Karma of Cupid

Ages come and go, ceaselessly without fail,
History and prophecy the lives of mankind's tales.
And lo another story starts to flow
As across the land the wind doth blow...

Meh, the wind. The West Wind was always such a showoff. Most of the winds on this planet aren’t even His direct creation anyways. But regardless of where they came from, this particular wind just happened to be from that overrated minor meteorological deity, and he’s trying to be a flirt. He tries to slide his icy fingers seductively around the necks of busy men who walk, ever so briskly, in their designer cashmere and wool. He caresses every exposed leg of women as their strides tease… each step a wink, wink, wink, beckoning and inviting with flashes of flesh. He playfully tosses up leaves and dances high above the streetlamps like children throwing back their heads and laughing with pure joy. But he can’t hold a torch to me.




I’ve gone by a lot of names over the years. Eros, Amor, Desire, Love, Passion… But you’d probably know me best by that ridiculous name they gave me a few thousand years ago: Cupid. And before you ask, no, I’m not some naked baby with wings holding a bow and arrow. I’m actually quite normal looking; you’d probably not peg me for any sort of mythical god at all. But yeah, I make people fall in love. Or rather, I put them in the position to fall in love. If there’s one thing I’ve learned during my time here on Earth, it’s that you can’t make these infernal humans do anything. They’re worse than sheep. Seriously, I’d know. Oh, and you know how I said I was normal looking? Well, I guess that’s not quite true.

Women love me. I mean, really love me. See that group of women over there? Yeah, them, at the coffee stand on the corner. Watch this. All I have to do is walk by. And watch, I’ll even hide my face behind this newspaper.

And it’s true; they can’t help but look. Every misting eye, every quivering lip, every nervous rubbing of hands, every stretching of neck… each action screams their every thought. This man walking by is in every way so… so… perfect. His coat seems to simultaneously hide and accentuate the magnificent physique unseen underneath. The red of his tie pokes through just so… burning with the passion of a thousand flames. His coat opens, and the bespoke black suit underneath speaks of impeccable taste. A glimpse of his shoes is an invitation to warm summer nights spent drinking wine by candlelight on the Italian Riviera. His BELT…

See what I mean? They LOVE me. It’s like that wherever I go. But I can’t help but encourage them a little bit. Hold the newspaper for a second, will you? Maybe a little smile as I walk past…

Ladies.

And see? Look over my shoulder. They’re staring right? One of them fainted? She’ll be alright, don’t worry. Her friends are already picking her up by now, aren’t they? Happens all the time. Let’s just keep walking.

You might be wondering what I’m doing here, if my entire existence is just a hedonistic hunt for hips and hearts. Well, you couldn’t be further from the truth. You see, the fact is that my Love, my Reason for Being, my One and Only, my Happily Ever After is out there, and it’s some cruel joke of the Fates that I’m still looking for her.

Back home, my Mom is the most beautiful being – person, goddess, whatever – on that silly mountain we gods hang out on. Word had it though that she rejected the head honcho himself, and ol’ thunderbolt didn’t take too kindly to not getting his way. He put a curse on my Mom saying that one of her kids would be doomed to live a life linked with lost love. Great. Guess who that turned out to be? I was born with some, well, powers of persuasion of a certain amorous type, and soon after reaching adulthood was banished here to Earth. Just before I was kicked off the mountain, big Z pulled me aside, made a cloud come over, and formed it into the face of the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. I can still hear the words he spoke to me next…

Q, YOU’RE A GOOD KID, AND I HATE TO DO THIS TO YOU, BUT A CURSE IS A CURSE. YOU CAN’T COME UNTIL YOU FIND HER. SHE’S HUMAN, BY THE WAY, SO YOU WON’T HAVE LONG TO MEET AND WOO HER. OH, HER NAME IS… WELL HER NAME DOESN’T MATTER, YOU’LL KNOW HER – SHE’S A PART OF YOUR SOUL.

And with a swift godly kick, I was sent tumbling down our Olympic mountain to land here on Earth.

Some people back home have hypothesized that if I make enough people fall in love I’ll get a chance to come home – some sort of Deistic Duty thing. But I don’t think it’s that simple. You see; even though I’ve had a million women throw themselves at me, offer me their spirits, their skirts, their skin… I feel nothing. I know my Soul is out there, and I’m waiting for her. I can sense her out there; maybe not even born yet, maybe living next door to me. Who knows. Maybe she’s waiting for me. At least, I know I’m waiting for her. For my Soul.

Ah, here we go. My humble place of work. Watch your step. Yeah, sign in at the desk. It’s okay, she’s with me. Oh, hold that elevator will you! 29th floor please. What? Oh yeah, I thought I told you already that I work for Young Singles Monthly. I’m a writer. Advice column. On Love, of course! Well, what if they’re right? What if I get to go back home after helping a few thousand people fall in love? Even though I know I’ve got to wait for my Soul, it can’t hurt to cover all my mythical bases, and what better way to reach the masses than the number one read magazine amongst men AND women 18 to 25 years old?

His desk is the perfect storm of comfortable clutter and orderly organization. Stacks of manuscripts cover the surface, written by hand with a flowing script. A hundred photos of picturesque travel destinations cover the walls, each one eerily empty of people. Everything is either high tech or designer – his flat screen monitor seems just a bit bigger and thinner than anyone else’s, and his chair looks like a concept out of next decades DWR catalog. Everyone looks up and smiles as he walks by… Men with a touch of admiration in their eyes, and women with a quite obvious lingering stare that travels up… and down… him as he passes. And he knows it. He gives me a wink as if to say, “I told you so” as he pulls a chair for me opposite his desk, hangs his coat on a rack that was surely once an exhibit piece at some MOMA somewhere, and settles into his chair.

I’m so glad the Times has taken an interest in my story. But before we continue, I need something of you. Put down that pad. I need to know. Look at me; look me in the eyes. Do you believe me? Do you believe I’m Cupid?

It’s hard to stare into those eyes. They’re equal parts fire and ice; passion and fury, hope and hatred. My heart stops… my breath catches… my life waits for his to move forward. He may be no god, but he’s definitely… different.

Ahhh see. You don’t do you? Well, I’m not surprised. You humans have such a difficult time believing anything supernatural even exists. You’re all so good at explaining things away. You’ll hold onto the smallest grains of impossible hope; you’ll throw millions of dollars away at the Lottery with a 10 billion to one chance at winning; you’ll obsess over the smallest look a possible love interest might have sent your way; you’ll buy drink after drink after drink for women in the hopes that they’ll fall madly in love with you; but when it comes to believing in the supernatural – which let me tell you, is much more likely than any of those other things – you become the universe’s greatest cynic. But maybe you’ll change your mind soon.

So I know you’re dying to see my writing. Don’t worry; you’ll get what you need soon enough. In fact, here’s a good one for you to start with.

His fingers caress the different piles of manuscripts on his desk, until finally they settle on a particularly high stack. He gently slides his hand down, down, down, resting halfway down the pile. He closes his eyes, and the faintest smile crosses his lips as he pulls out a single sheet covered in his flowing script. He hands it to me, and the light in his eyes is equal parts pride, hope, and adventure. I look down and start to read…

How to Achieve the (Seemingly) Impossible

“It’s no secret that almost every young male’s fantasy is incredibly difficult to achieve. It’s a gigantically daunting feat, and I know that you think only a select few can pull it off. We are of course talking about landing two women at once…”

What? Don’t give me that look. This is Young Singles Monthly, not the Homebodies of America. The articles might be a little, what, racy, but it’s what’s on the mind of young people these days. And I’m just trying to help some young people out. But maybe you should work up to that one. In fact, here, take these articles. They’ll give you a good idea of the work I’ve been doing while I wait for my Soul to come my way. And if you can figure out how many people I’ve helped fall in love, or at least lust, that’d be a huge help. Because you never know, they might be right in saying that if I make enough people fall heels over head, I’ll get my passport stamped to go home.

So it’s been great meeting you… next week then? And I didn’t catch your name… Sarah? That’s a great name. It’s been a real pleasure Sarah. Let me walk you out.

And as he walks me to the elevator, I can’t help but notice something new in his eyes. Avoiding his direct stare this time I see the confidence and calm that comes only with, well, with minor deities… but there is something else. Something almost like… panic. Panic, yes, that’s it. He’s so scared he’ll never find her, never find his Soul. And he’s reaching out everywhere he can for help. Reaching out to me. I hold the stack of manuscripts, kiss him on each cheek goodbye, and turn to face him as the elevator doors close. This is definitely going to be an interesting assignment.

Coffee Shops and Watching your Mouth



“Coffee Shops are one of the greatest weapons in a young person’s attraction arsenal. They’re notorious for playing great and random nouveau tango bands, having comfy couches, and just the right amount of background sound and atmosphere to make your date feel comfortable. Plus, the best ones serve good booze. Guys, bring women here. They’ll feel safe, secure, warm, and will give you more credit than being some drunk frat boy who still takes women to bars with peanuts on the ground or with karaoke machines run by men with mullets who live in their vans. Plus in said Coffee Shop, chances are you’ll be more attractive to your date here than that sad single artsy kid over there writing emo stories, or the nerdy kid in the corner sketching furiously away in his designer moleskin. But please, Please, PLEASE make sure you don’t blow it. And the way you’ll blow it? You’ll do what this guy is doing RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME RIGHT NOW, at my local Coffee Shop where I’m writing this very article. Ready? Just STOP TALKING for a change! Women are by nature great communicators. From an early age men communicate with onomatopoeia and sound effects; women communicate through words and complete sentences. Don’t fight nature. When you sit down with a woman at the Coffee Shop of your choice, you’ll be under a lot of pressure to have a conversation. This is a good thing. Conversation is good. But you MUST let her talk! The more you speak, chances are the more you’re going to come across as:



a) A pompous ass

b) A nervous twit

c) An egotistic prick




And we’re all guilty of it. It’s actually OKAY to not fill every moment with meaningless chatter. Ask her questions, and listen for God’s sake. If you’re at a break in the conversation, take a drink of coffee. Smile at her. Engage someone at a nearby table in conversation, smile at your date, and ask them slyly about her. Ok, don’t check your phone – that’s rude. But don’t revert to talking for talking’s sake. The more you keep your mouth shut, the more likely you’ll find something out about her, and let her be intrigued by who you are. When all else fails, comment on other people together. Or listen to the music together. It’s one of the best ways to make a connection without speaking… think Javier Barden taking Vickie to listen to Spanish guitar. There’s something amazingly powerful about two people sitting side by side observing the same thing… together. So you see, there’s a million things you can do, none of which include YOU, the man, talking endlessly. So go make it happen!



And one more thing about coffee shops… Ladies. If you’re the type of girl who finds yourself sitting at a bar, drinking that drink that some guy (who you definitely aren’t in to) bought for you, sitting through a ten minute conversation with him because, well, he did buy you that drink… if you’re one of those girls, dreaming of why there’s no more good men (not nice guys, Good Men)… put your drink down and look across the street at the Coffee Shop and the young man sitting outside bringing life to paper with his pen. He’s the one you want. And guys, if she comes over to you? Don’t blow it…”

Here you go Sarah, here’s your coffee. So you’ve started reading my articles? Great. I’m glad you decided to meet up again. What’s that? No, I haven’t seen my Soul today, thank you very much. I’m very sure I’ll know it when I see her.

At the very mention of his Soul, the glow of confidence in his eyes winks out for the briefest of seconds. His hands twitch nervously as he adjusts his tie. His jaw clenches, his foot goes tap, tap, tap as double shots of fear and adrenaline rush through him. And then it passes; if you weren’t looking for it, you’d never have seen the reaction. But I see it. I want to ask him more, but today, I’ve got some ulterior motives. You see, there’s this guy, and I could use the help of a real life Cupid…

Oh really? A guy huh? And now you’d like some help? Of course I can help. I am the expert on helping people find each other, remember? So who is he? A regular at your gym? And he works in your building… interesting. And have you had any interaction yet? Just smiles in the hall? That’s definitely a start. Do you care if he’s married? I’m sorry, I’m sorry; don’t look at me like that. You never know, there’re some vicious women out there. Not like you Sarah. Ok. I think I have just the solution. Why don’t you give this a read…

He hands me an envelope from out of his briefcase. It’s sealed and dated, as if he already knew he’d be giving it to me today. As if he knew a thousand years ago I’d be asking his advice. The corners of his eyes smile with all the confident joy in the world, and I start to think that there’s something to him being more than human. As he gives me the envelope, he brushes my hand briefly, and I’m not ashamed to admit that my heart skipped a beat. His lips match the smile in his eyes, and he shakes his head laughing.

Oh, Sarah. You’re so… ah. You remind me a lot of what a little sister would be, if I had one. Just read the article, and let me know how it goes with your young man. Next week then? Next week it is. See you soon Sarah.

The Gist of it All… How to Make Him or Her Fall For You



“Call me old fashioned, but there’s something to be said about the classic romantic notion. You know the dance, the one you’ve seen Mr. Grant and Ms. Kelly, Mr. Bogart and Ms. Hepburn do on the silver screen. It’s about men being Good Men (not nice guys, not safe boys, not anything to be trifled with) – full of adventure, intrigue, chivalry, and good old fashioned masculine strength. It’s about women being Good Women (not nice girls, passive chicks, or hot flirts) – full of beauty, strength, joy, and faithfulness. Call me old fashioned, but this is the heart of attraction. It’s innate in every human, these classic ideals. So where are you going to meet Mr. or Mrs. Right? This is the easiest and most important part – Anywhere! Never shut yourself off from the opportunity to meet someone. Grocery stores, gyms, libraries, traffic, on the escalator, coffee shops, the bus, I don’t care. Get in the practice of meeting people outside of bars. Just smile and say hi, and you’ll be amazed at how well it works. But now for the nitty gritty… just how are you going to catch the object of your affection? The truth of the matter is, it all depends on what kind of person you want.



Women, I’ll talk to you first. Do you want a Good Man, or a good time? Now, you can’t have both. If you’re looking for one, you’re NEVER going to get the other. If you want a good time, it’s pretty easy. Show off what you’ve got. If you’re a good looking girl, make it obvious to anyone who can see. Be aggressive, and approach any guy you like. Touch him a lot – personal contact is a powerful tool for you. Keep your conversations light – let him brag about himself. Ask him to buy you drinks, dinners, designer purses. Chances are he will – it’s pretty easy for a guy to spend money instead of spending emotion. And there’s a million men out in the world for you to find who’ll show you a great time. Be careful though, finding a man for a good time means just that; don’t expect him to be quality. And no, you won’t be able to change him after you’ve been together for a while. And you’re not going to find a Good Man either; they’ll be watching how you act, and will be repulsed. Sure, you might get a few dates out of a misguided Good Man, but soon enough you’ll be wondering why it seems like all the men in your life fall so short of those Good Men who just came and left.



Oh, so you want a Good Man then? But you’re worried. You’ve been raised to think they’re nice guys: boring, passive, submissive, and weak. But we’re talking about Good Men – guys who prioritize adventure, passion, strength, power, and true love. They’re everywhere, but the way to land them is quite different. Subtlety is the key, be it in dress, winks, or speech. Everything you do should be to inspire intrigue and adventure in the men around you. I know it’s frustrating, and it might seem like you’re being passive, but that’s hardly the case. If you see a guy out that you like, make eye contact, smile, do whatever your best move is, but be inviting to him so that he’ll come talk to you. And if he doesn’t? Chances are he either lacks the brains or the guts… and it’s better to figure that out now, rather than later. If he still doesn’t see you, you can always do the proximity alert. Move around the room so that you’re standing near him. But still, let him talk to you. And once you’re talking, let the natural fun and joy in your life come out. Be classy, not crass. Laugh and smile, and enjoy the adventure that he’s hopefully spinning for you. Be memorable, unlike any other women he’s going to meet tonight. And from then, you’ll be well on your way. Inspire adventure in him, and if he’s a true Good Man, he’ll deliver. If he doesn’t, have the presence of mind to get out. You’re much too important to waste your time.



Men. What kind of girl do you want? You want a One Fun Night? Easy. Put on the Uniform (jeans, button up striped shirt untucked, and black dress shoes). Go to your nearest young people’s bar. Find the girl attracting all the attention in the world to herself. She’ll usually be:



a) Riding the mechanical bull


b) Dancing on the bar


c) Surrounded by ten guys and loving every minute of it


d) Wearing the smallest outfit of any girl out



If a girl passes any two of these criteria, you’re good to go. How’re you going to pick her up? Here’s the difficult part – you’ve got to put her in her place. Actively act like you’re not interested… heck, even slyly insult her. But at the last second, when her insecure mind is wondering why she doesn’t have any control over you, flip it around. Punk the other guys who are around her, take her to a new location, buy her plenty of drinks, and you’re all set. If you feel masochistic enough to actually date a girl like this, Zeus help you, but your wallet is going to suffer. You’re going to have to constantly keep her wavering, wandering attention on YOU, and enough will never be enough. My best advice is get in, get out, and get on with it. Oh, and you’re not going to change her either. So stop thinking it right now.



Ah. But how to find a Good Woman. This is a tough one, as I really think there are a lot fewer Good Women out there than Good Men (sorry!). The best thing you can do is recognize what it is in women that you want, and put yourself in places where those types of women are. Pretty soon you’ll get really good at avoiding the obvious One Fun Nights, but it’s going to take a lot of searching to still find a Good Woman. Be assertive, be charming and intriguing. Live life with passion, and share that passion with women in your life. Never be cheap, but never think that you can buy affection. Be the Good Man that you are, and hold on to the women who can appreciate and are attracted to those qualities of yours. Ask yourself, does she inspire adventure in you? Does she make you a Better Man? If she doesn’t, it’s time to move on. There’s no magic bullet, but strong self awareness is the best tool you can have. Good luck…”

Another margarita? Ah yes, you are working, I suppose. Oh, so did you read it? Great, great. Look, I’m sorry Sarah, but I’m little bit distracted today. You can tell? Yeah, well. I met her! Sarah, I finally met her! I’ve found my Soul! And she’s so, so Beautiful, Sarah. I wish you could understand. I’ve just waited for so long, and she’s finally here. Where did I meet her? I’m kind of ashamed to say it, but at a bar. But you don’t understand, she’s different. She was only dancing on the bar for a second, and I swear, she’s quite deep. We talked about all sorts of things – from art to music to travel. Yes, of course I got her number. Who do you take me for? We’re going out this Friday. I’m so excited Sarah, my Heart’s been waiting for so long…

I’ve never before seen pure joy and excitement embodied so perfectly in a living being as him right this second. He can hardly sit still he’s so happy. Everything he says is something about her, about how her hair is just so, how her laugh is crystal clear, how her eyes are the deepest sea of green… and yet, I can’t help but be worried for him. In the few weeks I’ve known him, he’s been nothing but the confident and charismatic image of masculinity that could care less whether a woman wanted him in her life. And now that he’s found his Soul, he’s as giddy as a school child. And after everything he’s said about her, she doesn’t sound THAT good for him…

But Sarah, you don’t understand. She’s so much like me. Sure she gets a lot of attention from men, and yes, so what, she loves it. But it’s just like how it is for me. Women throw themselves at me everyday… how can I blame her for anything different. Yes, I know she’s human and I’m Cupid. What does that have to do with anything? Don’t look at me like that. She’s my Soul, Sarah!

His phone bounces along the table as it announces a message. A message deemed unimportant enough to require the sacred breath of life, the breath of Love that comes from our lips. A message so un-special that it carries all the ambiguities and clumsiness of the basic building blocks of our language. A text. His usually sure hand shakily grabs the phone. His face falls.

Hmm. That’s okay, I guess. Apparently she has to work this Friday night. Oh well. But that’s good! She’s career oriented. She’s got her head in the right place. She’s… well. She’s my Soul.

A long breath in. A longer breath out. I guess that’s what happens when you’ve been waiting thousands of years for your Soul.

But enough about me. Tell me about your smiling gym guy. Oh he talked to you? That’s wonderful Sarah! Proximity alert? Yep, knew it. At a coffee shop? Perfect. And you’re going out this Friday? Well I’m glad somebody is. No, I’m not bitter; you’re going to have a great time. I have a good feeling about this one Sarah. Let me know how it goes. Next week then? In the meantime, here’s another piece for you to read… maybe it’ll help you on Friday. But I’m confident in you, Sarah.

Joie de Vive



"The Joy of Life. Ask a hundred people on the street, and 99 of them will say that of course, that’s what they’re striving for. And that last guy who said no is actually talking to a fire hydrant right now, so don’t even put too much into what he says. A Drama Filled Summer. No one in their right mind would ever say that that’s what they want. Yet take a look at a hundred relationships around you. Are the majority filled with two people enjoying the pure Joy of Life? Or are they creating Drama Drama Drama… I think you already know the answer.



But what isn’t known is WHY. I’ve seen relationships a few weeks old create the most massive pyrotechnic displays of emotional outbursts. How can there even be that much fighting when there’s been such a short amount of emotional investment? Why do people stick around and crave Drama when it’s obviously (well, obvious to everyone else) unhealthy? Here’s the answer: Because at the end of the day, we’re all hungry.



We feed on emotion. I don’t care how many of you out there have made it your solemn vow that you’re better off alone – you’re not fooling anyone. Everybody gets as hungry emotionally as they do physically. And I’ll bet there’s more emotional eating disorders out there than physical ones – people making their hearts take part in fasting, binging, purging, gluttonizing, or becoming vegetarian. (Not that I have anything against vegetarians, but someone who chooses to take part in some emotions and not others can’t be trusted).



There’s a lot of hungry people walking around out there. And as soon as they smell blood, as soon as they sense that their hearts are on the verge of being filled, they reach for junk food. They create the easy drama that keeps a relationship going. They feed on the high fructose corn syrup of emotion. They malnourish themselves on empty calories. And as soon as they sense their food source is slipping away, they sink their teeth in deeper and refuse to let go.



So what’s to do? Easy. CALM DOWN. Wait for the meal to be served. Enjoy all the courses that your relationship has to offer. Whether it’s an ala carte and quick lived or a fantastic 21 course pairing menu and meant to go the distance, enjoy the meal as it comes to you. Embrace the Joy of Life. For God’s sake smile. Leave the Drama and junk food out. Eat, drink, and be merry."

Here, take your burger. Sarah, I have to tell you! We went out Sarah. She finally called me at the last minute on Saturday night and we went out. Yes, it was great! We got into a tiny little argument at first about… well I don’t even remember what it was about. But it doesn’t matter. I took her to a great dinner, and we had some drinks afterwards. A couple of her friends joined us as well for drinks, and I got to know them pretty well when she was off talking to some of her other friends who happened to be there. They were interesting guys, I guess. She ended up going to a house party of theirs, but it was just as well, since I had to write a new article. Here it is. I…

I can’t believe what’s become of him. His normally impeccable style is sloppy – his tie is undone, his shirt untucked, his shoes mismatched. His eyes have huge bags under them. The panic I’d caught glimpses of before is wilder than ever, burning coals threatening to consume him; threatening to consume us all. He pushes a tattered pile of papers towards me. His normally flowing script is replaced with angry scratches… and there’s tear stains and holes everywhere. I take a quick look down. I can barely make anything out, except for a few words about Faith and Forever, about Weariness and Wariness. And as he rambles on, his eyes take the briefest break from their panic… and in that instance there is only the sadness of a thousand eternities.


…but she’s really quite perfect. She’s my Soul. I hope she returns my call this week… But wait, Sarah! What about you? How’d it go?

IT WENT GREAT Q. FIRST CLASS WORK, CONGRATULATIONS. I THINK THAT’S AN EVEN MILLION.

The man sitting at the booth across the way had just put down his paper and started talking to us. He was dressed in an all white linen suit, and carried the air, the respect, that only comes with… well… Major Deities. He’s easily the most pompous human I’ve ever met (and I haven’t even met him) but I can’t help but stare. He has so much power, power that he’s not using. Maybe he’s right… maybe there is a Cupid; maybe there is a Zeus.


AN EVEN MILLION. I NEVER THOUGHT YOU’D MAKE IT TO THIS POINT, BUT YOU’VE DONE IT. YOU’RE DONE. YOU’RE FREE TO COME HOME. YOUR MOTHER MISSES YOU SO MUCH… AND YOUR CURSE IS FORGIVEN. COME ON HOME.

But… big Z. She’s here. My Soul is here! How can I leave my Soul behind? She’s everything I’ve ever wanted, and she’s…

Q, MY BOY. REALLY? I KNOW YOU’RE CURSED IN LOVE, BUT THIS IS RIDICULOUS. COME HOME. THINK OF ALL YOU CAN DO HELPING PEOPLE FIND LOVE FROM THE VANTAGE POINT OF OUR MOUNT OLYMPUS. AH… BUT I GUESS IT IS YOUR CHOICE...

And at that moment, it became more than just a story, just an article for me. He’s opened up my life to the possibility of love. (And what better gift is that?) But this man, this real life Cupid is faced with the biggest decision of his life. There he is, Zeus in the flesh, holding out his hand to him. Cupid licks his lips, prepares to open his mouth. It’s as though the whole world waits in anticipation of his lips caressing the Breath of Love… Of the power of words standing ready to seal his fate in either immortality or Love (such as it is) with his Soul. But as we all lean forward to bear witness to this monumental decision… one that has been played out a million times a day… a breeze, a Wind really, comes flirting though an open window to pick up his reply. And I smile. He really is Cupid. It’s the right choice, and worthy of being carried out on the Wind…


...And so the wind doth blow across the land,
Taking with it the grains of Time's sand.
Another tale closes its pages
Until opened again by history's sages

Read more!

Sam Logan

Ages come and go, ceaselessly without fail,
History and prophecy the lives of mankind's tales.
And lo another story starts to flow
As across the land the wind doth blow...

The wind carried an interesting mix of scents – fresh mown grass, the salty spray of the ocean, and the fading wisps of incense from the funeral. There were smiles as well as tears during the service, but all of Sam’s friends said that the ceremony was exactly as he would have wanted it. He lived a “full and complete life”, they all said, full “of love, of laughter, of memories”. He had raised three fine boys; he was a loving and devoted husband, he was a friend to anyone in need. He was the man people looked up to and taught their children to be like when they grew up. And yet, Sam Logan had hardly lived at all. He died taking a single step along his life.



Sam Logan was unlike any other human being ever to exist on this earth. There was one man, a librarian known as H. d’T., who came close to Sam’s condition, but Sam’s uniqueness in this universe is concrete. For some strange reason - be it Fate, a curse, some divine lesson, or an unfortunate genetic coincidence – Sam did not live life like you or I. He had no concept of “yesterday”… but it’s not what you’re undoubtedly thinking. There was no amnesia, no memory issues. His memory was just fine; it just only told the future. You see, Sam lived his life backwards; while everyone else was content to let gravity pull the sands of time down through our hourglass lives, Sam was forever climbing up the flow. When he lay down to sleep at night, it wasn’t tomorrow that woke him – it was yesterday. Yesterday was brand new to him and only him, while tomorrow was just a memory of his day before. And if you’re as confused as I was when I first heard his story, well, don’t worry; you’ll see in a moment what I really mean.

The last of the dirt fell on his coffin, and soon the setting sun bid its final adieu to Sam’s life. The darkness of night soon had its chance to welcome Sam’s lifeless body into the final embrace of Mother Earth… and then it happens.

March 16, 2054
An alarm rings and a hand reaches out to quiet its attempts to wake him. Sam laid in bed for a while, confused by where he was. Who was he? Where was he? Who is this woman laying next to him? What is my name? WHO AM I? He tried to get up, but found his old body just didn’t want to respond anymore. The woman next to him, Constance, stirred from her sleep and rolled over. They had been married for 46 years now, and after 46 years of marriage, you don’t have to be awake to know something’s wrong with your Love.

“What’s wrong Sam?” She asked softly. Her eyes are as clear a blue as the day when they first met.

Sam said nothing. He didn’t know what to say, what to think. He didn’t even know who this woman was next to him. With a feeble yell, he hoisted himself out of bed and stumbled down the stairs, only to find himself staring at an unknown hall in an unknown home. He lurched disoriented out the door into the morning light. Sensations bombarded him – sounds smells, sights, feelings, emotions. It’s too much to make sense of all at once, and all he could do was collapse onto his front porch. Constance held him as he lay in her arms, shaking like a newborn baby, trying to make sense of this complicated world around him. She rocked him slowly with all the love a human can give, but he couldn’t see it. He couldn’t see anything. For hours they lay there. Occasionally Sam’s fit of sobs would die down and be replaced by bursts of anger. He’d scream and yell with the panic and fear of a newborn child, and Constance would do her best to comfort him. Evening finally fell, and Sam slowly drifted off to sleep. What a way to live the last day of your life. What a way to live the first day of your life.

March 15, 2054
An alarm rings and the same hand reaches out to shut it off. Sam laid in bed again, confused by his past. He has a day’s worth of memory this morning; he can remember the confusion, panic, and terror of his first day on this world. He fought the urge to run screaming from his bed like he had yesterday, and instead tried to focus his spinning mind on what he knew. “Okay. What’s going on? Who am I? Who is this woman next to me? Let me try to talk to her. How do I talk?” Slowly Sam opened his mouth and tried to speak, but nothing came out. He was thinking about this too much. Constance rolled over onto her side, and opened her clear blue eyes with a smile.

“Good morning Sam,” she whispered softly. And then, before he knew what was happening, Sam responded. “Who am I?” He didn’t mean to say these words, they just came unconsciously from within.

“What do you mean, who are you?” She said with a smile, “You’re the most loving husband, devoted father, grandfather, and human I’ve ever met.”

“I don’t remember any of it. I don’t believe you. I don’t know you, I don’t know who I am, I don’t know anything”. There was panic in his voice.

Slowly Constance’s smile faded. “Are you being serious honey? This isn’t funny.” She sat up in bed and looked Sam in the eyes.

The remaining day was a blur of sobs, tears, and wails. Constance took Sam to the hospital fearing all kinds of mental diseases and dementia. There were lots of men in white coats. There were many tests. There were many drugs. And all the while Sam was just trying to find out what the hell was going on. He was starting to peace it together. Apparently his name was Sam Logan, and he was 73 years old. He had a wife Constance, some kids, some grandkids, had a job, was retired, was involved in his community. And yet he couldn’t remember it all. The men in white coats talked a lot about “advanced stages of dementia, hallucinations, multiple personality disorders, amnesia” and a whole lot of other things that Sam had no idea as to what it was all about. The odd thing is, Constance didn’t seem to remember his outburst and confusion and time spent on the porch yesterday. No one seemed to know anything about yesterday. As the evening came to a close, Sam was being admitted to the hospital for observation during the night, and to “make sure he doesn’t do any harm to himself”. The men in white coats tied him to his bed, and the screams of anguish and confusion filled the hospital halls long into the night.

March 14, 2054
The alarm rang again. With a start Sam jumped up out of bed. His own bed. Why wasn’t he at the hospital? His sudden action had woken Constance, and she rolled over sleepily.

“Constance.” It was as if he was trying out her name for the first time.
“Yes dear?”
“What did we do yesterday?” There was almost no fear in his voice.
“We went and visited Jason, remember? Is everything alright?” Now concern started to creep into her voice.
“Everything is fine. I just… I just feel a little ill is all.” He had no idea who Jason was. One of his kids maybe? Grandkids? Who knew.

Constance made Sam breakfast, and he ate slowly. Everything was a new experience to him – his only memories had been of the last (or was it next?) two days – not a whole lot of events to base life on. These, what are they? Eggs? Eggs. They’re delicious. Sam decided he liked eggs. After breakfast Sam took a walk outside his house. Constance insisted on joining him, especially since he wasn’t feeling well, but Sam needed to be alone. His thoughts bombarded him as he walked along. Okay. So apparently something very strange is going on. No one around me seems to have the same memories I have. Nothing I did yesterday had any effect on today. How come? And why did Constance say that we went somewhere yesterday and we clearly didn’t? I haven’t known her that long but she doesn’t seem like the lying type.

The rest of the day was lived in a somber haze. Sam sat and talked to Constance. He didn’t say a whole lot, but he listened, and tried to keep it all straight. She knew something was wrong with him, but she just chalked it up to him being a little ill. If he was still acting strange tomorrow, they might just have to go visit the doctor. He ate – and decided he likes pot roast a lot too. Evening gave way to night and his mind was spinning with everything he had learned today. It still didn’t make a whole lot of sense to him, but maybe tomorrow would be better.

March 13, 2054
“Wake up honey,” Constance was already dressed and walking around the room. “We’re going to go see Jason today. Remember?” She smiled with her pure blue eyes sparkling, and Sam sat up quickly.

“Um, okay.” Sam was taking the attitude that if he could just follow along and go with the flow, things might work out better.

It turns out Jason was their oldest son. He had two children of his own, and the sight of this family brought Sam almost to tears. The children came running out to meet Sam and Constance as soon as they opened the door. Jason stood with his arm around his wife and smiled slowly. There was pride in his eyes; he was proud of his kids, proud of his wife, proud to be his Dad’s son. There was so much love contained in one small area, and Sam couldn’t believe he had not a single memory of any of this.

They spent the day there, playing with the kids, talking about the weather. Even though Sam couldn’t remember a day of raising his boy or seeing his grandchildren be born, he couldn’t help but think that he had done alright. His son was a good man; he obviously loved his wife and his kids. Hopefully this whole memory thing would sort itself out and things would be back to normal.

As Sam lay down to sleep things started to make sense. Yesterday, I asked Constance what we had done the day before, and she said what we had done today. I have to remember to check the date tomorrow. I have an idea what’s happening...

2050 - 2054
And so Sam slowly began to realize what was going on. For some strange reason he was moving through time backwards; every tomorrow brought simply the day before. Bit by bit Sam pieced together who he was, and learned all of the things from the past that he hadn’t yet lived. It was odd to start everyday already knowing the future, and he often had to work hard to keep track of what he said or how he acted, but the truth of the matter was it didn’t really matter that much. The beauty of living backwards is that nothing he ever did in his waking moments had any effect on the past, so even if he spoke his mind one day, it was forgotten on the next.

Sam was in fact a great upstanding human being. Everyone kept telling him that. Everywhere he went he couldn’t escape the countless praises on his past accomplishments. Which was all well and good, but the truth of the matter is, is that in Sam’s mind all those past accomplishments could well have been some other person’s deeds. With no memory or recollection of the past, Sam had trouble finding a way to justify his supposed actions. He didn’t understand the motivations behind the apparent selflessness and devotion to family and friends. Granted, he loved the rewards, admiration, and respect he gained, but he was hard pressed to think that he’d be as selfless as everyone told him he was. And besides, he had a little secret.

It’s a funny thing when you can act out without any sort of consequences at all. It started out small; he’d say something less than flattering to Constance, put her into a mood, and not have to worry about it at all the next day. He could eat at the finest restaurants without paying, and never be any worse the wear. It wasn’t even about the money, it became the experience. He could curse and make babies cry, make his own family shun him, and then on the next day, everything would be fine. This was Sam’s secret – that little by little he began to enjoy acting out against society’s norms, just because he could. And bit by bit a part of his soul began to die as it became less and less about bending rules, and more and more about seeing the joy of cruelty.

It was starting to affect him. He missed the day Jason’s son was born. He hardly ever talked to his sons or wife anymore. People were starting to notice a change in him as well – of course it never really mattered since going to sleep seemed to reset everything for the prior day, but people looked at Sam with disappointment and disgust. “I guess you can’t always believe everything you hear,” they’d mutter.

2010 – 2050
The years became a blur. Sam discovered all of the mind and state altering substances that can make you feel incredibly good at the cost of great physical harm to the body. That is, great physical harm if you travel through time normally. To fund his daily fixes Sam discovered how truly easy crime is. Cash is really easy to find if you’re willing to forgo the consequences. The sins of the flesh soon consumed Sam as well; any type of pleasure can be found if you’re willing to pay the price. Constance would leave him almost daily, but each morning she’d be there again, blue eyes shining with pure love. Retirement came and went, but Sam never went into work. He was fired more times than he could remember. Sons came home from college, went to high school, played sports, learned to drive, learned to tie their shoes, were born. And Sam never really took part in any of it. All that mattered was that he get his daily fix and figured a new way to paint the world dark with cruelty.

His wedding day was a disaster. Constance left him at the altar after he decided to adlib a few lines. He never proposed on the day he was supposed to; he sold the ring for drug money. He dropped out of college, he failed his job interviews. His parents disowned him. Many times. With the life that Sam had lived, there was no way his funereal would have an ounce of the happiness or respect like the one that had opened his life; no one would come at all.

September 17th, 2010
Today was the day he was supposed to meet Constance for the first time. He’d heard a thousand times of how they’d first met:

It was a cold and wet September night. There was an opening of a new art gallery downtown, and the featured artist was a product of one of Sam’s philanthropic projects – bringing art to the inner city youth. The gallery was crowded, and Sam of course arrived fashionably late. He entered and began his mingling with the assorted artists from the program and other benefactors, but before he had broken into his first social circle, his eye was caught by the most beautiful display of artistry he had ever seen.

It wasn’t oil on canvas; it was flesh on bone. She held a plate of hours'dourves and her uniform was well pressed. Sam hated eating at these things, but he went over anyways. He smiled at her, took some toasted meat pastry, and made his way over to his student’s piece. He pretended to study the art, but it was eclipsed by the light behind him that he knew was the only sun he wanted to stare at, even if it meant being blind forever.

“It makes me feel alive.” Constance said as she nodded at the piece. And the way she said alive let Sam know that she understood it. He turned to her and looked her straight in the eyes. “I know the feeling. Pure beauty.” Their eyes never released their embrace.

Everyone had left long ago, but still Sam and Constance stood talking. Eventually the lights shut off, and Sam walked her home, sharing an umbrella the whole way. He walked her to her door, said good night, held her hand for a second too long, and waited until she disappeared into her home. Sam had the biggest smile on his face from that day forward, and he ran home on feet fueled by love.

It was cold and wet this September night. Sam grudgingly got dressed for the gallery opening. He was already high. He stumbled into the gallery loud and obnoxious, yelling greetings and criticisms to anyone who would listen. He saw Constance in the corner holding her platter, and walked over to talk to her.

“Hey. Gimme some of those.”

“Uh, sure thing sir.” She kept a tight smile as Sam gruffly grabbed some hours'dourves with his bare hands.

“So how about you and me cut to the chase and get out of here?” Sam could care less about tact; he knew his past already.

“Sir, I have a job to do.” She moved away from him and tried to make her way to another group, but Sam reached out his hand and grabbed her shoulder.

“Look Constance, I know the way this works, you’re coming home with me.” There was force in Sam’s voice now, and violence.

“Excuse me, is there a problem here?” A well dressed gentleman, Robbie, came between Sam and Constance, and Sam recognized him as another of the philanthropists who supported the program. Sam wheeled away angrily and stormed off into a corner cursing under his breath, leaving Constance’s savior to try to console her as best he could.

“I am so sorry about that miss; I don’t know what gets into Sam sometimes. He’s quite different today for some reason; he’s usually a great guy. Usually so full of laughs, usually so alive. That’s what matters in this world, being alive.” Constance could tell by the way Robbie said alive that he understood. Their eyes never released their embrace, and Sam saw the two of them walk out together at the end of the night, arm in arm.

September 18th, 2010
Sam woke up the next morning with pain in every part of his body. His head felt ten sizes too big, and his stomach was rapidly freeing itself of anything it could find inside. His body shook, his eyes wouldn’t focus. This is very strange. There was a message on his phone. Something about causing a scene at last night’s gallery opening. He looked at the calendar sitting over his desk. The 18th. Something is seriously wrong here. Its actually tomorrow. In a panic Sam leapt from his bed, tried to stop the world from spinning, fell, and crawled to the bathroom door. This can’t be happening. This can’t be happening…

September - December, 2010
People don’t really change overnight. You’re lucky if you can change at all. Sam was having a particularly rough time of it. Living over fifty years a certain way with no consequences whatsoever really makes you inhuman. The next months saw him pay the price for his lifestyle of selfish cruelty. He lost his friends, lost his job, lost his soul. And all of these were for real this time. He’d call Constance every so often, even though she hadn’t given him her number he still knew it by heart. He’d stop by to visit and see her in Robbie’s embrace, laughing. Everyday grew darker and darker. Everyday Sam died a little more.

2011
It was a random day. Sam lay huddled against the cold on a park bench. He’d finally lost it all. He sobbed into his hands at his losses. His beautiful wife Constance. Gone. His noble children. Gone. His grandkids with love in their laughter and joy in their hearts. Gone. All the lives touched by his hard work in the business world and community. Gone. He looks up at a man dressed all in grey – grey slacks, jacket, shirt, and hat – who is sitting next to him on the bench. It’s Fate.

“You know, the world’s not right right now.” Fate talks like a normal person would. Not exactly what Sam was expecting. “You’ve cut one too many threads out from the tapestry of life.”

“Who cares.” Sam wasn’t too interested in talking, even if it was with a minor deity. “I’ve lost it all. I can’t get back. There’s no way. It’s too late.”

“Let me let you in on a little secret.” Fate looked around quickly to see if anyone was watching. “There is only one single destiny every human has and must follow. It’s true. But that destiny is simply the destination. The road to there is unknown to everyone, even me. But you, son, you’re not even heading in the right direction. You remember the last day of your life? You remember your funeral? You need to get back there lad. I don’t care how you do it, but you need to get back there. And quickly; I know the good you can do, the good you’ve done, Sam. Get back on that road.”

And with that, Fate was gone. Sam looked around to see if anyone else had seen his conversation, but there’s no one around. Did he dream this whole thing? Was this just another hallucination brought on by the drugs he had taken? Who knows…

Sam walked aimlessly through the streets trying to clear his head. He walked and walked, and slowly the setting sun tried to put its close on another day. But something was wrong. He could feel it. He looked behind him and saw two men who looked up to no good. Living as long as he had and in the way that he had, Sam had a nose for guys who looked like they were up to no good.

The two toughs brushed past Sam and approached a couple walking up ahead. Sam ducked behind a parked car as one of the two men proceeded to pull a gun on the couple. The woman screamed, the man raised his hands in calm surrender. The two men were anxious. This was taking too long. They screamed for money and valuables. The man holding the gun swung with malicious force on the gentleman, laying him out cold in the street. Again the woman screamed, and it was here where Sam realized he knew that scream all too well.

He came running out from behind the car. He didn’t know what he was doing, didn’t know what he’d do; all he knew was that he needed to save Constance. He leapt at the first man, tackled him to the ground, and rolled off just in time to be deafened by a blast from the pistol. Not the smartest types, these two up to no goods. With one holding a smoking gun and the other lying still after bearing the full force of the blast that was meant for Sam, Sam’s luck instantly doubled. In anger the last of the assailants turned his gun on Robbie lying on the ground, fired two shots, and then began falling from the force of Sam jumping on his back. Somewhere in the distance Fate turned his head and adjusted his hat, and the assailant fell on the curb letting Sam hear the bones of his neck crack below him.

All the while Constance was screaming. She lay on the ground sobbing, and slowly Sam fell to his knees and joined her. They held each other for what seemed like hours, until she spoke.

“I’m just glad to be alive”. Sam could tell by the way she said alive that she understood. Her pure blue eyes are glazed in tears, but their embrace with his eyes never broke from that day forward.

Fate put his hands in his pockets, started to walk, and whistled a tune that was caught by the rising wind.


...And so the wind doth blow across the land,
Taking with it the grains of Time's sand.
Another tale closes its pages
Until opened again by history's sages

Read more!

Ewark Landflyn

Ages come and go, ceaselessly without fail,
History and prophecy the lives of mankind's tales.
And lo another story starts to flow
As across the land the wind doth blow...

The wind brought its winter chill that afternoon, as it had for centuries past, and would for centuries to come. High atop a rocky cliff, a lone figure stood oblivious of the wind and its chill. Ewark Landflyn was indeed quite a spectacle to behold. His broad shoulders, bare despite the cold, were framed with enough muscle for two men, let alone one who had seen less than a score of name days. His entire muscular body spoke of power and speed, with a grace of movement uncommon for one so large. His hands were tough and rugged from his work as a stone mason, but the strength of his hands could not hide the dexterity and gentleness that was there as well. His legs were as two tree trunks, immovable and solid. Indeed, this young man's physique seemed to be sculpted from the Maker himself, though at first glance it was hardly ever noticed, for his face was a twisted mask of ugliness. His mouth was crooked and too large, with misshapen teeth poking through whenever a supposed smile crossed that grotesque face. His nose was entirely too large, and badly proportioned. It hung off center and cast odd shadows upon his countenance. His cheeks were low and plain; his eyes tilted at odd angles, their black light dull. His hair was wiry and stuck out in all directions, with many knots and curls that would never come out. And worse of all, along his face ran a single white scar as long as a hand. Idly, the young man traced the path of the scar from his eye to his opposite cheek as memory unbidden caught him unaware.



"Hey! Let her go!" A young, remarkably ugly boy screamed at the man on horseback. The adolescent atop the midnight steed laughed maliciously. How could this ugly excuse for a human speak to him?

"Do you know who I am, dog?" He sneered cruelly as he tightened his grip on the girl struggling behind him on the horse. "I am of the house of Tend, and you, ugly dog, are not fit to lick my horse's hooves. The Wanderers will pay a pretty purse of gold for this girl. She is young yet..."

With surprising quickness for a boy so young, the ugly child leaped at the girl's assailant, causing him to lose his grip on her. The girl fell awkwardly from the horse, ran a few paces and fell, and lay still.

"You foolish dog!" The figure on horseback roared. "How dare you defy me! Now taste the wrath of the house of Tend." With that, the figure drew his sword and slashed viciously at the young boy. The boy leaped back as quickly as he could but caught the tip of the sword full across his ugly face. By now, the help someone had called for was starting to arrive, and the young man on horseback knew his advantage was lost.

"We will meet again, dog," he said through clenched teeth as he pointed the sword into the boy's bleeding face. "We will meet again, and I will destroy you."

As the sound of horse hooves faded away, the boy stumbled over to where the girl lay. He turned her over and gently brushed the hair back from her face. Her closed eyes opened, and when she saw the face looking down upon her, she screamed and ran, leaving only a shocked ugly boy crouching in the road...

The memory of the girl's scream still brought pain even this many years later. Ewark shivered, though it was from the cold, he told himself. As he stood on the cliff, he looked down at the town of Alverian below him; the home he had come to know after his parents had died. The Holy Man of the town, Jon Abrams, had taken Ewark into his house here in Alverian, and cared for him as his own. Jon was a good man, spreading the teachings of the Maker to anyone who wanted to listen, and often times to those who really didn't. Jon was one of the few people who did not mind the oddity that was Ewark's face; to him, the Maker gave whatever He wanted, and that was the way it was.

A grin passed across Ewark's distorted face. Tonight was Winter's Eve, when the Queen's beautiful daughter Jennette left the castle in the city proper and danced with the rest of the people in Alverian, where she had grown up. She was born a common girl, but when her mother married King Souran, her life changed dramatically. The king so loved his wife's daughter he decreed her name day to be a holiday, and so the first Winter's Eve was born. Now tradition held that during wedding ceremonies everyone in attendance save the bride would wear a mask, which made sure the beauty of the bride was unmatched. These same masks were worn during Winter's Eve celebrations as well, in the hopes that young men and women would find love before the night was through. Each year at midnight, everyone would take off their masks and find out who the people they had danced with, sang to, and told stories with actually were. On many occasion sworn enemies ended up learning they had spent an entire evening of happiness with each other, and it was not uncommon to see them marry before the end of the year.

Ewark loved to dance, and was quite good at it too, but he could never take part in the weekly celebrations of Week's End. The taunts and jeers the other children hurled at him when he had tried to celebrate with them on his first Week's End still echoed in his mind. But tonight was different. Tonight, he would wear a mask to cover his ugly face, and none would know who he was. He was a bit of a legend at Winter's Eve celebrations, though none knew it was the ugly man. Each year he dazzled the crowds with his dance and song, winning the competitions almost every year. His fame mattered little to him, however, as all he cared about was the princess Jennette. She was masked, like everyone else, but Ewark knew her. Each year he knew just by the way she walked the young woman in the green, or young woman in the blue, was the true love of his life. Whenever he danced, he danced for her, and whenever he sang he sang to her. Of course, she probably had no idea who he was. He was just another masked young man dancing with her. And he never had a chance to talk with her after midnight, when everybody removed their masks, for fear he would face a scream of horror, or even worse a smile of pity. Each year he had left the celebrations at midnight, and watched everyone from the shadows of the edge of the town circle. He watched lovers depart hand in hand, or steal kisses in the moonlight. He watched the shock of people learning other's identities, and then fall laughing into each other's arms. But most of all he watched Jennette. He watched her talk with other young men, for she always attracted a crowd of men who seemed a bit too handsome, looking too fine in their clothes. Ewark would always despise these men, who looked too good to be seen doing much of anything. He knew their sort; they spent their time looking down their perfect noses at common folk, and doing nothing that could hurt their spindly arms. Unconsciously Ewark rubbed his own crooked nose and laughed. They would never last a second if they had to survive for themselves. But still, his Love liked their company, and he wished he could be among them.

"This year will be different," Ewark resolved to himself, "This year, I will talk with Jennette at midnight, and I don't care about those other dainty men who may try to take her from me." But he had resolved this every year, and every year he spent midnight watching her from the shadows. Perhaps this year would be different, however, for this would be Ewark's last Winter's Eve in Alverian in a long time. Tomorrow he left to join the Guardians of Honor, an elite group of soldiers who served King Souran and the kingdom. Tonight would be his last chance.

With a start, Ewark realized he must be getting home soon if he wished to take part in the celebrations. He grabbed his shirt from where it hung on a rock and put it on as he ran down towards town. He arrived at the house Jon Abrams shared with him, and almost knocked the Holy Man over in his rush to get inside.
"Careful, young Ewark!" the grey haired man said as he did his best to avoid falling, "I may be the Maker's servant, but I am not immortal! What has you in such a hurry today? Ah yes, it’s the Winter's Eve celebration, isn't it? I remember back when I was young, well, of course, we didn't have Winter's Eve then, but we did have dances every week on Week's End, just like now. Well, there was this pretty young thing named..."

"Yes, yes," Ewark quickly interceded. The Holy Man tended to share his past experiences at great length quite often. It made for good teachings during services, but ordinary conversations could run long. "Well, it is my last Winter's Eve, before I go. I should get ready."

"Ah yes, tomorrow you join the Guardians of Honor. It’s amazing one so young as you was accepted. But then again, I have never seen anyone work at the sword with such fervor. I once thought you would succeed me as Holy Man, but I can see you have other plans."

"If ever I give up the sword, Master Abrams, I promise you I will be a Holy Man." In effect, Ewark was saying he never would be a Holy Man, and Jon knew it. Ewark truly did work with the sword like no other. It had become his life's goal to serve the king as a Guardian of Honor, and he could hardly believe that tomorrow he would actually be able to wear the blue and white uniform of the Guardians. He had already passed the brutal tests of strength and cunning, though none thought one such as he could do it. He glanced at the sword hanging on the wall behind him.

"Why do you persist with that weapon, Ewark?" Jon asked suddenly. "It is just cold steel, you know. Nothing more. People are what matter in life. The Maker made people to live life with emotion, desire, and purpose. A piece of steel cannot do any of that."

"Yes, but does a piece of steel laugh at you, point fingers, or scream in terror?" Jon was taken aback by Ewark's sudden outburst. The Holy Man answered softly, "No, it doesn't."

"That's right," Ewark said more quietly, under control once more. "The sword is constant. It will not fail you. It will not betray you. It cares nothing for you, and so can never disappoint you. It is the ultimate friend."

"But can a piece of steel keep you warm at night, Ewark?"

"No," Ewark said softly. "I suppose not. Well. Enough of this. I have to get ready for the celebration."

The sun was just beginning to fall as the masked men and women gathered in the town circle. With a sudden shout, the group of musicians who had traveled from the castle started a happy tune on drum, flute, harp, and strings. The masked group let out a cheer and started dancing. Men and women danced with each other, twirling and leaping in time to the music. There were fast songs, and there were slow songs, but throughout them all, the masked people laughed and cheered with as much enthusiasm as when the celebrations first started. Ewark, who looked just like everyone else for a change, laughed and cheered louder than the rest. His dance steps were faster, his leaps higher, his spins more dazzling than any around him. He danced with many women, and each was taken aback by his skills. He danced with anyone who wished to, but all the while he kept his eyes open for the princess Jennette. He searched the mass of crowded dancers as best he could, but it was hard to concentrate on dancing and looking at the same time. He changed partners more times than he could count, and just when he thought he might not see Jennette until most of the evening had passed, there she was.

There was no mistaking the golden hair, like a waterfall from heaven pouring out its riches that hung behind the mask. Those green eyes stared deep at any who looked at her, and her body was as close to perfection as the Maker allowed. Her eyes smiled at him behind her mask, and he took her hands in his and danced like had never danced before. They worked intricate steps across the town circle, moving faster and faster in time to the music. Soon, a circle formed around them, as everyone watched in awe as two bodies became one twirling whirlwind. The crowd stamped their feet and clapped their hands in time to the music, all the while giving shouts and cheers. The couple moved and spun faster and faster, their steps growing more and more intricate until their feet were a blur. Jennette threw her head back and laughed, the most beautiful sound ever heard; a sound that made the playing music seem like a raucous noise. Ewark's black eyes flashed with joy, and for a moment he forgot who he was. It seemed to him that they were the only two people in the entire world, and the cheering crowd of masked spectators was a distant whisper in the back of his head. The musicians finished the song with a flourish, and Jennette embraced her dance partner, still breathing hard and laughing with excitement. "Find me at midnight," she whispered to Ewark, squeezed his hands, and then slipped into the crowd. Ewark stood smiling under his mask and felt as though he could leap mountains. He had never been so alive before, and it was a feeling he wished to hold on to for as long as he could.

Jolted from his inner thoughts, Ewark found himself being presented with a crown of the purest white lilies by the town mayor himself, a short, stout man who was one of the few people unmasked. "Congratulations, lad," he said with pride, "That was a fine piece of dancing. Though the night is young, I doubt we will find a better dancer than that exhibition tonight. You remind me a bit of myself when I was young." Laughter rose from the crowd; it was hard to imagine the mayor and all his girth dancing at all, let alone with the skills Ewark had just displayed. The mayor laughed as well, but continued in his booming voice, "I present to you this year's Winter's Eve Champion of Dance!"

Ewark bowed gracefully, and in the midst of the cheers of the crowd, he looked for Jennette. Upon finding her, he removed the crown of flowers from his head and placed it on her golden hair with the gentleness of a newborn lamb. He took her hand, and together they bowed to the crowd. The mass of men and women cheered harder than ever, then came together for another dance as the musicians started again.

There was much dancing that night, and Ewark found himself being the choice of countless women who wished to dance. He never declined any request, though he never did dance as hard as he had with Jennette. As the evening wore on, the sun fell below the distant mountains, and the circle's torches were lit. With the shadows growing longer and longer, shouts from the crowd called for the competition of song. While there was dancing every week on Week's End, the competitions of song came only during Winter's Eve, and some of the townspeople prepared months ahead. The music finally stopped, and the tired yet happy crowd found places to stand and watch the competition of song with expectant eyes and ears. Men and women both sang songs of all types, ranging from humorous ditties that left the crowd roaring with laughter, to heroic tales of heroes long past, to sweet soulful songs of love.

Though everyone wore masks, it was easy to learn of people's identities by the songs they sung. The song about letting loose the pigs in the king's garden had to be Alven Cortan, the town mischief-maker who always had a guilty grin on his face. The ballad about the final march of Lord Cholmish's army so long ago had to be Elayne Gorli, the town historian. And the song telling the story of the creation of the world could be none other than the Holy Man Jon Abrams himself. But the crowd was left wondering when a young man with wide shoulders started a song about his true love:

As I search for her, I walk on stones
As she lives her life, she walks in the air
I search the skies to find my love
In the hopes that together we will live there

But she walks with angels...
But she walks with angels...
But she walks with angels...

I draw out my heart on paper with pen
With verse and rhyme I try to say how I love her
But my words fall short of what I intend
Besides, she could never love the heart of a soldier

For she talks with angels...
For she talks with angels...
For she talks with angels...

I live my life afraid of the light
The light that shows who we really are
For she is so much above me in every detail
That I could never be with her, not by far

She walks with angels...
She talks with angels...
She is my angel...
But I am not hers...

As Ewark's melodious voice let the final note drift away into the night, the crowd was completely quiet. Here and there a tear fell among both the women and men, but most merely stood trying to catch the fading beauty of the song. Ewark looked out at the masked multitude in front of him, and caught the eye of his beloved Jennette. Even from a distance, he could see her green eyes flash in the torchlight, looking at him with wonder and amazement. He looked down quickly, and shuffled awkwardly away from the many inquisitive eyes trained on him. As if his movement released the crowd from its shocked state of awe, they burst into a roar of applause, and the night was filled with cheers. Ewark bowed graciously, and was almost knocked over by the girth of the mayor as he ran to Ewark carrying a crown of roses.

"Amazing! Absolutely amazing!" The mayor bellowed, "Who is this man to win both the competition of dance and be Champion of Song as well! Amazing! Well done, my boy. I'm sure the ladies are always at your door, eh? Reminds me of myself." Again the crowd roared with laughter. Ewark only smiled grimly under his mask. If only they knew the real truth. He accepted the crown of roses, and joined the crowd as the musicians prepared to play the last dance of the night. It was a slow, melancholy tune, yet beautiful; the mood set no doubt by Ewark's own song. He looked for the only woman he really wanted to dance with, but could not find her. A sudden sinking feeling took his heart as he searched the masked faces of the crowd, but relief flooded over him immediately as a touch landed on his shoulder. He turned to see his angel standing there, her eyes afire and lighting up her mask. She fell into his arms as they swayed this last dance, his last dance for a very long time. He resolved to find a way to take leave of the Guardians of Honor and make it back to Alverian for Winter's Eve as many times as he could. He tried to hold onto this moment as long as possible. He could feel everything about her. The subtle smell of her perfume, the softness of her hair on his neck, and the grace of her movement with his all filled his senses. But the eternity that seemed only to last for a second ended with a final crescendo of notes at last, and the dance was over. Still Ewark held Jennette for some moments after the song had ended, both young people lost in the moment.

With that beautiful fairy's laugh, Jennette flung off her mask as somewhere a bell tolled midnight. The beauty that Ewark knew was under the mask was exposed now, and any man looking on that face would feel weakness in the knees. Her golden hair held back by the crown of lilies framed her face in a perfect manner. Her brilliant green eyes sparkled with joy; her mouth was a wide smile. Ewark was taken aback as he always was when he saw her. And though he had resolved not four hours earlier he would remove his own mask and join her at midnight, all courage fled him as he stared upon that face. With a hastily mumbled excuse, Ewark said his good-byes and almost fled out of the town circle. He could almost feel Jennette's eyes on him as he weaved his way through groups of people. He could not risk upsetting this night. He wanted fond memories of his last Winter's Eve, and he could not risk a ruinous end. So, like many years before, he watched from the circle's edge, among the shadows, as a group of men surrounded his Love. She was so beautiful when she talked, the way her hair fell about her face, the way her eyes sparkled in the moonlight. Ewark watched for a moment, then flung his mask into the darkness. He turned and walked off into the night, idly running a hand across the scar on his face. He needed rest. Tomorrow would be a big day.

-----------

King Souran had ruled the land of Dralnaria for many years, and with his Guardians of Honor, the kingdom's most elite soldiers, Souran kept Dralnaria peaceful and prosperous. Soon after a young recruit named Ewark Landflyn joined the Guardians, however, the nearby border land of Normen declared war on Dralnaria, causing a bloody conflict that lasted nearly five years. During those years, later called the War of Tears, many lives were lost on both sides. The Guardians, however, soon became legends. Their heroism, courage, and chivalry were a startling contrast to the dishonorable tactics of the Normen forces. The Guardians, one of the only forces where women fought side by side with men, were an extremely close group of fighters, and their sense of unity was unmatched. Guardians would give their lives for each other, and soon Normen forces fled in terror when faced with garrisons of Guardian forces. Countless stories of heroic proportion were played out on the battlefields of the War of Tears, but most of those stories were never recorded, and so lost. What is known in history, however, is that a small group of Guardians led an attack on the heart of the Normen stronghold in the capital. The small group was victorious in defeating the leader of the Normen –
Matuan Tend – and so an end was finally reached to this bloody war. With the war over, many Guardians found themselves serving near their hometowns, helping to rebuild cities and towns that were razed during the war. The small group of soldiers that lead the attack on the Normen capital were praised for their valor, and were commissioned to serve the king himself in his palace.

Ewark liked working in the palace, and he was glad the war was over. He had buried too many of his friends and not enough of his enemies during the past five years, and it was good to be back in his home country. He had finally found what he had been looking for among the Guardians of Honor: a sense of belonging. None of his brothers or sisters in battle cared what he looked like. It was only skill with the sword and knowledge of battle plans that mattered. During the war he had almost forgotten what a monstrosity he really was, and if there was one bad thing to returning home it was the stares and jeers people threw at him in the streets. Of course they only did so when they thought Ewark wasn't looking, but he knew.

Even with the war over there were still rebel forces of Normen troops who refused to believe they had lost, so the Guardians had stayed in major cities to offer protection. Ewark still remembered his joy at his unit being assigned to the palace; perhaps he would have a chance to see his beloved Jennette. Surely the blue and white uniform of the Guardians would impress her. But on the few occasions when Ewark had a chance to catch a glimpse of the princess, she looked at him no more than she would look at a stone pillar. Of course, Ewark had never tried to talk to her. His courage on the battlefield was incredible, but when faced with the woman he loved, he was as a bird in front of a lion.

One autumn morning, Ewark and his unit were called to the king's chamber with news of a secret mission. The princess needed to travel to the city of Lyceria, where all future rulers studied for half a year to learn proper court procedures and how to act as royalty should. This journey was grounded in tradition, and though young princes and princesses hardly learned anything new anymore, it was still customary to study the six months at Lyceria. It was a chance for the future rulers of all the lands to learn about each other and see who their royal peers would be. Lyceria was located in neutral territory; of all kingdoms and yet of none. To travel to Lyceria from Dralnaria, however, risked ambush from Normen rebels and brigands. It was for this reason Ewark's unit was called to the king's chamber. They were ordered to secretly escort the princess to Lyceria, drawing no more attention to themselves than normal travelers. The king ordered the entire unit, save one, to scout the area in front of the princess and her one protector. In doing so, less attention would be focused on the princess while still providing a valuable scouting party ahead.

"And you, Ewark Landflyn, are assigned to protect the princess Jennette personally. I have heard stories of your skill with the sword, and I can think of none better than you to guard her honor." Ewark's heart leaped at the king's order, but he calmed his face and merely raised his fist to his shoulder in salute. He turned on his heel with the rest of his unit and walked out of the chamber. They made their preparations quickly, as they meant to depart at once. Every soldier changed out of his or her uniform and donned simple clothing, but still wore their swords under their cloaks. The horses the unit mounted were seemingly ordinary, yet showed remarkable strength in leg and chest. Each soldier carried enough food and water with them for their weeklong journey, and the horses frisked in their eagerness to be on their way.

As the unit bid their farewell to Ewark, they rode of at a quick pace in order to get far enough ahead to scout. Ewark reigned his own horse to the other side of the palace where he had been told to await the princess Jennette. His heart raced in anticipation of seeing her again, and his palms quickly turned slick. He waited outside of the royal stable, pacing his horse back and forth in impatience. Odd, he had never been impatient for anything before. Still he turned back and forth, and the thought crossed his mind that he was at the wrong place. He was just about to leave at a full gallop when he saw Jennette leading her white stallion out of the stable.

She looked more beautiful than he had remembered, if possible. Her beauty had matured in the five years since they had last danced, though her green eyes still held the same spark and her mouth still held the same smile. Ewark flashed her his crooked grin, and his dark black eyes seemed to have a spark of their own.

"If you are ready, my lady," Ewark said quickly, "We will be on our way."

"Yes, of course." She answered briskly and a bit coldly while gracefully mounting her horse. "Lead the way, good sir."

The two traveled for the majority of the day without speaking. Ewark would steal glances at Jennette, but he knew she looked only ahead at the road. It was really a silly idea, that she would fall madly in love with him just because they spent a week traveling together. Quite silly indeed. He was still a hideous monster from the neck up, and just because he had a different job changed nothing. The few times Ewark tried to start talking by asking questions, the princess would smile politely and answer, but not offer any real conversation. And so they continued in silence until the time came to make camp for the night. Ewark cooked some of the provisions he had brought, and the two ate in silence. Ewark's sullen mood of defeat seemed to be affecting the princess, for she decided to retire early in preparation for the next day. Ewark scouted out the area, and finding nothing of note, retired himself. This trip was turning out to be the worst possible he could imagine.

The next day was more of the same. They traveled at a quick pace, without talking. Again when evening came, they stopped and made camp. Again they ate in silence, but tonight Ewark pulled out a small silver flute he carried and started playing after dinner. He was still disappointed in the way his Love was ignoring him, so he played a mournful tune. He lost himself in his music, as he often did, and when he opened his eyes, he saw Jennette staring wide eyed at him.

"That was the most beautiful thing I have heard in a long time," she breathed, "I have always wanted to learn how to play an instrument. Do you think you could teach me?"

"Of course, my lady," Ewark said quickly, his heart racing, "It would be an honor. Here." He handed her the silver flute, and pulled out a second, wooden one from his pocket. "Now, if my lady would place her fingers just so..."

"Please, good sir," she interrupted, "Call me Jennette. I am no more human than you."

"Of course, Jennette. And please, I am called Ewark. Ewark Landflyn. Now, if you hold the flute like this..."

The two sat in the dying light of the fire, Ewark showing Jennette how to make the flute make sounds pleasing to the ear. They both laughed over her first few attempts, but her skill increased dramatically, and by the time there was no light left to see by, Jennette was able to play the scales, if a bit shakily. Ewark congratulated her on her success, though she blushed and said it was the teacher. She looked so beautiful when she blushed. As Ewark lay down to sleep, he found his heart still racing. He tossed and turned, but could only think of Jennette. A smile was permanently fixed on his face, and though it may have been a trick of the shadows, with the smile his face did not look half-bad.

The next day it was as if a spell had been broken. As they traveled, they laughed and talked about anything and everything under the sun. Jennette wondered at the chances that they had both come originally come from the same town of Alverian. They caught each other up on news of the town: of the new mayor; the death of Holy Man Jon Abrams, the Maker rest his soul; and the building of a new library. The hours flew by, and the road was filled with the sounds of laughter as both soldier and princess rode happily. That night, Jennette and Ewark again practiced the flute after dinner, and Jennette's skill again increased dramatically.
Together they played a duet of the same mournful tune Ewark had played the night before, but with the two instruments twining together the mournful melody seemed to carry a hopeful undertone. When they had finished, Jennette handed the silver flute back to Ewark and said, "Thank you so much, Ewark. You have no idea what this means to me."

"Keep it," Ewark said as he closed her hands around the flute, "It suits you. Keep it and remember me."

"Thank you." She dazzled him a smile, and slipped the flute into a pocket. She reached up suddenly and traced the scar running across his face. "How did you get this?"

"It is an old wound," he said quickly, pulling away. "It matters little how I got it. Its origin doesn't change the fact that it is there." His face softened as quickly as it had turned hard. "I'm sorry though. It stirs up bad memories, is all."

"I understand." She seemed genuinely concerned and sympathetic. "Scars are no small thing. They hold an Age of memories."

"Indeed. Well, you should get some rest. We have another full day of travel tomorrow."

And so the pair traveled, talking and laughing as they rode during the day, stopping at night to play the flute and rest. Four days had passed since they had left the castle, and all went well, until one fateful evening.

The day had passed like any other, taking them through a large forest. But when the time came to stop for the evening, Ewark felt as though something was wrong. He could not explain it, but something was just out of place. He had always had Feelings like this, ever since he was young. He could look at people, and know certain things about their future. He could Feel when an accident would take place. He knew when someone's loved one had died. These Feelings were few and far between, but they had served him well during the War of Tears. And there was no mistaking the Feeling now. As Ewark and Jennette came into a clearing, they caught sight of many large shapes on the ground. Ewark dismounted, and to his shock found the bodies of twenty men and women half buried in the leaves. With a sinking feeling he realized it was his brothers and sisters of the Guardian unit sent ahead to scout. As tears sprang unbidden to his eyes for his fallen comrades, he drew his sword and leaped about, searching for their attacker. The bodies were still warm, and the culprit could not be far away. Among the bodies of his friends lay large twisted bodies of monsters, seemingly half man and half bear. There were over forty such bodies lying about. Ewark had heard of the Normen using such monsters in battle, but he had never seen them. Apparently the monsters only traveled in the woods, and most of Ewark's battle experience was in the Normen land itself, mostly desert.

Suddenly, a living version of the corpses stormed through the trees, heading straight for Ewark. It stood twice as tall as a man, its mouth a cavern of sharp teeth, its claws as large as any man's face. It roared at Ewark, and rushed at him with amazing speed, and Ewark barely managed to roll out of the way of its attack. He sprang quickly to his feet, spun, and slashed the monster in half. The two pieces fell to the ground, and the monster never moved again.

The woods stood oddly quiet, and Ewark wiped his blade clean on the grass. He looked down at his fallen brothers and sisters, and fell to his knees. They had understood him. They never once pointed or stared at his face. They trusted him. And now they were gone. On his knees, he raised his face towards the heavens and sang. He sang like he had never sung before. He did not sing words, but the mournful wails he sang seemed to speak more than words ever could. He sang of their many battles, and the courage all had shown. He sang of their victories, and their defeats. He sang of their spirits running free now forever among the clouds. He sang until he could sing no more, and when the final note echoed through the woods, he dropped his head to his chest and wept. He had never wept before, since becoming a man. And now he sat here blubbering like a baby.

He felt a hand on his shoulder but did not move. Jennette knelt down beside him and took his head in her hands. He wept into her shoulder for what seemed like hours, but when tears no longer came he looked up at her. She was so beautiful. Her green eyes flashed compassion, and her face was soft and sympathetic.

"Why didn't you ever come talk to me at midnight?" She asked suddenly.

"What? I don't know what you mean... What are you talking about?"

"Only one man I know ever sang like that. Why didn't you ever come talk to me during Winter's Eve?"

Before Ewark could respond, the thundering of hooves filled the air as a masked man on a midnight horse entered the clearing at a full gallop. He looked at Ewark and Jennette with surprise, but his eyes turned quickly to flames of hatred from behind the mask.

"How can it be that any of you survived? So be it, dog, I will finish you myself." With those words the man leaped off of his horse and drew his sword, advancing on Ewark. Jennette backed away from the two men as they began to circle each other, swords gleaming in the dwindling twilight. "I promised you once long ago I would destroy you. No one defies me and lives to get away with it. Prepare to die, dog!"

The masked man leaped at Ewark, and Ewark barely raised his sword in time to block the blow. The two men whirled and leaped, striking at each other viciously. Jennette could only stand and watch, fearing for Ewark's life. Ewark seemed to be the better swordsman, though not by much. The two men exchanged blows and soon the grass under their feet was trampled dead. They fought for what seemed like days, though it could not have been more than half an hour.

As if sensing his losing position, the masked man suddenly gave a yell of rage and feinted at Ewark, then rushed towards the princess Jennette. Ewark let out a wordless roar and dove in front of her, catching the hilt of the masked man's sword across his head. As consciousness started to fade out, he had the dim recollection of the man knocking the princess Jennette unconscious as well with the flat of his blade. As the masked man raised his sword for a deathblow on the woman, Ewark mustered the last of his strength and stumbled towards the man, plunging his sword through his shoulder. The man let out a cry of agony as darkness closed in on Ewark's world.

When Ewark awoke, his head felt it had been stuffed in cotton. Blood flowed down his face, but he climbed to his feet. The princess Jennette lay not far from him, but the masked man was nowhere to be seen. Ewark thought he had recognized that man, even with the mask, and absently felt his scar. He stumbled over to where Jennette was laying. Blood matted her golden hair, and by the now dwindling twilight he could see she was not breathing. He kneeled by her side, and as he had seen the Holy Man Abrams do before for a young girl who seemed at death's door, he put his mouth over hers and blew into her lungs. Again and again he breathed his own breath, his own life into his Love's chest, but nothing happened. He beat her chest to start her heart, and breathed more into her lungs. Tears again fell from his eyes unbidden, and somewhere in his mind the thought of crying twice in one day made him laugh. Still he tried harder, and just when hope seemed to be gone, she coughed, blood leaking from her mouth. She coughed again and slowly began breathing. Just as her coughing had started, a voice called out from the edge of the woods.

"You black hearted rogue! Unhand the princess! How dare you defile her in that way! You ugly perversion of a man, step away from her!"

Ewark looked up in time to see a soldier of the king's guards, not a Guardian of Honor, he noticed, racing towards him. Suddenly, Ewark realized what it must look he was doing. He half rose and started to speak but the guard swung his fist, sending Ewark once again into the blackness of unconsciousness.

-----------------

Crimes were not tolerated in the kingdom of Dralnaria. Any violent deed was punishable by death, and the severity of the crime only dictated how long it would be before the execution. Ewark was accused of telling the Normen rebels the path of their mission, leading the ambush, and attacking the princess herself. There was not enough evidence for the first two accusations, as there were no longer any living eyewitnesses. As for the last accusation, the guardsman's testimony was all that mattered. The protests of the princess held no bearing in the courts, as they said she "was unable to remember with clarity" as a result of her head wounds. When all was said and done, Ewark Landflyn was “granted” a life extension of a year and a day before execution, for saving the life of the princess of Dralnaria.

Ewark was not allowed to speak to the princess again, and removed from his position as a Guardian of Honor as well. True to his promise to Jon Abrams so many years before, Ewark became a Holy Man in the capital city of Caemeria, where he preached with such fervor people said it seemed the Maker himself spoke in place of Ewark. With all of the things deemed important in his life gone: the sword, the Guardians, and Jennette, Ewark immersed himself fully in his work as Holy Man. Many people turned their evil lives around as a result of Ewark's hard work and persistent teachings, and soon Ewark's name was known far across the land as a Holy Man who truly cared for his people. It seemed people had little trouble telling their problems to the ugly man, he seemed to be everyone's friend.

The sands of time slowly ran out on Ewark, and though his success, his sentence was neither lifted nor delayed. During the final year and a day of Ewark's life, Dralnaria saw the death of King Souran and his wife in a tragic equestrian accident. Foul play was suspected, though there was never any proof. The kingdom of Normen was becoming an increasingly dangerous neighbor, for after the death of King Souran it seemed the War of Tears was ready to flare up again. Young Queen Jennette ruled Dralnaria well enough, though she knew little of the behind the scenes operations a kingdom must employ in order to be successful. Rumor had it she had fallen in love with a Normen noble, and though his history was in question, she was completely besotted. In fact, it was whispered in the streets they were scheduled to be married soon, which would surely bring peace to the two nations. Though Jennette was marrying for love, it was obvious the Normen lord was marrying only for power.

Rumor finally gave way to fact, and the date for the marriage of the two kingdoms was set. As fate would have it, Holy Man Ewark Landflyn, on the eve of his execution, learned of his final duty as a Holy Man. He would be conducting the marriage between the Love of his life and the Normen lord.

The day of the wedding brought much excitement to mostly everyone. Finally the strife between the lands of Dralnaria and Normen would be over. Ewark stood in front of his podium and stared out at the packed building of nobles and royalty who would be here to witness history. He had conducted various weddings, though none made his heart sick like today. Since becoming a Holy Man, his Feelings of being able to tell the future only increased, and it was almost a daily occurrence when he could tell the fate of a couple walking hand in hand or know the day a random stranger on the street would die. It was at weddings when his Feelings were the strongest, and he could almost always predict what would happen in the life of the new bride and groom.

A hushed silence settled over the crowd as music softly began to play. The Normen lord walked stiffly down the aisle, followed by his retainers. As he approached the podium, anger flared up in Ewark's heart, though he kept it hidden. The man was older than Ewark, and had a look of arrogance cemented on his face. Ewark decided women would find him to be beautiful, an attribute he never understood why any man would desire. But what brought the anger from deep within Ewark's heart was the recognition of this man.

"We meet again, dog," The man said softly so only Ewark could hear, "I told you I'd destroy you. None trifle with the house of Tend and survive."

Ewark stared at the man, but instead of giving in to his emotions, turned to the congregation and said, "Ladies and gentlemen, if you would please don your masks according to custom. May the bride be the most beautiful in this room on her wedding day." And softly, so no one heard, "There is no need for masks. She would be the most beautiful in heaven's wedding chapel."

Everyone donned their masks, including Ewark and the Normen lord. When done, music again started to play, and the now queen Jennette strode gracefully down the aisle. She was dressed in the purest white, though the incredible dress could not compare to the picture of beauty that was the woman. Her green eyes sparkled with desire and excitement. Her golden hair was adorned with flowers, and hung about her face. Her lips were parted in that half smile she always wore, and Ewark could not help but stare. She stood in front of the podium and turned to face her soon to be husband. Ewark did not know how he did, but he conducted the ceremony without problem. As he pronounced the two man and wife, he was overcome by a Feeling.

This Feeling was stronger than any he had had before, and would serve to be his final. He could see the couple's entire future before him. Perhaps it was a final gift of the Maker on the eve of his death, or perhaps a curse. He saw Jennette forever loving this man, but he saw her love fall unreturned. He saw the many other women the Normen lord would secret behind Jennette's back. He saw Jennette weep for her husband's death in old age, her love forever true. He saw it all. And as the couple left the building, and the congregation as well, Ewark walked slowly outside.

Tomorrow he would die. He was going to die because he had saved his Love's life. And now she was going to give her love to someone who would never appreciate her, never return her love. Just as they had a year ago, tears sprang unbidden to Ewark's eyes. He looked out at the distant mountains, and slowly began to sing. It was a wordless tune, full of sorrow and loss. He did not sing for the loss of his own life, or even for the loss of his Love. He sang for Jennette's love that would fall unnoticed. It was for her that his tears fell. The sound of his song rode high on the wind, and seemed to remain there for a moment.

"Such a sad tune, my wife," the Normen lord said irritably, "Why such a sad tune on your wedding day? And this flute? It is not fit for a queen to play such things."

"Perhaps..." Jennette answered softly, "I learned that tune a while back, from an interesting man. I wonder whatever became of him?"

"Who knows?" the Normen said irritably, "But that is little concern for now. Throw the flute away, it is not fit for a queen."

"As you wish, my love." Jennette said as she tossed the silver flute over the side of their carriage. It bounced along the road until it lay still. The sound of her tune she had played just moments before still hung in the air, and it too rose on the wind, where it found Ewark's final cry. The two notes twined together one last time, and rode on the wind into the next Age.

...And so the wind doth blow across the land,
Taking with it the grains of Time's sand.
Another tale closes its pages
Until opened again by history's sages

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