Frederic Crawford looked down the never-ending path.
He looked at the different places it led to on either side like doors.
Infinitely. As far as the eye can see.
Creative, spiritual, magical, alternate, dimensional, molecular, consciousness, and subconsciousness of all the beings in existence.
Everything.
Even his own.
Past, present, and future.
You name it, it’s there.
Frederic calls it “The Spectator Room”.
If you entered a door, you’d immediately experience the fruit, mind, emotion, body, mass, and senses of another living organism or idea.
Nothing can hear you. Nothing can feel you. Nothing knows you’re there. But you feel and see it all.
You could eavesdrop if you got close enough to their doors. Their presences spilled out in an egregious harmony filling the air with spectacle and wonder.
He’s been here many times. When he sleeps, when he hits that meditation point.
This place was truly spectacular. It’s just a road, or a path—nothing against it or around it and nothing above or below. Just a straight hallway in a pure white abyss.
With a large, flat, yellow, and jagged rock seemingly hung up on the wall up above as the light here. It eventually dims and when it does, it’s best to leave.
The doors disappear. Returning from where they came.
The dark is pure absolute pitch black.
The silence is so strong, so relentless, your softest breaths sound like screams.
You’re left alone with your mind, and the things you hear…would make anyone jump off the path.
And that’s the trick, fall off the path, jump off the path, whatever you choose; that’s how you leave.
This is how it’s always been since he could remember, what must be a few years now.
He wasn’t always able to come here.
It takes immense power and then some.
Life’s been everlastingly long and his strength is certainly unlike ever before.
Once upon a time, he was just a normal heartbeat with legs.
Until his pregnant mother became ill.
Crawford boasts quite the tales. So if you have time, I’ll share them.
If not, jump off the path. It won’t hurt anyone if you do.
Still here?
Buckle up.
Frederic’s father, Boniface, stood with a burlap sack over his face.
It kept him from being humanized by the crowd who awaited his death.
“Hear ye, all who witness!” the official yelled, holding a scroll. “Set forth, at this time, the eleventh hour! Accused of stealing the crown from his majesty! Boniface Crawford! Execution by boiling!”
The crowd exclaimed, a mixed bag.
“Cook him!”
“Not like this!”
Boniface was shackled with mangled thumbs but no fear. He could feel the heat emanating from the large cauldron with the flames snapping and licking about beneath.
The executioner stared at him with no remorse as he attached the hook to his chains.
Boniface had not one regret, as he had done this “unlawful” deed for his unborn child. Whose name he had already picked, Frederic or Ella, and for the love and sake of his wife.
No, not one regret.
Many miles afar…a wagon swiftly rode away.
Prudence, Boniface’s wife, clutched her pregnant belly in pain. She shouted to the healer who controlled the horse pulling the wagon. “How much farther?!”
“Not far, miss!” the healer, an older man, answered. “The hours have turned to seconds thus far!”
Prudence writhed in pain, she grasped her vagina and retracted her hand; seeing blood cover her fingers. She started to cry, fearing she had already lost her baby. “‘Tis too late!” she yelled.
“‘Tis not!” the healer shouted. “I see my dwelling now!”
The horse was whipped on its hind to move faster. They approached a small peasant house below a hill that had a thick red curtain for the front entrance.
As soon as he could, the healer stopped the wagon and jumped off. He ran inside with a cowhide bag containing a stolen treasure clutched in his fingers.
Boniface was lifted from the stage.
The executioner hoisted him over the cauldron.
The crowd exclaimed in total acceptance of his death.
It was time.
Those who wanted to see, stared with utter attention and no longer said a word.
Those who didn’t, either left or looked away, also in silence.
There’s that moment, when someone is or is about to experience something horrible that is so consuming. Call it rubbernecking, but…death is certainly a sight to see.
His bare feet were submerged in the boiling water.
The executioner let the rope go.
Prudence screamed and hit the bottom of the wagon. Her murderous reproductive organs were unlike any other pain she’d ever felt in her life.
Sadly, this poor girl would be left alone, having lost everything.
That reality sank in immediately.
It only got worse, the repeated twisting of her insides. Her heart started to race and her breath started to hasten. She thought about how she too might just die; and she was so close, 38 weeks.
The healer opened the curtain on the wagon. “Drink. Hurry.” He handed her a cup of tea.
She grabbed it, took a big gulp, and hissed. “‘Tis scalding.”
“It must be, my dear. Drink it all and chew the flowers.”
Prudence quickly polished it off, getting 6 or 7 buds of raw Dragon Spawn in her mouth.
She chewed. Grinding them in her teeth, emulsifying the element with her saliva.
It tasted like something of mint and cheese and it made her mouth tingle and sticky. She swallowed, feeling the buds slide down her throat.
She shuddered at the flavor.
Then, the pain subsided almost instantly.
It started raining. A fair sprinkle with the raindrops plopping on the ground.
The healer watched her. “How do you feel?”
Prudence looked around, a sense of deja vu overcame her. “I feel nothing.” She hurriedly placed her hand on her pregnant belly.
Agonizingly hoping for any movement.
Any sign of life.
Her baby kicked.
The sigh of relief she let out was almost palpable. “The baby kicketh.”
The healer sighed and his shoulders dropped in comfort. “Magnificent, it worked.” He took a deep breath, he was able to save two lives. He glanced down at her bloodied shift that was partially hidden by the gown underneath her dress. “If you wish, I have a tub and warm water. I shall be in the shed, I must make new plans now that the Dragon Spawn is gone.”
Prudence felt immense respect for the healer. “Gramercy,” she said sincerely. “Gramercy.” She moved over to hug him.
“‘Tis my honor, miss, verily.” He hugged her and softly patted her back. “Prosperity, for you and your child.” He smiled and let her go. “Use what you must in my dwelling, and tell me once you have finished.” He walked away, prideful, knowing that he changed lives. There was no greater feeling.
Prudence started to climb out of the wagon. The Dragon Spawn began taking over her body.
Every movement felt like an accomplishment. Every thought was an epiphany and the connection with her baby became singular.
She lowered her bare body into the bath after she filled it with enough water.
The water felt like an embrace from Earth, enveloping and cleansing her.
She thought about Boniface and yearned for him. She could see him clearly in her mind.
Like he smiled, standing there in front of her in an open field.
But he was well dead now.
He stewed in the cauldron, his spirit had left, and his skin started to separate from the muscle. He puffed up and stretched out, becoming an unrecognizable glob of flesh. His eyes sunk into his cheeks as the red bubbling water moved him from side to side.
Farewell, Boniface Crawford.
The healer looked at the maps he had made, contemplating what adventure he should take on next.
A horse could be heard galloping closer.
The healer looked out of his shed. He knew the man riding the horse. “Oh, no, no. Not today.” He smacked his lips and walked outside.
The man dismounted his horse. “Where have you been, old man? My brother is ill. I need more Dragon Spawn.”
The healer looked at his dwelling, then carefully back at the man. “I have no more, Grindan.”
“Why do you lie, Aylsworth?” The man, Grindan, placed a hand on his sword.
The healer, Aylsworth, backed away putting his hands out. “I do not, ‘tis all gone, the very last was used today. I beg of you, cause no harm, Grindan.”
“Show me, then,” Grindan commanded, his words slurred.
Aylsworth thought of Prudence and her vulnerability. He would not allow a man such as Grindan in her presence. “I cannot.”
Grindan shook his head and quickly pulled out his sword from its leather sheath. His patience was short. “I did not come to argue with you. Give me the Dragon Spawn or die. Choose!”
Aylsworth hadn’t fought in quite some time. And though he usually carries his sword, he took it off inside the shed. He turned around and quickly walked away.
Grindan shook his head in utter confusion. “Aylsworth!” He walked toward the shed.
Aylsworth walked out of the shed with sword and vigor. He wasted no time and swung at Grindan.
Grindan jumped back. “You have chosen death!” He stabbed with his sword.
Aylsworth swung his sword down, deflecting it, and returned with a stab of his own.
Grindan jumped back, this time sliding in the mud.
Aylsworth moved forward and swung down on Grindan’s elbow.
The expertly sharpened blade went all the way through.
Grindan gasped as his arm fell away from him with a distorted face. He swung his sword as hard as he could with his only hand.
The sword stuck into Aylsworth’s neck and ear.
Aylsworth locked up and fell to the ground, his body was stiff as a board.
The blood spilt from his throat mixing in with Grindan’s bloodied mud.
His final breath left and the last thing he felt—was worry for Prudence.
Grindan, panting, stepped on Aylsworth’s chest and pulled out his sword. He looked at the peasant house and made his way to it. Slowly dying, bleeding endlessly.
Shock, adrenaline, and alcohol kept him standing. The Dragon Spawn could save his life, so he entered to find it with his sword still drawn.
There he saw her.
Prudence opened her eyes and looked at who came inside. She gasped seeing his arm dripping blood so profusely. It sounded like he was spilling water. She didn’t know whether to stand or stay still, her heart was racing. “Who are you?!” she yelled, trying to keep her body hidden.
Grindan made the choice to ignore her. Any other day he’d have his way with her but considering the circumstances…
“Where is the healer?!” Prudence shouted.
Grindan moved toward her. “Quiet!”
“No!” Prudence shouted back. “Where is he?!”
“Quiet!”
Prudence started throwing anything she could grab without showing herself.
Grindan was about to die, he had no time for this. Flinching to not get hit by the flying objects caused excruciating pain.
Now, he chose to kill her.
He moved closer to her, seeing her naked body. He lifted his sword and at the last moment saw her pregnant belly.
He swung down anyway.
Prudence put out her hand.
A massive force came from her, a tremendous power not humanly possible. The energy of 1,000 cannons aimed point blank at this one target.
Grindan was ejected from the house at an unfathomable speed. He crashed through the roof, obliterating all of the material he passed through, and was launched into the sky.
The horse whinnied.
Parts of the roof caved in.
Prudence stared in astonishment, her hand trembling. So surprised, she didn’t realize she was holding her breath as her eyes darted back and forth.
Her baby kicked, making her jolt.
She looked down and touched her belly, catching her breath.
Time to leave.
She slowly walked up to Aylsworth’s body with sorrow in her eyes.
His eyes almost seemed to look up at her.
“I shall never forget you, healer, nor what you have done for us.”
Aylsworth’s horse grunted, hitched to a rail next to the peasant house. The wagon was beside the young mare.
Prudence looked at her with kindness.
The wheels turned on the wagon, taking them away from the bloody scene.
Prudence didn’t know how to feel right now but she was practical.
She knew the Dragon Spawn would give her rather wild power, based off of what the healer had told Boniface and he told her.
But that was not what she was expecting.
It was said to have healed the sickest of people. It made the weak strong, made the illiterate smart, and made the old stay young. It was said to be so strong that it could make you invincible.
Maybe that’s what happened, she was healed and became strong.
Maybe that power was just a peak of its potency.
Whatever it was supposed to do, it worked.
She tried to keep shrugging it off with a gnawing in the back of her mind.
Then, she remembered Boniface telling her that he would meet her North, at the entrance of Ellmeda. Considering the trajectory of the sun throughout the day, Prudence knew what direction to go.
So she made her way.
Almost a mile later, she saw something on the side of the road in the wild grass.
A body.
Splattered on the ground.
It was Grindan.
Prudence softly pulled on the reins, halting the wagon. She simply stared for a moment, her heart gaining speed.
She looked around, indeed alone.
She walked up to Grindan’s smashed corpse.
Dozens of solid gold and silver coins of different sizes could be seen around him. The source was coming from a bag tied to his belt.
Prudence was grimly delighted, she essentially just made enough wealth to take her anywhere, which was stupendous. But looking at Grindan’s cracked skull and split open face did nothing else except disgust her.
Call it “grimlighted”.
No other way now, but forward.
Crawford 