come upon a very clever trap, if he did say so himself, and came out of it missing half their number. A small chuckle escaped him as he recalled how silently they had died, no sound or fleeing spark of life from their eyes, simply silent as they fell and never rose again. He was nearly looking forward to their next encounter.

“Sire?”

Ebon opened his eyes, breathing slowly out his mouth to release some of the energy that had built beneath his ribs at the memories.

“Another ale sire?” The little barmaid was back again, tilting her hips to entice, but he waved her off without more than one lazy, half-lidded glance of ruby-red eyes. She wouldn’t understand what she was getting into, the little pixy. His first drink sat nearly full to his right, its clear liquid holding no solvent for his dark and brooding thoughts. There would be none tonight. Raucious laughter erupted beside him, and he flinched, huddling into his cloak as if to protect from the lively singing that seemed to grow louder and louder with every moment. He needed to be out of here, quickly, before he lost control of his temper and bit someone’s head off. Literally. He left the drink alone, wondering why he had even bothered. Then again, on some nights, it helped. The fuzzy burn would take his thoughts away, if only for a short while, and he could bask in the lovely glow of drunken stupor, forgetting all and not caring one whit. Then again, it only served to annoy him some nights, and tonight, was not one of the better ones. He felt the moon tonight. Ebon pulled the hood over his head as he left, letting the door shut softly behind him, cutting him off from the warmth and light, and the noise, of the tavern. It was time to be on his way at any rate. Time to leave this half-alive spit of a town, and head west, where the nights were longer, the forests darker, and the prey easier to prey upon. Rangers did poorly in slum towns. Too many other violent acts to distract them. He bypassed the stables with a small sneer as the horses inside trumpeted their unease. He could never ride a horse, they knew him too well, knew his scent in their noses more surely than the eyes could ever serve a human. They knew him for what he was, and they both hated and feared him with every drop of blood they possessed in their body.

He walked for only a few hours, when the crows found him. He could feel their presence before he saw them, so well did they hide, and so keen were his senses, but at last he cast his eyes up and found them, all six, staring intently down at him.

“Six for death, my lord.” he growled, giving them a cursory nod. “What is your bidding this night?” All six took flight, coalescing within seconds to reveal a man more suited to a barbarian way of life than sorcery. From the bones of witches and warlocks, from the blood of demons, he took his power, and wore evidence of his victims around his neck. Lime green eyes glowed dimly in the night, and his smile, when he leered, was as dark as his surroundings. Ebon knew him well enough to snarl slightly, hackles raised.

“Ebon, my captain among captains.” His voice was hoarse but strong.

“I am no longer your captain.” Ebon reminded him, feigning boredom.

“You grew tired of my missions.”

“I grew tired of your madness. What is your business with me tonight? Speak plainly and to the point.”

“Such a tone with me will only make this worse,” The Lord of Crows laughed wildly. “I have been to an amazing world, my captain. You would not have believed it with your own eyes if you had seen it.”

“Another world. Yes.” Ebon glanced at the path he would next take after this dull conversation drew to a close. “Anything else of questionable value that I should know?”

“The prophecy for my downfall rests on the shoulders of strangers to this land, do you remember?” Placing a hand under his chin, Ebon created a false sense of pondering, wondering how long to stand and listen.

“Hmm, do I recall? Recall a prophecy that you obsessed about for most of your and my, natural life? No, I almost don’t recall at all, please do refresh my memory.” The dry sarcasm went unnoticed.

“The prophecy! It states that strangers to our lands will come and stop my reign of terror before it begins!”

“So they have time.” Ebon interrupted. “My lord, please, spare me, what is your point?” The Lord of Crows drew himself up in his fury, directing his terrible green eyes towards his former minion. Dark energies began to gather around him, and in the smallest part of his mind, Ebon felt the first uncoiling of his cautious side. Deranged or not, the Crow Lord was still a creature of terrible magic and evil, evidenced by the time Ebon spent as his slave in his youth. He could do things that would make even the darkest Ranger pause in his tracks, and reconsider.

“You stupid cur!” The Crow Lord pointed a finger at Ebon, as dark light began to gather around them both. Power pushed inward, making it hard to breathe. “You dare allow such disrespect to enter your voice, when speaking to me? It was I who destroyed your family, and raised you as my pet, my slave, to whine at my feet for scraps and avoid my kicks! You dare rise above your station?! Dare you defy me?” Stamping down the bloodlust that rose with the challenging glare, Ebon gritted his teeth so hard they cracked, and sank into a half-bow. The need to tear this mage limb from limb rose in him so powerfully he almost blacked out from the desire of it. Still, he cracked the whip over his willpower, and pulled the words from his throat into the waiting night air. Slowly, painfully, but still, they came.

“Apologies my lord. . .As always, my eagerness to serve has left me forgetting my etiquette.” Inside his soul, a fanged creature of death snarled and snapped at the careful cage Ebon had erected to contain it.

“This world.” The Crow Lord snapped, angry now and bristling with black magic from every pore, perfectly aware of the rage dancing behind his former slave‘s eyes. “I saw it, I breathed it, and felt its power. I brought back with me, four beings from it’s powerful gates. I have seen into their souls. I can destroy them with all the ease of crushing an ant beneath my heel. These people of this world, will hail them as the great saviors, the great ones to save them all.” The man smiled, revealing half-rotted teeth. “I will kill them and watch the hope of the world die. Then when this one bows to my might, I shall travel back to their world, and take it as well.”

“And my part in this is. . .?” Ebon asked carefully, maintaining a calm facade. His former master stroked a hand across his grisly necklace, a sudden thought causing him to smile maliciously. “I am much too busy to kill them myself. They have seen me. If they reveal that knowledge, and where they are from, to anyone of importance, it will soon be known that they cannot possibly be the ones of the prophecy, and all will be ruined!”

“And my part in this is. . .?” He repeated, bored again, letting annoyance flash in his eyes once. The mage narrowed his own slightly.

“You, my pet, will kill them for me. Lull them into a sense of security, for that is most entertaining to watch, the hope that dies, the sudden knowledge of betrayal that flares into their eyes at death.” His eyes lit up. “If you can kill them one at a time, do so! My amusement will last for so much longer that way.”

“And what is in this for me?” Ebon hissed, anger back again. “This is a mission of watching children!” Lord of Crows smiled again, raising a hand to the moon.

“The Rangers hunt you every night, my pet, I have seen it. I have watched you restrain yourself, losing them one day at a time, but at what cost? You burn to kill.” Ebon growled deeply in his throat, annoyed that what he heard was truth. He did not doubt the other’s power to spy on him at will, when every crow was a watchman who flew free of all confines. Tightly, holding onto pride, he inclined his head ever so slightly.

“Yes, but I will handle them.” The Crow Lord guffawed.

“I shall throw them from your scent, send them in every direction imaginable, to give you time to accomplish my task.” That was indeed a tempting offer, one that made Ebon tilt his head interestedly, but still cautious.

“Hm. And after I have done what you ask of me? They shall come after me again.”

“After you complete my task, the cleric who created them will die by your hand. I shall be so powerful, that placing him in your waiting claws will be child’s play.” Ebon snarled roughly, the desire to kill his master overshadowed by the sudden, fierce desire to rend the King’s cleric into dozens of bloody pieces. That infernal

“As you wish my lord.” Ebon said carefully, the taste of blood tingeing his thoughts. “Do you know where I may find these strangers?” The Crow Lord laughed before spreading his arms wide, the taint of his magic bleeding into the night air.

“Ebon. . .that is what you are here for.” With an explosion of feathers, the crows detached from his body, becoming themselves again, and spreading into the sky, becoming invisible instantly. Ebon stared at the spot his former master had just vacated. The man was mad, very mad and powerful, and yet he was charged with a mission. Perhaps it would be fun, this little hunting trip. If the mad one was correct, and they were from another world, it would be interesting to see if they bled and died like everyone else did. Above all things, Ebon enjoyed learning new ways to kill. If it was not fun…well, at least he would have some nights of Ranger-free bloodbaths.

“What are we doing here?” Eric whispered, his face wreathed in anxiety and worry. “I thought that monk guy said he had someone to take us home.” Sam turned to answer, but at that moment the door opened. They had been gathered and seated in a large and glamorous room, its vaulted ceilings and carved walls a startling contrast to the rest of the abbey that they had seen. Drapings of fine silk and beautiful designs had caught their attention for most of the wait, but ultimately their worry and puzzled thoughts had overtaken them, ruining the peaceful aura that had been present in the room when they arrived. James sat carefully, oddly silent as he held a hand over his chest, where the wrappings bound his wings to his back to ensure they’d heal right. It was odd to see him sitting there in his costume, his eyes lowered in private thought, so still and unmoving, with large white feathered bones towering above his head. It was always James who was eager and in a hurry, excited for every new thing and different places. Cat had been the shyest, but here they sat, both roles reversed as Cat took in every sight she could, amber eyes wide to the new and strange surroundings. When the door opened, all three had twisted around to see who had entered. Finally, even James turned to see. It was Sam who gasped at the sight, although the others were just as surprised at the stranger’s appearance.

“Merlin?” Eric asked suddenly, granting him small glares from the others. He leaned back, offended that they stared. “What? You were all thinking it.” True, the man who entered was old, with a long beard and staff, the epitome of the legendary wizard who popped up in nearly every fairy tale and legend.

“Whoever that may be, must either be a great man, or great fool, to merit such a greeting.” he said dryly, turning to shut the door after him carefully and with respect for it‘s age. As they regained their composure, he maneuvered his way down the few steps, his staff held effortlessly. “And I am neither, although that could be cause for great debate here in this abbey.”

“Then who are you?” asked Cat bravely, her ears laying back slightly as they all turned to her next with shock. He came and settled himself in an ornate chair near to them, brushing his flowing cerulean robes straight, a relaxed sigh escaping his lips.

“I am Fisiun the high cleric of Derain.” he explained slowly, “Though I doubt that has much meaning to you aside from a simple name.”

“What do you mean?” Sam asked. He seemed to know how confused they were, for he remained calm and collected, taking time to study each of them in turn. It was comforting to at last to be around someone who seemed to have an inkling of what was happening. When his eyes fell upon Sam however, she looked away, confused by the infinite wisdom seeming to pool in his feeble eyes. He gave her the willies, but she glanced back up when he moved his gaze onto Cat. None of them could match it for long, though Eric tried. He too failed, but not before lasting longer than everyone else had. Finally the man sighed and ran his hand down his beard thoughtfully.

“An Imrii, a cleric, a mage and a Ferani.”

“Excuse me? A what and what?” Eric blinked. Fisiun chuckled and pointed to each of them in turn. To Sam, he winked. “A cleric, like myself. A mage, you,” he pointed to Eric, then to Cat. “A Ferani, and that one, who does not speak, an Imrii.” James glanced up slowly at the attention, then back down to the embroidered rug under their feet. “A most unusual combination, and one that points out the wrongness of the situation.”

“We really don’t understand.” Sam said calmly, still aware that this whole thing was crazy. “In fact I’m almost sure that one or all of us has gone mad here.”

“Fisiun,” Cat handled the name easily, her new tongue curling over the accents as easily as she had crawled over the chair when entering the room earlier. “This all seems nuts. James and I shouldn’t even exist, we are human, not Imrii or Ferani or whatever. We don’t know what’s going on.” Fisiun nodded as if he had guessed this all along, and leaned forward slightly as if to impart with them a great secret.

“You four, are most unusual. The monks found you unconscious outside their walls, bearing most unusual wounds. Their medicines did not work on you as they should, and although we preach the word of brotherhood, to find you four together is most suspicious.”

“You keep saying that.” Eric said flatly. “Perhaps you could explain?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Fisiun asked with amusement, his eyes flicking from Cat to James. “A winged man and a feline woman? The Imrii and Ferani have been warring and killing each other since the beginning of time. None can stand to be in the other’s presence for more than a moment before ultimately trying to kill the other. Would you expect anything differently?”

“We are friends.” Cat said tightly. Fisiun turned to Sam.

“Not to mention you and the mage. Great though I am, not even I would dare to befriend a mage, not even one as young as this. Our magic’s are the complete opposites, chaos occurs when we meet. So you see,” he turned to them all, astonishment tingeing his voice as he finished explaining, “this is most confusing to the monks.”

“This is most confusing to us,” Eric repeated. “This. . .none of it is right. There are no cars here, no monks back home, and we definitely don’t try to kill each other. Only the Islamies and the Iraqui’s or whatever.”

“Nice Eric.” Cat hissed. “Really politically correct.”

“So sue me,” he hissed back, and glanced at Fisiun. “I really doubt he has any idea what I’m talking about.”

“It’s true,” the old man confessed easily, “I do not know these ‘Islamies’ you speak of. They sound intriguing, who are they?”

“People.” Eric said sarcastically, “You know, from Iraq or whatever? Earth?” Fisiun sat up abruptly.

“Oh my.”

“’Oh my’ is never good,” Eric groaned, “Especially not with that expression.” Samantha felt the impending prickle of her spine that meant trouble. The look on Fisiun’s face was not good. It was not even remotely good. Good and it were not neighbors.

“Earth…” he said slowly. “Third planet from…” Cat shared a look with Sam.

“. . .The sun. . .” she finished.

“Oh dear.”

“Just tell us what that means, please.” James said, surprising them all. Cat tilted her head at him, enticing him to say more, but he returned to memorizing the carpet. After a second, she faced the group again, frowning. This was definitely not like him. True, this was scary, and the wings on his back were a shocker, but Cat’s transformation was the most shocking of them all. Of all of them, she should be the most comatose. Cat blinked and tried to pay more attention to Fisiun, although she couldn’t help but think mostly of James.

“-mean to say, is that this planet, we are currently on. . . ” Fisiun hesitated. “Is the third planet from the Sun. . . as well. But I guarantee you, it is not Earth.”

The Abbey of Saint Lucius. Crow Lord was right, it had not taken Ebon very long to find them. All he had to do, was seek the location of the most recently used magic. To do that, he went to see Hetta, the Crone. She was as old as the Crow Lord, if not older, her magic’s just as dark, if not as powerful. She had been weakening as of late, and had taken to being a recluse in the farther hills of Foth, and it took him hours to get there, even as swiftly as he traveled. It was nearly dawn when he slunk from the shadows into her doorway. Her hut was half log, have cliff face, carved into the base of a mountain itself. Even in the event of an avalanche, she had tunnels carved in many directions, a deadly labyrinth for those who wished to steal her most precious of treasures. Or, a tomb for those who wished her harm. Either way, you did not go into her home without an invitation, or a very, very good map. Luckily for him, he had both. He did not tap on the door, she knew him too well for that, but he did wait patiently in the first room, the plainest of them, designed to make people suffer while waiting. There were no chairs, just a dirt floor, no windows or designs, merely wooden walls that barely kept out the draft, the cracks letting in the only light you’d have. At one candle mark until dawn, it was scarce light indeed. His temper began to grow thinner the longer he waited, and at last it completely dissipated, leaving him snarling at the fading evening.

“I come for information, Hetta. . . ” he growled to the darkness, leaning against her farther wall. As he stilled, he could hear her, dragging her lame foot through her rooms to get to him. He could hear her ancient lungs dragging in breath, hear her wheeze as she let it out for more. He could picture her eyes, rheumy and sightless but for her powers of the mind, that could sense magic like a smell or sound in the world. When at last she opened the door, he let out a barking laugh. She was tall, slender, with jet black hair to her waist, dressed in fine furs and cloths that draped her body to an almost snake-like effect. Her eyes were jade, and slitted as a cat’s, and when her lips curled in a smug smile, they were plump and young, asking, no, begging to be touched and kissed.

“You are the mistress of lies,” he hissed, coming out from the wall to meet her. Still, he smiled to show his amusement at her old tricks.

“Ebonei.” she hissed, tilting her head as she watched him stand so calmly before her. “You come to my house to insult me? Rude even for you.” Now he straightened, his eyes flashing at her tone.

“I come on a mission from the Crow Lord, and I insult whom I see fit. It was you who made me wait endlessly for no reason than your own amusement.”

“You don’t insult your master, but you do an old woman,” she laughed, letting it fly into his face with an almost physical force. “How very brave of you.” He let this pass, for the moment, and instead pointed to the door. Very soon, it was going to get boring, and he’d rather have what he wanted now, instead of having to fight her for it later.

“Tell me where the largest concentration of magic was located, and I shall leave you be, Hetta, no more insults.”

“Oh,” she cooed, gliding nearer and slipping her cocoa-brown arms around his robed shoulders. “Why should I want you to leave so soon? Company is scarce this time of year. The winters grow cold.” One eye winked at him. “You could warm me.” He ran his eyes up her arm, then down again, noting the half-lidded gaze she gave him, and the small smile that drifted playfully on her mouth. He inhaled the scent of her, closing his eyes to reconstruct her true self in his mind’s eye. After a moment, he knew her. She smelt of the grave, of old magic, and time. The red glimmer flashed in his eyes as he opened them to see her perfect face mere inches away.

“Winter chills the oldest bones the worst.” he growled, raising his arms to free himself from her eerily strong grasp, shaking off her glamour and subtle spells. “Not even I can stave off the cold hand of death which reaches for you, hag. Do not try to entrap me with your tricks, Hetta. I can smell the afterlife hanging all around you.” Rage flared in her, and her voice grew cold as ice.

“It is not your death I smell, coward,” she laughed, but released him, and gracefully retreated to the inner room. “It is your fear which stinks up my room like a carcass left to rot in the sun.”

“Is it not you?” he snapped, a smile drifting around his mouth. They hadn’t played this game in so very long.

“Northwest of here lies an abbey,” she hissed, turning and snapping with the speed and strength of a cobra. “Go to it, and you shall find what you seek, but beware oh cur of the Crow, for what you find there will bring about your end, and the end of your lord. I have seen it this day as surely as I see you now.”

“I shall keep your dire words in mind, dear crone.” he came forward, running his fingers up her chin to her hair. As he lifted her face upwards, he caught her eyes in his own once more. She waited with her face tilted towards him as the flower turns to the sun, waiting, a breath away. There again, were the spells, more subtle than before, but unmistakable. His lips pulled back into a grin of revulsion, and laughter. “You are as blind as the lake in winter, you simple illusionist.” Howling in rage, she shrank to her true form, her hair falling and fading into a halo of white fuzz, sparse and wispy as smoke. Silken hands turned to claws that beat at him as he turned to leave, chuckling at her frailty.

“Leave my house, you wretched dog, you slave of a beast! Come again, and you shall find naught but your mangy coat covering my floor!” Ebon left her house, his mind bubbling over with laughter and self-satisfaction. They were at the Abbey of Saint Lucius, he would stake money on it. It was the only abbey in that direction, let alone the most well-learned. They would know of the prophecy there, and it was not a far stretch of the imagination to think the monks would spread the word of strangers, igniting hope wherever they could. All races knew of the Crow Lord, and his plans to destroy the outer races. Half the wars that began, were begun to try to rid the world of the humans, to show the Crow Lord that the outer races were stronger, and not to be attacked without reservation. Perhaps, they even wished to eventually erase the humans altogether, leaving him no kingdom to rule. All the wars truly did, were to ignite chaos and separation of people. Like strands of rope, the less that clung together, the easier a strand it was to cut. Ebon grinned as he ran, the land whipping by him as he got closer and closer to the Abbey. This was going to be too easy. He would have to think of a way to make the game last longer, or this was going to be nothing new to him. It would be nice to have a challenge once in a while.

“You came to this world when you were, I’m sorry, repeat that last sentence?”

“-hit by a car.” Cat said patiently. “The crazy green-eyed guy got in our way, we didn’t pay attention to traffic, and when we got hit, we all just blacked out. I think we all heard chanting too, right guys?” Eric and Sam nodded after a moment. Finally James did too.

“Green-eyes.” Fisiun muttered to himself, closing his eyes to think. “Chanting.” He opened one eye. “Can any of you remember what was said?” Sam thought for a moment, but shook her head, just as Cat and James shook their heads too. Eric hesitated, looking very uncomfortable.

“I..think I can.” At this Fisiun raised his eyebrows, surprised. Everyone seemed to be, and even James raised his head to blink at him. He hadn’t mentioned this before now.

“You do?” Cat asked curiously. “What was it?” Their friend coughed, and looked upwards nervously.

“Well, I mean, we were all yelling, so I don’t know how good I’m going to say this, but…it was like…To abeeya daz gone tree e mare gonna hair toof-,” To the girls, it seemed like idiotic nonsense, and they had barely begun to stifle their giggles by the second word. To Fisiun, however, it was the worst sentence anyone could utter.

“Silence!” Fisiun dove across the space between them, clamping his hands over Eric’s mouth. Sam and Cat got to their feet in surprise, as Eric panicked, trying to shove the old man off him. Fisiun’s eyes were white, and wider than any human eye should be.

“Never!” he whispered that was almost a shout. “Never speak that spell aloud again! I was a fool to make you repeat it!”

“What the hell man!” Eric got out of his chair, looking feral, “Don’t ever do that again! What the-”

“That,” said Fisiun, calming down slowly, “Was a mage spell. It explains why none of you can recall the words, but he can.”

“What? Why him?”

“He is a mage,” Fisiun adjusted his robes again, getting up to pace anxiously. By now all but James were standing, so he joined them slowly, straightening with a small wince as his bandages pulled tight. “Do you not- no you couldn’t know, if as you say, your world contains no magic. You have no idea of the rules of this world, the magical laws, the protocols. You are like children here.”

“Okay,” Sam said slowly, “Now that we are all calming down, what was that spell for?”

“It is a traveling spell,” he explained slowly, “But the spell is a dark magic, it feeds off life force and chaos, if you recite the spell without knowing what the components are, you could find yourself dead, or worse.”

“If Eric is a mage. . . ” Cat pointed out. “Couldn’t he learn a spell to get us home? Couldn’t you?” Fisiun paused with his back to them. Sam had that bad-news tingle down her spine once more.

“If I had been the one to bring you, I could do that. But I was not. A spell must be done or undone by the one who first cast it.”

“Then who is that?” Sam asked impatiently. “Do you know?” He shrugged.

“By your story. . . I would say I do know whom to blame for your arrival, and I’m afraid it’s very bad.”

“How bad?” Cat asked quietly. Fisiun turned, and the sorrow on his face shook them all to their cores. The bad feeling turned into a feeling of nausea.

“Very bad. I do not think you will be going home, my children.”

“Yes.” Eric said firmly. “We will be. Who cast it?”

“You mentioned this green-eyed man, tattooes on his skin, and dressed as a hermit or beast man might be clothed?”

“Yes, and insane,” added Cat. “He totally tried to break into the car.”

“The Crow Lord.” said Fisiun distastefully. “He is evil, and mad, quite mad. Honestly I am surprised you are not dead. He kills for pleasure, and you are most lucky, indeed you should thank the Lord, that you are alive and well if he was involved in bringing you here.”

“So, what, he is the only one who can send us back home?”

“Yes.” the cleric said simply. “And I rather think he would kill you before doing that.”

“So what are we supposed to do?” Sam asked, struck dumb by the hopelessness of it. “Can you make him do it?” Fisiun turned with a look of intense surprise, almost laughing.

“I? That is a good joke. He is closer to the devil than any man on this plane of existence. His powers far exceed my own. Why do you think the world harkens to the prophe-” he stopped, and cleared his throat.

“Children, you have but few paths to choose. You may stay here, with the monks, and learn of their ways, you may go out into the world, and try to start a new life together. You could split up, and learn how your race and breed live, and begin anew, or you can stand and howl at the unfairness of life.” He shrugged, and cocked his head. “Or. . .you could kill the Crow Lord. Short of that, you are helpless to do anything else.”

“Terrific.” Eric snapped. “Let’s go kill some satanic caveman so we can go home. Did anyone bring a gun?”

“If he could be killed, they would have done it already,” James said quietly.

“That’s true,” Fisiun agreed. “Although, to be fair, no one has tried.”

“No one?”

“No one has set out to try and kill him.”

“But. . . someone tried.” Fisiun inspected his staff.

“Ah yes, well. . . when he comes to kill you, I’m sure one does one’s best to kill him first, but so far , none have succeeded. Hence, why no one tries to kill him.”

“Wouldn’t want to draw attention to yourself,” Eric finished off, and fell back into his chair. “This utterly sucks.”

“I don’t want to kill anybody,” Sam stated as a matter-of-fact.

“Ah well, you wouldn’t. You are a cleric, as I.” Fisiun came back to their group, and picked his staff up. Evidently he was going to leave. “I want you all to think about it. Choose wisely what you are going to do. In the meantime, I urge you to get used to your abilities and powers.” he glanced at Eric. “If only to respect the monk’s hospitality.”

“Thank you Fisiun,” Cat said automatically, then looked up. “Wait. . . why are you so calm about all this? You act like this is no big surprise, us being here from another world.” He sighed, and stared heavenward for a long moment before giving her a sad smile.

“If I told you, I would take away your freedom of choice, children. You wouldn’t like my answer, and it is nothing worth saying, anyway. Leave it be, that I am wise, and am surprised by nothing these days.” He nodded to them all, and passed through the door without another word, leaving them as confused as they ever were.

“Well that helped,” Eric said finally, breaking the gloomy silence that had fallen like a somber cloud upon them all. “So what are we going to do?” It was a good question, and not one that anyone had a ready answer for.

“I. . . don’t know.” Sam said simply, looking helplessly at Cat. “I just want to go home, but there doesn’t seem to be a way we can.”

“This is nuts.”

“What if we stayed?” Cat mused. They all looked at her quickly, horror on their faces. “What?” she asked quietly. “I mean, okay so we can’t go home, we should face it and start thinking about what to do now. Sam, you didn’t get into USC, you didn’t stay home all summer crying about how much you wanted to go, you applied elsewhere, and there you go. Moving onwards.” Eric stared at her with his mouth open.

“Are you nuts? These people don’t have football, toilet paper, football, toilets for heavens sake, they don’t have toilets.”

“Neither do they have nuclear war, biowarfare, guns, etcetera Eric.”

“Or, you know,” he said desperately, waving his hands towards the girls with awkwardness, “They don’t have, like, womanly things.” Cat stared at him.

“I’m half cat, Eric, I really don’t think Ferani have PMS or menstrual cycles.” Sam almost giggled before remembering the kind of serious situation they were in.

“Think about it Cat. Sam, c’mon. Television. Doctors. Immunizations. Hello, does anyone remember the Black Plague and stuff? That happened in medieval times like this!”

“Lower your voice,” Sam whispered, looking at the door. “We still have to stay here for the time being, and we don’t want to offend the monks, just in case.”

“They have magic,” Cat said triumphantly. She pointed to James next. “Look at him. James, I don’t know what you are feeling, but I am feeling great. You will be able to fly. Hello to you Eric, to fly!” Her voice got more and more excited as she continued talking. She even got to her feet in exuberance. “They do spells, do they have dragons or unicorns? Don’t you want to see? Aren’t you curious at all? This is like, RP come to life!”

“Except your life doesn’t go on the roll of a dice,” Eric pointed out. “And you don’t create a new character when you die.”

“We won’t die if we learn.” she climbed back onto her chair, her tail whipping around excitedly. “James, c’mon, what do you say?” He said nothing. She turned to Sam pleadingly.

“Sam? Come on, think about it, just promise to think about it? Please? If we can’t go back, we can’t go back, crying doesn’t help anything.” Eric put his head in his hands.

“I’m too tired right now Cat, okay? I need to go to sleep. If this is all a bad dream, I’d rather go end it now.” He got up roughly, exiting the room with a slam that hardly made any noise at all in the cavernous space. Sam’s heart hurt seeing Cat so crestfallen, but she was tired too. This had been a mentally exhausting day, and she wasn’t sure if she was thinking straight. Still, she put a hand on her friend’s shoulder as she got up.

“I will think about it Cat, okay? But no more tonight. Let’s all get some sleep, and see how things look in the morning. Afternoon, whatever it is.” Soon, James sat with Cat alone. She stared at her feet, wondering if he found her as off-putting as Sam obviously did. She knew it was hard to see such a drastic change in someone you loved, especially if it was a change you didn’t like, but she loved it. She could reach every scratch easily, she could hear things she never could as a human, she loved being able to purr, and seeing in the dark was the coolest thing ever. She didn’t think anything different of James, except jealousy that he would be able to go where no human had ever gone before.

“I wonder,” said James quietly, startling her. She scooted closer, ears perked towards him.

“Wonder what?”

“What it’s like to fly. . . ” he finished, staring up. Painted on the curved ceiling was a mural of the sky, birds of all types dotting the expanse of blue, along with a few clouds and one or two flying creatures that were too far away and painted too small to identify, even with super-human eyesight.

“I’m sorry you aren’t happy James.” Cat said softly. “I know you wanted to go to that party, and see Elise, and instead now you think you are a freak-” he interrupted her by laughing dryly, almost painfully.

“Party? Elise? That isn’t even important now. You think Elise would date a guy with wings? I’m mad that-” he bit off his words with a curse and got up angrily. “-I was driving, I’m the one that hit the car. You’d all be okay if it wasn’t for me. They’d be home.”

“Well I’m glad I’m not,” Cat retorted. “What was there to look forward to? Years at college learning crap to earn money to pay them back for learning crap. Wow, fun.”

“And now you are a cat.”

“And you are half-canary,” she hissed back playfully. “What a couple we make.” He glanced at her curiously, and she felt herself blush. Thank God her fur hid most of that. “You know what I mean.”

“Cat-”

“You aren’t to blame,” she rushed on, not giving him a chance to say anything. This is what happened when you got caught alone with your crush, you started saying stupid things that totally condemned you to embarrassment. “It was that stupid bird guy, and if I meet him, I’ll eat him for you.” He cracked a smile.

“On a more serious note,” Cat said softly. “You really should stop giving us the cold shoulder. Stop blaming yourself, because it’s just going to eat you up inside.” He ran his hand through his hair briefly, wincing again.

“God that hurts. It’s so weird feeling extensions of things on your back. It’s like having shoulder blades you can flap.”

“Try having a spine you can wag.” she retorted dryly. “Then we can talk.” They laughed for a moment, relieved at the tension that bled away into the floor, leaving them feeling lighter and happier than they had for some time.

“Sam was right, we should go to bed.”

“Will you think about what I said?” Cat asked, heading to the door. He held it open for her, catching her arm at the very last second before she exited. She glanced up, startled at how close he leaned in to speak.

“I’ll think over every last word.” Thank God for fur.

They are here. Ebon sniffed the air and backed into the shade of a fir tree to wait. It was nearly high noon, and he could smell the strangeness all around the grounds. Through the high pebble-stone walls, the rooms that nestled underground, safe and snug like a bird’s eggs, he could smell them. He would wait here, of course, until they exited, which they would, eventually. They could not stay in there forever, hidden.

“Come out, Come out little rabbits,” he grinned toothily, and nestled further into the safety of the leaves and needles. Below him, the faint whispers of singing made his ears curl backwards. Ugh, he hated this Abbey. The bells that tolled would grate on his nerves, but they were only a small annoyance. The greater annoyance was the aura of holiness that emanated from the structure. If it weren’t for that, he would simply burst through and kill everyone inside. It would be a ghost abbey before sunset, if not for that endless chanting prayer the monks kept up day and night inside. It was the most effective barrier against anything he could muster, so uphill he waited for them to emerge, grating his teeth all the while. Time passed, as it always did. His eyelids dropped to half-lidded laziness as the day waned, slumber tugging at them to give up the fight and drop down fully. Eventually he gave in, letting sleep steal him away, only to be rudely awakened half a candle mark later, with the thunderous clamor of hoof beats through the ground into his head. Who dared ride so close whilst he slept? In a foul mood, Ebon got to his feet, searching the valley for the offender, quite prepared to spill some blood. Two white horses, messengers from the King, rapidly approached the abbey, too fast for simple news. No, the way they rode, they carried important tidings. Ebon watched with curiosity. Anything that concerned the King, would be of interest to his master. This mission just seemed to get better and better. With infinite patience, Ebon settled back on his haunches to wait, knowing somehow that the messengers and the strangers were somehow intertwined, and that once he managed to find out how, the information could be used to his greatest benefit. At least the singing had stopped, though he could feel the prayers continue, the aura remaining to taunt him with its solidity. The only way he’d be able to enter that holy place, was by invitation, or with a tonsure. Neither was something he was bound to get anytime soon enough to be of use. Neither would the monks ever be dim-witted enough to offer him sanctuary within their walls. Even if you could not tell what he was at first glance in the daylight, you would know by nightfall, when the moon called to him, and made his blood sing with energy. Bells rang suddenly, assaulting his ears with their hideous melody. Noontime. If they were going to leave, they would have left in the morning hours. He would spend the night here, watching, his eyes glowing like red-hot coals of hell until they finally decided to show themselves. Until then, he began to run his plans through his mind’s eye, reveling in the many different ways he could destroy them for his master. Many new ideas began to pour in, and one in particular stuck out as particularly devious. His master would appreciate its twisted cleverness, and most certainly approve. He felt a shiver of anticipation run through his body as the minutes and hours crawled by. The noontime bells pealed innocently to mark half the day gone. Plenty of time to work out the details of viciousness.

They breakfasted at noon, none of them having had the full night of sleep that every person needs to function perfectly. They had all stayed up past reasonable hours, trying to figure out what their next move was going to be when the sun came back up. It took them all by surprise, the dawn’s light, and they had exhaustedly crawled into their beds, hoping to catch just one or two hours of rest before they were needed. Now they sat at a simple wooden table, surrounded by the monks who cheerfully dined without a care in the world. It was almost too annoying for the sleep-deprived strangers, who yawned and jerked awake through the simple meal of oats and fruit, with fresh-baked bread and freshly-churned butter for their enjoyment. Eric gave Cat a significant look when the monks described the extensive stables and animals they kept for their meals, but wisely kept his comments to himself. Which was just as well, as Cat was feeling particularly grumpy, and consistently flexed her claws under the table to keep her patience. Brother Geld eventually came to them, once they had seemed to have finished their meal. As the plates were taken away, he smiled, and sat across from them, hands folded primly across his stomach in peace.

“I can see you had a hard night, and I am sorry for it.”

“Yeah, it wasn’t the greatest sleep I’ve ever had,” Sam said wearily, circles under her eyes. “The lack of makeup was hard too.”

“Toothpaste hit me the hardest,” James admitted darkly, running his tongue over his teeth. “I may have to help them invent Colgate.”

“Maybe we can do Cover Girl.” Cat snickered. Brother Geld looked up as another brother came to him, whispering urgently in his ear for a long moment.

“I sense yet another surprise in store,” Unsurprisingly, Eric’s comments were dry and sarcastic this morning. His hopes at everything being just a very detailed dream were dashed by the crowing of the head rooster in the farm yard that dawning, soon to be echoed by the lesser rooster males, until a chorus of ‘cock-a-doodle-doo’s had rousted him unwillingly from his bed.

“Indeed,” Brother Geld seemed half a notch less cheerful. “It seems we have had some sad news. The crown Princess of the Imrii throne has gone missing.” James looked up.

“Imrii, like what I am?” Brother Geld nodded, pleased he had remembered, but Cat stiffened slightly.

“Indeed, like you. We have had royal messengers today, and it seems they have been instructed to inform all allied locations, so that if we see her, we may be able to help her home.”

“She just went missing?” Brother Geld shrugged.

“She is gone, that is all we know for now. Saint Lucius guide her home, our prayers are all we can do for her right now.”

“All kinds of craziness happening, it seems.” Cat said quietly, finishing her drink with a quick toss back. “Is there anything we can do to help?” Everyone looked at her as if she had gone nuts.

“I’m not going out there,” Eric said matter-of-factly. “It’s a crazy world, and I am not about to be eaten by a dragon or manticore or anything like that.” Brother Geld began to laugh uproariously.

“Manticore? Young mage, those are long extinct. And as for dragons, they would no sooner eat you than speak to you, those high and mighty creatures barely interact with us, let alone have us for supper.”

“They are real?” Sam asked faintly, the rest of them too stunned to speak.

“Why of course,” Brother Geld chuckled. “As real as you or I.”

“Well, I want to go outside,” Cat said. “How about you Sam?” She really didn’t want to, but the earnest, pleading look on her friend’s face said too much, so she nodded, her heart sinking. Every minute she acted as though this were permanent, the more it seemed to get that way. She just wanted to go home.

“Excellent. I do not think you will find the Princess so close to our Abbey, but a jaunt outside would do you well, clear your heads and bring some color back to your cheeks.” It wasn’t color they wanted, but sleep. Still, Eric was next to volunteer, albeit grumpily, and finally James did as well, not wanting to be the only one inside with all the chanting monks.

Ebon blinked with surprise as the doors of the Abbey opened. Already? What could bring them out so soon, and yet so late in the day? He flattened to the ground so as to be invisible, watching curiously as a handful of monks and four others ventured from the safety of the sanctified place. It was them! He could feel the blast of their magical difference, just as he could feel the wind ruffling his fur across his body. There was one, what was she? He narrowed his eyes, willing his eyesight to be keener. There, he could see perfectly now, her black fur and spots, a Ferani! He curled his lip upwards. He was even more of an enemy to the Ferani than the Imrii were. Speaking of Imrii, there can one now, his wings bandaged to his body as best they could manage. His hair was short and light brown, not at all like the usual Imrii. Behind him came a mage, his power striking a twin core inside Ebon. Why had the brethren let him inside? His hair was darker than the other male, and he moved without grace, tired and paranoid. He would be difficult as a target, as his magic must be powerful. Ebon was about to get up, when the last stranger followed, the doors of the abbey ponderously swinging shut behind her. Ebon’s eyes widened. A cleric! Was his master mad? Yes, Ebon snorted, of course he was. But this was truly unhinged, to have a cleric in a group of such diverse beings, and plan to kill them with her present. Ebon flattened himself once more, watching as they surveyed their surroundings. In particular, he watched her. The group split up into halves, the fat monks accompanying the Ferani and the Imrii, whilst one brother walked with the mage and cleric in the opposite direction. Ebon sat back, stunned. This was very confusing. The four of them should have killed each other by now, not walked peacefully with the Lucius brethren. At the very least, the mage and cleric should be dealing death blows. Instead one laughed at what the other said, her voice carried easily on the helpful wind. What manner of madness was this? Ebon tilted his head, unsure of what to think. Perhaps…as strangers, they did not know the roles they played, the powers they were now due. If the cleric and mage did not know each other, perhaps they did not know their own selves, in which case…Too easy. Ebon’s lips curled in revulsion. Killing them outright was going to be child’s play, the Crow Lord was right about that. He would need to do something else to draw this out, make this interesting enough to suit his master’s desire. From far away, the girl was speaking, and Ebon craned his neck to see.

“It’s actually very beautiful.” Samantha said grudgingly, stooping to pet a small outgrowth of tiny pink flowers, red blossoms in the very center, with blue leaves and thorns.

“We call that Dracling Breath,” Brother Geld pointed out helpfully, “It is useful for calming painful cough, and when thrown into the fire, it makes the flames burn blue for some time.” Eric looked at the tiny blossoms again, new interest appearing on his face.

“Really? That’s pretty cool.” Brother Geld nodded, pleased that he had finally found something to talk about with the sullen mage.

“We have many useful flowers around our grounds, since we use them so often. Sometimes it’s quite a trek to find them, however. There is a small patch of Lady Lace farther up the mountain, useful for burns, but it grows smaller each winter. We think the rabbits feed on it more as their families grow.”

“Have you ever thought of maybe building a greenhouse or something, to keep pots of plants you need?” Sam said suddenly, “It would keep them safe and nearby at least.”

“No, we’ve never thought of that,” the monk said thoughtfully, coming to an abrupt stop. “What would we need, do you think?” Sam blinked, at a loss. Surprisingly it was Eric to came to the rescue.

“Glass,” he suggested, “Panels of glass for the walls, but build it somewhere it won’t get accidentally broken, somewhere safe. The glass will trap heat inside, using the sun-”

“And winter won’t kill the plants.” Brother Geld seemed very excited. “I shall tell my brothers right away! Stay on this path, I shall return in one moment!”

“Well that was brief,” Eric chuckled, watching the fat man hurry as best he could back into the Abbey, unaware that far off, a black shadow had begun to come down the hill. “Seems like we are going to rock their world.”

“That reminds me,” Sam asked softly, keeping her eyes on the ground as they walked. Her boots, real leather and fur, hardly made any sound as she passed over the pebbles and grass. Their costumes had worked out so well, they adopted them as real clothing, since here, they were indeed. Eric had traded his tennis shoes for boots as well, and the pair made more sound breathing than they did walking. “Are you staying?”

“What choice do we have?” Eric breathed out, running a hand through his hair simultaneously, trying to keep a lid on his temper. “I mean, apparently this is all real, so, what are we going to do about it?” The day was growing hot, but the sun did not beat down on them brutally, as it might have in the city they were used to. Sam debated whether it was because of the incoming winter, or the fact that their ozone layer must be virtually untouched and perfectly maintained here, where aerosol and other chemicals were as of yet undiscovered. They never would be discovered, she reasoned with a shock, if magic was something used every day. What was magic used for here? She glanced at her hands, aware that as a cleric, she was supposedly capable of magic, but not quite sure how that was supposed to work. Did she say bibbity boppity boo like Eric had mockingly chanted last night? Did she wave her hands around?

“Penny for your thoughts? Or whatever they use for money around here? Maybe they barter?” Eric muttered, kicking a rock into one of the random tufts of grass that populated the walkway.

“I don’t really want to stay here with the monks,” Sam admitted. “They are nice and all, but what will we do? Pray?”

“What else do we do? Separate?”

“No.” Sam said flatly. “I refuse. You guys are all I have in this place, and I am not leaving any of you, I don’t care what they say about us all fighting or whatever.” They both fell silent, having not much else to say at the moment. The walls of the Abbey had grown high, the soft pink stone seeming to glow in the bright sunlight. Sam reached out a hand to brush along the rock, and found it cool to the touch , but not chilly, the rock seemed alive and breathing, and she snatched her hand back, slightly uneasy.

“I wish I knew what was going on.” She whispered.

“I could tell you.” Eric and Sam both jerked around at the low growl, Sam letting out a small gasp at the man who had simply appeared behind them, half-hidden in one of the corners of the building that formed a pillar. He was crouching, almost as if he was more comfortable on the ground than upright, and he looked like one of the men you cross the street to be away from. Sam involuntarily took a step back, feeling ill for some reason.

“Who are you?” Eric asked cautiously, a hand creeping to Sam’s back, protective. He stood slowly, uncurling it seemed, dressed in black leather and fur the color of charcoal, a long black cloak keeping most of his body hidden. His skin was not pink or white, but a sort of ashen grey , even in the sunlight that poured cheerfully around them. It didn’t seem to touch him, seemed to slide off his shoulders into the grass he moved through without any sound whatsoever.

“My name,” he hissed lightly, “-is of no concern. But I know why it is you here.”

“Who are you?” Sam repeated, a hand on her stomach. “You just popped out of nowhere.”

“If you wish to know your purpose, I suggest you ask the monks about the prophecy.” With that, he took a step back, his unsettling black eyes staring a hole through them.

“Hold on, what prophecy?” Eric asked, but the stranger was gone, vanished around the corner without a sound or trace of where he could have disappeared to.

“What the hell just happened?” To hear Sam curse was too much oddness in one day, Eric had to laugh.

“It’s like we are in a movie,” he commented, walking her back to the opening of the Abbey. “Only, we didn’t get to read the summary before renting it.”

“What happened?” Cat and the other monks came around the other corner, James following with a thoughtful expression on his face. They hadn’t seen any trace of the Imrii princess, which was no surprise given how many locations she might be at. There was an entire world to be searched, apparently.

“We had a visit.” Eric said calmly. “Some guy in black popped in to tell us we should ask about some prophecy.”

“He said it was why we were here.” The entire group of monks shared a look of worry, too fast for anyone to see, unless you were waiting for it, which Eric was.

“Ahh.” he sighed, giving his own look to Sam and the others. “It seems there’s something we don’t know.”

Give me reasons to watch your soul

Flutter so gently above me

Sighing your heart beats

Alone with me

Show me how you mean to love me

Sighing your heart beats

Alone

And Alone

Sighing

Ebon woke with a start, the last flute-like notes of the silky voice fading with his dreams. The last time he had that dream, the one with the sylph, it had been the beginning of summer. It was always the same, the same sad song, and the same sad sylph with white skin that sank into the depths of the lake, never to rise. It was fitting, such a sad ending to such a sad song. He yawned. It bored him to tears. Whatever being put those dreams into his head, was wasting it’s time. Since he was thinking of time. . . he raised his head, ears perked for any sound that might betray a watcher, but found nothing of consequence. It was midnight, or very close to it. His eyes found the moon, reveling in the silence that allowed him to commune with it, his mother and his lover all in one glowing orb. His eyes flashed red as he gazed into its pocked face, soaking in its power, though it was only a quarter moon, not full, and not as beautiful, but still wonderful. A stick snapped, far away, but it was enough of a noise to rouse him completely. Something was out there, unaware of his presence, sneaking through the woods. Hands flexed in the dirt, and curled into paws, fur rippled across him, and without a sound, he oozed through the night to catch sight of who was out this late. In the dark, his eyes were at their best, but it was the wind’s helpful touch that brought him the scent of one who made his lip curl back. Ferani. Still, it was one of the strangers, a perfect opportunity to kill was available, and he was loathe to ignore it. Silently he crept closer, flattening when he felt his quarry pause to scent the air. What was she doing out here so late? Didn’t she know the dangers of the world? Weren’t the brethren watching her? No matter. It would be over soon enough when he-,

Snap.

Ebon flattened, cursing his inattention with loud blasts in his mind. How could he have been so careless!? Never in all his years had he been caught by surprise, but here he was, pressed to the ground, watching as a mere mortal brigand snuck up on HIS prey. The stupidity! He had been wasting his attention on questions about her, and now he paid for it by being shown as a fool. He could kill them both, but anger at not hearing the other, simmered inside him like a boiling brew. Flattening his ears in a slightly pouting way, he waited to see what turn of events were in store. Cat moved effortlessly through the tree’s, enjoying the silence of the night, the fresh air that sang through her lungs as she breathed, and the ease with which she could claw her way to the top of the tree, and balance in the tops like a bird, swaying slightly with the branch. This was surely heaven, she thought, as the wind rustled the leaves and the grass. To hear it all, to see the starts sparkling above her so clearly, so much easier than she ever would in her own world, filled her with an exhilaration and an eagerness to see more, to know more about this strange and new place. Turning, she dropped gracefully to the bottom branches, ready for another tree, when a sound to her left startled her. Immediately she stilled, blending into the dark tree trunk perfectly, her eyes flickering in the direction of the unnatural sound. She had been sure that she was the only one out, she had snuck past the monks and the others with such ease. They had all been angry, since mentioning the ‘prophecy’ that strange guy had told them about, the monks and Fisiun avoided their eyes, and refused to speak about it. Eric had gotten mad, and Sam had gotten quiet. James had decided to wait until the monks decided to tell them what was going on. Cat had decided to sneak out. She needed some time outside of the Abbey, time to see what it was she was capable of now. Right now, she seemed capable of seeing in the dark, so it was only a matter of seconds until she caught sight of the man hidden in the bush to her far left. Her ears twitched. He wore the scent of animals and leaves, she almost hadn’t known he was there by scent. It was the glint of the daggers in his hands that gave him away, even muted by the dirt on them, she could see the faint glimmer of steel, and taste the element on her tongue like a bitter flavor. She began to back up, ready to dart back up the tree, but he came fast, blades whipping out so violently she paused in startled surprise, wasting time by gasping before instinct told her to run. Another instinct she hadn’t ever felt before, told her to turn and fight, and it made her actions slow, her body confused. Not knowing what to do, she made an easy target for her assailant, who was not slow to take advantage of her naivety. A swipe came at her neck, and she jerked away, but just barely in time to avoid it. Another came, faster, and she wasn’t fast enough this time, feeling the cold stinging of the blade cut through her hide like butter. She cried out, more yowl than human shout, and fell back, clutching her neck desperately, more afraid now than she had ever been in her life.

“Your pelt will make a nice hanging on my wall!” the brigand hissed, coming in for another strike. Ebon moved, fury rushing through his veins. How dare this pathetic mortal think he could take his prey? HIS prey? Like a demon from hell, he came from the darkness, barreling into the mortal with the full force of his rage, eyes red as rubies, glowing with a hateful flame. They tumbled faster than the eye could see, the brigand throwing all caution to the wind as he shouted at the thing which came so suddenly onto him, yelling out in fury as Ebon’s teeth found his arm. Ebon fought like a crazed thing, furious that he had missed the honor of the first wound on his victims. Once the taste of blood exploded into his mouth, he lost his mind to the pleasure of it, the intense joy he had almost forgotten when he killed someone. His muted growls grew louder as they fought, and even louder as the brigand managed to score a shallow cut on Ebon’s face. That was quite enough, as far as he was concerned. Tearing into the man full force, he tore out his throat, spitting the lifeless meat onto the forest floor with disgust, and wiping his muzzle clean on the front of his victims jerkin before backing off. His heart thundered in his chest with intense elation at the encounter. That had been fun. When at last he calmed, his fur had smoothed again to its normal state, only then did he remember Cat, and turned suddenly to find her. She had taken to the tree during the fight, short as it had been, and huddled in the upper branches, shaking in both shock and nausea. Her senses that she had been so glad about mere minutes ago, were now the worst things she could possibly have. She could smell the blood as if it were inches away, taste it in the air, and she heard the precise moment when his heart stopped beating. She shook, clutching the branch so tightly, she heard the wood creak under her claws. And now the beast was looking up at her, its red eyes pulsing, with what, she didn’t know. It had saved her, but what was its purpose? It took a step nearer, and she tensed, ready to climb higher if need be. Below, Ebon hesitated. It would be so easy right now, his blood pumping with furious force and energy, his paws itching to tear and rend again. How badly he wanted to go bounding up the tree, watch her eyes go wide in terror as she realized she had no escape, break her delicate head open, and watch her blood fall from high, to drip onto the grass. His plan, though…his masters wishes were to draw it out, make it amusing for him. Gathering his willpower, Ebon slowly turned away, making sure she could see him leave. Next time she met him, he would make sure they did, she would see him as a protector, or better still, a friend. The irony made him grin despite the blood that seeped from the jagged cut. A little flesh wound was nothing compared to what he endured when the Ranger’s were close on his trail, and it had been well worth it to kill the mortal. He would be relishing that taste until the dawn’s light pierced the sky again. Far enough from the Ferani maiden that he was sure she could not see, or hear, he took up his same spot to watch the Abbey, wondering if the monks had told them anything yet about the prophecy. It was crucial they not be told much, which he doubted they would. The Lucius brethren held no store by folktale prophecy’s, and that fool cleric Fisiun, if he was still there, would believe that telling them of it, would negate it. Ebon smiled in the darkness. Humans. Too predictable.

“Are you kidding?” Sam whispered. “A wolf just up and killed some guy?” Cat nodded, still frazzled by the events of the previous night. Another simple breakfast, but this time, all were well-rested, with the exception of Cat.

“I still can’t believe you snuck out,” James said quietly, breaking his bread roll in half. “By yourself, it isn’t exactly. . .safe.”

“I think she gets that now,” Eric whispered, half-smiling to himself.

“I’d like to know what a wolf was doing playing Lassie,” Sam grumbled. “It sounds too weird.”

“And it just. . . walked off?” Cat nodded at James, nibbling tentatively at what the monks called a ‘meat pie’. She was of the opinion that the only thing pies should be made of was lime, pecans or apples, but Eric had dared her, so here she was, hoping it didn’t taste like it sounded.

“It looked at me, then left. Deliberately, if that makes sense. This isn’t so bad, Eric.”

“Try haggis next time,” he said with a smile, finishing off his own meat pie. They ate in silence mostly, except for playful banter between Cat and Eric about the edibility of certain foods. No one wanted to address the fact that Cat had almost died in the woods, nor the fact that Fisiun had mysteriously disappeared once they had started asking him about prophecy’s.

“This is going to sound stupid,” Eric said suddenly, throwing them off for a moment, “But what if we go and maybe barter our way back home?”

“With whom?” Cat asked suspiciously, “Evil crazy bird man?”

“Think about it,” Eric suggested. “We have a lot of knowledge of science and stuff, well, more than they do,” he amended hastily, seeing the dubious looks on the girl’s faces at his statement. “Maybe we could go up to him and offer him a trade. He sends up back home, we give him the secret to electricity or something.”

“Eric,” Sam remembered, “You threw a fireball at the wall simply by making a sound. If he has more of that magic, what would he want with science?” It made sense, and almost completely killed his entire proposition. They went back to eating until he spoke again.

“Okay, good point, but what about something he can’t do?”

“Like?” Cat asked, frowning. Eric fell silent again, stumped. “That’s what I thought. Give it up Eric, it’s just not going to happen.”

“You don’t want it to,” he accused. “Almost killed, and you still want to stay.” Sam shared a weary glance with James. Here they went again, the two strongest supporters for both sides.

“I didn’t say that,” Cat said sharply, beginning to bristle, “I’m simply pointing out that until you have a really good way to avoid us getting slaughtered by some evil magician, perhaps we shouldn’t go find him.”

“If you have anything better to add, maybe you could enlighten us!” Eric snapped back.

“Guys!” Sam cut in, holding up hands to ward off their next heated words. “Please, can we not fight like this? I’m so tired of the arguments over going or staying. Eric we all want to go home, seriously, but Cat is right, its too dangerous to just go to the guy hoping that if we ask nicely he will send us home. Maybe if we find out more about him, or more about magic, we could figure out better plans, okay?” Cat picked up her plate.

“Excuse me. I need some air.” Sam watched her friend leave, and rolled her gaze to Eric, frowning. He tapped his cup angrily, glaring back at her.

“What Sam? What do you want to say now?”

“A lot,” she said icily. “But I won’t.”

“Good.” Beside Eric, James picked up his own plate to take back to the kitchens.

“I am going to go try getting information out of Fisiun again…if he can be found. Both of you are right, we aren’t getting anywhere just sitting here, so if I can’t find him. . . ” he shrugged. “I’ll hit the library after that.”

“Good luck,” Sam called after him, then sighed, her hand going to her forehead. She was getting a splitting headache, the kind that started behind your eyes and spread to your temples. The kind that no amount of aspirin could abate, no matter if you took two, four or the whole bottle. “I need coffee.”

“No coffee here, sorry,” Eric muttered. “But maybe you could magic up some.”

“I’ve been thinking about that,” Sam confessed, “About learning some magic, I mean. After what Cat said happened, I wonder if it wouldn’t be best if we tried to learn something , you know? In case.”

“I thought about that too, but. . . ” he leaned in closer, “I’m almost afraid too. You are a good cleric.” He pointed to himself with an expression of helplessness, “I, however, am an evil mage, so I doubt anyone around here would know my type of magic, let alone want to teach it to me. And since all mages are evil, that doesn’t bode well for the kind of teacher I’d get.” Sam laughed lightly. He was right. The monks were treating him well, since he didn’t do anything evil, but they did treat him more carefully, and she doubted they would point him towards a nice mage, if any mages were nice, according to Fisiun’s opinion. Somehow, she doubted that there were many nice evil mages. Could there be? What made you an evil mage? Was it the mage part, or did being evil make you a mage? Would Eric become evil, since he was a mage? Sam’s headache got worse trying to figure it all out.

“Well,” Eric got up, a half-smile on his face. “I’m off.”

“What are you going to do?” He sighed and rolled his eyes.

“Find Cat. After that, try to find Fisiun and James, and after that…probably hit the library too.”

“Oh what fun we shall have!” She picked up her plate as well, since she had long since lost her appetite, and she hated to eat alone. “I think I’m going to try and rig a bath. I need one.” Eric made a face.

“We all do!” They parted laughing, Sam going to see Brother Geld, Eric going in the opposite direction to find Cat. She couldn’t be found in her room, or the library, so he ventured outside, scanning the bright horizon until he spotted her dark form sitting out in the fields, perched on a rock with her back facing him. He sighed and prepared to apologize, picking his way across the carefully weeded rows of tomatoes and carrots, trying not to step on tomorrows lunch. When he finally reached her, he knew she had long since heard him coming. Ah well, he hadn’t thought he could sneak up on her anyway.

“May I join you?”

“It’s a free field.” He sat carefully (it was a sharp rock) and gazed out at the rest of the field. Half of it was corn, which swayed gently in the breeze, the leaves and heads reaching tall, nearly taller than the monks who worked them.

“Cat,” he began, “I am sorry.” He had meant it to be a long speech, but decided at the last moment, that a simple statement would suffice. “I don’t mean to get grumpy.”

“I know,” she said, and left it at that, her tail twitching restlessly behind her.

“Now, if I touch that,” he asked suddenly, his old grin back. “Will you claw me?” She leaned back to look at him laconically, her own smile sneaking back into place.

“It isn’t a private body part, Eric, go ahead, but it’ll freak you out.”

“Hey, I was just making sure, okay? I don’t want to be grabbing something I shouldn’t.” Laughter bubbled out of her.

“It’s fine.” He stroked her tail tentatively, then became bolder when he got used to how it seemed to have a mind of its own.

“Your right,” he said, finally waving his hands in the air, “I am creeped out!” Midday bells rang out, causing them to groan.

“Those bells,” Eric complained, “Drive me crazy.”

“I liked them at first, but they do get annoying after too much.”

“Now that we are civil again,” Eric slid off the rock, wincing at the dent in his butt, but fighting the urge to rub it better, and offered her a hand down. “Would you like to accompany me to finding Fisiun?”

“Ha,” she slid off easily, but accepted his hand, “That’ll be fun. I’ll sniff him out.”

“Ok.” he said, making a face. “That was an odd mental picture.” From atop the hill, Ebon watched them head back inside, cursing. When would they leave? He would have to make them, wouldn’t he? Growling, he stretched and began to think of a way to draw them out into the open. It would need to be something the monks couldn’t be suspicious of, nor something that would get him too close to the Abbey. Those cursed bells and chanting kept him just outside the walls. Too long near them and he felt weaker. Never a pleasant experience, but disappointing his master was sure to be worse. He recalled one experience he would not forget, when he has displeased the Crow Lord. The mage had him chained to a wall for two weeks without food or water. At night, he was forced to eat the locusts and grubs that came out to feed on the lichen on the cliff rocks. By day he endured the sun overhead, with periodic visits from the Crow Lord. He would use magic to peel the hide from Ebon, one inch at a time every minute until he got bored, leaving the slave to fend against predators by himself. At the memories, Ebon’s hackles rose as the ever-present rage rose to the top of his mind, filling him with the desire to kill. He watched the two strangers enter the Abbey, and flexed his claws in anticipation. He would return, after he had found something to kill. At that, a thought sparked, and he glanced at the monks tilling the field. If they would not come out willingly, he would make them come, one way or another. He had hoped to fake friendship, but if that did not come to pass soon, he would simply lay siege to the Abbey until they came out for themselves. He was getting very, very impatient, and it made him furious to be the one waiting in the dirt and bushes for quarry. They would come out tonight by choice, or by force, this he promised them.

“Fisiun, enough.” James said calmly, blocking the door with an arm so the cleric could not slip by. The elderly magic-user stepped back in defeat, his eyes glaring with a slight touch of resentment of this treatment. “I have been tracking you down all day, and you won’t get away so easily today. We want answers.”

“I cannot tell you what you want to know.”

“Why not?” Cat asked, slipping up behind her friend, Eric peering over the arc of James’ wing curiously.

“Ah, you got him. Where’s Sam?”

“Taking a bath I think.” James let them in, and folded his arms as he kept his eyes on the old man. “So spill it Fisiun. What’s this about a prophecy, and why does it have anything to do with why we are here?” The cleric made a face, shifting his staff from one hand to the other in agitation.

“I do not believe that telling you would be wise…”

“Consider us very stupid,” Eric quipped, leaning against the wall. “But a guy in black popped up to tell us to ask, and it all seems important, so. . . ” he made a small wave of his hand for the cleric to go ahead. Fisiun sighed in defeat, and sank down into the only chair in the room. They had caught him in, of all places, the prayer room, where most monks knelt for their devotions before meals. There was but one chair, and he had taken it, so the rest stood around him, waiting. Patient, but waiting determinedly nonetheless.

“There is a prophecy,” he said slowly, “That speaks of strangers coming to our world, and defeating the Crow Lord.” After a moment, they blinked.

“Is that it?” Fisiun nodded.

“Generally, yes. There are a few cryptic lines about changing the world, and uniting clans, but the basic summarization of the prophecy is that strangers shall defeat him.”

“That. . . makes no sense,” Eric said, confused. “If he was the one who brought us here. . .”

“It is very puzzling,” Fisiun admitted, “He has a very extensive knowledge of the prophecy, so it is strange he would instigate the beginning of his own downfall, but that is assuredly why you are here.”

“Why hide this prophecy thing?” James frowned. “I don’t believe in them. People give prophecy’s their power trying to fulfill them or cancel them.”

“Which is why I tried not to tell you,” the cleric said dryly. “I did not want to tamper with the destinies you possess.”

“Oh good Lord.” Eric clamped a hand over his eyes and slumped against the wall with disbelief. “I don’t even have a savings account, and now I have a destiny. Whatever next?”

“So, we are supposed to destroy this evil mage, and because of the prophecy, he brought us here?”

“Perhaps he intends to kill you.” Fisiun offered helpfully. “It would be in his best interest to do it while you are disoriented and confused about this place.” They all stared at him in varying stages of incredulity.

“Oh, well ok.” Cat said, looking at Eric. “I guess that makes sense, what the hell?”

“So,” James sputtered. “You think he brought us here to kill us? Why isn’t he here then? Is it safer here?”

“Well, yes it is safer, but,” Fisiun glanced at Cat uncertainly. “Perhaps he has already tried to start.” Cat’s eyes widened perceptibly.

“Oh my God. You mean that was him outside?” Fisiun chuckled.

“Oh no dear child, he wouldn’t be killed so easily, no. That could have been a henchman, checking to see how powerful you are. Remember, he doesn’t know how much you know yet.”

“Okay.” James began to pace randomly as the others stared at him. “What do you suggest?” Fisiun watched him, and finally placed the staff in his path, halting the nervous boy.

“Firstly, stop acting in fright. It only helps him. Secondly, you have two options. You may stay here in hiding, and never step foot outside the holy, safe grounds, or you may split up, making it harder for him, and go to your own races, to become powerful. If you are indeed the ones that will defeat him, then you will do so.”

“And if we aren’t these chosen ones?” Eric asked from the wall, his hand back over his eyes as if to shut out the madness. “What then?” Fisiun blinked.

“Well. . . the third option is that perhaps, you die. But wouldn’t you rather be optimistic?” Eric glanced at the man with a suspicious glare.

“Are you developing a sense of humor? Cause you aren’t being funny right now, cleric man.”

“These are our lives you are talking about,” James said stiffly. The cleric drew himself up to his full height, which turned out to be considerably taller than the rest of them. His eyes lost their genial fogginess, and his voice turned as sharp as ice.

“Then I suggest,” he said firmly, “That you start taking control of what is yours. If you do not make a decision soon, others will make it for you.”

The Crow Lord stepped into the black cave, shivering slightly as goose bumps ran over his skin. Thick, billowing clouds of smoke shrouded the entire opening in eerie mystery, but his steps did not falter as he followed the smooth path to the natural spring that fed into a pool here, the underbelly of his domain. The water appeared like a misty sheet of glass, its depths unknown from a mere glance, steam roiling off its surface as if it were alive and waiting for a victim to consume. This place pleased him to no end. He placed one foot in, sighing in pleasure as the water caressed his flesh, though it burnt like flame. Naked but for his grisly necklace, ever present around his neck, he crouched and sat, searching the water for signs of life. Finally, with one easy push he slid the rest of the way into its arms like a lover returning, and leaned against the pearly-smooth sides as he let the heat do it work upon his knotted muscles.

“My lord.” He barely opened an eye at the voice, instead settling deeper into his relaxing world. There was nothing for him to fear here, nothing that could surprise him or touch him if he did not will it to be so. The creature that rose from the water did not frighten him, though he did roll his eyes madly at the sight of her burning red eyes. Sylphs sang usually, but this one did not, her voice as icy as the water was hot. When she spoke to him, it was with barely veiled loathing, something the Crow Lord was very used to these days.

“My Lord, the Nimbi have come questioning their reward in this scheme of yours.”

“Scheme? Have respect. You speak to the future Lord Of Worlds.” Her blue-veined lips pursed tightly. Beautiful to hear, the sylphs were not easy upon the eyes, in fact they were considered monsters by the majority of all species in the world. Their hair was not hair, as most mortals were born with. Seaweed covered their heads in scraggly clumps, clinging to their shoulders and spreading out into the water like the floating dead. Their skin was scaly and covered in lichen, often spotted by nicks and cuts they inflicted upon each other when battling for prime fishing rights. Her lips were green and pouty, but they curled into a less than sultry twist of contempt as he spoke down to her.

“My apologies,” she spat, no true meaning behind the bare request for forgiveness. The Lord of Crows made a motion for her to continue, which she did after the smallest of pauses to collect herself. When she did speak again, it was with a dead monotone, displaying her displeasure at the duty she was forced to enact. “The northern sylphs report that the Imrii are devastated from the loss of their princess. They search far and wide, sending more and more warriors to seek her out and bring her home.” Crow Lord chuckled to himself at the stupidity of the other races, and motioned for her to keep going. “The western sylphs report that the dragons remain immobile. They do not wish to interfere, and cannot be bothered to respond to the other races pleas for aid against the humans.”

“Wonderful,” he nodded, “More.” She hesitated, her long webbed fingers curling and uncurling under the water, betraying her true feelings.

“I want to know of my son. . .”

“When I feel like telling you of him, I will do so,” he said with amusement, his eyes falling to half-slits as he glared at her. “But I do not feel like it.” She nearly hissed in anger, her gills flaring out with her sudden rage at her similarly sudden dismissal. This was not the bargain she had struck with him, so long ago. She began to look even uglier, her brow drawing back to reveal her eyes growing larger, blacker with pinpoints of ruby drops like blood in the centers.

“You will tell me of my son!” she shrieked, her voice going shrill and too high-pitched to be heard normally. “You made a bargain with me, and you will uphold it!”

“You will not tell me what to do, slave!” Crow Lord got to his feet, water streaming off his body, clumsily dragging himself through the heavy resistance to grab her by the throat. Dark energies came to him, curled around them both, up his arm to caress her face. Her eyes widened as her skin turned a pale shade of grey. Webbed hands fought his to release his grip so she could breathe, but her slimy, soft fingers could no more hurt him than a bread roll could harm a knife. Furiously she fought, her hands scrabbling against his own uselessly, while he squeezed ever tighter, his teeth gritted as he watched her squirm. Finally he threw her aside with a snarl, the water splashing across the floor in a long arc.

“You will NOT tell me what to do!” he snapped again, panting from the force of his rage. She ducked under the water, disappearing from his power as effectively as a candle may be snuffed in darkness. The Crow Lord clenched his fists, eyes blazing madly, and took many deep breaths. He needed her, needed to hear the reports, needed to have her linked with all the sylphs, to give him the upper edge over the pitiful beasts in the land.

“Daneia. . .” he crooned, sweeping his hands gently through the water, skimming the skin of the water with his bare palms, back and forth as if seeking her form. “You should know better than to speak to me in such a way.” There was no response from the water, or her, and Crow Lord took another step into the depths, his hands spreading outward across the rippling pool. “Finish your report, and I will tell you of your son,” he sang calmly, laughing as the bones around his neck clattered as if in jest with him. “I will tell you of Ebonei.” The sylph at last came up again, her eyes remaining halfway under water, glaring with the burning hatred of seven hundred years of age. Finally, her head and shoulders cleared the water, the streaming drops making the only sound in the dank cavern.

“He lives, then.” she hissed softly. Reaching out, he took her face by her chin, lifting it to meet his own eerie gaze.

“My reports. . .,” he snapped clearly. “Now.”

All night Sam had tossed and turned, unknowingly copying the rest of her friends, all losing sleep pondering what they were supposed to do. Finally, she couldn’t take it anymore, and pulled on a long robe the monks had gifted her with, padding through the empty halls with bare feet on sandy floor, silent. She paused at the library, but continued on, not wanting to make any noise, or light any torches to alert the others. Her heart pounding at the insanity of what she was going to do, she took a breath and pushed the small garden door open, spilling moonlight inside the hall for one brilliantly white moment. Then, she was outside, the cool night air chilling her legs and hands. She pulled the robe ends tighter around herself , and shivered slightly. Aside from the moon, there was no light to speak of, simply white, wan light that touched the tips of everything with an almost ghostly glow. She scanned the horizon, scanned the forest line for any sign of movement, but she saw none. Then, like an imperceptible kiss of air, a breath on her neck, she spun around, heart hammering in her chest. Yes, he was there. The same man who had made them ask about the prophecy. He stood in the darkest of shadows, barely visible several feet away, watching her with unseen glee. One of them had come out! True, it was the cleric female, and for that he snarled inwardly. Better to deal with her first, get her out of the way, then deal with the others to avoid trouble. He uncurled from his spot behind her, watching her as she took a step back from him in fear. Her eyes were tracking him endlessly, and he could tell that at any moment she was getting ready to run if he made the slightest move that she didn’t like.

“You. . .” she croaked, and cleared her throat, straightening boldly. “You knew about the prophecy, and it’s the only reason I’m out here right now.” He tilted his head, cocked it to one side as he considered what to do with her. Kill her now? Take her to the Crow Lord, or let her go back inside safely? He continued to stare at her until he decided for sure. For a moment, he took time to look at her as a mortal. Her hair was long, unkempt by tossing and turning, her eyes were wide to see, and her face was perfectly angular, like the elves. His eyes wandered to her body, pausing for half a moment to wonder what was under the robe. Then he felt her heart pounding in fear, and his lips fought to curl back from his teeth as he recognized prey.

“Why aren’t you afraid?” he growled quietly, almost gently. She shook her head in the slightest of shakes.

“I am afraid. But you know more than anyone is letting on. So I thought. . .”

“Thought what?” he hissed, coming closer, very slowly. She was like a rabbit, he thought with amusement. Heart going so fast it was almost a hum, frozen with fear, but staying motionless nevertheless. With one small effort, he could snap her neck before she even knew he had moved. She could be dead within seconds, if not for the fact that it was just too easy for him to do. “You thought what?” he asked a little more gently, reigning in his most primal tendencies. “That I would help?”

“That was my hope,” she said bravely. “What else do you know?” Ebon considered his options again, weighing them against each other for as long as he dared to leave her in silence.

“I know you are strangers from another world,” he said slowly, “And you want to get back home. I also know, how to do accomplish that for you.” Sam’s heart leapt into her throat as the sudden hope flaring in her chest threatened to consume her fully.

“Oh my god, you do? How? How do we get home? Is there a way for Cat and James to change back?” He held up a hand to halt her questioning, shaking his head.

“There is only one person who can answer those questions,” he replied after a moment, judging how long to wait before continuing. She hung on every word that came out of his mouth, eyes fixed upon his. Trying not to laugh at how innocent and naïve she was to believe him, he turned away.

“You must kill the Crow Lord,” he hissed, feeling her recoil. “It is the only way. He seeks to murder you, and he will succeed very soon if you do not split up and join the other races to learn your magics and skills to defeat him.”

“We can’t kill,” she said with growing horror, “It isn’t right.”

“Then you will die, he said easily, glancing back at her with displeasure. “Tonight someone will die, and every night from then on, until you leave this place. I would gladly guide you to the other races, and ultimately to him, but not until you are ready to face him.”

“No,” she said firmly,” How do you know people will die?”

“I just know,” he said, smiling unseen. “It is up to you. You truly have no choices in this matter. You either kill, or be killed. It is the way of life, and so it must be.” Taking a step back, he faded into the shadows, leaving her alone and upset, full of even more questions than she had started with. She searched the darkness for him, but found nothing. Who was this guy, she wondered in exasperation, why did he keep showing up, and how did he know so much about them? She eventually returned to her room, her brow furrowed in perplexity as she imagined how the others would chide her for going out so late by herself, and confronting that strange man. They would say she was a fool, and rightly so, but in the end they would want to know what he had said, and every detail of his responses to her questioning.

Ebon watched her go back inside, and had barely begun to smile when he was attacked. Unnaturally silent, they came upon him, feathers flying in their violence, dark beaks tearing at his flesh and hair, driving him to his knees in his efforts to protect his face. He dared not hurt the crows, because he knew who commanded them, and who set them upon him. Sharp talons razed his face and arms, and he could feel blood trickling down his neck at where they had gotten through to the tender skin underneath his protection. Finally they drew back in time to form his master, eyes blazing with fury and death.

“Betrayer! Cur under my feet!
“My lord, NO.” Ebon snapped, getting to his feet gracefully in spite of his gashes. “I follow only your commands!” The Crow Lord stepped back in mock surprise, evil pulsing around him, ready at a moments notice to flood his servant and strip his body and soul bare of any and all life.

“My commands? You lie! I do not recall commanding you to tell them all you know, and take them to come destroy me! Your death, will be slow and painful, I assure you!” Ebon’s growl turned into an outright roar as he cut the demon master short before he could complete any disastrous spells or thoughts.

“You commanded that the deaths be long and humorous, my lord, and so they shall! You commanded me to toy with them to draw it out for amusement, and it will be so. You commanded I betray them, kill them one by one, and it shall be so, according to my plan!” Seeing his master hesitate, Ebon forged forward, cursing the man with every spare brain cell he had use for. Slower, calmingly, he began to explain, watching the dark energy pulse slower, and fainter as the master calmed. “Correct me, my lord, if I am wrong, but did you not command all these things of me. . . ? Is it not what you want?”

The Crow Lord grudgingly nodded. “Yes, but explain faster, my slave, I am not yet utterly convinced of your goals.” Ebon took a short breath. Around them, the forest seemed to wait too, completely silent in the face of such a presence of evil concentrated in its midst. Animals hid themselves far away, birds huddled with their heads under their wings, silent as the dead, and even the insects made no sound, scuttling under the rocks and leaves to protect themselves from detection. The wind stayed, softly touching their faces with a cold caress, moving through the tree tops with sinuous ease as it watched them.

“They will separate my lord,” Ebon began. “With the cleric away from them, they will not be able to defend well against my power. I have sent them to their prospective people, and with your plans already in effect, the results will definitely be amusing. The Imrii will smell Ferani on the warrior, and the Ferani will smell the Imrii upon her. They will not be trusted, and will be blamed for the missing Imrii princess. . .” the Crow Lord looked mildly interested at this, and waved his hand, indicating that Ebon should continue, and quickly, a command which he obeyed without haste. “After you kill the princes, they will find her body and assume the strangers are at fault, and will kill them for us, kill their own saviors my lord. Does that not please you?”

The Crow Lord grunted with grudging approval. “It does indeed. Very good, slave. But what of the two others? The mage and the cleric?”

“I wish to kill the cleric. She is the perfect prey. The mage, my lord, I had thought you may want that honor. I will make him believe you to be the best teacher, the one to teach him the very spells to defeat you, and when he is in your grasp, you may destroy him at your leisure,. . . in any way you desire.” The Lord of Crows stood for a moment, envisioning the scenes of their deaths, running the entire plan through his head. At the end of it, he smiled, enjoying the ending, and the way their blood would indeed flow.

“You have done well. . .,” he said with a warning glance