Twixt Heaven And Hell (43 page)

Beneath the slanted stone was a wicker basket, untouched by fire and shielded from the snow. Crawling towards it, Darius found within bundles of yarn – and two sets of knitting needles, one large, one small. Attached to the smaller pair was still a length of yarn, at the end of which was a jumble of knotted thread, knitted and tied into the shape of a young girl in a green dress.

A strangled cry burst from Darius's throat. At first he tried to hold back his tears – and then realized that there was no need. He knelt there in the crumbling remnants of Balkan's house, clutching the creation of a child who would never create another, would never laugh or run again. Darius wept as he had wept only once before, and for the same reason. His insides churned and ached as his misery swallowed him, and – perversely – he found himself remembering an old saying.

To be in the presence of an Angel is to be comforted...

...but now, there would be no more Angels.

- The End -

About the Author

Tristan Gregory is an Ann Arbor based writer, martial arts instructor, and computer programmer. In addition to his novels, he writes the casual fantasy series
The Wandering Tale
as well as other science fiction and fantasy.

If you want to hear more about the world of TWIXT HEAVEN AND HELL, be sure to stop by Tristan's blog at: tristanrambles.blogspot.com for deleted chapters and short stories.

Tristan can be found on Twitter as @GregoryWrites

An Excerpt From THE SWORDSMAN OF CARN NEBETH

Story #1 of
The Wandering Tale

Pa says I’m a dreamer, always with my eye on the horizon – and coincidentally, not paying much attention to what I’m doing. Now that’s not true. I can use a hoe or weed or plow just fine, even when I am thinking about other things. How much can that sort of work really occupy a man’s mind? Even by the age of seven, I’d been doing fieldwork so long I didn’t much need to think about it. So, I did look to the horizon, and wondered what might be over it.

That’s why I was the first to see him. I know now that it’s a foolish notion, but for the longest time I thought that gave me a special connection with him, a kinship. Foolish or no, I
was
the first to see him and anyone in town would tell you the same – except maybe Hyde Potter, but that louse would lie about having five fingers on each hand if he thought you’d believe him.

My Pa owns the fields directly to the north of the road (or at least works ‘em… we never did worry much about who owned what in Carn Nebeth) which is why I was looking down the long dirt path at that moment. At first he was just a tiny, distant speck. I gave it little thought, turning my attention for a moment to a particularly stubborn root that didn’t belong in our field. After my hard-won victory over the invading plant, I let my arms keep up their work and looked up again, intending to return to whatever daydream had been growing in my head.

But the speck was larger. Only a little bit, hardly any at all. But I’d always been one to notice details where others missed them, and I knew that when something in the distance is smaller and then gets bigger, it means that it’s coming towards you. No one from would be coming back from a trip to the city (we called it that, though now I know it is little more than a backwards country town) because no one had left in a good while. With the enthusiasm any child from Carn Nebeth will show when
something new!
is happening, I turned to my Pa and said excitedly: “There’s someone on the road!”

So set in his routine was my Pa that he replied ‘Nonsense, boy,’ before he even looked. He knew that no one was due back from the city just as well as I did, and who else would be coming to Carn Nebeth but someone who already lived there?

I would not be dissuaded. “There is, Pa! Look!”

Finally he raised his head and squinted into the distance. A change came over his weathered face – bewilderment, probably. Without even apologizing for not believing me, he called to Havel across the road, who had a reputation for sharp eyes.

“Havel! Look up the road!”

The tall, thin man did, leaning on the hoe that he resembled so much. Picking at his teeth with his tongue, he considered the view for a good long moment before replying. “Huh. Well, lookit that.”

“Who in blazes is it, do you think?”

Havel considered for a moment. “Bandit?”

Havel’s eyes were sharp, but his wits weren’t anything to marvel at. There had been rumors of thieves on the roads (to be expected, some of the old men said, what with the war ended and all), but none had been seen here – Carn Nebeth had nothing to steal, and was a long ways from anyplace that did.

“Only one? In broad daylight?” Pa replied.

Havel shrugged, his eyes still locked on the approaching figure. Pa turned to me. “Run and get Mr. Shein, William. Quickly now.”

Derrek Shein’s plot was back of ours, and he was in a thick copse of trees on the very far end of it so when I got there I was out of breath. I got through that my Pa wanted him, though. He left his axe in the log he had been cutting – the wood was dry, so it wouldn’t harm the bit – and came right away.

By that time the man on the road was obviously that. Pa told me to go back to work while he greeted the fellow, so I did – close enough to watch and to listen to everything they said.

Pa pretended to work for a few moments as well, though he stood near to the two other men in a patch of the field that I’d turned just that morning. He stopped even pretending, though, when Havel spoke next.

“
Curse me...” said the man, “Curse me if there is not a sword on that man’s back.”

***

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