[The Phantom]

Hi! I'm new here. Here's the prologue for this story I want to write. Enjoy!
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The Torrents of Prophecy

Copyright © 2005 by Larry Mitchell Jr.

Prologue:

The Despairing



“And they will come as dark thoughts, these Children of the Ravant. And with them they shall bring great trials to the Blessed in many different forms. Be vigilant in the wake of these underlings.”

-Page 4,563 Chapter Thirty-Two of the Book of Vincent

Wilbur the Elden took a puff of the tobacco from the knotted pipe he’d fashioned for himself ages before he had come to this place called Pargoda. A sack slung over one shoulder, he used his wooden staff with the other hand to help aid him down the steep incline. A sharp pain ran periodically across his back every now and then. He blamed it on the boulder he’d fallen a sleep on the previous night while studying a volume of The Wanderer’s Miracles of Botany. Once he reached flat ground, he took a deep breath and let his inquisitive eyes take in his surroundings.



Immense ferns reach ambitiously into the bright, morning sky. The sweet, charismatic chirping of birds filled his hairy, old ears with memories of gaiety and dreams of hope. The smell of wet green grass and the sharp distinctive scent of pine titillated his nose hairs. The soft, humid breeze caressed his stiff, archaic like a mother caresses her son. The Pargoda Vale, he thought with a brimming smile, one of the few untainted beauties of this earth.



He came over a hill that overlooked Marsoong Lake that was the base of a small waterfall. The elden let fall his sack and staff and threw off his worn, grey cloak. His stout, naked body waded into the welcoming cool of the lake, and he let the water carry his body around as he basked in the sun. After a couple of hours, when he felt that just about all of his toes were soggy, Wilbur wadded out of the lake and dried himself off with a towel he produced from the sack. It was then he felt the presence of another.



He did not look up as he buried his face into the towel, he did not want them to know that he knew they were there. So he acted as if he felt nothing. But he could feel it, their dark, mysterious essence. It was like the imprint of a memory, a quick flash through the mind’s eye. As he fitted his cloak back on and went to retrieve his staff and sack, he had estimated them to be a mile within radius of him. Yet, their essence was so well guarded that he could not know what they were.

Wilbur immediately decided to end his excursion through the vale he’d called home for over three centuries. He had to get back to the Cavern where he could contact others. But so as not to implant any doubt into the minds of the dark things, he chose to take a longer route. A bead of sweat traveled down the bridge of his nose and his thumb rapidly tapped his staff. He headed for the Alsden Rise, Far East of the Cavern.



The walk seemed long and tedious. Every stone he came upon seemed to be the same as the last. But the dark things kept their distance. It had taken a couple of hours to reach the rise. He took a break to pull out a pear. He took a meaty bite out of the fruit and let the juices flow into his threat, yet he was not of the mind to savor its taste.



He wiped his beard and mustache clean, then headed a little more to the west. When he’d reached a fork he made the left turn that would take him on the path to the cavern. When he was within a mile of the Cavern, his stomach began to ache, and his back was throbbing with pain. Suddenly he had sensed them coming closer, and at a fast rate. He stopped and realized that these dark things knew all along what he was doing, trying not to raise their suspicions. He felt a fool for not taking the chance to return to the Cavern as soon as possible. Now he was weak and tired, and they were closing in on him, and he had not clue as to what they could be.



Within in moments they would be on him. He hurried as fast as his ancient legs would allow him. Slowly their nature was coming to him as they came closer. The reality of their evil was burgeoning rapidly now in his mind. Damn them all, he thought angrily.





Up ahead he could see the slope that preceded the caverns. He made a step to go on, but noticed that the dark things were not there any more. The sweat on his palm made it hard to maintain a firm grasp on his staff. He hurried his was up the slope and made it halfway before he looked up to gather where caverns where. But when he looked up, he saw what would be ingrained into his soul for all eternity and then some.



Tall, immense figures blocked his way to the top. They wore long, flowing cloaks that were black and tattered. Although they wore no hood, they face was not visible because they were glittering, silver helms with the ram like horns protruding out of the op of them. With their gauntleted hands they held black, steel staffs that had the same design of the ram horns at the top of them. The eye slits in their helms radiated bright, piercing green that hurt his eyes to look into them.



Wilber was flabbergasted for a moment, but recollecting himself he turned to escape but saw that at the base of the grassy slope, there were three more of these strange creatures. I will not go down without my last breath being a fighting one, he thought to himself, his face turning red with fury. When he turned back to the ones at the top of the slope, one of the creatures stepped forward.



“Back you rotten child of the Ravant!” he hissed as his wave produced a beam of white, searing light at the chest of creature. Most things would have fallen over dead, but this creature simple deflected the beam with an open palm. With the little energy he had left, he tried a much stronger, with more hate behind it, more hate than he’d ever produced in his lifetime. The creature made his palm into a fist to reveal an emerald ring. The white beam attracted to the ring in a wide arc. Once it met with the ring, the beam returned with insidious speed back at Wilbur. The beam shot through the Elden’s shoulder and quickly dispersed once it came out through the other side, cutting down trees behind them. Wilbur dropped the sack and his staff in pain, as he clasped his shoulder to try to block the immediate blood flow pouring out of the hole in his shoulder. His face contorted and his red face turned purple.



“Now that we have your undivided attention,” the creature said, his voice sounding like a chorus with deep bases. “We have come from our realm, sent by our father to discuss a proposition with you.” Wilbur spat at the ground before the creature. The creature looked curiously down on Wilbur for a moment, and then it’s green eyes grew brighter. Suddenly the fetid smell of a rotten carcass filled the nostrils of the Elden. With so much force the smell came that his head pounded feverishly. The agonizing pain in his head from the smell caused him to cringe in pain pressing into his temples. He fell to his knees.



“We are the Despairing,” the tall figure continued. “The Ravant is our father, and our master. We wish in exchange for your life to be your master in our conquest of the Blessed.” It paused as it watched almost amusingly at the violent shaking of the old man’s body.



“I can remove the pain if that’s what you want,” the Despairing said. “We can make you younger, and stronger. We can arrange for you to be more powerful then you’ve ever imagined.”



Why would the need me, he thought questioningly. As if the creature knew what he was thinking it said, “Your location is away from civilization, so we could slip into your world unnoticed. And you are what our Father called an Elden. He know every stone and ever blade of grass in the land, for your kind was there in the beginning. You are very valuable to us, Wilbur.”



His eyes grew wide at this. The pain was receding, so Wilbur took a chance and dove for his staff. But with intense, blurring speeding the Despairing kicked the Elden hard in the jaw with a sickening crack. The Elden fell onto to his back, his unhinged jaw left his mouth open and limp. He tried to move his hand up to massage his jaw, but he couldn’t move an inch of his body. Only his eyes looked around, vigilant as ever.



The Despairing stood over him, looking down on him with its emerald eyes. With its deep echoing voice it said, “These games over. I offered you prosperity and yet you treat my words like trash. Now I shall do what I most despise, despite my dark nature.” The Despairing solemnly bowed its hate. You’ll get no pity from me you foul beast, Wilber shouted in mind.



The Despairing took its black, steel-rod staff and lowered the ram’s horns at the top slowly down onto Wilbur’s chest. He eyed the silver thing fearfully, unaware of what power it may hold. Immediately at it’s touch, a cold shiver ran through the Elden’s body and lingered there at his chest, where the idol touched. His pulse quickened to the almost the rate a tiny mouse. He could hear the pumping of his blood running through his ears. And then a sharp, prickly pain touched everyone of his bones like a thousand daggers. The Despairing lifted the idol, and his body arched, his chest was magnetized to it. He felt as if every bone in his body were cracking. He squinted his eyes into little slits. The agony was too much, even for an Elden.



The Despairing brought forth a his fist with the emerald ring and elevated it over the old man. A green, gaseous substance spewed out of the ring. Like an apparition it floated down to Wilbur’s face. The emerald cloud dove into the Elden’s mouth, some going into his nostrils and in through the seams of his eyelids. To Wilbur it had seemed like an eternity had gone by as the gas was being sucked into his body. After a time the Despairing opened his palm and the gas died out like whisper. He retracted the staff.



Wilbur lay there, completely violated of his mind and body. He could feel the gas its doing mischievous work in his stomach and brain. After a moment there was silence, and then without warning his cracking bones burst into little pieces in his body. He wished he had died right there, just so the pain could end. He felt his bones reforming inside of him. The pain was beginning to recede. He watched his big, old belly shrunk to a flat stomach. He could feel sinewy useful muscles forming into his arms and legs. His shoulders broadened and his chest became firm. His wrinkles ironed themselves out into flat, smooth skin. His white hairs changed to a bright yellow. His senses became for more attuned then he could ever have imagined.



“Rise,” commanded the Despairing. And as if his body had a mind of its own, the Elden rose, not as old geezer, but strongly built, youthful man. He was taller now, and his old, worn cloak was too small for his strong body. The wound in shoulder was gone, as if it had never been there, and his broken jaw was as square and firm as ever. With vibrant brown eyes looked at the Despairing.



“Wilbur of Elden, you may now lead us to the Mountain Citadel,” said the Despairing.



Wilbur retrieved his staff. “Yes master, I shall.”