. . . The tune was low and somber, and it seemed to emanate from all directions. I left the disappearing creek and hurried back to the trail. No one was there. The trail was empty as far as I could see. The whistling grew yet louder and then it stopped suddenly. I stared down the trail in the direction from which I had originally come.
Silence and an empty path.
I palmed the salty sweat from my eyes and slowly turned around.
"Ahhhhh!" I yelped and fell backwards onto the ground. The child had appeared out of nowhere right behind me and even though I knew she did this on occasion, it didn't make it any less frightening. My lungs fought for air while I recovered from the shock.
"Damn it, my child, why do you -"
The child interrupted, pressing a forefinger to her lips. "Shhhhh! Be quiet and stay down!"
She swiftly walked to me and put her hand on my shoulder. Her eyes were serious and ice blue. She wore her normal heavy dress, the charcoal gray one with black runes around the hem and cuffs. She also wore a knitted, black scarf with matching mittens, which was different. It occurred to me that this was the first time I had seen her in the dead of winter since she first appeared to me 12 years ago. Her hair was different too. Usually, it was brown and wavy and long. I had even seen it platinum blonde too, but this time it was straight, bobbed just short of her chin and the color of an aging raven, black with washes of gray. The child also looked maybe 12 or 13; her age was always different, but I had never seen her look that old.
"You're not supposed to be here," she whispered curtly. "You're early."
"I'm early? Wha -"
"Keep your voice down, he's coming!" she hissed.
"Ok . . . ok, but what's going on? Who's coming?"
I was getting worried, the child was usually playful and all smiles. I had never seen her so serious. If I wasn't mistaken, she even looked frightened. I had never seen her scared. My stomach started to hurt like I had just swallowed a snake whole and it was trying to slither its way out.
The child looked over her shoulder in the direction of where the ferns swallowed the trail and then turned back with a quick jerk of her head. Her eyes locked on mine.
"You're early," she repeated. "You were supposed to be here three days from now, when the dynamo killer had long since passed by and I had all this cleaned up." The child waved her hand at the stunted path behind her.
"You were impatient weren't you?" she asked. "You just couldn't wait, could you? You were supposed to be patient and wait it out! You sought refuge too soon!"
"Um, what the hell is going on? You're never this upset, my child."
The child sighed heavily and nodded.
"You're right. I must calm myself," she said, patting me on the shoulder. "We must be ready. There is no time to flee now."
"Flee from what?"
"As I said, the dynamo killer is coming. He was following me. He follows all things melancholy, which is why I was whistling that morose tune. But he was getting too close. So I pulled the mountains together and covered the path to slow him down, for even I do not wish to encounter him . . . not again."
"Who is the dynamo killer?" I asked, pulling myself to a kneeling position.
"Everyone has dynamos, some have more than others. They are the engines of our souls, the mentors in our hearts . . . they are the generators of life itself. The dynamo killer wants these elements dead; he wants us to follow him . . . to follow him into the caverns of despondency. With each dynamo he destroys in us, the more we become less of ourselves, the more we turn into mere husks."
A raging explosion blasted over the rise from where the mountains were touching. I could hear boulders cracking and rocks thudding on the carpet of moss. The child turned to the noise and began removing her mittens.
"Get up, my dear," she commanded gently. "He's here. You must stand and face him. There is no other way."
I stood up and placed my cumbersome back pack on the ground next to me while the child stuffed her mittens in a pocket.
"How do we fight him?"
The child looked up into my face, finally smiling with closed lips, and said, "You fight him by drawing from yourself all the dynamos within. You must place them together and ascend yourself. You must reach past all that you once were. You must divorce from yourself all of your sorrows. And when you've done that you must simply remain standing."
"All I have to do is stand?" I asked, sounding astonished.
The child's smile vanished and I could hear heavy, volatile footsteps heading in our direction.
"Make no mistake! The dynamo killer is more powerful than all the blood thieves you've encountered put together! He is not to be underestimated!"
I nodded at the child and swallowed the spit in my mouth, which promptly ran dry.
She nodded back and gave one last instruction. "Remain standing, no matter what. If you falter, you'll weaken. If you expire to the ground entirely, it's over and your dynamos will be severed from your life forever."
The footsteps grew closer and then stopped. I looked up from the child. A dark, sinewy figure had appeared on the rise above us. The dynamo killer placed his hands on his hips and let out a deep laugh from the back of his throat, which resonated with a strange softness, a sort of gentle rage . . .
Loverly writing my darling. I'm glad I got to read it. I can't wait to see what comes next!
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