I was ready for war.

It’d been several days since I accepted Father’s gift of Light, and ever since He tu
rned me corporeal again I had this deep yearning to feel the pommel of my sword
in my hand. I needed to taste the savageness of combat, to feel the sweat pour
out of my body as I battled my way to glory. At first, I created different batt
lefields across Elyria and filled them with highly-trained solders from various
armies, but the luster of warring against illusions soon faded. The blade just
didn’t feel right slicing through their bodies. It didn’t have the correct bite to i
t. Their bones didn’t splinter like actual bones did. It was amusing, and good f
or training purposes, but it wasn’t fun.
The dead Tragger was all for pulling harmless practical jokes on Alysandra and g
etting in touch with my warm, fuzzy feelings. That was well, fine and good and
as Father intended it to be. The alive Tragger, however, wanted to make somethi
ng bleed in the worst way, which was also how Father intended it to be I strongl
y believe. I guess you could take the life out of a warrior, but you couldn’t tak
e the warrior out of the life. Honestly, I was all right with that.
I don’t know what Alysandra was waiting for. Evil was out there overrunning Fathe
r’s Worlds like a plague of locusts, I could feel it burn in me as sure as I could
feel the sun on my flesh, yet I was forced to sit idle; like a punished child i
n a corner, waiting for my final lesson. I needed to know the secret to Father’s
stolen Talisman, before we can embark on our holy mission. I must learn what it
is and exactly how it works. The reasons for her infuriating dawdling are unkn
own, but it makes my blood boil.
I flex my hand repeatedly as I stare at the mystical Ring of Life, now rightfull
y mine, and I feel the reassuring weight of my magic-kissed sword resting in its
sheath at my hip. In my veins, I feel my blood flowing, infusing me with battl
elust once again. I’m human, but I’m also so much more. I possess the powers of a
living God, though I can be killed. Not by any mortal being, but there are enou
gh non-mortals out there to make sure my mission will be an interesting one. I’m
Father’s Golden-God Warrior, and I wear His armor with tremendous pride and honor,
although I did have a difficult time adjusting to the permanent glow of the new
Light in my eyes. At first, it unnerved me, eyes didn’t normally glow like wall
torches. However, the constant reminder of who and what I really am infuses me w
ith an incredible inner power, and I treasure it, just as I’ve come to love the re
sponsibility my new title places upon me.
I pace back and forth like a caged animal across the spacious green grass that I’v
e come to use exclusively as my battlefield; with Father’s Talisman consuming my
thoughts. My eyes are glued to the ground as I try to imagine what the blasted t
hing looks like; the shape and color of it, where the Evil One might hide it, an
d most importantly, what secrets it contains. It’s obviously very important to Fa
ther, and I can’t help but burn with curiosity over why. In my warrior opinion, H
e seems to want the Talisman back more than He wants His fallen child returned h
ome. Perhaps that mystery will be explained during my mission. I’d love to know
the answer to that riddle.
“Still your mind, Tragger Drake,” Alysandra says in a calm voice as she lands before
me dressed strangely in a plain dark brown tunic, black leggings and dirty blac
k boots with buckles running along one side. “You’re disturbing the Newer Ones with
your human agitation and thoughts of violence and bloodshed. Please, do try to
remember where you are, you big brute.”
“Curses, woman! Stop doing that!”
Aly gives me a perplexed look. “Doing what?”
“Appearing out of nowhere like that! It isn’t very angel-like to scare people, you k
now.”
“I hardly came from nowhere, Tragger Drake.” She flaps her wings at me in what I co
nsider a mocking fashion before tucking them behind her back. “It is impossible, h
owever, to see someone approaching from the sky when you’ve got your gaze locked f
irmly on the ground. Tell me, my brave warrior, are you expecting a sudden atta
ck from earthworms?”
“Earthworms? Have you gone daft? What are -- oh, that’s just wonderful. Here I am re
ady to defend Father’s Worlds, and you offer me sarcasm? Not real smart consideri
ng how hot my blood boils right now. I swear, Alysandra, I’m about ready to draw
my sword and attack that cluster of butterflies over there. Testing my patienc
e right now is not recommended." I pause to give her outfit a disapproving look.
"And for Father’s sake, why are you dressed that way?”
“I am dressed this way because we are leaving soon for our first mission. But bef
ore we do, I must teach you about the Talisman so you will know what it is we se
ek and the legend behind it. I was going to tell you all about it, but given yo
ur current state of human stupid, I think the better course of action would be t
o simply transfer the knowledge directly into that thick cranium of yours.”
“You can do that?” I eye her suspiciously, wondering why she’s made me wait all this t
ime when she could’ve just put the knowledge into my head right from the start. F
ather was really having an odd day when He created women. “Wait,” I say holding up
my hands. “Nothing’s gonna, you know, fall off me or anything is it?”
She narrows her eyes in mock disgust, looking down and then back up “No great loss
, I should think.”
Alysandra’s look then turns very serious, and I know that whatever is about to com
e out of her pretty lips is not a joke. “Yes, I can do that. There is much about
me you have yet to learn, Tragger Drake. And before you complain, let me assur
e you that I do not keep these things from you for sport. It could be very dan
gerous for you if I do it too quickly. The human brain can only accept input at
a certain rate, and I need to be very mindful of that. Once I start, you must re
main perfectly still. Any distraction however slight could cause my concentrati
on to falter, and that would be disastrous. Understand me, Tragger Drake.”
I nod. “Yes. Me be good. Me no move. Me dumb human.”
Alysandra smirks. “Good. So you do understand. Excellent.”
The last time my angel put a spell on me her eyes turned blood red, this time th
ey turn an icy blue. She spreads her hands out before me and a brilliantly glowi
ng ball of green, blue, and yellow light emerges from her palms. The lights mys
tify me; they seem to dance and bob yet not move at all. Within the glowing ene
rgy ball an image starts to form. It’s a round disk, silver in color with what loo
ks to be ancient markings carved into it. The writing means nothing to me, I’ve n
ever seen the strange markings before. In the center of the disk is a hole the e
xact same shape as the face on the Ring of Life. Once the image of the disk soli
difies, the ball of light slowly begins to raise above her open palms. I’m aware
that Alysandra is chanting, though the words sound much different than when she
cast the sparks upon me. I want so much to ask her about this bizarre eye-chang
ing chatting thing she does, but she warned me not to distract her. Somehow, I
get the impression that speaking directly to her would definitely qualify as a d
istraction.
The light ball grows larger, brighter, and it starts to spin and hum sounding fo
r all the world like a chorus of angry bumblebees. Aly spreads her hands, chanti
ng louder now as the blue in her eyes darkens. Suddenly, she holds her palms ev
en with my chest and in a quick motion thrusts them towards me. The ball follo
ws her hands commands like a trained hawk. I brace myself, for I know what’s abou
t to come. With a shouted command, Alysandra sends the light ball crashing into
my head, the force of it’s impact is surprisingly strong, and it blows me clean o
ff my feet and sprawling onto the lush grass.
I’m momentarily dazed by what just happened and I take a second to gather my wits.
When I finally look up at Alysandra, I notice her eyes have returned back to no
rmal, and she has an odd expression etched on her face.
I also have all of the knowledge of Father’s stolen Talisman in my head. I even kn
ow what the ancient writing says; For All of Life Is But A River of Magic. Gads
, if I know what that was supposed to mean, but it’s what it says.
“Are you okay, Tragger Drake?” asks Alysandra. Her voice has a trace of concern in
it. The knocking me half-way to Hades must’ve really worried her. I pull myself u
p to my feet and give her a hard stare, letting her know I was all right but ext
remely irritated by her mysterious method of transferring knowledge. Though her
eyes say otherwise, a part of me is sure she did it on purpose, just to let me
know that she could send Father’s Golden-God ass over heels like she did when I ma
de that crack about the Elders.
“Whatever the bloody blazes you just did there woman, it worked” I say. My voice is
an odd mixture of wonderment, awe and anger. “I have the knowledge of the Father’s
Talisman in me.”
“Very good, Tragger Drake. Now, draw your sword and make ready for the battle you
r warrior soul lusts so badly for. A word from you, and I will transpose us in
to the physical plane of one of Father’s Worlds. But be warned; the first time is
always a bit . . . unsettling.”
In a grand display of soldier bravado, I withdraw my magical sword from it’s gold-
plated sheath, thrilled to finally have the chance to use it on something other
than my legion of phantom soldiers, and say, “By Father’s good grace, let’s waste no m
ore time!”
Alysandra nods solemnly. Then places her hand solidly upon my shoulder. “Very we
ll, Tragger Drake. Our mission begins . . . now!”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

My brave and idiotic warrior, with his Elder-made sword in hand, is all too eage
r to rush head first into battle with no clue as to the danger that awaits him.
This is a cause of great concern for me. He may have God-like powers, but he’s n
ot a god. He can be killed, he needs to learn that lesson the hard way, or he’ll
be no good to Father, or our mission.
Closing my eyes, I offer a silent prayer to Father for guidance. It is no easy
task moving between the worlds and great caution must always be employed. To mo
ve over too great a distance would cause damage to the structure of space and ti
me, resulting in catastrophic events and much loss of human life. Hurricanes, e
arthquakes, and other natural disasters have been known to happen when those not
properly skilled in the technique become greedy or overanxious.
The air around us shimmers and crackles before everything fades to darkness, and
a feeling of rapid movement overtakes us. My sense of direction is momentarily
distorted, and there is a great suffocating pressure that makes it difficult to
breathe, a most unpleasant sensation that I have never quite adjusted to. I be
gin to feel a tickling of heat along my spine as we hurl though the timeline vor
tex and then my eyes find the destination I am seeking, a small tear in the spac
e between worlds that pulls us towards it like a magnet. In a blur of motion, t
he world itself reaches out and takes hold of us, pulling us in and sealing the
rift left behind as we pass through to the other side. I no sooner feel the war
mth of the sun upon my face when I hear a string of profanity fill the air that
would make a hardened soldier blush.
“Curses, woman, I thought you knew what you were doing!” my warrior bellows as he st
ruggles to gain his equilibrium. His teetering like a common drunkard is quite
comical, actually, and I’m amused by his startled expression as he wobbles preca
riously on the edge of a very steep ridge.
“Why, Tragger Drake,” I say grinning. “We’ve not been here five seconds and already you
seem to have landed yourself in the middle of a very dangerous situation.”
“Aly,” he snarls between clenched teeth as my intent finally dawns on him. “Don’t you e
ven think about --” I give him a playful wink and my most radiant smile as I gen
tly push him over the edge, sending him tumbling head over heels towards the jag
ged rocks below.
“Aly -- sandr -- aaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!” he yells out as the earth rushes up to greet hi
m, and I get great pleasure in the sound of his anger as his voice fades. Serve
s him right, I think with an indignant sniff. Send me tumbling down a flight of
stairs, will he? Besides, he needed to be taught a lesson in restraint, and th
is seemed as good a way to learn it as any to me. Satisfied with my self-justifi
cation for pushing his egotistic ass over the edge, which he was always accusing
me of anyway, it just seemed fitting that it was an actual mountain edge I push
ed him over. Maybe the brute will take better mind for what he wishes for with
me in the future. I Ilook down and see him sprawled out on the ground far belo
w.
“What are you doing down there, Tragger Drake? Why are you just lying around when
we’ve much work to do?” I yell out to him. In return, he spews out another round c
urses that are little more than a muffled string of sound by the time they rea
ch my ears. Unfurling my wings to their full size, I glide over the edge and cir
cle slowly down to join him, landing with quiet steps before him as he moves int
o a sitting position, scowling up at me with an expression like a thunderstorm.
“Would you like some help?” I ask solicitously as I smile down at him.
“Blast you to Hades, woman. That was not funny,” he barks out, brushing away my out
stretched hand and standing on his own. “You could have broken my neck, for cryin
g out loud!” I raise my eyebrows at this and he frowns. “Don’t you look at me like t
hat! You know what I mean.” He growls. “Are you daft, woman? Why in Hades did you do
such a foolish thing?” He soothes his wounded pride by carefully checking his equ
ipment, making sure his sword is still sheathed and the Ring of Life is firmly i
n place. It pleases me to see him do this, for it reassures me that he is alway
s mindful of their presence and of our mission.
“To teach you a very important lesson,” I reply calmly.
“What lesson is there to be learned in being pushed off a fucking mountain, woman?
And speak plain, for the love of Father.”
“Look before you leap, Tragger Drake. There are many dangers in Father’s worlds tha
t could . . . befall you. Is that plain enough for your feeble brain to underst
and?”
He gives me one last icy glare before turning his attention to his surroundings.
The warrior instinct in him surfaces, and his posture grows rigid as he scans t
he terrain for hidden threats. In that moment, he appears larger than life its
elf to me. My Tragger Drake may be an insufferable neanderthal at times, but th
ere was no denying the power of his charisma. Watching him there, cool and con
fidant, my blood begins to sing in my veins and my body tingles. I wonder, and
not for the first time, how any woman could ever survive a night in his bed.
“So, where in blazes are we anyway? I’d known if I’d ever been to this place before. I
t smells like flowers and honey.”
“This world is called Eurisis. I grew up here as a child. It looks so different
now, yet it’s almost exactly the same too.” I answer quietly. I study him trying to
read his stony expression.
“You’re staring at me oddly, angel.” His voice is low, teasing, and I detect his unde
rlying tone of smugness.
“How can I not?” I snap back. I’m angry that he has caught me staring at him. “Each ti
me I look away you manage to land yourself into trouble.” I flutter my wings in a
gitation, ignoring the way he smirks at me. The egotistical bastard. It would
serve him right if I turned him into a jack-ass. “Come, Tragger Drake, there is a
small village just up the road. We must hurry if we are to make Worthington by
nightfall. You’ve need of a horse and supplies.” I sniff lightly at the air aroun
d him and wrinkle my nose. “And a bath.” He mutters something under his breath that
I cannot hear --something less than kind, I am sure -- then turns to follow me.
All of Father’s worlds are beautiful in their own way, but I was particularly fon
d of Eurisis, comforted by its rustic charm. A throwback to simpler times, when
lands were farmed over generations and small villages served as local hubs for k
eeping farmers and townspeople connected. It is the fall season and the trees a
round us are alive with color. The hillsides that roll out before us are covered
in vibrant shades of red and orange, candied shrubbery on lush carpets of green
whose edges seem to blur in the amber glow of the setting sun. The road we are
traveling is wide and smooth, hardened dirt packed firm by heavy traffic so tha
t we are able to move at a good pace. For a while we travel in silence, and I c
an sense my warrior’s solemn mood as he takes in this new world. I allow him to b
e lost in himself for a while, enjoying the brief respite from his constant barb
s. But it is not long before small wisps of smoke begin to appear on the horizo
n signalling signs of life just over the next ridge, and there are things that n
eed to be discussed.
“Tell me about the Ring of Life and the sword, Tragger Drake.” I say at last, breaki
ng the silence.
He turns and frowns at me. “Didn’t we have this discussion already?”
“Don’t be a boorish ox,” I chide as I glide alongside him. “Tell me how you came to hav
e them in your possession.”
He shrugs and looks away, his expression dark and stormy, and I feel the shame t
his memory causes him. The depth of his pain is surprising, and it reminds me t
hat he is still very much human. I lower myself to hover directly in front of h
im, as always driven by my need to soothe the fire in his soul. I take his face
in my hands and place a soft kiss upon his forehead, whispering a short blessin
g as I do. When I pull away, I cannot help but smile at his bewildered express
ion, knowing he feels my healing energy flowing through him and easing the tortu
re of this brutal memory. “Do not grieve over past deeds, Tragger Drake. All roa
ds travelled have brought you to this moment and should be appreciated for their
part in helping you realize your destiny.”
My warrior smiles at my words and it brightens his face. My heart flutters madl
y within my chest. This Golden-God Warrior might chafe on occasion and make me
want to pull my hair out, but there was nothing so wonderful to me as the way he
looked when he allowed himself a moment of true warmth.
“A full bag of tricks you are, my angel. One minute you push me off a blasted mou
ntain, and in the next you take my breath away.” He cups my chin and for a moment
I think he is going to kiss me -- I HOPE he is going to kiss me -- but he simpl
y smiles before dropping his hand and starting back off down the road again. “I s
tole them, Aly. He was just some nameless dead bastard on a battlefield.” His bro
ws knit together as the memory plays out in his mind. “In truth, I almost missed
them completely but then the Ring of Life began to glow and caught my scavenging
eye. I thought mayhaps I could sell them to get me through winter.”
“It was calling to you,” I say softly. He watches me with a wary eye as I fly arou
nd to once again block his path so that he is forced to stop and look at me. “The
Ring of Life, the sword and the Talisman were each forged from the steel of the
Elders. There is a connection between the three that in turn connects them to a
ll life. Worlds respond to them, know them and feel the hum of the ancient powe
r that is within them. No mere man can wield the sword or wear the ring, for on
ly those whose true destiny is tied to the Light are allowed to use them. Your
dead bastard of a soldier himself likely did not come to have these in his posse
ssion by any honest means, Tragger Drake. Otherwise, you would never have foun
d his corpse on a battlefield with them still on his person. Mortals cannot def
eat the one who is meant to arm himself with the ancient sword. The magic will
not allow it.” At this, he raises his arm and flexes his hand, studying the ring.
“Tell me about magic,” he says. His voice contains a hard edge that makes it obvious
he’s no stranger to magic, he just doesn’t trust it very much. I can’t blame him, ma
gic, especially that of the Elders, can be a very complex thing.
“There is Good magic, and there is Dark magic,” I explain, trying to keep things sim
ple so as not to overload him on our first day out. “Good magic is pure. It draw
s from light and is restorative. And always it glorifies Father. Dark magic, o
n the other hand, is tainted. It draws from evil and is destructive, glorifying
no one person, entity or thing.”
“Are you, as an angel, limited to Good magic?”
“No. I can and have used Dark magic on occasion. As an angel, I am opposed by my
very nature to the taking of life. But, as a soldier in Father’s army, there are
times when I have no choice. And so, on those rare occasions, I have had to ca
ll upon Dark magic.” I grow quiet, then, lost to my memories, a shadowing of pain
that still lingers.
“It hurts you, doesn’t it? When you use the Dark magic.”
“Yes,” I answer quietly. “It does. Dark magic taints those who call upon it. On tho
se times when I have had to use it, the poison invades my soul and robs me of my
light. Only Father can remove this foulness from me, and it often requires tha
t I spend many days in solitude and meditation.”
“The Ring of Life has magic,” he says staring at his hand again. “This I know be true.
But I don’t know how it works. Tell me that.”
“By now, I’m sure you’ve noticed the changing colors,” I continue, taking his hand in m
ine and running my finger lightly over the top of the ring. “When it is green it
is telling us that there is balance. When the ring can sense Elder magic, or in
 our case, the Talisman, the deeper green it will glow. The further away it get
s, the weaker the glow becomes. This is how we will track the Talisman down. Wh
en the green is strong, we’ll move in that direction.”
“Got it. Green is balance. Deep green good, weak green bad.” He shows me the ring,
it’s a very weak green, barely any color to it at all. “This does not bode well for
us,” he adds.
“Give it time to connect to this world, Tragger Drake. We’ve only just arrived here
. It will take the ring a little while to sense the Elder magic. It will glow.
It’s what it’s made to do. However, do not let that fool you. All it will mean is
that a connection has been established; balance has been sought and found. And
balance merely means that the scale is not tipped in favor of light or darkness
, it just means the ring can feel the magic. By no means should it give you rea
son to drop your guard.
“When the ring glows yellow, it is an indication to use extreme caution. It means
the ring has somehow lost it’s connection to the Elder magic. It works like the
green, but in reverse; the stronger the yellow glow, the deeper the connection t
o the Elder magic has been severed. The weaker the glow means the connection is
broken, but not necessarily lost. It also means balance or danger can be either
be right around the next fork in the road, or a million miles away. It will be
up to us to try and determine the nature of the ring’s yellow warning.
“Curses. This is beginning to hurt my head.”
“Stop complaining and listen. This is important.” He gives me a hard stare, but fin
ally nods for me to continue. “Blue is rather simple; it means danger. The deeper
the glow, the stronger the threat.”
“And red means kill,” he finishes, a sudden hard set to his jaw telling me that more
human memories are pushing to the surface. He gives me a look that makes my blo
od run ice-cold. “That’s the simple one, Aly. I don’t give a bloody hellhound how de
ep the shade is. If it’s red, I kill.”
For once, the brute in him is correct. Red means death. Because I’ve been dead for
so long, and under the love and protection of Father, I have a difficult time e
ven saying the word, so I don’t. I just offer the Golden-God Warrior a slight nod
of acknowledgement.
In the distance a dog begins to bark excitedly, and the muffled laughter of chil
dren playing reaches my ears, so that I pause for a moment and allow the beauty
of these sounds to touch my soul. As an Angel in Father’s army, I draw strength f
rom purity such as is found in the innocent laughter of a child. To be near to
one after so many centuries away is intoxicating, flooding my spirit with healin
g warmth that throbs and pulses.
“Holy Hades,” I hear Tragger Drake call out to me as he waves a hand before my eyes,
bringing my senses back into focus. He is looking at me with open concern and
I am touched by his worried expression. “You okay? You’re not about to barf, are yo
u? Because the color of your skin, that ain’t normal. I mean, curses, Aly, you lo
ok like chewed-up shit, and blast it all, but I don’t’ be in the mind to play nurse
maid tonight.”
Okay. So now I really wanted to throw him over the side of another mountain c
liff. A higher one this time.
And in that moment, when I was trying to decide whether or not I should give hi
m another flying lesson, a massive canine comes crashing through the trees, all
rolling tongue, ears pinned back and wagging tail as it makes a path straight t
owards my warrior. I watch amazed, as Tragger’s face immediately breaks into a hu
ge grin and he bends down to greet this monster of a dog as if he has been maste
r to it for ages.
“A friend of yours?” I ask, eyebrows raised in distaste. I don’t much care for dogs i
n general, and ones of this size particularly unnerve me. I firmly believe that
no creature should have that much slobber coming out of their mouths at any tim
e. The fact that dogs do just reminds me of Father’s brilliant sense of humor.
“Certainly is now.”
Suddenly, a young boy comes bounding through the same patch of trees. “Walter, no!
Bad doggie” He reaches the clearing and sees Tragger Drake standing there in his
gleaming golden armor, glowing eyes and the mighty Elder-forged sword at his hip
, and comes to an abrupt halt. No older than five summers at best, he stares up
at the imposing figure the Golden-God makes, jaw open and eyes wide. I hold my
breath, knowing that my warrior is going to do or say something Tragger-like an
d terrify this poor child half to death. And the instant he does, I vow I’ll bla
st him straight into oblivion.
Instead, he goes down on one knee. “Hello, son.” He says, smiling at the lad. It i
s a smile so warm, so sincere, that the boy instantly calms. “My name is Tragger
Drake, and I’m new to these parts. What might your name be?”
“Randall Tyson, of the Worthington Tysons,” he says proudly, though it comes out sou
nding more like Word-in-ton. “Why do your eyes glow like that?”
“Well, Randall Tyson, of the Worthington Tysons,” Tragger Drake says removing his g
love and holding out his hand. “A pleasure, Sir, to make your acquaintance. They
glow whenever they see a brave and mighty soldier. If they’re glowing now, then I
must be looking at just such a man.” The young boy beams brighter than the noon-
time sun, reaching out to place his small hand in this mighty warrior’s much large
r one in a customary handshake of a soldier’s greeting. “Perhaps, you might tell us
how much farther it is to the nearest village?” Without answering, the young boy’s
gaze lands on me and his eyes grow even larger. “Do not mind her,” Tragger Drake s
ays conspiratorially. “She looks scary, what with those wings and all, but she is
not really so bad.”
“She be pretty,” the boy breathes. “She be . . . an angel?”
Father’s warrior nods his head. “That she is, boy. Her name is Alysandra.”
“Me never seen no real angel before.” He turns back to Tragger Drake. “You be a God?” H
e asks, clearly in awe.
“No, I am no God,” Tragger Drake responds with an easy laugh. “I am merely a weary tr
aveler in a strange land who would very much like to sleep indoors tonight.” He r
eaches out and places his large hand on the small boy’s shoulder. “Tell me, brave o
ne, do you know where we might find these things?”
“Worthington Village,” He answers, pointing down the road in the direction that we w
ere headed. “Only be long way past those trees.” With a final pat on the child’s head
, Tragger Drake stands back up to his full height, nodding.
“Then I suppose we best be off if we are to make it before dark,” he says. “Thank you
for your help, young Master Tyson. Perhaps our paths will cross again one day.”
The young boy gives one final smile to his new friend, then turns to me and mak
es a holy symbol of blessing before calling to the beast and disappearing back i
nto the trees.
Turning my gaze to the enigma that is this Golden-God Warrior before me, I can’t h
elp but be amazed by him. The cold and detached tone in his voice and steel gre
y eyes when he spoke about killing belonged to one man; a savage man, a murderer
. However, the gentle kindness he so easily displayed to both beast and boy cl
early belonged to another man; a kind person with a warm heart and caring soul.
Yet, they were closely bundled in the same package. I have been dead for centur
ies and I’ve encountered millions of souls in that span, but none of them have eve
r been the complete puzzle that this gentle killer is.
“You’re staring, woman. What wrong have I done now?”
“You did no wrong, Tragger Drake. I did.” The first person we’d run across here in th
is land of my birth was a child too young to realize that eyes shouldn t glow as
my warrior’s did. I don’t even want to contemplate the possible disastrous effect
s my blunder could’ve had if we’d come upon the child’s father instead. Tragger’s expla
nation of his gift of Light wouldn’t have been received by very well at all by an
adult, and we could’ve stumbled into a fairly serious situation before we’d even mad
e it to our first meal. Such small oversights as forgetting to cast the simple
spell over him so his eyes won’t glow is just the kind of mistake that could get T
ragger Drake killed. I am his angel, his guide and his protector in this most p
erilous mission, I can’t afford to be anything but completely diligent in my dutie
s.
I reach behind me and act like I’m scratching at the back of my neck when what I’m r
eally doing is gathering a pinch of angel dust from my wings. I don’t need a lot,
for this is a very simple spell, just enough to make him rub his eyes. I let th
e wind take the dust from my fingers and blow in his face. Absently, he raises
his hand to rub at the dust as it finds its mark. Quietly I say the enchantmen
t and cast my spell over him. He takes his hand away and I smile, the glow is go
ne. He looks like any other invincible God in golden armor.
“Come,” I say, ignoring his questioning glare. “The sooner we get to Worthington, the
sooner we can get you a bath.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Worthington’s main feature was a large church that sat directly in the center of t
own. Even before we crossed under the weathered wooden sign that officially wel
comed us to the sleepy village we could see its steeple standing proudly under t
he spotlight of a full moon. Hard-packed dirt roads just large enough for a hor
se cart to pass through seemed to run off in at will in every direction. Some of
the main roads had small business or shops lined along them, while smaller road
s branched out like spider legs and had huts and a few nicer homes dotting them.
Along the southern end of town was the “Sleep Keep” Inn, the Smithy’s shop and the lar
ge council hall that doubled as a jail. My human father had been born here and
the memories of this town caused a ghost of a smile to cross my lips. So much o
f it looked the same, yet it was all brand new to me. It was the inn that I’m mos
t concerned with, as we were both tired and I know my warrior needs food and res
t.
The “Sleep Keep” Inn was not fancy, more like a common house with uncommon rooms.
Burlap bags dyed in a crimson wash were freshly starched and covered the windows
in the main hall, a large room with hardwood floors swept clean, a high ceiling
that gave the feel of great space, and a long bar near the kitchen for those w
ho came to partake only of spirits. There was a large fireplace in the center o
f the room which separated the small dining area from the tavern. Only a few lo
w wooden tables, simple in design and surrounded by benches, but like everything
else, they were clean and cared for, even if old and well used.
The innkeeper greets us from the bar at the far end of the hall with a, .“Evenin’, m
y Lord.” “Sit down, sit down. You’ll be wantin’ dinner, then?”
Tragger nods his head. “Aye. That we will. Make it snappy, we be of great hunger
.”
“I’ll have my lass right out with a hot bowl of stew and a tankard of ale.” Tragger D
rake nods then goes to sit at a table closest to the fire.
“Will my Lord be wantin’ a room as well?” He asks, clearly assuming Tragger Drake to
be of some worth due to his gleaming golden armor.
“Aye. Be in need of that as well.” We barely had enough time to remove his gloves b
efore the inn-keeper’s girl arrives with a single bowl of stew, basket of warmed b
read and the ale and places them before my warrior.
“What insult be this?” bellows out Tragger Drake when he notices she only brought on
e bowl. He turns and gives the girl one of his thunderstorm looks, and in a har
sh tone says, “Do you be daft, wench?”
“My Lord?” the innkeeper asks confused as he rushes over to our table. “I do not und
erstand, is there a problem with the lass?” He gives the girl a stern questioning
look. She cowers away with fearful eyes. She has no idea what wrong she’s done to
cause Tragger Drake to call her names, but her reaction tells me she expects to
receive a beating for it nonetheless.. My heart goes out to the poor girl, and
I say a quick calming blessing for her. Instantly, her demeanor relaxes and sh
e explains that all she did was bring the fine man his supper.
All conversation in the room calms to an immediate halt, and every eye focuses o
n the Golden-God Warrior. I detect that hands are instinctively reaching for th
e pommels of swords, or handles of war-axes. These are hardened men in here, and
bloodshed over bread is hardly uncommon to such a lot. At first, I’m as taken ba
ck by Tragger Drake’s explosive reaction as the innkeeper is, all the girl did was
bring him stew, when it finally dawns on me what the problem is; there’s only one
bowl of stew. My hero is trying to be gallant.
I smile warmly at his thoughtful consideration. My Golden-God sees my smile and
 scowls at me. “And you be smiling at what, woman? You wish to go hungry, is tha
t it?”
Both the innkeeper and his lass cast their gazes around the room to see who Trag
ger Drake is speaking to? Finding no clear candidate, but not wanting to lose t
he coin of such an obviously wealthy man, the innkeeper clears his throat and sa
ys, “Everything . . . all right, sir?”
“Are you a dolt as well?” Tragger Drake gestures towards me with a grand sweep of h
is arm. “Do you not feed women in this place? Has she not also earned a meal? I
tell you she blasted well has. Now, stop this insufferable daftness and get this
woman supper before her temper flees and I’m made to suffer for it!”
The looks that cross the faces of the poor innkeeper and his young lass are pric
eless, and I start to laugh despite my best efforts to try and hold it in.
“What be so cursed funny, woman?” He growls at me. “I am trying to get you a bowl of
stew, you winged devil.”
“They cannot see me, Tragger Drake. Or have you forgotten? I am an angel? Non-co
rporeal ring any bells for you? Only you can see or hear me, my sweet hero.”
His expression darkens in confusion. “But the boy . . . the dog…?”
“I’m very sorry, my Lord . . . child? Dog?” The innkeeper now believes that my warrio
r is currently speaking to thin air, and the look in his eyes suggests that he h
as serious doubts about Tragger Drake’s sanity.
As understanding finally seeps into my warriors thick brain, he scowls and turns
his attention back to his host. “My apologies. It has been a long journey and I
believe I must be falling into waking dreams.” The innkeeper looks skeptical, bu
t doesn t push the issue.
“But, of course, my Lord. You would like a room, then?”
“Yes. And a hot bath as well.” He casts his eyes across to me, then. “I’ve been told I’m
in dire need of one.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I soak in tepid bathwater lost in my thoughts; my mood as dark as the night sky
outside the dirty window. All of this talk of magic has my mind bothered. I sta
re at the Ring of Life as it quietly glows a soft shade of green, and sift throu
gh memories that had laid dormant for many years.
Being in the land of Alysandra’s birth, seeing the rolling green hills and smellin
g the sweet scent of lilacs perfume the air, reminds me of how differently I gre
w up. I was raised in Elyria during a time of great civil unrest and bloodshed.
A battlefield was my playground. While other kids were outside chasing each o
ther and playing tag, I was wielding a sword and killing wild boors for my suppe
r. I didn’t know any different, I thought that’s how a kid was supposed to be raised
. War was life, life was war. I knew nothing about magic.
But father wanted a better life for me. Or, so he said.
Father was a warlock; though he preferred the term wizard, and he believed ultim
ate victory could only be achieved in Elyria through magic.
He was a damn fool.
At first, father seemed to be in control of what he called his craft. He laced w
eapons, such as swords and spikes, with spells that would make them unbreakable,
but soon father lost his grip on reality. He became obsessed with trying to mak
e the weapons come alive; to give them personalities and the ability to think fo
r themselves. What utter rubbish. What man has ever heard of such a thing? A
sword that’s alive? A flail that can think? That isn’t war, that’s not even magic. Ma
gic would be making the sword come to you when it was out of arm’s reach, or ignit
ing wall touches with just a wave of the hand, or even making things such as bri
dges appear over a stream or lake. That’s magic. That’s what Alysandra does; she c
reates things, she casts spells that help, like when she locked in my humanity s
o Father’s gift of Light didn’t destroy me, she helps people with her gift. Making
weapons come alive, giving them a spirit and knowledge, that’s not magic that’s sorc
ery, and everyone knows the devil dwells within sorcery.
Day after day, week after week, month after month mother and I watched father sl
ip further away. He began talking in tongues, skipping meals, losing sleep. He
wasted away to just a twig of his former mighty frame. Mother tried to reach him
. She pleaded with him day and night to give up the magic and return to us. All
she did was inflame his ire.
I’m done with this lukewarm water. All I want to do is fall into the straw mattres
s and sleep the blissful slumber of a soldier. The day has been long and not en
tirely pleasant. I’ve been dropped off a mountain, walked what must’ve been at leas
t ten thousand miles, been mocked by a wisp of an innkeeper and his wench, and t
old I’m back to dealing with magic. As days go, this one has been blasted cursed.
Aly says angels don’t need sleep. They need to rest, but not actual sleep like hum
ans do. Still, she looks like she’s sleeping to me. She’s hovering a few feet off
the ground with her legs crossed and her pretty purplish wings wrapped around th
e front of her like a cloak. Her head is lowered and her raven hair spills acros
s her folded wings gracefully. She makes no sound. The bed, if such it can be
called, it’s four pieces of timber nailed together to form a box with straw thrown
in it, has been turned down for me. A thin wool blanket waits, as does a straw-
filled burlap sack that’ll serve as a pillow.
I climb into bed ready to be done with this day when thoughts of my father retur
n. In my mind, I see my mother pleading with him to give up the magic and return
to the glorious soldier he once was. “Reclaim your honor,” she had said to him. T
hose three words had sent father into a blind rage. All I recall is hearing a s
tring of shouted words in a language I didn’t recognize, a brilliant flash of ora
nge light, and then both mother and father were gone. Just no longer on this pla
ne of existence. I was a lad of only eleven at the time. I understood not of wha
t magic was, or how it was supposed to work. All I knew of magic was that it co
rrupted my father’s mind, his sanity, and then in one extremely cruel moment, it t
ook my parents from me. That’s what I understood of magic.
“I’m so sorry, Tragger Drake, “ whispers Alysandra. She hasn’t moved a single muscle.
I didn’t really know Aly could read minds, but it takes me as no surprise. That w
oman has more blasted tricks up her sleeve than a street huckster “I did not know
about your human parents.”
I offer her no reply. Just fiddle in the straw until I find a comfortable positi
on, pull the blanket over my shoulders, and fade away into a hard-won slumber.