MR: Chapter 3
Sneak Peek
Day 3
January 17th, The Order’s Estate
Evening
A large brown owl swooped
into the open bay of the estate’s garage. Katcher, a death rider stood waiting
patiently, her sculpted arm crooked, and held perpendicular to her chest. The
owl landed gently on the woman’s forearm, large talons curling carefully over
the crimson bands crisscrossing the woman’s limb.
Oversized,
round golden eyes blinked methodically as the owl swiveled its big head
studying his surroundings. The bird gave a hoot, and lifted off of Katcher’s
arm. It circled towards the high ceilings of the garage bay, a crackle fizzed
in the air, and spotted brown feathers fell softly to the ground. Wanda, the
Grand Sorcerer, returned to his human form.
The
old man smiled, his toothless grin making him seem so harmless. “I do love
flying.” Wanda exclaimed. “There is nothing like it in the world.” He breathed
deeply, expanding the bony chest beneath the loose beige cotton tunic. “And
flying with Will is out of this world.” The old man chuckled.
“The
Dark One declines my offer,” Katcher muttered, arms held tightly over her
chest.
Her
words seemed to have deflated her effervescent new friend. “It is good that
William does. He is too new. An angel in his infancy.” Wanda reached for her arm,
and gently pulled on her hand. “He is a good man. Much of Mahalel, his father,
your handler, is within him, but he is still learning to…” The old man paused,
and locked her gaze. The kindness in his eyes, softening her hardened barriers.
“To
what?” she asked, frustrated.
“Not
be human.” He gave her a tight smile. “Handlers to Death Riders are the most
benevolent in the realms. They are chosen for a reason. It is a task with the
heaviest burden. Becoming a handler to a Death Rider is not so simple. You understand
this.”
Katcher
let out a defeated sigh. “I know this. But I feel disconnected without a
handler. I am without my abilities. I am just as lost as the Dark Ones. As
Mahalel. I have never been without Mahalel. He grounds my powers and allows me
to see clearly. With Mahalel, I know my purpose.”
Wanda
was contemplative. “William. Will. …is not Mahalel and he can never be. Will
may be a Dark One now, but the events that have been set before him carves his
purpose in ways so different from any of his kind.” The old man gave her one of
his biggest toothless smiles, catching her off guard. He had been so serious.
“You will need to find a different purpose.” Wanda pointed a bony finger at her
chest. “You are not limited. With your immense powers, and the current needs of
this realm, I am sure you will have plenty of opportunity.”
“What
powers? I cannot be a death rider without a handler,” she scoffed.
“Perhaps
you cannot ride the cloak of death, and reap a soul, but you are not
powerless.”
She
jerked. “I do not know if I can. I have only known one way.” Her thin brows
knotted. What was she, if she was not a Death Rider? She did not even know
where to begin.
“I
have faith in you, dear one.” Wanda patted her arm tenderly, the kindness from
his soul spilling into her, warming her icy countenance.
“Why
must old men be so stubborn?” she grumbled.
Wanda
chuckled and shuffled away, leaving her to her thoughts.
Katcher
strolled to the mouth of The Order’s garage. She pierced her consciousness into
the darkness of the woods, pass the murky waters, and into the large city
across the Bay. Her heart pounded rhythmically, and her breathing slowed as she
reached into the night. Many were dying.
Her
hands fisted against her sides while memories of Mahalel’s teaching flashed
through her mind. “Every life length is determined.” He had shown her a
delicate strand of energetic fiber. It lit with his touch, and bright colors
bloomed out of thousands of pinpoints of light. “This is a human spark.” He
lectured. “His name was Fred Robin and he volunteered for our lesson
today.”
A
human male then emerged from the spark, big brown eyes shining with peace and
happiness. “Hello,” Fred Robin greeted.
She
smiled at Fred Robin.
“Your
job as a Death Rider will be to take the spark of life when time has tolled.”
Mahalel instructed matter-of-factly. “A name will be given to you, and it is
your job to ensure the being’s essence returns safely to the correct realm.”
“Like
Fred Robin?” she had asked. She had been so young then.
“Yes,
like Fred Robin.” Mahalel confirmed.
“But
Fred Robin looks young. Why did his life thread end so soon?”
“The
Threads of Life are complicated and filled with many variables. A thread twists
upon another strand, upon another, upon another, to give it strength. But yet,
a thread can still fray and weaken. But it is the nature of the thread. For
some, when the fraying begins, the physical lives can manifest into events that
become hard and challenging--misfortunes, losses. Depending upon the being,
they can either gather themselves, learn, and rise against the
difficulties--thereby not only repairing the thread but also strengthening it.
Or, they can succumb. Thereby allowing the thread to snap.”
“What
about illnesses?”
“Some
can be overcome. Others are not meant to be.”
Katcher’s
young mind was trying to process. “What Being would want to give up?”
Mahalel
smiled. “Every thread is beautiful and complex, and not even I can explain the
variables. We all have a purpose. One of yours will be to help, and protect
those who are ready to return. When the name is spoken, rest assured the thread
has come to its natural end.”
“Can…”
Katcher’s heart sped up, a dark thought nagging at her. “Can a thread be ended
before Time and Fate has declared it so?”
Mahalel’s
entire being went dark, his energy droning a lowly tone, making her extremely
uncomfortable. She shouldn’t have asked the question.
“Yes.
Demons.” Her teacher muttered a growl. “They can rip essences out of a vessel.
They can violate a being in the darkest ways. They feed on the essences of the
Creator’s children.” Mahalel looked up to the Heavens, and whispered a prayer.
“An essence lost to a demon is a tormented one.”
A
cold chill crawled up her rigid spine. The dying’s pain and fears rushed her.
She winced in agony. “Mahalel, where are you? These people need help. Their
essences are lost,” she pleaded, “these people’s lives are being perverted to
feed demons.” She stilled and begged for an answer. “Mahalel, please…” Holding
her breath and letting hope fill her heart, she extended her energy as far as
she could stretch to feel for her mentor’s light. Waiting, she swallowed a
bitter pang when only emptiness touched upon her heart.
Humans
dying tonight were being robbed of their precious time.
Wanda
was right.
She
could not exact her abilities as a Death Rider, but she was not powerless.
Transgressions against the delicate balance of life, and the divine order were
being committed. “Demons,” she growled, her own energy grew heavy and dark much
like her mentor’s did those many years ago. Fisting her hands until her
knuckles popped, she thought about the injustices the human souls were
suffering from.
An
essence lost to a demon is a tormented one. She closed her eyes in meditation,
remembering her mentor’s words.
Her
mind made up. She walked into the darkness of the woods surrounding the estate.
Her heart beating steadily, she cloaked herself in shadow, rendering her
physical form invisible. She would visit the city across the Bay. She would
fight for these lost lives, not as a Death Rider, but as an ally to The Order.