Mars Deep-Crust Min ZB201-South

by P.A. Baines
Souls are Wild
by Cathrine Bonham
The Quest
by J.L. Rowan
Published and Edited by
Glyn Shull
Greetings!

It is always a privilege to be able to bring to you the cutting edge of Christian Speculative Fiction,
but today, of all days, that privilege is greater still. Memorial day will always have a special meaning to
me. Not only is it the day to remember my fallen comrades, and to pray for their families, but it is also my
time to look back over my own military career. It's been a hard seven years, filled with stress, angst, and
terror, but mixed into all that was a lot of fun and excitement. Partially thanks to the Army, I met my
beloved wife, Jamie, and am now waiting to adopt some kids.

Within these virtual pages you will find the best of the best of the best. We have a story about a
group of miners trapped beneath the surface of Mars. How will their predicament cause them to view their
own life and after-life? Then we have a marvelous story set into the days of the wild west where a
consummate gambler gambles the only thing he has left: his soul. We will close out with an epic fantasy
of a girl sent on a quest, a calling, but who is to say that the quest will be easy?

Business done, let's talk about what is new in the Shull household. If you are a member of any of
the online communities that I am also, you may have noticed that I haven't been around much. This is
because Jamie and I are expecting. Not the old fashion way, but still expecting none the less. We are
currently going through the state of Texas to adopt a group of siblings who, for whatever reason, need a
loving home. The certification process for this has been long and tedious, but we finished the last part on
Tuesday, so now we are waiting on the state to certify us and the adoption agency to send us the profiles
they have of children who currently need homes. I can't wait to provide these children with the love and
attention they so desperately need, and I can't wait to share my love of Jesus with them as well.

Now, one last piece of business and I'll let the stories do the talking. I wanted to mention a group
called the Christian Young Adult Writers critique group (http://groups.yahoo.com/group/C-YAW-1/ ).
Several of our authors call there as well as a number of highly talented people . They range from absolute
novice (So I put letters together like this and it makes a word?) to the best of the best (Yeah, I woke up last
night and, since I couldn't sleep anyway, I wrote a book before heading back to bed). The rules seem
pretty simple: to have your own work critiqued, you have to critique others. All work submitted must be
Christian and be geared towards a younger audience. They also offer web-classes taught by some of the
experts mentioned earlier. All that said, if that interests you, check it out! After you're done reading of
course.

In His Name (I do all things)

Glyn Shull
Co-Founder of TC2
May 31st, 2010 The Cross and the Cosmos
Mars Deep-Crust Mine ZB203-South

by

P.A.Baines

They were eighteen miles underground when the explosion happened, shaking their world as if it
were a rag doll, knocking most of the crew off their feet and showering them in dust and pebbles and
small rocks the size of clenched fists. They heard it rumble past them along the shaft like an unseen tidal
wave, moving towards them, then over, around--through--them, growing gradually quieter until...silence.

Keen had been in a crew of five, sitting on the tram, watching the shadows flit past as they
approached the final stretch of passage leading to the face. At the last few yards of track they disembarked
and prepared for the march to the business end of deep-crust mine ZB203-South in the heart of Mars'
Argyre Planitia. They had just passed the other crew as they headed back the other way, exchanging
greetings and jibes. Standard procedure was to allow a half-hour break between shifts to give the tunnel
time to “settle”, whatever that meant. Of course the company would prefer them to keep at it round the
clock, but then the company would happily work them all to death if the unions let them.

Keen felt the explosion before he heard it and by the time the roar washed past them he was on his
back, trying to avoid the debris that could easily break a limb, or worse, puncture his helmet. He heard the
yelps of fright as the ground turned to jelly. He felt a sound climb up his own throat and escape in a
strangled, involuntary shout. Then the world disappeared as a cloud of dense black dust swarmed over
them, blocking out the halogen lamps lining the passage and those on the front of the tram. The two
personal headlamps mounted on each side of Keen's helmet were snuffed out like candles. The darkness
engulfed them. Keen had the sensation of being swallowed.

Utter silence descended with the dust, as if ZB203-South was holding its breath. Someone swore.
Keen stared through his reinforced perspex visor at the receding particles as they swirled around the fat
fingers of light from his lamps trying to probe the smothering darkness.

"What was that?" Logan said.

"Anyone hurt?" Pane asked, ignoring Logan. "Tell me now if you're hurt."

"I think my leg's busted Boss," Neamon said. "I can't move it and it hurts."

"Anyone else?" Pane said. " Scales? You okay?"

There was no reply from the miner. Scales was a veteran with more than twenty years service.
Keen felt suddenly scared.

"Scales! Answer me if you can hear my voice," Pane said.

"I think my leg's broke," Neamon said, his voice taking on a whiny edge.

"Keen, you all right?" Pane said.

"I think so," Keen said, pushing himself into a sitting position. The dust was starting to thin now.
Mars Deep-Crust Min ZB203-South P.A. Baines
May 31st, 2010 The Cross and the Cosmos
He could see a shadow that he guessed was Pane, the crew foreman and a man with more than
thirteen years underground experience--a lifetime for deep-crust mining.

"If you can see someone, move towards them," Pane said. "And check your suits."

It took perhaps six minutes for the air to clear enough for them to see what had happened. The
passage behind them, leading away from the face, was now a wall of rubble that stopped barely two yards
from the rear of the tram. Of the five crew members, Pane, Logan, Neamon and Keen were accounted for.
There was no sign of Scales.

"What happened to him?" Logan said.

"He was standing behind the tram," Pane said.

"You mean...?"

"Yes, that's exactly what I mean."

Logan whistled.

"I'm glad I took a front seat," Neamon said, limping across to the front of the vehicle. "That was
close."

"I see your leg's not broken."

"It was just a bump. Rock landed on it." Neamon reached out a hand and touched the wall of
boulders as if he expected it to bite him. "So they're gonna send help, aren't they?"

"Expect so. We can try sending a message from the tram's radio. Logan, can you get that?"

Logan obliged and took the front seat of the tram. It was covered in a thick film of dark gray dust
that he wiped away with his gloved hand. Keen was happy to see that lights on the console were still
working. Standard procedure was to send a rescue party after a shock higher than a certain magnitude, or
when a crew lost contact or requested help, or if the suits stopped sending a beacon message.

"Now what?" Naemon said.

"We'll scout further down the tunnel and look for survivors. Then we wait."

The radio hissed. A voice crackled. "Control Center. Identify please. Over."

"This is Logan of crew seven-zero-niner. We've had an explosion. The wall came down behind us
and we've got one casualty. Over."

"Yes, we picked up some seismic activity. It was a big one. We've lost seven-zero-eight. We see
one of your beacons have stopped. Scales? Please confirm. Over."

"He's...gone," Logan said, his voice shaking. "The tunnel..."

Pane snatched the receiver from Logan's hand. "We need someone down here now."

"Who is this? Over."

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May 31st, 2010 The Cross and the Cosmos
"Crew foreman Pane."

"Okay, well we're going to send down a rescue crew. We suggest you move towards the face. We'll
be there in two hours. Depending on how much rock has come down, we should have you out of there by
the end of the day. Ten hours tops. Over and out."

The radio hissed. Pane slammed the receiver into its cradle.

"Ten hours?" Neamon said. "Well that sucks."

"Then I suggest we get comfortable," Pane said. "Can you walk on that leg?"

"I guess."

"Then let's move. Follow me and stay close."

* * *

They found the face deserted and the digger's drill still steaming from hours of grinding against
rock that could reach two hundred degrees Celsius, even with a constant stream of water to keep things
manageable. The digger was thirty yards in length and completely self-sufficient, turning rock into gravel-
sized pieces of rubble that were then transported back along the track to the elevator where it would be
taken up to the Martian surface. It even laid the track and put a support sleeve in place to stop the ceiling
collapsing. The miner's job was to keep the beast fed and moving, and to replace the digger's teeth when
they wore down every week or so. The explosion had shifted the machine a good few yards back down
the track it had laid for itself, causing the conveyor that carried the rubble to the trams to crumple like a
twisted wire hanger.

The crew settled at the rear of the digger where there were places to sit or, at least, get
comfortable. And if there was an after-shock or even another explosion, the machine would provide at
least some protection.

Keen found a place under a support strut. The others sat where they could in a rough circle. All
that was missing was a camp fire.

"Well this really sucks," Neamon said.

"Nobody likes this," Pane said. "We're here so let's just make the most of it."

"My leg hurts."

"Then rub it."

"And I'm hungry."

"And what do you want me to do about that? Even if we had food we can't take these suits off.
Have a drink."

"I did. It was warm. I hate warm drinks."

"Let me check."
Mars Deep-Crust Min ZB203-South P.A. Baines
May 31st, 2010 The Cross and the Cosmos

Pane leaned across and examined the back of Neamon's life-support unit. "The lining on your
pack's damaged."

"What?"

"It's okay. You've just lost some insulation where your liquid nutrients are stored. I suggest you
drink it now before it gets too warm."

Pane returned to his seat. They could all hear Neamon sucking angrily on the straw inside his
helmet. It was comical but Keen wasn't in the mood to laugh. Neamon was just lucky that nothing else
had been damaged. A person could survive maybe half an hour without the protection of his suit. If the
heat didn't kill him, the fumes would. At this depth, the environment got pretty hostile.

A faint rumble rolled past them, causing dust to cascade onto the digger. In the lights it looked like
dirty rain. Some of the bigger pieces bounced off their helmets.

"What was that?" Neamon said, looking around.

"Just the tunnel settling," Pane said.

"Do ya think it could come down, I mean...could it fall on us?"

"It could but there's no point worrying about it. We're in the safest place right here."

"Well I don't feel safe."

Keen watched Neamon looking up at the ceiling in scared neck-jerking twitches. Keen didn't much
like Neamon. Usually he would just ignore him but it was hard to ignore the guy when they were wedged
in like sardines. He could see the fear in Neamon's eyes. They were like spooked animals, those eyes,
scurrying around his face, looking for a place to hide. And his face was covered in sweat even though the
suits were pretty good at keeping you cool. Sometimes the temperature inside the suit could get chilly, but
Neamon's fear was generating a lot of heat.

Another rumble sent a shower of fragments. Neamon's eyes tried to dig a hole in the pale sand of
his face and, having failed, resorted to panic.

"Oh man," Neamon said. "When they gonna get here?"

"Soon enough," Pane said.

Pane's voice was calm. From this angle, Keen could not get a clear look at his expression but he
was sure it would be just as devoid of concern. Keen liked Pane now that he thought about it. Pane never
swore or got angry. Not like Scales. Scales was--or had been--big and loud with a barrel chest and a beard
and one glass eye that he had fashioned to look like that of a snake. Almost every word Scales spoke was
a cuss-word and, although Keen did not consider himself a religious man, Scale's blasphemies offended
him in their breadth and creativeness. It seemed wrong somehow--taking God's name in vain, and Jesus
too. And as for Logan, Keen wasn't sure. Logan was quiet, almost reclusive. He didn't start conversations
and seldom finished them either. Keen got the feeling that talking was hard work for Logan.

Another rumble and more dust, but not so much this time. The beast's stomach was settling. It had
eaten its full and was now digesting. Keen wondered if Scales had suffered. Maybe he hadn't died straight

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May 31st, 2010 The Cross and the Cosmos
away. Maybe it took a while for him to have the life crushed out of him. The suits stopped sending
beacons if vital signs dropped too low, but those beacons weren't perfect. Sometimes they stopped sending
a signal when the wearer was just unconscious. Maybe that had happened with Scales. Maybe he was still
alive now...

"This sucks," Neamon said. "This really sucks."

"Will you shut up?" Logan said. "Nobody likes this but we're stuck with it so just shut up, okay?"

Neamon turned but did not respond. He was probably as shocked as the rest of them at Logan's
outburst. He just grunted and sat with his arms crossed.

"Leave him alone," Pane said. "He's scared."

"We're all scared," Logan said. "I don't want to die."

Neamon whimpered.

"We're not going to die," Pane said.

"And you know this because...?"

"I don't know it but you've got to believe we're going to make it or you'll go mad. You've got to
have faith that everything is going to turn out for the best."

"Faith?" Logan almost spat the words. "That's a laugh."

"What's so funny?"

"We're eighteen miles underground with a billion tons of rock waiting to come down on us and
you talk about faith? Faith in what?"

"Faith in God," Pane said.

"I hate to break this to you, but there ain't no God, and He certainly ain't gonna get us out of this
mess."

"Then you're as good as dead already. If you don't believe there's a purpose in this life, then what's
the point?"

"There is no purpose. We are here by blind chance. We're just clever animals. There is no God.
Keen knows that, don't you Keen?"

"I don't know," Keen said.

"You don't know what?"

"I don't know whether or not there's a God. I figure if there is, He'll understand if we're not sure,
you know?"

"What about you Naemon?" Logan said. "Do you believe there's a God and a Heaven and Hell?"

"Yeah, I believe there is a God. I believe there's a Heaven and a Hell."

Mars Deep-Crust Min ZB203-South P.A. Baines
May 31st, 2010 The Cross and the Cosmos

"Then you're a fool."

"When I was a kid, my granddad died. He said he saw demons coming to take him away. He said
he saw flames. He screamed like the devil was coming for him. I figure he saw something and it scared
him. I figure there's something there after we die."

"That don't mean nothin'," Logan said. "His brain was dying. He was hallucinating."

"No true. He saw something. It was real to him."

"Save your breath," Pane said. "We're going to be here a while."

Logan fell silent and turned away as far as it was possible in such a confined space. Naemon sat
with his arms folded, as if he were hugging himself.

Keen listened to his own breathing and waited for the next rumble. Maybe the next one would
drop more than a little dust. Maybe the next one would squash them like bugs. He tried to think about
something comforting. He thought about Scales. He thought about God and Heaven. And he thought
about Hell.

* * *

Keen woke with a jerk. He had nodded off and slept for who-knows-how-long? And he had
woken, or had been woken. He couldn't remember by what but he was sure something had pulled him
from his slumber. Another rumble? Maybe. Then why was there no dust? Had it been a bang, like metal
hitting metal? He couldn't be sure.

Keen looked across at his team mates sitting there like dolls, or stick figure...or corpses. Another
sound. Definitely metal striking metal. He turned to look along the digger. The sound had come from the
face. The sound had come from the place where the drill met stone. Could the rescue team have made it
down so quickly? He had no idea of the time. It was company policy that workers not carry timepieces.
Something to do with minimizing distractions. After a while you got used to that and you had a good idea
how long you'd been working, but sleeping was another matter.

The sound came again followed by a scrape and a thump. Keen turned to look at the shadows
dancing before his torch lights. If the rescuers were here, how come they were at the face? Surely they
wouldn't dig through solid rock.

He edged along the monster digger, being careful with each step. He could not afford to trip and
tear his suit. Better to be crushed by a boulder than have the searing poisons claw your lungs out. He
reached the drill face and touched it with his gloved hand. Even through so much insulation he could feel
the warmth. The beast would still be giving off heat days from now. The dragon would still be breathing
fire long after it had been vanquished.

Keen followed the narrow, twisted walkway down and across to one of the collection gaps,
stepping over rocks and boulders and dust to get to the rock face. Here there was a gap of three or four
yards where the explosion had driven the machine back up the way it had come. The face was perfectly
flat but scored with a series of concentric circles where the dragon's teeth had bitten down. Here and there
were tiny, glimmering fragments of sparkling light. The ratio was ridiculously small: a gram for every

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May 31st, 2010 The Cross and the Cosmos
thousand tons of rock. So much effort for so little gain.

Keen followed the scoured rock across to a large crack that opened like a grotesque door. This is
where the explosion had happened. Here was where enough force had been generated to shift a hundred
tons of equipment and send a hundred times as much rock falling down on the worker ants below. Keen
waved his hand across the gap to check for heat, then held it there for second or two. Warm but not
dangerously so. He leaned to take a look. A hand fell on his shoulder.

"What the...?" Keen yelped.

"Sorry," Pane said. "Didn't mean to give you a scare. Saw you'd gone and figured you'd be down
here. The rescue team have made good time. They just radioed to say they've started digging and should
be with us soon."

Keen laughed, partly out of relief and partly from the shock of having Pane scare him half to
death. At least now he knew what was causing those noises that had woken him.

"You gave me a fright," Keen said. "You shouldn't sneak up on people like that."

" Come on. Let's get back before Naemon starts fretting."

Keen turned to follow his boss. With any luck they would be back up top within a few hours.
Luck. Was it luck or was there more to it than that? He stopped at the drill and glanced back at the crack
in the wall. For a moment he thought he saw a shadow move, but he blinked and it was gone. He was tired
and a little shaken. Almost being blown up and crushed to death does that to you.

Up at the back of the digger, Naemon and Logan sat facing away from each other and Keen
couldn't help but let out a guffaw at something so comical.

"What's the matter with you?" Naemon said.

"Nothing," Keen replied. "Guess I'm just happy to know we'll be going home soon."

* * *

The drill bit appeared through the rubble less than an hour later. A few seconds after that, its
bigger cousin cut a hole tall enough for a man to crawl through. Figures waved to them through the lights
and the dust. Soon the hole was supported and a rescuer wriggled through to greet them.

"How're you doing?" the man said, slapping Pane on the shoulder. "I hear you guys need a little
help."

"You are a sight for sore eyes," Pane said, pumping his hand as if he hoped to get oil out of it. "We
sure are glad to see you boys."

"Just the four of you?"

"That's right."

"Well, grab anything you can't live without and head through to the tram. We're going to blow this
mess up so if you don't want to lose it, now's your last chance."
Mars Deep-Crust Min ZB203-South P.A. Baines
May 31st, 2010 The Cross and the Cosmos

"Why are you blowing it?" Naemon asked.

"It's too unstable. We're going to shut this leg down and head east. You ready?"

The team of miners shuffled along after their rescuers, through the small tunnel to the tram and its
little digger designed to free men from their cavernous mausoleums. Keen thought that he had never been
happier in his life. He had to restrain himself from hugging each of the three men who had come so far so
that he might live. He wanted to express his gratitude but stopped himself. They would see from his face
just how thankful he was. They would know.

As the tram trundled back towards the lifts that would speed them to the surface, Keen glanced
across at his team-mates. Pane was sitting with the usual calm and a contented smile on his face. Naemon
looked like a school kid on the way to the seaside. Logan just stared into the middle distance, as
impenetrable as always, probably regretting his emotional outburst from earlier. Logan had showed his
true colors before climbing back inside himself and closing the door. Keen felt sorry for Logan, although
he did not really know why.

On the way up they passed the demolition team going down. The drivers waved a greeting and
exchanged nods of their torch lights. Soon there would be another, controlled, explosion.

Within two hours they reached the decontamination chambers. Keen was pleased to be able to
shed his smelly skin. The suit had kept him alive but it was beginning to feel constricting. He wondered if
he would ever be able to climb into that suit again. Two weeks mandatory recuperation leave might not be
enough. Two months might not be enough. Forever might not be enough. He decided that he wanted to
get to know Pane better. He wanted to find out how he could remain so calm when so close to death.
There were secrets to be discovered there.

Sitting in the chamber, waiting for his body to be cleansed, Keen looked at his three companions.
Yes, he wanted to get to know all of them better.

He closed his eyes, and smiled. It was good to be alive.

* * *

At about the same time as Keen and his team-mates entered the decontamination chamber, the
demolition crew was preparing to seal off the source of the explosion for good. They laid the charges and
closed the emergency tunnel and retreated to a safe distance. They would be losing a digger but it would
cost more to get it out than it would to build a new one. Apart from which, it might have been damaged
beyond repair. No, they would leave it to be buried under a mountain of rock perhaps to be discovered by
archeologists a million years in the future. What would they make of such a machine and the people who
operated it?

As they sought shelter behind the tram parked half a mile up the tunnel and prepared to detonate,
something moved in the gap between the soon-to-be-buried digger and the striated rock face. A man, or
what might once have been a man, walked along the length of the abandoned machine and across to the
rubble. With a dark, spindly hand, he reached down into the boulders and helped another man to his feet,
taking him by the arm and leading him past the digger to the crack in the rock face. With strange, hoofed
feet he deftly stepped over the boulders as he pulled the other man--Scales had been his name--with him
through the crack. The one called Scales looked around, confused, but did not--could not--resist. He

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May 31st, 2010 The Cross and the Cosmos
opened his mouth as if to ask a question but the words did not come.

Then, as the charges detonated and the world shook, Scales began to understand what was
happening. He allowed himself (did he have a choice?) to be dragged towards the flames that now filled
his vision and stroked at his skin with its unquenchable caress. The smell of sulphur assaulted his nostrils
and he tried to recoil but the creature's hand clamped around his wrist and he could only follow. Scales
glanced anxiously towards the door but it had vanished in a lake--an ocean--of flames.

And as the sound of screaming reached Scales' ears and the fear washed over him, the creature--
the demon--unfurled its powerful black wings and turned to face him. Scales looked into the eyes of his
tormentor, and they both saw that they had something in common: an eyes slit like that of a snake's. This
seemed to amuse the demon and he smiled, revealing the squirming points of a tongue curling languidly
around blackened fangs. And as the realization dawned on Scales, a scream rose from the soles of his feet,
passing through every cell in his body and through every one of his deepest, darkest memories until it
erupted from his throat in an agonized torrent of anquish and pain and unspeakable remorse...

Forever.

My pen name P.A.Baines and I write COBOL programs by day and Christian Speculative
Fiction whenever I get the chance. I currently live and work in the Netherlands with my wife and
two children but call England home. I love speculative fiction but am dismayed at how God-
unfriendly it tends to be. Writing my own stories enables me to rectify this, even if only for
myself. The humorous short story "My Girlfriend " was published in the May edition of Digital
Dragon (http://www.digitaldragonmagazine.net/baines-mygirlfriend.php). I recently signed a
contract for the publication of my debut novel Alpha, to be released soon. I keep a blog with some
fellow aspiring authors at http://newauthors.wordpress.com/.

Mars Deep-Crust Min ZB203-South P.A. Baines

May 31st, 2010 The Cross and the Cosmos

Souls are Wild

by
Cathrine Bonham

Jeremiah walked into the saloon; he looked around the dark interior as his eyes adjusted. The swinging
doors swayed behind him as he made his way to the bar. He took a seat on the end farthest from the doors, where no
one was sitting. The bartender was waiting for him as he sat down. “What can I get ya, stranger?” he asked setting a
glass down in front of him.
“Nothing” Jeremiah grunted. “I only carry one thing on me and it ain’t cash.”
“Well, I’m always interested in a good story so how about ya tell me yours and show me this one thing that
ya carry with ya and I’ll give ya one on the house.”
“I don’t know what good it’ll do you, but alright.” Jeremiah reached into his pocket and pulled out a
billfold. He opened it and threw a playing card face down onto the polished oak counter. “I’ll have a shot of
whiskey.”
The barkeep glanced at the card then poured the man his whiskey before picking it up and looking at the
face. “Why that’s a mighty nice likeness. I didn’t know they could take colored photographs,” for indeed the face of
the playing card was none other than a picture of Jeremiah as he looked at that very minute.
“They can’t,” Jeremiah said lifting his glass to his mouth. “That’s my soul,” Jeremiah tipped his head back
and downed the shot. His statement seemed to take the bartender off guard for he said nothing, he merely handed
the card back to Jeremiah who returned it to his billfold. “It was in this very saloon that I played poker with the
devil and won back my soul.”
“How did the devil get your soul in the first place I wonder?”
Jeremiah placed his empty glass on the counter and looked the bartender square in the eyes and very plainly
said, “He had it because I sold it to him.”
The bartender didn’t say anything but rather in an obvious attempt to get Jeremiah to keep talking, he
poured another shot.
Jeremiah looked at the whiskey and then at the barkeep with gratitude and then began his story.
“It was eighteen years ago when I came out here in the big gold rush. I was determined to earn my fortune
so that I could marry Jennifer Pennyworth the prettiest girl in the entire Ohio Valley. Everyone called her Jenny
Penny. She was the brightest and shiniest penny that was ever minted. But her family had money and I didn’t.
“I worked a claim for three years and never made a cent. I lived by playing cards just trying to survive
hoping that I would strike gold soon. Every night I would walk down from my claim to this saloon, covered in dust
and weary from digging. I would order a beer and hope that by the time I left I had won enough money to pay for it.
“One night my luck wasn’t going so well. I had just lost everything except the deed to my claim and if I
gambled that I would have nothing. I was going to leave the bar. I had a tab so I wasn’t worried about skipping out.
Just as I was leaving a man in a black hat stopped me. He held me at arms length, looked me up and down. Then
scratching his five o’clock shadow with the other hand said, ‘Well, where do ya think you’re going, youngster? The
game’s just getting started.’
“I looked him right in the eye and I told him, ‘Sir, I got nothin’ left to bet. So if you’d kindly take yer hand
off me I’m mighty tired and I’d like to turn in now.’ I had my revolver on me but you can bet that I wasn’t stupid
enough to use it. I really was tired and wasn’t looking to provoke the man into a fight. But the man wouldn’t let me
leave.
“He said, ‘There must be somethin’ you could put up for the pot? Somethin’ of worth, somethin’ like a deed
or --’ I interrupted him saying ‘No Sir I have nothing that I wish to bet.’ I stared him down until he finally took his
hand off of me. Then as I began to walk out again he yelled after me, ‘that’s alright you’ll be back and you’ll play
then. You’ll have to, because you’ll never find any gold on that dead plot o’ yours.’
“His words were prophetic. I didn’t find any gold the next day or the day after. I knew I had to go back and
gamble my deed if I wanted to eat. I walked into the saloon and the first thing I saw was the man in the black hat
sitting alone at a table shuffling a deck of cards. He waved me over to him and I took a seat at the table. He didn’t
even look at me just started dealing. We played. He beat me with a three of a kind: a six of spades, a six of clubs,
and a six of hearts. I had lost everything but it was strangely liberating. I got up to leave but he stopped me with a
question.
“‘If I could give you anything in the world what would you ask fer?’
“I considered this question real seriously. I wanted Jenny but I already had her love. I just needed money. I
Souls Are Wild Cathrine Bonham
May 31st, 2010 The Cross and the Cosmos

knew right then what I would ask for. I answered him, ‘If you could grant me anything I would want to be
the best poker player ever. I would want to be so good that I won every time.’
“He looked at me and gave me the most satisfied grin that you ever saw. ‘Would you sell your soul to be
the best poker player ever?’
“I was young and foolish so of course I said yes. The man in the black hat didn’t waste any time in getting
me to sign my soul away. By this time I had figured out all on my own that he was the devil, but I didn’t care. I was
tired and depressed and if he could really do what he promised then I was willing to give him anything he asked.
“After I had signed the contract he reached down and pulled a black box out of a bag on the floor. ‘Smile,’
he said. And I did though I wasn’t sure why. Then a bright light flashed before my eyes and a playing card popped
out of the box. Satan waved the card a few times and then showed me the face. At first it was just black but then it
began to change. The black started moving and slowly a face was revealed. My face. The longer I looked at it the
clearer the picture became until it became the card you saw awhile ago.”
Jeremiah set his empty glass down on the counter and started to get up. The bartender, not wanting him to
leave without finishing the story refilled the glass. Jeremiah sat back down on the stool tipped back the shot and
resumed his story.
“The devil pocketed my soul and pointed me in the direction of a poker game. ‘Go try it out,’ he urged me.
I had already sold my soul so I had nothing else to lose. I walked over to the table and realized I had no money. I
had already lost my claim and now I gave my soul away for nothing. The three men stared at me like I was mad.
‘You want somethin’ sonny?’ one of them asked.
Obviously seeing my dilemma Satan walked up and slipped a hundred dollar bill into my hand. Then he
whispered into my ear, ‘Little somethin’ to git you started.’ Then he backed away from me and when I turned
around he was nowhere to be found.
“I played all night and I won every hand. My cards were always different but my hand was always highest.
I made enough to pay back the devil ten times over. The next day I bought a train ticket to Ohio.
“When I arrived in Columbus the first thing I did was buy a fancy suit and a hotel. Not a hotel room I
bought the whole hotel. I had played cards during the entire journey and now I had all the money I would ever
need. I was on top of the world.
I went to Jenny’s house that evening. But a lot changes in three years.
“Her Father refused to see me but her mother was kind enough to give me a letter explaining what had
happened to Jenny. Apparently Jenny got tired of waiting for me to make my fortune and had married someone else.
She had a baby now. In the letter her mother begged me not to interfere; not to try and find Jenny. She asked me to
just let her be happy. So I did.
“That’s when I realized that my soul was missing. I didn’t care that Jenny belonged to someone else. I
wasn’t even angry that I had worked in the dirt for three years trying to be worthy of her and all that time she was
with another man. It still doesn’t bother me.
“From the time I sold my soul Jenny had been nothing more to me than a goal to achieve. Without that goal
I just started wandering. I played cards and spent money as if it grew on trees; of course, for me it did. I slept with
loose women and drank hard.
“Once when I was in Gary Indiana I ran in to Jenny again. I was walking out of a bar as she was walking
out of a dress shop. I called her name and she turned. She dropped her packages and looked as if she’d seen a ghost.
I was drunk so I asked her why she didn’t wait for me. Not because I cared; just because I was curious. ‘Jeremiah,’
she said, bending down to retrieve her parcels ‘the day you got on that train to Colorado was the day I knew that
you loved money more than me. Every day that you did not return was one more stab in my heart. It took me two
years to realize that you would never figure out that my love was not for sale.’
“‘You talk pretty,’ I said, ‘but I can’t help but notice yer husband must be filthy rich to afford all them
pretty clothes you got on.’ At that she slapped me across my face and I never saw her again.”
Jeremiah starred at his empty glass again. The bartender didn’t waste any time in filling it to the top. Just as
Jeremiah was going to begin talking again, someone at the other end of the bar called for service. The barkeep
looked reluctant to go but Jeremiah gave him a nod; a silent signal that said: go on I’ll wait for you.
When the bartender returned Jeremiah continued telling his tale.
“In South Carolina I met a Prostitute named Dixie. She attached herself to me and gave me companionship.
I gave her money but that wasn’t enough. Eventually the poor girl fell in love with me and I was forced to tell her
why I could never return her feelings. I told her how she meant nothing to me and that she would be better off with
someone else. But she insisted on following me around and I let her.
“One morning, in Kentucky, I woke up and Dixie’s place beside me was cold. After almost a year I had
grown use to having her warm body beside me when I woke. I dressed and went down to the saloon for breakfast.
Souls Are Wild Cathrine Bonham
May 31st, 2010 The Cross and the Cosmos
Dixie walked in as I was finishing my steak and eggs. I looked up for a second and gruffly asked her where
she’d been. She pulled out the chair across from me and told me that she’d been at church. I looked at her like she’d
gone crazy. I asked her what she thought she needed church for. She answered all cute and innocent like, ‘Well I
just got to thinking that if the Devil was real then God just had to be real too.’ I nodded. I told her the thought had
crossed my mind too but I just figured that I chose my side when I sold my soul. Dixie continued to attend church
every week no matter where we happened to be. She would go and come back and that would be that.
“That is until Dixie got herself Baptized by a street preacher outside of Memphis. That’s when she really
changed. She gave me a Bible and tried to tell me that Jesus would give me my soul back if I asked him to. She said
she just wanted me to be saved. But I knew that what she really wanted was for me to marry her, make her an
respectable woman. Now Dixie won’t be marrin’ anyone.
“While we were still in Tennessee, Dixie was killed by a man who didn’t take losing to well. He found us
getting on a stage coach to Oklahoma. His bullet missed me and hit Dixie. I shot him dead before he could even
cock his gun again. I had never killed a man before. It bothered me.
“It bothered me because I didn’t do it for Dixie. I did it for me, because I could. I shot him because I knew
he wanted to kill me. It bothered me because I liked it. I loved nothin’ in the world. But somethin’ in the back of my
mind said that I liked the sound the bullet made as it entered that man’s skull a little too well; that sound was
something I could get used to.
“I paid for Dixie’s burial. I even went to the service. But I never cried for her. I’d never loved her. I still had
the Bible she’d gave me it told me that she was in a better place now. At least I hoped that she was in a better place
now. Because all I saw was cold uncaring dirt as I watched them commit her earthly remains to the ground. I was
going to toss the bible into the grave with her until I looked up and saw the man in the black hat standing on the
edge of the grave yard -- smiling.
“I got on a train to Colorado and made my way to this bar. And there he was sitting alone at a table
shuffling a deck of cards. I walked up to him and confronted him with what he’d done. ‘You killed her didn’t you?’
I yelled. ‘You killed her because she gave me this blasted book.’ I threw the Bible onto the table.
He wouldn’t answer my accusations he just asked me if I’d like to play a game of cards. ‘Five card draw,’ I
answered. We ante upped. The devil dealt the cards while I watched. The game didn’t take long. I was confident
that I would win. Unfortunately the devil doesn’t play fair.
“He showed me his cards one at a time. First a two of hearts then a two of clubs then a two of diamonds
and a two of spades. ‘That makes four of a kind,’ he said.
“I laid all my cards out at once. ‘Royal flush straight. I win.’
“‘Hold up,’ he said waving his finger at me, ‘I have one more card.’ And then he laid his last card on the
table. It was my soul. ‘Souls are wild,’ he said, ‘Five of a kind; looks like I win after all.’
“‘That’s not part of the game, you no good –.’ At that point I was interrupted by a young man in a white hat.
He pulled out a chair and sat down.
“‘Mind if I join y’all?’ he asked.
“I told him that he was welcome to join our game. Satan said nothing but the look he shot me was one of
malice.
“‘Much obliged,’ the young man said.
“‘The game is five card draw,’ said Satan as he began to deal. The Game began. After the first round of
betting the stranger with the white hat traded in and drew three cards. The Devil drew no cards; he just sat there and
looked at the stranger with a look of pure hatred. I knew I couldn’t count on winning so I traded in my cards only
holding on to a single ace. My ace in the hole. I reached out and drew the last three aces and – my soul. I had no
idea how that had gotten there but it was all I could do to keep from shouting alleluia.
“We kept going around. The bets getting higher; each of us had complete confidence that he had the highest
hand. I wasn’t worried. I had plenty of money. It lasted well into the night; full of I call your this or I raise you that.
Eventually though even the Devil himself began to run out of cash. He finally said, ‘Enough of this. Last bets on
the table.’
“The newcomer agreed and he started off the last round. ‘I wager my blood.’ Clearly he knew who he was
playing with.
“The devil was next. ‘I wager Jeremiah’s soul, he said. Then he gave me a malicious grin and said, ‘That’s
what you came here for after all.’
“Then it was my turn. ‘I don’t really have anything left to bet except my ability to always win at poker.’ I
said this while giving Satan a gloating smile.
“He looked at me and very seriously he said, ‘you shouldn’t bet what isn’t yours boy.’
“The stranger in the white hat went first. He had a full house. Then the devil laid down a royal flush
straight. I laid down the four aces. I waited until Satan began grinning before I showed my last card. ‘Souls are

Souls Are Wild Cathrine Bonham

May 31st, 2010 The Cross and the Cosmos
wild. I win.’ I savored the look on Satan’s face. It was a look of someone caught in his own trap.
“At first it looked liked he was going to get angry and start a fight but the man with the white hat gave him
a look and he backed away from the table. ‘This isn’t over. You had better watch your back, because I’ll get you
someday.’ And then the devil stormed out of the saloon.
“I pocketed my soul feeling very proud of myself. Then the stranger with the white hat shook my hand and
said, ‘well congratulations Jeremiah. I imagine you’ll be collecting on my wager now.’
“I thanked him but told him that I didn’t need any of his blood as I had plenty of my own. He responded
politely and said that it was waiting if I ever changed my mind. I gave him a funny look and then walked outside to
where I had a horse waiting. I rode out into the middle of nowhere and sat in the dirt thinking about Jenny and
Dixie. I found that I still didn’t care that Jenny had left. She was right; I had always loved money more. But I still
couldn’t cry for Dixie. I had my soul back but it wasn’t in me. It was just a card in my hand.”
Jeremiah set his empty glass on the counter once more. This time the bartender didn’t refill it. He had
gotten the whole story. He just had one question to ask. “If the devil shuffled the cards why would he put your soul
back in the deck?”
“Who knows why the devil does, what he does. Perhaps he got thrown off when the third player joined us.”
The bartender picked up Jeremiah’s glass and began walking away. Before he left he gave Jeremiah
something to think about. “It seems to me that if that’s the case then your soul actually belongs to the white hatted
stranger. Maybe he knows how to get it back in ya.”
Jeremiah watched the barkeep walk away and thought about his words. He heard the scraping of wood as
someone pulled out the stool next to him and sat down. He wasn’t even paying attention until he saw, out of the
corner of his eye, a white hat being laid down on the counter. Then a familiar voice said:
“Only one thing undoes the devil’s work. That’s why I wagered it that night. I knew you would win. I fixed
it that way. I could have just as easily fixed it in my favor but souls are only worth something if they’re given
willingly.”
Jeremiah opened his billfold and held his soul out to the man with the white hat. “Here, if you can do what
you say, I’d sure appreciate your help.”
The man reached out his right hand and took Jeremiah’s soul. He then opened his other hand to reveal a
pool of blood in the center. Closing his hand again he squeezed two drops of blood on to the picture of Jeremiah. As
the drops landed they spread and covered the surface of the card.
As the picture faded Jeremiah began to feel whole. Tears coursed down his face. “Why?” Jeremiah asked.
“I sold my soul because I was selfish and greedy; I don’t deserve to have it back. Why would you go to so much
trouble to help me?”
“Do you still have the book that Dixie gave you?” Jeremiah reached into his coat and pulled out the worn
Bible. The stranger took the book and thumbed through the pages. “This book contains the answer and when you
read it am sure that you will find that what I did for you today was nothing compared to what I’ve done for you
before.” With that the man stood up and handed the book back to Jeremiah.
Jeremiah stared at the book as the stranger picked up his hat and pushed the stool back under the bar. “I
don’t even know your name.” Jeremiah said. He looked up to find him already heading out the door.
The stranger stopped and turned to face Jeremiah. “It’s all in the book.” He said. Then before the saloon
doors could close he was gone.
As the tears coursed down Jeremiah’s face he thought of Dixie and knew that he would see her again.

Cathrine Bonham has always enjoyed reading and writing stories. She was home schooled
from Kindergarten through 12th grade and is now a Graduate of Owens community college where
she majored in creative writing. She has previously had a short story ("Twelve Years Later") and a
creative essay ("The Life of a Library Book") published in the Spring 2009 edition of Pathways:
The Literary and Art Journal of Owens Community College. This is her first non-school related
publication.

Souls Are Wild Cathrine Bonham

May 31st, 2010 The Cross and the Cosmos
The Quest
by
J. L. Rowan

Shivering in the crisp morning air, Yirah drew her cloak tightly about her shoulders and self-
consciously laid a hand on the hilt of her sword, seeking the comfort of its familiar grip. The Forest
surrounding Talithia loomed before her, burnished golds and reds liberally splashed amongst the
evergreens. Many difficulties lay within—difficulties she did not wish to face.

The deep, male voice lingered in her mind like the echo of a soft caress.

“Won’t I?” She tried to pitch her voice to sound with dispassion, but it bore an edge more sharp
than her blade.

A darkness moved against the shadows of the trees, and an enormous black cat, of a size to dwarf
a panther, stepped into the sun, padding toward her.

She knelt and wrapped her arms around her Guardian’s neck, burying her face in his short, silky
coat.

“Cannot you come with me?” She drew back to gaze into Gaenbur’s silver eyes. “Must I do this
alone, with you only in my heart, and not at my side?”

He rubbed his face against hers.

Defenders protected the kingdom of Shansor against attacks from within and without. Five years
ago, she had come to Talithia, home of the Guardians and their Defenders, with the hope of joining their
ranks, but with no guarantee that a Guardian would offer to form with her the mystic Bond of blood and
spirit that would make her a Defender. The Acadium had accepted her petition to become a Defender
candidate, and granted her a trial period of one year, at the end of which time she would be expelled if she
had not Bonded with a Guardian. But six months later, Gaenbur approached her with an offer, one that set
her heart to flight.

Most trainees transitioned smoothly from student to Defender, exchanging theory in the classroom
for Patrols in the field, but for some—for some, a different demand delayed their commencement into
Shansor’s service.

Yirah’s Call had started with a strange, uneasy sensation in the back of her mind on the day the
Council commissioned her as a full Defender. It had grown over the coming days as she waited for her
first Patrol assignment, coalescing into a definitive Quest she could not easily ignore: the rescue of one
trapped in the Forest.

Some of her yearmates said Calls came only to the weak, to make them strong and give them the
courage they evidently lacked. Others said they were special blessings from the Lady Herself. Yirah did
The Quest J.L. Rowan
May 31st, 2010 The Cross and the Cosmos
not know which to believe. She knew only that the thought of being separated from Gaenbur
during this time set a cold sweat upon her brow.

Quests were never easy, and often painful both in body and in soul. As so many others had, she
had nearly chosen to ignore her Call. If not for Gaenbur’s repeated insistence that she take up the Quest,
that any pain would be worth it in the end, she would have left her Call unanswered, allowing it to fade
from her mind as a dream upon waking.

But now that she stood at the threshold of her Quest, the future reward seemed hazy and dim, lost
to the present fear. For a long moment, she clung to Gaenbur, unwilling to release him. But he gently
backed away.

“Why me?” The plaintive cry broke from her lips before she could suppress it. Why must I do
this? A dark, nameless emotion tented her to the quick as she recalled the cheerful faces of fellow
Defenders as they rode to their first Patrols.

She glanced away, lest her eyes complete her tongue’s betrayal.

“I have never been certain of this, Gaenbur. You know that.” She brushed a stubborn strand of
hair from her face. “It is only my faith in you and your judgment that compels me to this Quest.” For
there dwelt within her that which shrank from it as darkness flees the light.

‘When’—not ‘if.’ Suppressing a shiver, she rose to her feet.

Yirah had never questioned Gaenbur’s unexplained knowledge of the one she must rescue. In her
heart, she had christened her Moriah, after her elder sister. “What does she know?”

, came his soft reply.

In the sharp sting of cold air, she blinked away sudden tears.

His warning came on wings of somber tone.

“How shall I find her?”

A short purr issued from his throat as he rubbed his face

against her arm. He paced toward Talithia and did not look back.

The footpath into the Forest lay before her, and she placed a hesitant step onto its bed of fallen
cypress needles. Gathering her courage, she strode forward.

She had loved the Forest from the moment she arrived in Talithia. Over the years, she’d spent
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May 31st, 2010 The Cross and the Cosmos
uncounted hours strolling the peaceful footpaths that wended amongst the bramble. But now, the
thorny underbrush grew oddly thicker as she moved deeper into the Forest, pushing itself over its
boundaries and into the way of the path.

She stepped over a particularly thick tendril, and would have continued on but for the sudden jerk
at her throat. She turned to find her cloak hem caught on a thorn. She disengaged it, and moved forward,
but the thorns caught at her breeches and tunic as well, piercing leather and linen.

Muttering through clenched teeth, she wrested free her uniform and drew her sword. Grasping the
hilt firmly, she swung at the bracken, hacking a way though the path.

As if in agitated response to her attack, the thorns sprang to life, growing thicker and sharper,
entangling themselves in her cloak so that she had to abandon it in order to advance.

She struck at the thorns to no avail. Like needles, they wove themselves into her clothing and held
firm. She drew her dagger and slashed her uniform to shreds, freeing it. Hot tears marred her sight, and
she fiercely brushed them away with thorn-scored hands. The path behind her taunted, a clear and
unhindered course toward the Forest edge. The path before her had once been straight, but now split
many times and the thorns, too thick to navigate, wholly covered the trails.

In this place she loved, nothing seemed familiar.

Spying a clearing to her right, she pushed through the bramble, heedless of the pain.

Upon reaching it, she sank to the Forest floor and buried her face in her hands. “I cannot go on.”
The shame of failure so early burned her soul. Perhaps her yearmates had spoken the truth. Perhaps she
had no true courage at all.

Gaenbur’s spirit filled the air around her. You must.

She stared with dull eye at the carpet of leaves beneath her knees. “Why?” The thorns had barred
her way. What did it signify to continue?

She needs you. And then, a bare whisper. You need her.

She snapped up her head, and felt a flush steal over her cheeks. “I don’t even know where to find
her!” And before she could stay her tongue— “I don’t want to find her!”

The truth had lain deep in her heart since she had received her Calling, and she found release in
confessing it. She didn’t want to find Moriah. She wanted to flee, to leave the Forest, to pretend Moriah
didn’t exist. She wanted to return to the way things were, before she became aware of her, before she had
received her Call—to the time when she knew only Gaenbur and held the contented belief that she was no
different from the dozens of un-Called Defenders in Talithia.

I know, came the compassionate impression on her spirit from the one she loved more than
anything in the world.

Her breath caught softly in her throat. He had known all along what she only now admitted to
herself. And yet—

“I cannot do this.”

You can. Ask her.

The Quest J.L. Rowan
May 31st, 2010 The Cross and the Cosmos

Yirah’s stomach twisted at the thought of speaking to Moriah, of consciously acknowledging her
presence. “I don’t want to do this.”

Her soft cry went unanswered. She could no longer sense Gaenbur’s spirit.

But she knew she had little choice in the matter. If she walked away from her Quest, she would
never become the Defender Gaenbur wished for her to be. All of her training would be for naught if she
failed here, for how could she protect and defend her kingdom from the evils that threatened it when she
could not face down her own fears? And Gaenbur—the thought of failing him tore at her heart more than
anything else. Dozens of Defender candidates attended the Acadium each year, yet he had chosen her to
be his Bondmate. He believed in her. She would more readily welcome death than disappoint him.

Tears slipped down her cheeks as she resigned herself to what must be.

Breathing slowly, she settled into a meditative state. As her turmoil subsided, she could sense the
object of her Quest. Moriah dwelt in the Forest, somewhere Yirah did not yet know. But she could feel
her, and she instinctively knew that Moriah could perceive her in turn.

But to speak to her—

A thrill of terror washed over her. Underlying the journey to this point was the comfort of
knowing she could always return to Talithia. She hadn’t spoken to Moriah, and thus hadn’t bound herself
to her. She had no obligation to continue. If she did speak to her, however, her Quest could only end by
death or success. Was it any wonder so many Defenders chose to ignore their Calls?

Let me go home! But the straight way was lost, and she feared that Gaenbur, for the sake of the
Quest, would not assist her. Only Moriah could help her now.

Her heart beat swift as she sought the courage to find her voice. She closed her eyes, attending to
the sense of Moriah’s presence. “Where are you?”

Upon uttering the words, she felt Moriah’s spirit flare wildly, like an untamed horse rearing
against a bridle. As though forced, Moriah impressed upon her the knowledge of her location. Yirah
looked up, to the north and east.

Moriah hid there amongst the trees.

She rose to continue on her journey, but had no sooner gained her footing than a stab of fear
overwhelmed her and sent her breathless to her knees. She curled up as its weight settled upon her with
smothering heaviness.

Moriah would not yield without a fight.

Only one explanation could account for such power—Moriah was using the Enchanted Willows
both to animate the Forest against her, and to project her own fears upon her. It was both a blessing and a
curse, for while she could command a great arsenal against Yirah, she gave away her precise location. In
order to use the Willows, she must abide within their midst, and Yirah knew exactly where stood the
ancient grove. She must gain her trust, however, to continue on her way.

She focused on Moriah’s presence once more. “I don’t want to hurt you. Please—that is not why
I have come. I am not your enemy.” She repeated the words until the emotional onslaught had ebbed

The Quest J.L. Rowan

May 31st, 2010 The Cross and the Cosmos
enough for her to rise.

“I want to help you. I swear by the Lady, I come not to harm you.” A thought struck her, that the
thorns were Moriah’s first line of defense, and her attack on them had only worsened the situation. She
turned her gaze toward the direction of the grove. “I won’t proceed until you permit it, and I will no
longer harm the Forest.”

Moments passed as she stood motionless, waiting. Haltingly, the storm subsided, and with its
cessation, the thorns retreated as well. She took a tentative step forward.

Moriah did not stir.

Releasing a tremulous breath, Yirah continued on her journey.

****

The sun shone overhead as she knelt by a stream to refill her waterskin. Since leaving the
clearing, her journey had been uneventful, marked by nothing more ominous than the faint rustling of the
wind in the leaves.

She mistrusted the silence, however, for this quietude brought with it no peace.

Rising, she continued down the footpath. Her sense of Moriah’s presence had come alive as she
moved along, and it now remained with her in the back of her mind, much like Gaenbur’s did.

Or rather, had done, as she could no longer sense him.

She shook off a moment of dread for what that implied, and refocused her thoughts on Moriah.
She had come to realize that she was bound to the object of her Quest in some inexplicable way. If only
she could meditate on her, perhaps—

A savage snarl sounded to her right, and before she could fully turn, a creature sprang from the
bracken. Sharp claws raked her arm, and, instinctively, she dove forward. Rolling to her feet, she drew
her sword and turned back to face it, her heart pounding.

It stood in the path, its beady, red eyes staring at her from within masses of black, matted fur.
Frothing saliva dripped from its sharp fangs as it slowly advanced toward her.

It was a creature like nothing she had ever seen before. She retreated from it, even as she felt the
hair rise on her neck and arms. Dropping her sword, she snatched the bow from her shoulder and drew an
arrow upon the creature.

As if sensing what she was about, the creature crouched low and sprang, its jaws spread wide.

She loosed the arrow. As it sank deep into the chest of the creature, the animal let out a hideous
scream and fell to the Forest floor.

A pain stabbed deep within her breast. She gasped and glanced down, expecting to see the arrow
protruding from her body—but she was unharmed.

Her breath came in short starts as she drew another arrow. The creature stirred, crawling toward
her, but no longer with murderous intent. Rather, it whimpered, cringing—a pathetic mien that ripped a
sob from her throat. She cast her gaze northward. “Stop this!”
The Quest J.L. Rowan
May 31st, 2010 The Cross and the Cosmos

Moriah paid no heed.

The creature continued toward her. She let fly the second arrow.

Her own strangled gasp sounded with the creature’s as the arrow pierced its throat. She fell to her
knees, unable to breathe. Her heart cried out to Gaenbur.

She would never survive this Quest. She would die here, alone and unremembered.

The creature went limp, and with its death, her pain ceased.

She drew in a ragged breath, and burst into a storm of tears. She thought only of Gaenbur and the
comfort of familiar surroundings, both so far from her as to be mere fancies.

The throbbing in her arm pulled her attention to the difficulty at hand. With trembling hand, she
brushed away her tears, and tore a strip from her undertunic to bind her wound. Though mid-day, a cold
darkness reigned about her; dusk with no sunset. It was as if the creature lying lifeless before her had
somehow drawn into itself the sunlight, extinguishing all splendor and warmth with its death. The loss
worked deep within her, like the barb of a stinging insect. Must everything set itself against her?

She stood to reclaim her sword, and started down the path, her thoughts as black as the air. What
right did Moriah have to attack her this way? If not for Yirah, Moriah would be forever abandoned. She
had come to save her. Couldn’t she see this?

I didn’t ask to be Called. She searched in vain for Gaenbur’s presence in her mind. I didn’t want
to be Called, and I would never even be on this Quest if it weren’t for you!

She pressed onward for some time, blinded by tears, her fists clenched. The dark and cold
weighted her spirits until her body felt worn.

Only when she tripped over an exposed root did she realize she had strayed from the proper
footpath.

With a wild shriek, she drew her sword and hacked at the root with all the strength her arms
possessed.

“It’s! Not! Fair!” She punctuated each word with a slash of her blade.

A rustle sounded behind her. She started and whirled about, her tears forgotten. Her heart
pounded as she saw a creature step from the bracken’s shadows. Without thought, she assumed a
defensive position, but a second glance told her she needed no such precaution. A wolf stood before her,
and not some mindless creature from the depths of darkness. She sheathed her sword and turned a curious
eye on the majestic beast. Normally shy creatures, this one displayed a boldness that inspired equal
daring. She stepped toward the wolf.
He—for the wolf’s build belied its sex—didn’t move, and she slowed as she drew close to him.
Captive to his intense stare, she knelt before him, resisting the temptation to reach for his silver coat,
thick now in preparation for the coming winter. A gentle breeze rustled the leaves, and a ray of diffused
light escaped the confines of the unnatural darkness and struck the wolf full in the face. She released a
soft breath as the faint beam danced in his eyes.

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May 31st, 2010 The Cross and the Cosmos
They were blue.

A sense of wonder stole over her. “You’re a nalah.”

A rare wolf clan, nalahs had assumed a near-mythical reputation. She certainly had never
expected to encounter one in her lifetime. Fiercely independent and as fiercely loyal, nalahs stood as
protectors of the Forest both from enemies without, and of the defenseless within. To the one, they were
deadly, and to the other . . . more than one child lost in the Forest had claimed to have been led home by a
wolf with blue eyes. She hadn’t believed it before, but now—

She impulsively wrapped her arms around his neck, breathing in the clean scent of his heavy coat.

“Please take me home.” She no longer cared for Moriah or the consequences of abandoning her
Quest.

He stepped back and touched his nose to hers, his warm breath caressing her face. Turning, he
trotted a few steps and looked over his shoulder, the invitation to follow evident in his posture.

“Very well.” She rose to her feet. “Lead the way.”

Apparently satisfied, he continued down the path, stopping at times to glance over his shoulder as
if to be certain she followed.

Yirah knew not where the nalah was leading her, but they moved onward at a steady pace for some
time until he abruptly turned from the footpath into the underbrush. Pushing her way through the thickly-
woven bramble, she struggled to keep up with him. The mystic darkness of the Forest had not
diminished, and she strained to make out his silver form beneath the bracken. She dropped to her knees
and crawled beneath the bramble as he did.

When she feared she had lost all sight of him, the thick layer of underbrush suddenly ended. She
found herself at the edge of an unusually expansive clearing, one carpeted in soft moss, and outlined by
fallen trunks, brothers of the great evergreens that grew around it.

Sunshine flooded it. Great beams of light struck the forest floor and set the dust motes in the air to
dancing. She looked to the nalah, who sat in the midst of the clearing. He gazed at her with eyes that
seemed to hold within them the wisdom of the ages.

Without further hesitation, she stepped over a fallen trunk and into the sunlight. Its warm rays
surrounded her, infusing her with a sense of peace and washing from her soul the darkness of the creature.
The Forest grew light once more, and her sense of purpose and resolve returned. She breathed deeply of
the healthy atmosphere and approached the nalah.

Kneeling before him, she ran her fingers through his thick, silky coat. “Thank you.”

He stood as if to leave—

“Wait!” She reached for him. “Cannot you remain with me on my journey?”

An answering sadness lit his eyes. She felt a strange brush against her spirit—more than a feeling,
but less than a thought. It told her that if he remained, she would soon forget about Moriah, and think
only of him.

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May 31st, 2010 The Cross and the Cosmos
“I won’t!” But her voice trembled.

She was brave, the not-feeling said. Worthy of a nalah. He touched his nose to hers one last time,
then turned and loped away, disappearing into the underbrush.

She bowed her head. For a time, she rested in the light, tasting of the berries and hazelnuts that
grew in the clearing, and then took up her Quest anew.

****

The sun had long set when the rich smell of roasted rabbit wafted toward her on the breeze,
making her mouth water. It seemed an age since she’d found her way back to the main footpath and
hunted down her evenmeal. She took her dagger, carving a slice of meat from the spit.

Before she had consumed the first mouthful, she realized she was not alone. The distinctive
rustling in the underbrush was more than merely the wind playing games before it settled down to sleep.
Swallowing her food, she sheathed her blade and slowly reached for her bow and quiver.

Blessed Lady . . . not again. . .. Moriah had subjected her to continual emotional waves and the
temperament of thorns since she left the clearing. She’d endured them all, patiently waiting them out,
waiting until she relented and let her continue on her way. But she didn’t think she could endure another
attack from one of her creatures.

A sudden, calculated wind targeted her campfire, extinguishing the flames. Cold sweat beaded
her brow, and her heart thundered in her breast. She drew an arrow from her quiver. The moon, which
had risen at sunset, struggled fitfully to shed light on her surroundings, and it would be a few hours before
it rose above the treetops.

Drawing her loaded bow string to point, she forced herself to take slow breaths. Whatever stalked
her, she must kill it, and kill it quickly. There would be little room for error in this darkness. She silenced
her thoughts, her ears tuned to the slightest sound. She could hear the beast in the underbrush, its stirring
and heavy panting betraying its position.

Behind you, came the calm, rational voice of years of arms training.

Hard on the heels of that voice came the distinct whisper of air she had learned to associate with
an impending attack.

She twisted, dropping to her knees, but the mad, red eyes and hot, sour breath fell upon her before
she could loose her arrow. Claws raked her breast, scoring deep into her flesh, but using the creature’s
own momentum, she threw it from her with all the strength she could muster. Scrambling to her feet, she
drew her dagger as it turned and leapt upon her a second time, jaws snapping at her throat.

Stumbling from the impact, she thrust her dagger upward into a mass of sinew and fur. Warm
blood poured down as her own screams of pain joined with the creature’s to pierce the night. And then,
the beast fell limp, trapping her beneath its bulk.

With a burst of terror, she pushed it off and rolled to her feet. Sob choked her. She had killed
before, but never like this—never so close, so real. Heedless of her wounds, she sank to the ground,
shaking uncontrollably. She wanted Gaenbur. She needed him—

And he had abandoned her.

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May 31st, 2010 The Cross and the Cosmos
“How could you?” She drew her knees to her blood-soaked tunic. “How could you leave
me—now, of all times? You promised—”

Her voice broke, and anguished tears fell unheeded to the Forest floor.

“You promised.”

Remember, came a soft sigh. Remember your faith.

She saw Gaenbur in her mind’s eye, heard again his promise to be always with her.

But he’s not! And she knew nothing of faith at that moment, and everything of betrayal.

You knew the Quest would try your soul.

“Yes, but—”

And what is more trying than to feel the loss of your Guardian? Leaves stirred as the wind carried
away the whisper. As it faded, its tone grew dubious. If a loss it truly is . . ..

She cleaned her dagger and tended her wounds. Whether Gaenbur were lost to her or not, she did
not know. She wanted to believe he was with her, even though she couldn’t sense his presence. But faith
seemed as far from her as Gaenbur, and the prospect of wrestling with her own heart brought upon her a
greater weariness than had the battle.

The only thing she knew for certain was that she must press onward. She retrieved her bow, and
finished her meal as she walked. As she searched the stars for her position, she noticed a wild willow
edging the path. Her Quest would soon lead her to the grove.

Her stomach dropped and her skin prickled as a cold shiver ran down her spine.

****

The grove enchanted and enthralled her. Interspersed with pools of water, the willow trees had
grown tall and strong, and in the moonlight, their slender leaves fairly shone in this place of eternal
spring. Dozens of silvery orbs lay at her feet, mirroring the sky above. Small wonder one would seek
refuge in its midst. Navigating her way between the pools, she could feel the magic of the grove grow
stronger as she neared its heart. Now that she had arrived, she was no longer subject to Moriah’s whims,
for the grove could not be made to work against itself. No thorns or terrors or creatures could touch her in
this haven. She felt her wounds begin to heal, as though the shimmering waters washed away the
throbbing pain.

She could sense Moriah’s fright, sharp and piercing like a blade. It mingled with her own anxious
anticipation. She stepped around a tree, and—

She gasped softly as she beheld the object of her Quest.

A child. Moriah was a mere child.

She sat huddled beneath the largest willow, her eyes filled with fear and uncertainty. Yirah
advanced to kneel before her, waiting for her to respond. Slowly, she uncurled herself, brushing lanky
strands of hair from her face. The fear in her eyes gave partial way to curiosity.

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May 31st, 2010 The Cross and the Cosmos
“I know you.” Her whisper held the hint of dawning realization.

“Yes.” Yirah drew a trembling breath as recognition swelled within her. She felt as if she had
known Moriah her whole life.

The child’s brow furrowed as if in confusion. “They said you were evil. They said you trapped
me here.”

“Who told you that?”

“I don’t know—voices. They have been my only companions for as long as I can remember.”
Her eyes took on a faraway look. “But they are gone now.”
Yirah felt the sting of tears. “They lied to you.”

Straightening further, the child’s eyes narrowed, and Yirah felt as if she were being measured. A
long moment passed, and the child bowed her head. “Yes, they did.” Her gaze shifted to Yirah’s
makeshift bandages, and she stretched a hand toward them. “I did this, I think.” Her voice held a note of
sorrow.

“You were afraid.”

“Yes.”

Yirah brushed a stubborn strand of hair from the child’s face. “What is your name, child?”

“Yirah.”

Tears blurred her vision, and she struggled to speak around the sudden lump in her throat. “So is
mine.”

The child’s eyes filled with tears that reflected the moonlight, and with a sob, she threw herself
into Yirah’s arms. “I’ve been waiting for you for so long.”

“I’m sorry.” Emotion tangled her voice. “I should have come sooner, but I—I was so afraid.”
And a peace she had not known she lacked flooded her soul.

****

“What shall I do now?” asked the child, once joy had replaced their tears. “This grove is all I have
known.”

“You could return with me to Talithia. In time, you could petition to become a Defender
candidate. A Guardian would be certain to Bond with you, I think.” Gaenbur’s presence had returned to
rest comfortably at the back of her mind, stronger than before, and she felt his approval of her suggestion.

“A Defender candidate.” She spoke softly, as if tasting the words. She looked up at Yirah. “I like
the idea of helping people.”

“You needn’t decide now. There are many things you could do. Take as much time as you need.”

She nodded slowly, but rose to her feet. “I think I’d like to go to with you.”

With a smile, Yirah echoed her gesture. “Very well, then. To Talithia it is.” Taking the child’s
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May 31st, 2010 The Cross and the Cosmos
hand in hers, she started for home.

J. L. Rowan has been reading and writing fantastic tales since childhood. Her love of far-
away, magical places drew her to both personal and formal study of all things medieval — and the
SCA, where she can pretend (if only for a moment) that the ideals of Camelot truly exist. Her
love of the medieval, combined with her love of felines and other talking animals in literature, led
to her creation of the Guardians and the world of Talithia, where high fantasy reigns. She has had
two other Talithian stories published in Deep Magic, one of which won the 2006 Lamp Post
Award for Best Fantasy Short Story. A third story will be published in late summer 2010 by
Uncial Press. An excerpt of her current novel series To Tread Upon Kings won the 2007 Novel
Excerpt Contest put on by award-winning author Tosca Lee. You can find out more about her
writing at her website: http://jlrowan.wordpress.com

The Quest J.L. Rowan