She stood in the dusk, heedless of the wind that whipped her hair about her face, mindful only of the salty drops that slid down her face, clear as her name, Crystal.  The view spilled before her green eyes was beautiful, but she was beyond noticing it.  Her brother, seeing her trembling shoulders, came up behind her and gently laid a hand on them.  She flinched at his touch.

"Walker?"

"Yes, it's me.  Don't turn around.  It's hard enough without..." he trailed off.

She turned around anyway, looking up into her brother's face for the first time in her life.  His blue eyes, once green, had never had to angle downwards to look into her eyes, but Walker was a foot taller than he had been the day before, and he towered over his sister.

Walker felt the shiver that ran through her when she saw him and felt a stirring of anger and sadness; anger at the wicked enchantress who had altered his appearance for nothing more, it seemed, than her own amusement, and sadness that his sister should have fear in her eyes when she looked at him.  Crystal saw the pain in her brother's expression and understood it.  She, too, had had her appearance altered, though not the same extreme as Walker.  The enchantress, in testing a potion, had made Crystal beautiful, almost beyond compare.  Crystal hated it.  Ravishing females had far more to worry about than girls with average appearances. 

"Why?" she whispered, turning away from her brother and leaning on the railing of the small balcony on which she stood.

"I don't know," said Walker, coming to her side.

"How can life ever be the same again?" Crystal asked softly.

"It can't be," Walker replied blandly.

"Why is that so hard to accept?"

Walker shrugged.  "Maybe 'cause we like normality."

"I've got to keep holding on to the hope that maybe it'll all be normal again."

Walker turned away from her.  "It's a dead hope," he said, his voice holding a tinge of bitterness.

"Why?"

He spun back to her.  "Why do you think?!  That enchantress has altered my appearance, and you, my sister, didn't know me!  How could I possibly expect anyone else to?  I'm not Walker Firestone anymore.  I'm turning into a strange person that I don't even recognize!"

"No, Walker.  You're still the same, to me at least."

"I won't be if we stay here much longer," Walker muttered.

"Walker...."

"That's it!  We're escaping."

"What?  How?"

"I don't know.  But we can't stay here."

"Are you mad!?" Crystal cried.

"Much more of this confinement and I will be." 

 

Crystal slept restlessly that night.  Walker paced the room, sliding his hands over the green walls, peeking behind the blue curtains, moving the mismatched furniture around.  He muttered to himself constantly, playing out theoretical scenarios one after the other under his breath.  At last he leaned against the wall.  With a moan, he slid down it and dropped his face in his hands.  "No.  No.  No...." he whispered.

Crystal watched him, peering through the darkness, tears pooling in her eyes.  He hated to see her brother look so defeated.  He leaned his head back against the wall with a dull thud, staring bleakly out the window.

A hair-thin crack ran up the wall.  Suddenly, a piece of plaster  crashed to the floor.  Walker jumped up, starring at the wall.  Crystal jumped up from her couch and ran to his side.  There was a shudder, and a six foot square area of the wall opened.  Musty, stale air drifted towards them.  An icy breeze came from the black hole, tugging at their clothing.  Crystal shivered in her shift.  More plaster fell to the floor, covering it in white powder.

"Quickly, Crystal.  Get your things," said Walker.  "That plaster falling is certain to draw the enchantress."  He ran to their couches and grabbed the blankets.  Crystal pulled on her threadbare dress and picked up a battered comb; all that she had.  Walker put a blanket over her shoulders like a cloak, then flung another blanket around himself.  Grabbing her hand, he led her over to the passage.  After hesitating a moment, they entered it.  It turned immediately, and a few steps later, everything was pitch black.  Crystal shrieked and clung to her brother.  Slime dripped from the ceiling.  Moss and other fungi's that, somehow, needed no light, hung from the beams and traced across their faces and shoulders.

Walker put an arm around Crystal and pulled her forwards, groping in front of them with a hand.  Crystal screamed once more as her foot caught in something.  Walker pulled her free but slipped on the floor.  They fell, and only after much scrambling did they regain their feet.  In the slick passage, they stumbled many times.  The corridor twisted and turned, always leading steeply downwards.  At last, Walker and Crystal came to a steep flight of stairs.  They struggled down it, feeling blindly about them in the darkness.  Walker lost his footing.  Bending to save him, Crystal slipped and fell after him.  They tumbled down the stairwell and crashed into a wall.  Pulling themselves up by the wall, they groped forwards, searching for the next leg of the passage.  Then their feet touched nothing and they fell into inky blackness.  

A massive splash sounded as they reached the end of their fall.  They rose from the water, gasping.  Crystal screamed and went under, swallowing water.  Frantically, she clawed her way back to the surface.  A pale green light slowly illuminated their surroundings.  They were in a cave.  The walls were smooth.  Ten feet up, there was a balcony.  The enchantress stood on it; it was the end of her wand that created the green glow. 

"How do you like my arena?" she asked them.  "I made certain that all the passages in this castle led here.  You get a log and a sword.  The moat is that way.  If you can get out, you are free. If."  She laughed.  The deep pool of water in the cave was suddenly illuminated from the side under the water, turning the water to green glass.  Crystal screamed again as she looked downwards; the bottom of the lagoon was strewn with bones.  There was a splash as a log fell into the water, a sword embedded in it.  Walker and Crystal swam towards it and grabbed hold of it, panting and glad that they no longer had to tread water.  Walker pulled off his blanket cloak and laid it over the log, then kicked off his boots.  With a determined look, he seized the sword in one hand.  Kicking their feet, brother and sister began to head towards the moat.

The water near the entrance roiled.  A sea-serpent raced towards them, mouth open.  Walker stabbed at it.  It rolled away.  Taking a breath, Walker dove after it.  Crystal could see him, suspended in the clear water across from the serpent, his sword glittering in the eerie light.  He swiftly collided with the beast, and took hold of it, grasping at its scales.  The serpent thrashed, and the distorted shapes Crystal saw told her nothing.  Walker surfaced grabbing air, then dove into the troubled water again.  Looking up, Crystal could see the enchantress looking downwards at them, her dress the same green as the water and her skin a ghastly color because of the reflection.  Her black hair swirled about her as she laughed at the blood that came to the surface of the quieting water. 

Crystal's heart seemed to stop.  Then Walker surfaced, sucking in the air with huge gulps.  The serpent surfaced as well, but belly up, blood streaming from its mortal wound.  Crystal kicked the log over to Walker, and he threw an arm over it, still panting.  Crystal took the sword from his weakening hands and began to guide the log towards the moat again.  Another serpent came at them.  Crystal trembled with terror, knowing that Walker could not fight again yet.  

"Right behind the skull," Walker gasped to her. 

Crystal pushed away from the log and dove under the water.  The weight of her dress carried her downwards swiftly.  Her hair floated around her as she opened her eyes.  Kicking slightly, she was able to stop her descent.  The serpent came at her, roaring soundlessly.  Crystal thought of the tales of dragons that she had heard, for it was as if the beast was flying.  The shock waves of water buffeted her.  In the first collision with the beast, she failed to strike the vital place behind the skull.  The sea-snake hurtled past her to the bottom of the lagoon, where it began to turn around for another charge.  Crystal returned to the surface, pulled in a deep breath of hair and dove to meet it.  This time, she followed Walker's example and grabbed ahold of the snake.  It rolled wildly.  Drawing back the sword, she plunged it all the way through the serpent's neck.  It convulsed, then died.  The body began to drift towards the surface, and Crystal let it carry her.  Coming up, she breathed in the sweet air in great gulps.  Walker grabbed her wrist and pulled her arm over the log, supporting her.  Nothing else challenged them as the dark eyes of the enchantress watched them drift out into the moat.

 From my new book, I will lift my eyes to the Hills. That is all :D I can't stay and chat all day now can I? :D

The sun was ruthless, it was almost as if it found delight in beating down on them. Striker whipped the sweat off his forehead and looked at his companions; the only one who did not seem to be having trouble with the merciless heat was Ben-Argon. Striker shook his head, he was going to freeze in the mountains.

“North west,” Callan was grumbling under his breath, “we'll never get back to the mountain at this rate! We are going to be drug all over this blasted desert!”

“You want my help or not?” Trystan demanded.

Callan did not answer him but continued muttering under his breath. As the days wore on things went from bad to worse. When the party had left Kallum's home they had taken as much food and water as they could carry, but as the days passed and their supply dwindled, patience followed it. Soon their tempers were as hot as the sun over head.

“Exactly who are we looking for, or are you just leading us on, hoping to find someone as we go,” Callan walked up beside Trystan and tried to draw him into a fight.

“They are not the easiest people to find,” Trystan muttered.

“Who are they?” Striker did not speak much, and each time he did his voice was cold and hard.

Trystan laid his hand on the hit of his long, thin sword. “They are the, the Scouts.”

Callan stopped dead in his tracks. “You never said anything about the Scouts!” he snapped, he grabbed Trystan's arm and spun him around.

Trystan shrugged his shoulders. “I promised you an army, what does it matter if they are nobleman's guards or Scouts?”

“Are you as dumb as all that?” Callan demanded, “Scouts and Rangers do not fight together.”

Ben-Argon shifted his feet, he knew trouble was brewing.

“It is time for a change,” Trystan said in a scornful tone in his voice. “Once they find out the Sea Raiders have invaded I am sure they will help...”

“We don't need help from Scouts!” Callan growled, “I knew I should not have trusted you!”

“Where else are you going to get help?” Trystan's eyes flashed, “the noblemen? Take it from someone who has lived in the desert; the noblemen care nothing but for themselves! You won't even be able to get farmers to help! They have their own troubles with harvest! If anyone helps you it will be the Scouts!”

“And how exactly are they going to help me?” Callan snapped.

“They will help take your head from your shoulders,” Striker grinned.

Callan turned on him. “Maybe they will do the same to you! That would be one consolation!”

There was a gleam in Striker's eyes, as if he agreed.

Ben-Argon stepped into the middle of it all. “I wouldn't be worrying about them yet,” he said, “seeing as we have to find them first.”

“Easier said then done,” Striker muttered under his breath. They all turned and looked at him with surprise; he quickly shaded his eyes and studied the countryside.

“What do you know about this?” Callan took a step closer to him.

“Does it really matter what I know?” Striker demanded.

Trystan crossed his arms over his chest. “It might,” he said warily; he looked very closely at Striker. “Have you seen the Scouts before?”

Striker bit his bottom lips until he tasted blood; he had a sudden urge to yell and hit something. “It doesna matter,” he muttered, “now, are we going to stand here all day?”

Striker moved forward, walking quickly. The others hurried after him and let the subject drop for the time being. A few days later another spat started between them, this time it was started by Ben-Argon.

“Oh! What I wouldn't give for a roasted fowl right now!” he said as he placed a hand over his growling stomach.

Callan, who had yet to get out of his foul mood, grumbled, “Now we shall have to put up with a whinny nobleman!”

Ben-Argon turned on him, hand on his dagger. “What?” he snapped.

“Nothing,” Callan snapped back.

Ben-Argon ground his teeth. “That was nothing!”

“Knock it off you two,” Striker muttered, “you are acting like children!”

Ben-Argon and Callan both turned on Striker. “Children!” they snapped.

Striker glared at them and Trystan rolled his eyes. “I am with Striker on this one,” he muttered.

“Keep out of this!” Callan growled.

A fight nearly broke out at that moment, would have, had not a sudden shadow passed over them. All four of them looked up, they were very surprised to see a huge, black cloud drifting between them and the sun.

“What is that?” Callan asked, he could hardly believe what he was seeing.

“Rain cloud?” Ben-Argon asked, not being able to see it he could only guess. He felt sure it could not be a rain cloud as he could not smell rain in the air; and it was the wrong time of year.

“It is too, dark,” Trystan rubbed his head uncertainly. “I haven't seen anything like it before Ben-Argon,” he added after a moment.

Striker studied the cloud, it was not moving, just hanging in the sky; and it was all alone, all around it the sky was blue. “How could it have just appeared like that?” he asked no one in particular.

Callan shook his head. “Well, it can't do us any harm since it is in the sky, we should keep walking.”

They followed this plan, but the cloud had sobered them a great deal. All that day they could think about nothing else but that huge black cloud, and as they walked it seemed to follow them. It might not have been too bad had it, in blocking out the sun, lessened the heat; but if anything it only made things worse. Now the air was heavy and it was hard to breath, stuffy.

“We need to stop,” Trystan was the one who first said it. The others were more then ready to agree by then, and they sank down to the sand; without a word they all opened their water flasks and took drinks.

“We have to get out from under that cloud,” Striker looked up at it again; it seemed to him as if it was lowering in the sky, he rubbed his eyes.

“And how are we going to do that?” Ben-Argon asked, he fought back a yawn. It struck him how tried he was, he wondered what was causing it. “I think I could sleep for a whole week,” he said over a yawn.

Trystan stared at him. “Are you feeling well Ben-Argon?” he asked quickly.

“Yes,” Ben-Argon nodded his head, annoyance in his voice, “you don't have to worry about me all the time, I am not fail just because I am blind!”

Callan leaped to his feet suddenly. “What is that?” he demanded, he stepped on something.

“What?” Striker looked up at him.

Callan pulled his foot up and everyone but Ben-Argon looked down. Trystan's face went as white as a sheet and he leaped to his feet; Callan saw the look of horror on his face and jumped up as well. Striker took a step backwards and Ben-Argon stood as well, though he had no clue as to what was going on.

“What is it?” he asked.

“One of the Scorpions!” Trystan said in a tight voice.

Ben-Argon took a step backwards, his face went as white as Trystan's.

Striker knelt down by the dead bug while Trystan looked at the cloud again. “What is so bad about one scorpion?” he asked, he had heard about them of course, but this one was dead now; no harm there.

“We have to get out of here,” Trystan suddenly said.

Striker looked up. “Why?” he asked, “what is going on here?”

Ben-Argon fixed his blind eyes on Striker. “Scorpions do not travel alone,” he said, “they travel in packs, and they fly. That is no cloud, it is a swarm of scorpions, very deadly scorpions!”

Striker looked at the cloud again, even as he looked he saw something black drop from it and fly at him; it dropped to the ground at his feet, and for the first time he got a good look at a desert scorpion. It was as black as night, except the tip of its stinger and its eyes which were blood red. The scorpion was not more then two inches long, its tale was the same length. Its wing were glossy black and folded at its side; it was truly hideous.

It fixed its red eyes on Striker as he stood staring at it, then it darted forward and extended its tale. Striker drew his sword and leaped out of the way; when the bug was within range he chopped it in half. He looked back up at the cloud.

“Come on!” Trystan snapped, he pulled everyone out of their state of horror. Quickly they hurried after him.

Before leaving though, Striker looked back down at the scorpion and saw that its blood, which was like acid, was eating away at the sand. He ran after the others, suddenly feeling sick; fear was an unknown feeling to him. Even as he took off running he felt, rather then hurried, a buzzing in the air. Looking back he felt his stomach drop to his boots when he saw that the cloud was moving, coming right at them!

“Run!” he yelled, though he knew the others did not need him telling them that. Trystan grabbed Ben-Argon's arm and they took off. They were able to run faster over the sand then Callan and Striker, but the other two had a good motive for keeping up.

As they ran, and the buzzing came closer, they knew there was no way they could out run them; when the first scorpion darted past them this was confirmed. Striker, who still had his sword in his hand, spun around and cut one in half as it flew through the air; it fell to the sand and started sizzling.

Trystan let go of Ben-Argon's arm and drew his own sword, Callan saw what they were doing and followed their example. With a sinking dread Ben-Argon did the same. They all stood, back to back in a tight circle as the scorpions descended on them, covering them in blackness.

Buzzing filled their ears as the scorpions flew around them, they could see nothing but the blood red; it was for this that they aimed. They knew they hit them when they heard a hissing, sizzling noise. The scorpions were so close together, however, that there was little risk of missing; even Ben-Argon stuck down many just by swinging his sword about.

They were doing rather well, until they noticed something, they were not cutting down as many. When they took a closer look horror filled them; the acid was eating away at their swords!

“We have to get out of this!” Callan yelled at the same time Striker yelled out in pain.

“I've been stung!” he cried.

Callan was still swinging his sword, but one managed to break past and sting him on the arm; instantly a fiery hot pain tore through his arm, then it went numb. His useless sword fell from his hand and dropped to the sand. The scorpions seemed to realize they had the upper hand and moved in; they began to sting the young men without mercy. They all dropped to the sand and tried to protect their heads with their hands.

As weariness washed over them all Ben-Argon heard something that broke through the constant buzzing; he listened and thought it sounded like the wings of a huge bird. Suddenly a shriek filled the air; they covered their ears, it almost felt as if it was going to burst their ear drums. The buzzing grew louder, it seemed to be lifting them and carrying them off, it was followed by another shriek, then silence; deadly silence.

It was at that moment that Jasper realized that Jonathan had only been pretending to be asleep.  Jonathan now looked keenly at Jasper.  "There's a deep creek down thataway," he said, meaning that he was willing to immerse Jasper on the spot if Jasper wanted him to.