Chapter One:
Watcher in the Dark
by Emiko and Tami
The news anchor looked serious, which was not surprising. The city of Roanoke had not had a good past year. As well as the murder mysteries of teenagers - the deaths of Acacia Aisling and Zaza Grogan could not be explained - a riot had taken place very shortly before, causing a number of deaths; their own high school, William Fleming, had been the target of gang violence in which one student had died and one was lying ill in a coma.
"A new school year, and questioning is still going on at William Fleming high school as to the whereabouts of the gang members who stormed the school, killing eleventh-grade Ravi Skada, and causing knife injuries to Theodore Parfett, student of the school of International Arts and Sciences. Theodore Parfett is in a stable but catatonic state at Roanoke Hospital."
A series of images, with no sound. A dark-haired girl, talking to a reporter, the side of her face still caked in blood; students milling about confusedly. A body being covered by a body-bag. A redhead in a wheelchair, weeping into the arms of a blonde. Two old photos - one of an Indian boy glaring as his photo was taken for school, and one that had obviously been taken after a soccer game; an attractive mudspeckled brunette boy with a soccer ball, looking slightly concussed as another boy out-of-shot noogied him.
"Police are concerned that this recent spread of gang violence is connected to the deaths of Zaza Grogan and Acacia Aisling earlier this year. Night activity and warfare has taken a turn for the worse, with over twenty cases of aggressive activity reported by citizens. So far, no member has been apprehended or information been given about these groups."
A few more photos. Blurry night shots. A few figures; a weapon is visible, a sword.
"Citizens are recommended not to approach these groups, as they are armed and presumed dangerous. Any information may be forwarded to this number."
A number across the screen. Then a bright grin, away from the somber look of before.
"And next, a dancing goat - who climbs trees!"
The TV went dark.
After a few moments of silence, Abernathy pulled himself up from the plush yellow recliner and moved into the kitchen to grab a cola. His socks slid easily from the hardwood floor of the living room to the polished texture of the kitchen linoleum. He left the lights off; he didn’t need their help to navigate the house that had been his home for nearly all of his seventeen years. In that time, the house had changed very little. Granny had changed a lot.
The refrigerator cast an eerie glow over the stillness. Abernathy searched around for a moment before picking up a can of RC Cola and flicking open the tab. It made a satisfying “ssch” noise and he greedily gulped at the chill carbonated water and flavoring, downing nearly half the can in one gulp. Outside, the clouds were lit an unnatural orange by the lights of the city. It was so rare to see stars in the valley. Something about the way the mountains affected the weather.
Can still in hand, Abernathy trudged back to the living room recliner. He didn’t feel like going back to his room, not yet at least. Not after that news report. It’s happening again, he thought to himself as he sat back down and sipped lightly at the soda. He didn’t feel like facing Neot at the moment.
Like a great torrent, or perhaps a burp from drinking too much soda in one gulp, the memories he had been avoiding for so long came flooding back. The feathers, the blood, the news report—
Roanoke, three years ago. Despite the passage of time, nothing has truly changed. All the buildings are the same, all the clocks are repeating the same hours and minutes over and over, all the people are living their lives blissfully unaware of a war going on right under their very noses. No, nothing has truly changed at all. Even the grass on the field is the exact same, frozen forever in that moment.
Just over the hill is a school, an elementary. Ertael is sure the opponent before him is from the school. The boy can’t be any older than twelve. He’s spouting some nonsense about justice and birds. He looks like a bird. His legs and arms are bony and he’s wearing red, yellow, and blue feathers over a green bodysuit. Ertael shifts his staff in his hands in agitation. Even if the boy is from the school over the hill, he is still the enemy. Neot warned him about the enemy, about the enemy taking forms as a disguise for their work for the devil. Granny warned him about the devil, how it must be beaten out of the bad little children. The devil hides in little children because little children are full of original sin unless they have been baptized.
So why does Ertael hesitate, his hands gripping his staff? Why is there a cold sweat breaking out on his skin? Is this merely because it is his first time meeting the enemy?
The boy holds his hands up in the air. A swarm of multicolored birds fly up from nowhere and everywhere, swooping towards Ertael like a scene from a Hitchcock movie. He brings his hands up to cover his face, changing his staff to his claws as he does, and waves his arms through the air blindly. The birds disappear as his claws slice through them until all the birds are gone. The bird-calling boy doesn’t seem to know what to do. Ertael knows what to do. Neot told him. He switches back to his staff and starts moving forward. He has to be fairly close for this to work. The boy calls out another attack, this time turning the strips of feathers on his back into glider wings.
That won’t do. People with wings can fly out of Ertael’s barriers. But the boy is only just taking off and hasn’t quite left the ground yet. Ertael switches to the claws again, starting to get annoyed. He prefers his spear. “Ice Box!” he shouts, throwing his clawed hands into the air. A circle of spikes rises from the earth, striking the boy. The boy is stunned momentarily and falls back to the ground. Now Ertael is close enough. “Solitary Confinement!”
The bird on the boy’s shoulder tries to fly up, but never makes it. The two of them are trapped on the ground, the boy stuck in the uncomfortable position of trying to get up and the bird suspended in the air a few inches above the boy’s head. Ertael is surprised. He was told the he could only confine one person, but apparently if a small guardian like a bird is close enough, the guardian can be trapped too. That’s useful to remember for the future.
Ertael switches back to the staff again. It bears the symbol of the cross at its peak, which is why Ertael likes it better than the claws. The boy, trapped beneath an invisible barrier, can only look up fearfully as Ertael raises the staff above his head and brings it down, dispelling the barrier at the same time.
No one could explain the murder afterwards. There was no evidence save for a circle of iron spikes protruding from the ground. It made the news briefly, but eventually it became merely another unsolved mystery. Nothing changed.
Abernathy found the can of cola in his hand was empty and he couldn’t remember finishing it. It was an uneasy feeling. He crumpled the can in his hand and stood, stretching. The clock against the wall read 12:36. He must have dozed off.
After a brief stop by the kitchen to deposit the can in the recycling bin, Abernathy headed upstairs to sleep. He could hear his grandmother’s raspy breathing as he passed by her room. He waited a listened for a moment before continuing on.
Even with all the normal lights off, the giant fish tank illuminated his room. Neot was swimming peacefully in the tank’s artificial current. He rose to the surface when Abernathy entered.
“You’re up late.”
“I fell asleep downstairs watching the news.”
“What news?”
Abernathy shrugged. “Nothing new.”
Neot considered that for a moment. “I think it’s time you went out on patrol again. I can sense faint energies around the area. Too far to pinpoint, but if you go on patrol, I think you can find them.”
“And accomplish God’s work,” finished Abernathy, though Neot had not meant for any additions to his words.
“Yes,” agreed the trout.
That was about the limit for Abernathy, who flopped down on the bed without bothering to undress. “’Night, Neot.”
“Rest well, Abernathy.”
How dearly Abernathy wished he could.