Blueprints Fiction

Annabelle was alone at the lake. That is, if being without the presence of other humans means you are alone. It was rumored that spirits dwelt in the clearing. If you can count them as company, then no, she wasn’t alone. Annabelle took off her shoes and left them near a Willow Tree before cautiously skipping across the awkward stepping-stones formed by a rock formation at the bottom of the shallow water. At the center of the lake was a rocky island with a small tuff of grass. She sat herself down, watching the majestic flow of the waterfall that filled the lake and the stream that emptied it, waiting for him.

A figure appeared behind the dense trees that sheltered the lake from anyone who didn’t know how to find it. He was tall and slight of build, but strong and masculine nonetheless. His long brown hair was pulled back into a ponytail exposing his oddly shaped, not-quite-pointed yet not-quite-round ears. Green eyes stared out of his fair-skinned face as he moved through the forest like an agile cat. Annabelle didn’t see him until he was almost upon her.

“Annabelle,” he called softly from the water’s edge, “you came.”

“Of course I came, Darin. How could I keep myself from this place…and from you?” There was indifference in her voice, but Darin had a talent for seeing people’s emotions, even the ones they wish to hide. Annabelle was afraid and upset, but snow would blanket the desert sands before she openly admitted it to him. One look at Darin and she knew that he saw right through her. She smiled at him, masking her true sentiments. Then, Annabelle dived off of her rock and into the water. When she surfaced, her long, wavy hair had been plastered to her head and back and she was laughing. Her ankle-length white dress floated up around her, bunching and restricting her movement, and now it was Darin’s turn to smile.

“What do you think you’re doing, sweetheart?” he laughed. “I thought sugar was supposed to melt in water?” Annabelle said nothing, but waited. After a time, Darin sighed, removed his shoes and shirt and placed them, along with his bow and quiver of arrows, near Annabelle’s shoes. He waded out into the water. “Are you happy now?”

“Much.” There was silence for a moment, each lost in their own thoughts, until Annabelle spoke again. “I’ve been thinking…”

“Good for you!”

“Come now, Darin, I’m being serious. I’ve been thinking about your going away and I have decided that I’m coming with you.”

Darin flashed her a small, weak smile and said, “I can’t let you. I have been a fugitive for too long. There is a price on my head and one too many men are eager to collect it. I could never drag you into a life like that. Stay in your village with your safe roads and your little houses.”

“Don’t you see, Darin? I can’t. My heart calls me to wander the world with you. My village is but one small place in the world. It can no longer hold me. I’m coming.”

“You are not.”

“I will.”

“You can’t”

“I must.”

“Stop,” he whispered.

“I will not stop, I…”

Darin hushed her urgently, his bright green eyes focused on the trees. “Someone is out there.” Annabelle became quiet. She whispered, “I thought you told me that none would ever find this place unless you yourself showed him the way.”

“This one must have followed me. I was less careful than I could have been, now that I think of it,” he responded in the same quiet manner. The bounty hunter emerged into the clearing, holding his drawn sword. Darin pulled himself onto the rock. “Annabelle, go hide behind the falls. He won’t see you there.” She began to comply, but changed her mind and crept to the far bank of the river. Rising swiftly out of the water, she stole into the woods.

Meanwhile, the hunter spotted Darin racing from the rock to the Willow. Seeing the weapon laid out at the tree’s base, the hunter moved to the Willow, snatched up the bow, and cut the string with his sword. Darin halted, the horror showing unmistakably in his face. Darin took a step back, but he knew there was nowhere to go. The hunter was upon him in seconds, slashing and lunging with is sword. Darin evaded the first attack, but was cut clear across his bare chest by the second. He suddenly noticed a white figure standing behind his enemy. Darin kicked the hunter backwards into Annabelle. The man’s eyes opened wide with shock and his mouth fell open. His expression froze and Annabelle lowered him to the ground. A long knife protruded from his back.

A pool of blood formed around Darin’s attacker. It spread quickly and began dripping into the lake. The laughter of unseen spirits echoed throughout the clearing.

“Where did you get the knife?” Darin asked, his tone of voice was sad and distant rather than accusing.

After a second of silence she responded darkly, “None of your business.” Darin nodded. “Annabelle, this is not a life I want for you. Go back to your village.”

“…I can handle myself and-“

“That’s not the point! I don’t want you to have to live like this. We can’t always choose the way we live our lives, Annabelle. Do you think I want to be an outlaw, someone who is of no more worth than a common criminal? Do you think I chose this? Annabelle, I won’t let you follow me, even if that is what you wish to do.”

She was silent. Her expression was placid, but her eyes betrayed her. Darin could see her fury, her sadness, and even her love. He kissed her softly. “I will always love you.”

With those final words, Darin turned and disappeared into the woods. Annabelle watched after him until her mortal eyes could no longer make out his shape in the distance. Then, she turned to view her clearing. No, their clearing. The waterfall and the river still flowed. The trees still sheltered it from the world. It was still beautiful. However, the body of the bounty hunter disrupted its perfection. Those vacant eyes stared off into death and his blood soiled the grass and the water. Annabelle and Darin’s clearing would never again be pure. Once she left that place, she knew she could never return.

She composed herself. Annabelle wiped the tears that were forming in her eyes, not to eliminate them, but to hide them from the world and all of its people, herself included. Perhaps if she ignored the pain, it would go away. Annabelle laughed. She knew that wasn’t true, in any case. Nonetheless, Annabelle banished the tears from her face forever and returned to the village.

Daren looked all around him.

Where is that voice coming from, he thought. The song grew louder. All else was forgotten and Daren could only think of the music. It surrounded him, blocking out his thoughts, his feelings, and the world. Daren continued onward, following the song. His only intent was to find its source. Everything else was stripped from his mind.

A figure took shape before him. It looked like…but it couldn’t be. It was Annabelle, or at least, it looked like her with its long golden hair and flowing white dress. Daren followed her unquestioningly. He didn’t ask where she had come from or how she had appeared. He couldn’t. Something wasn’t right, but Daren was oblivious to it. The music washed through him.

Annabelle stepped out of the trees. They were in a large, wet area. It was some form of marshland. The ground was soft beneath Daren’s feet and somehow he knew that if he stepped too far off the path, he would sink. So why didn’t he stop? Annabelle traveled the swampy ground like a wraith, never stopping or slowing to indicate the hardships of the terrain. The melodious song filled him, pumping through his veins like a poison.

Darin tried to follow her into the mist. Almost instantly, his foot was caught in the muck. The creature turned. The music stopped. It wasn’t Annabelle. Annabelle was back in her village. This thing had a hideous face with the skin stretched tightly over the bone. Its eyes were sunken and dark. Daren could see the red and blue veins throughout its skeletal figure. He struggled, pulling at his foot and trying to free himself from the unquenchable hunger of the marsh all the while the creature came closer. Its menacing eyes were fixed on Daren. A hand reached out to touch him. Daren closed his eyes, devoid of hope, knowing that he had somehow allowed himself to fall victim to one of the land’s deadly deceptions.

“Eeeeiiya!” A terrifying shriek resonated from the creature. Daren looked. His leg was half enveloped by the thick, gooey mud. A few feet away, the thing lay on the ground, writhing in pain. An arrow stuck in its chest. Something flew past Daren’s head like a gust of wind and another arrow struck the creature’s neck. It stopped moving and the world was rid of its intoxicating song forever.

“Rotten sirens,” a deep, mirthful voice bellowed behind Daren. “A man falls under her spell and goes down without a fight. Loathsome creatures really…” The voice laughed. Daren couldn’t twist himself around far enough to see who it was. “Well, come on now! Don’t sit there all day or that stuff will swallow up your ears and mouth and I won’t have anyone left to talk to!” Still chuckling, the big man helped Daren pull himself out of the bog.

“Bye the way, my name’s Steven.” Steven was at least six and a half feet tall with a wild, bushy black beard. He had an axe strapped across his back and an ash bow in his hands. A few odd looking arrows were thrown into an old quiver that was hanging off of his shoulder. Half the tips were up and half were down, so Daren figured that Steven was either not a very organized and careful person, or else very foreign to traditional archery. In truth, both assumptions were correct.

“Uh, Steven,” Daren began, “what was that thing?”

“A siren. It’s a good thing I got here with a few of these arrows.” He tapped the quiver. “A Wythanite made ‘em for me.” Suddenly and almost out of character, Steven got a serious and distant look in his eyes. “I guess there just aren’t enough of them to keep up anymore. The Wythanites, I mean.” Seeing Daren’s confused gaze, he explained. “The Wythanites are a group of men and women who have dedicated their lives to destroying these monsters. They live along the river where the sirens breed and kill them before their deadly voices develop. Since I live in these parts, I took it upon myself to visit with a family of Wythanites once or twice a year to get myself a stock of these arrows. It’s my only defense.” He laughed again.

Doesn’t he ever stop laughing? Daren wondered.

“Hey Steven, can I ask you something?” Daren inquired of his large friend. Steven nodded. “Why do you live in a place like this?”

“My father was killed by a siren in these parts while trying to find one of these.” He bent down and picked up the leaf of a small, dark-colored plant. “My mother was deathly ill. This plant has healing properties that would have saved her, but since my father didn’t come back and I was just a lad, you see…well. “He crushed the leaf in his hand and let it fall back to the earth. “She didn’t get it in time.” Steven forced his tightened lips into a bitter smile. “After that, I came here to make sure the sirens didn’t ruin any more lives.” He paused. “Now it’s my turn to ask a question. What’s your name, lad?”

“I’m Daren.”

Steven, deep in thought, stroked his beard. “I think I heard that name before. You’re an outlaw, aren’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“I thought so. Ever once in a while, a soldier will come all the way out of his fancy city just to knock on my door and rattle off a list of men he’s trying to find. He thinks I’ll go racing out of my cabin and hunt ‘em down, I guess.” Steven gave Daren a jolly chuckle and a slapped him on the back. “You look rather tired, my boy. Let’s get you to my cabin so you can wash up and get a good night’s rest before setting out again.”

Daren, feeling an oddly unexpected trust between Steven and himself, followed him southeast of the marsh to his home. That night, he told Steven how he came to be a wanted criminal. His younger brother, Lucien, was accused of a murder he didn’t commit and sentenced to life in the palace dungeon. Daren and his friend Markus attempted a rescue, but the operation was a horrible failure. Marcus was killed, Daren barely escaped with his own life, and Lucien remained imprisoned.

“I’m determined to go back for him,” Daren confided, “but not without a better plan. Storming into the palace with Marcus was not the smartest idea I ever had. We were just upset, I guess, and not thinking clearly. We suppressed our reason and dove headfirst into dangers we couldn’t understand. The palace underground is a lethal maze of guards and endless passages.”

They should up half the night talking about castles and dungeons and rescues. Daren told Steven all about his brother Marcus, and in turn, Steven shared some of his favorite memories of his childhood. Finally, Steven decided that Daren should stay for a day or two before heading out again and the two friends turned in for the night.

However, Daren couldn’t sleep. He kept imagining that he heard footsteps outside his window. In the morning, Steven began restocking Daren’s food and supplies. He packed everything up and put it in a leather satchel.

“Steven, you’ve given me enough for two men! I don’t need all this,” he remarked when he was handed the satchel.

“You might not, but we will. You don’t think I’d let you go off and risk your neck alone, do you?”

“But what about your promise to defend the lad from the sirens?”

Steven leaned close to Daren, as if he was about to share some confidential secret. “I was killing sirens to avenge my parents’ deaths, but think about it lad. They’re dead. No matter how many monsters I kill, it won’t ever be enough to brink them back. There’s nothing to hold me here.”

The two men walked outside. To their surprise, the damp ground had fresh imprints. Footprints.

“That’s odd,” the big man said as he ran his hand through his grizzly black hair. “There shouldn’t bee anyone for files of this place other than me and yourself.”

Daren bent down to look at the prints. They were definitely human, but rather small. They either belonged to a young boy or a woman. As Daren pondered this, Steven heard a noise on the side of the cabin. He pulled his axe free from his back and inched forward. Someone stepped out form behind the cabin.

“Hello Daren.”

Daren started as Steven lowered his axe, smiling.

“My little Annabelle,” Steven greeted with a bow. “It’s been a long time, has it not?” He broke out into is usual laughter.

“Wait a second,” Daren shouted. “You know Annabelle?”

“Of course I do! She’s my daughter.” Steven tried to embrace her only to find that she would not permit it. Daren stopped to look at her. Her long white dress was replace with a knee-length brown skirt, a tunic, and a light traveling cloak. Her golden hair was pulled out of her face and braided.

“How did you get here?” he asked, unable to understand what was happening. Annabelle looked away as she spoke, refusing to meet his stares. “My father taught me to take care of myself when I was young, only to dump me off in that village where he said I could live a ‘peaceful’ life. Yet, I found no peace. When you came to me, I thought I could rediscover myself through you, but you left me heartbroken and alone. After I returned, I realized that to follow you was really my only choice. You are good, Daren, but not good enough. You’ll die out here on your own.”

“So you followed me.”

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you ever tell me about your past?”

“You never asked.”

They both looked at each other in silence.

“Well then,” Steven boomed, “I believe everybody has a bit of explaining to do to everybody else. I’d like to know a few things myself.” He lifted his hand to halt their oncoming speech. “No, not now. No time. We’ll talk on the way.” Without another word, Steven secured his axe, picked the satchel off the ground, and started walking east. Daren and Annabelle chased after him.

Look forward to the exciting conclusion of “Rendezvous” in next month’s Blueprint.

Magic and Murder

By Hillari Burgess

Dave, setting aside his half-finished article for the Chicago Sun Times, rustled his long black hair with his smooth, medium-brown hand, just as he always did when he was under stress. Sure, the deadline for his story on one of the more recent Chicago crime sprees was approaching rather quickly, but that didn’t bother him as much as some of the other thoughts surfacing in his mind. It was nearing the end of October and Jack-O-Lanterns with glowing faces and kids wearing masks in eager anticipation of Halloween treats stirred up painful memories.

He reached across his mahogany desk, past his coffee mug full of dull pencils and almost inkless pens, and grabbed the photograph on the edge of his workspace. The sixteen-year-old boy looking back at him through the gold picture frame had Dave’s same black hair and medium-brown skin. He was leaning against an oak tree and his almond shaped eyes were half closed because he blinked as the picture was taken. Dave adjusted his glasses on his nose. The boy in the picture didn’t wear glasses.

Some sixth sense told Dave that someone else was standing in the room. He peered back at his opened study door, which he had purposely closed himself. “I knocked,” said Jessica in a soft, soothing voice, “but I guess you didn’t hear me.” Dave’s wife of three years came over to him silently and gave him a supportive kiss on the cheek. She began massaging his shoulders, waiting for him to say something to her.

“How long has it been?” he asked at length.

“Seven years.”

“I can’t help but feel guilty. Do you remember that night? It was only one or two days before Halloween, I think, and you, John and I were sitting under that oak tree on 49th street.”

“Right where we always sat after school until that creepy old woman chased us away from her property. No matter how many times she yelled at us, though, we were always back the next day.” Dave laughed.

“Of course we were! That was—actually, it still is—the prettiest tree in Stickney, especially in autumn when the leaves change. I wasn’t going to let some old witch keep us away from it just because it was so inconveniently growing in her front yard.”

“She still lives there, I think, but you shouldn’t call her a witch, even if we all thought she was when we were kids. I remember once when we were about twelve and John said that he saw her practicing witchcraft in her back yard. That boy was so full of crazy stories…and if I remember correctly, we believed every one of them.”

“Yeah, we did.” Dave held up the picture for Jessica. “I took that right before I walked you home that night, remember? John asked me to take a picture of him in front of the tree because soon the witch was going to fence in her yard so we couldn’t go there anymore. We all took one, but I don’t know what happened to the rest of the pictures on that roll of film. After I framed John’s picture, I didn’t care about the rest. I knew that this picture would be the only way I could ever see my brother again.”

Jessica pulled up a chair next to Dave and sat down. With her delicately sculpted arms, she embraced him.

“It isn’t your fault that John didn’t come back that night. I spent a lot of time with your brother just before he disappeared. He was…disturbed. I know you don’t want to hear this, but I think that even if you and John hadn’t had that fight, he still wouldn’t have come home that night. Something deep inside of him broke. I don’t know why or how, but something pushed him over the edge.”

“Are you saying he was suicidal? He wasn’t. He didn’t kill himself.”

“I never said that. All I meant was that I don’t think that the fight you had with John after we left the oak tree had anything to do with him running off. John always talked about magic and power and death. Sometimes…he really scared me.” Dave didn’t answer. He put his twin’s picture down and slowly rose out of his seat. Shaking his head slightly, he smiled sadly at Jessica and went to bed.

“Dave, where are your glasses?”

September

It was a cool, autumn afternoon and Jamie sat alone in her room. A chilly gust of wind burst through the opened window and ruffled her shoulder-length, chestnut-brown hair. Jamie stared out at the bright orange and red leaves of the forest around her little cottage, thinking about her most recent argument with her 19-year-old sister. Just because she’s 4 years older than me she thinks she can tell me what to do, Jamie thought. It was always like that. Whenever her father went away for a few days, Jamie’s sister, Elise, took charge in the house, Jamie accused her of trying to rule her life, and their never-ending battle was taken up anew.

But this time was different. Elise had angered her for the last time and she wasn’t going to take it anymore. Jamie had an idea forming in her mind. Running away from her sister, her tiny house in the middle of nowhere, and all of her problems in search of a town or village where she can make a new, more sophisticated life for herself seemed pretty good to Jamie right about then.

“Jamie?” Elise called, knocking gently on the door. “Jamie, I called you to dinner a half an hour ago. Why don’t you come out of there and eat the cold plate of food that would have been warm had you come when It was ready?” No answer. “What the hell is wrong with you?” Slowly, Elise swung the door open. The room was empty. Her eyes wide with bewilderment, she searched Jamie’s abandoned bedroom for any sign of where she might have gone. What she found was that Jamie’s backpack, two or three pairs of clothes, and the knife that their father gave Jamie for her 14th birthday were all missing and just below the open window was a fresh set of footprints.

It didn’t take long for Jamie to become hopelessly lost in the thick forests. It had rained earlier, but the clouds had all departed and thousands of tiny stars were scattered over the night sky and the light of the crescent moon poured through the gaps in the trees. Jamie’s shoe left deep, well-formed footprints in the damp soil.

Jamie stopped walking. There is a town to the south, she thought, but she couldn’t be sure if she was even traveling south anymore. * SNAP * She jumped. With bated breath, Jamie took a step towards the brush where the noise had come from. She knew she wasn’t the huntress her sister was. Elise had picked up all the little tricks of the trade from their father. She knew how to handle herself in the wilderness. Jamie didn’t.

Slowly and silently, Jamie set her backpack on the ground. She reached inside the front pocket and drew out her knife. It was a sharp, sturdy, steal blade. The short hilt fit the shape of the young girl’s delicate hand to offer the best possible grip. There was a bright blue sapphire on the bottom of the hilt just below Jamie’s hand. Squeezing the knife as tight as she could, she took a hesitant step forward.

Elise, rifle in one hand, flashlight in the other, jogged through the forest in search of her sister. The deep imprints of Jamie’s boots were easy enough to follow. Cool and crisp, the air stung Elise’s lungs as she drew in each deep, methodic breath. Noticing something strange on the ground, Elise stopped and bent down to examine the earth. “No…” she whispered. Elise sprang up and ran faster than before. Mingled with Jamie’s footprints were wolf tracks.

“Who’s there?” Jamie called with a high, scared voice. “Elise? Is that you?” She took another step forward. Before Jamie could react, a large gray wolf leaped out of the bushes and knocked her to the ground. She slashed wildly with the knife. As teeth ripped through the flesh in her leg the knife make contact the animal’s back paw. The wolf cried out and Jamie pushed it off of her. She dragged herself back a few feet. Jamie wanted more than anything to stand up and run away, but her leg lay there lifelessly, her pants tattered and saturated in thick, fresh blood.

Snarling viciously, the wolf came at her again. Slowly at first, with one leg dragging slightly behind, it crept forward inch by inch. This time Jamie was ready. When the wolf came near enough to make its move, Jamie sent the knife through it’s exposed neck. The wolf stopped and fell into Jamie’s lap. Dead.

Then why didn’t the snarling stop? Why could she still make out the quiet footfalls of some wild, ravenous, hungry animal seeking to make her its dinner? Jamie looked around her. One by one, growling, four-legged, shadowy figures stepped into the moonlight. Of course, she realized, trying with all her strength to keep from crying. Wolves hunt in packs.

Jamie let the knife fall harmlessly to the ground. After all, she couldn’t fight all of them. Waiting for the attack that would end her life, Jamie closed her eyes. She could hear the wolves greedy, vicious noise growing louder and louder until everything erupted around her. Jamie clenched her fists as a deafening boom shattered the air. Silence. Jamie hesitantly opened her eyes. The wolves had run off. Puzzled, she looked around for whatever had scared off her assailants. There stood none other than Elise, rifle held high. Her concerned expression melted away and was replaced by a mocking smile. She said softly, “You owe me.”