'My lord? We found something on the hunt this afternoon. Something we felt might interest you.'� The Captain of the Guard kept his brown eyes to the ground as he spoke.

The prince looked up from his writing desk, slightly annoyed and laid down the quill he had been using to sign the treasurer's records. The treasurer, a beady little wisp of a man faded into the shadows, as the prince waved him away.

'And what, may I ask, could be that important? I have mountains of these useless papers to sign, I should hope it's something quite extraordinary to deter me from my work.'� He looked down his hawk-like nose, a piercing gleam of authority in his gray eyes.

The Captain swallowed and bowed just a little lower. With a cough he said, 'A woman, my liege. We found a girl in the forest, sleeping beneath an old oak. The dogs found her first, I'm afraid, so she was right terrified by the time we got to her.'�

Eric frowned. This was not something you disturb a prince for, he thought. I should have him hanged just for bothering me. However, this captain isn't as dimwitted as the last so perhaps he knows something he has not yet revealed.

'So? Put her in the kitchens to work. She's trespassing on royal lands. If I didn't have so much work to do I'd order her blinded and sent to the leper's quarters near the river. However I'm much to busy for that, so she should be grateful.'�

'My liege, you must forgive me, but I would not have dared disturbing you for so trivial a matter if I didn't feel there were something more to it. This girl'�she has the mark.'�

Eric stood up and came out from behind his desk. Not as physically imposing as you would imagine of a prince, but the power that flowed around him certainly made up for his average stature. The heavy note of his step echoed in the silent room, save for the flutter of a bird's wings just outside the window, everything was as the grave.

He walked over to the captain and, motioning for him to stand up straight, clasped his slender hands behind his back and grimaced.

'Are you sure of it?'�

The Captain nodded.

'Take me to her.'�

----

'I had her placed in one of the empty servant's rooms. I hope that is satisfactory. I also sent for two of the female servants to clean her up some. It appears she may have been lost in the forest for days.'� The captain had stopped outside a heavy age-warped wooden door, the sharp flicker of torchlight from his right hand cast deep shadows over its ancient surface. All around the place held the smell of mold, these servants quarters being under the house even the earthen floor beneath their boots was pliant with the damp of the earth.

Eric put his hand on the door and pushed it open. The room was pitifully furnished, worse than a prison cell, only a ragged straw mattress sat upon a poor wooden frame and a crooked stool that held a fresh beeswax candle, its puddle of melted wax already filling the small bowl it was placed in. Bare walls the color of ash did little to brighten the atmosphere despite the fierce glow from the candle.

He had to step into the room to see it entirely and once the shadows enfolded him completely did his eyes adjust to their gloom. The candlelight provided a good sized circle and just barely revealed the fire of red hair on a flat pillow. The girl was obviously sleeping, as no sound could be heard other than the torch the Captain had placed in the sconce outside the door.

This was an entirely different area of the house for him, rarely did he ever find the need to travel below the comfort of the main house into this realm of scurrying shadows and whispered discomfort. The Captain stayed outside the open door and waited for the Prince to speak.

Eric stepped into the candle's arc of light, moving the little stool slightly so the yellow pooled glare pooled onto the shabby bed. All at once he could see the girl clearly. She appeared quite young, perhaps not even into her second decade, though he did remember being told by his late father that some females, by the grace of God, retained youthful beauty even long after childbirth.

Her skin was tight on her bones, the sharp line of her cheekbones gave her a regal appearance that was only accentuated by the straightness of her small nose and the well-formed pout of her lips. She had a wild mane of fine slightly curled hair that reminded one of the color of freshly brewed tea and all of these simple features were made even more strange by the shockingly pale color of her skin. It seemed to reflect the pale yellow candlelight or even provide a glow all its own.

Eric was confused if not for the simple fact that he had never seen a woman who looked this way. All of his countrymen were of a swarthy complexion, many made even more so by long stints sailing the uncharted waters surrounding their land, and none possessed the fineness of features nor the brilliant red hair that this woman had been born with. The women he had grown up with were tall and buxom, with long thick black hair, whereas this girl seemed rather small and delicate, just the roundness of her hips barely visible under the thin sheet that covered her.

He pulled the sheet down enough to reveal her dressing gown, impressed that the servant women had found something clean and fairly well made for the girl to wear. As he inspected her sleeping form he noticed a thin cut along her collarbone.

'Was she found this way?'� he inquired of the Captain, tracing the line with his forefinger just above the girl's skin.

He stepped into the room and inspected the cut. It had been cleaned yet appeared fresh.

'My lord I do remember there was a small amount of blood on the bodice of the dress she was wearing. However I cannot say that she possessed the injury before the dogs found her or after in her haste to escape them.'�

'Very well then, so long as one of your men didn't mangle her, I can forgive the animals their nature. She must have seemed as strange to them as she does to me. Have you ever seen a woman look this way?'� Their voices were low, just slightly louder than the wispy flicker of the candle's flame.

'Not in all my years, no, my lord. That is one of the reasons I felt you should'�see her. Several of my men would have nothing to do with her. They even crossed themselves and muttered the ward against witches under their breath when we finally got a hold of her.'�

'I do not blame them their superstitious behaviors, Captain. She is quite a sight. Now, show me the mark. You said she has it?'� He held a certain measure of disbelief in his voice as he asked this question.

The Captain nodded and, leaning forward carefully pulled the sheet down to the bottom of the bed. The girl moved not a muscle, her sleep apparently so deep not even this sudden movement roused her. Carefully he put his left hand under he back and rolled her onto her side. She seemed to sigh a little but otherwise she made no sign that this action interrupted her sleeping.

Moving her hair, he pulled the collar of the shift down and there, illuminated almost sinisterly was the mark of which he spoke. It was located at the base of her neck and it appeared to be nothing more than a darkened scar. The shape however hinted at something much more important to the men in the room, these men who had grown up with the tales of the forefathers, the stories that give many a young child reason to fear strangers. It was fairly small but obvious to those who knew its meaning: a circle, split in half, the second portion shifted down to seemingly hang on the first, with a crude four point star in the middle. The mark of the Return.

The Prince shuddered and closed his eyes in desolation.

----

'You cannot kill her, Eric and you know it! This is foretold, it has been for centuries. She's not just some mad horse you can have slaughtered because you fear what she might do.'� The priest was livid, his hollow cheeks a fierce cherry red, even the bald top of his head a slight pink. The prince had ordered the girl's room bolted and put two armed guards outside the door, and then fled to the sanctuary of the castle's church. He now sat with the priest, Peter, and tried to make sense of this revelation.

Peter paced the room, the long hem of his brown cloth robe sweeping any trace of dust from the old marble floors. This particular part of the church was reserved for the royal family, just a small ornately furnished alcove behind the main altar and here Eric felt somewhat protected from the foreboding omen beneath his feet.

'I didn't believe him when he told me, you know, the captain. I had heard of, in years past, many supposed reports of the Mark being found on all manners of people. Any strangers that by chance happened to wander into our lands. But Peter, it was there. Before my eyes. What can I do save destroy her? This only means..'�

'Everything is going to change. Yes I know what it means, Eric. I've heard the stories, same as you. Have you by chance read the entire legend though? There is much more to the story than what mothers tell their children before bed.'�

'I don't recall any more to it than the basic terror it implies.'� Eric stood as the priest shook his head and motioned for him to follow. They made their way through a small door and down a long hallway. Entering another small doorway they found themselves in a modest library, one Eric had never known existed.

Peter scanned the shelves, most completely covered in a layer of dust older than the prince himself and soon found a rather small book tucked away at the end of a crumbling bookcase. Pulling it down he brought down a cloud of dust, which he fanned away as he cleared a space on the rickety table in the center of the room. The book had no lettering on the binding nor on the cover. It was a simple faded brown leather, centuries old it seemed and probably not opened in as many years.

'This legend has been purposely ignored by your family for many years, Eric. Thus the weary state of this book. I only know of its existence because my predecessor made sure of it before he died.'� Peter opened the cover, the sudden smell of old leather and parchment rising up from the table. He scanned the first few pages and then skipped ahead towards the middle. After a moment he tapped the page with a bony finger and sighed.

'Here. Read.'� He pushed the book towards the Prince and a look of sadness seemed to fill his usually cheery features.

'�once the Mark has been identified. The bearer of the Mark of the Return will be strange to your eyes, a wanderer in a foreign land, their appearance unusual yet maddeningly desirable. Most believe that it will be a female, as this magic is viciously strong and only the weaker heart of a woman can be fully deranged by it.

She will come unexpectedly, unfortunately during a time of peace, when our great land will be lulled to stupor by lack of war or distress. The fear she will spread will be as a great cloud of blackness over the land, despite the efforts of those who wish to keep her appearance a secret. It will be the duty of the Heir Apparent to fulfill this prophecy that was spoken by (here the text is illegible but picks up a few lines later)'�The urge to dispel this evil from your land will be all-consuming, however she must not be destroyed. This will be contrary to what your rational mind desires, however The Mark is powerful and even destruction of the body that carries its evil will not deter it from its mission.

Eric exhaled in frustration and looked up at Peter, a look of intense pain in his typically steely eyes.

'So what am I to do then? Tell me, because I can not fathom a more appropriate response to danger than to obliterate it.'�

Peter turned the book back around and skipped ahead several pages until he found what he was looking for.

'There's your solution and the reason why it must be done.'�

The Mark is the symbolic representation of pure Evil, the complete and utter madness that drives men to murder, to insanity, to all the most foul outlets the soul can find for destruction. Its appearance will mark a new age, a time of uncertainty and fear. It is the duty of the most ancient of bloodlines, the family which has ruled our lands for all time, to banish this Dark Magic from existence.

The Mark of the Return was foretold by the first Priest of Aman, the most holiest of Priests to ever walk this fragile earth. It is said he held communion with our Father God since time began, his soul the oldest of all creatures, the most pure and the most righteous. This power has been transferred to the royal line and it is this blood that flows in the veins of the Heir Apparent that will overcome the Dark Magic of the Mark.

This Mark represents the antithesis of good, the opposite of light and peace. The Evil which forms it is old and powerful. Only one way is known to destroy it and this solution is no easy task. The Mark feeds on fear and indecision, so it is the Heir Apparent who must summon the courage to defeat it. In so doing, sacrifices must be made, those of property, mind and flesh. Only through such trials will this Evil be defeated.

The Heir Apparent must die to save his race. A Battle that will, for a time, rid our fragile earth of this plague, thus returning Life to its natural order of hope and promise. This ultimate sacrifice requires a strong heart, a clear mind and the blood that flows will cleanse the world of darkness.

Perhaps through such sacrifice, Life shall be renewed and the rewards shall be multitudinous. The moment will be swift yet brief. Do not hesitate or all the lights will be extinguished. The Mark will Triumph.


Eric slammed the book shut and gritted his teeth.

'I cannot! I will not die for a fairy tale! The musings of some long dead monk! This is preposterous! It's all poetry and riddles, what am I to believe? What am I to do, Peter?'� Eric collapsed in a decaying chair and put his face in his hands, defeated.

'For one thing you must believe this! This was not just some idle story created by a bored monk. This is the words of Truth from the ancient Scribe of Aman, the only man to know the revered Priest. This prophecy'�it's in your blood, Eric. You are the Heir Apparent. You are the Good that will defeat this Evil. You must do this'�for all of us.'�

In all his years the Prince had never cried, not even at the deaths of his father and mother. Now in the face of such fear, tears fell from his eyes.

---

'Wake up!'� His voice shattered the funereal silence of the room. The girl's eyes shot open and she caught her breath, sitting up partially to search for the source of the words.

Eric stood in the doorway, torchlight behind him silhouetting his figure. As distraught as the situation had made his heart, he couldn't help but be astonished at her beauty. She seemed as innocent as a new babe, her wide eyes staring at him in unblinking alarm.

He tried his best to shake this enchantment from his mind and marched into the room, right up to the bedside. The girl pulled herself up into a ball and squeezed into the corner at the head of the bed.

'What is your name? I can have you hanged or worse for trespassing in these lands. You are a stranger here and we do not tolerate such.'� The deep bell of his voice was menacing enough without the sneer he accompanied with it.

Her voice was like music, a lullaby it seemed, it lilted and carried on the damp draft that came through the open door. Though tainted with fear it was still exquisite.

'I don't remember. I woke up when I heard the dogs bark. That is the last I remember. I swear it.'�

'You lie. I can read it in your damned eyes. The truth. Give it.'�

'I swear it! I have no memory of myself. It is as if this were a dream that I cannot wake up from. I feel something inside me that seems to bind my thoughts. But you'�you've saved me. You've brought me into this place and'�saved me.'� Her voice trailed off and she closed her eyes almost as if she were in pain.

Eric slapped her hard on the cheek. His signet ring must have caught her lip as when he pulled his hand back he noticed blood making a thin line down her chin. She gasped and tears welled up in her green eyes.

'You do not, ever, speak to me that way. Understand? Get up. Get up!'� He stepped back and motioned for the guards to enter the room. The girl hesitantly climbed out of the bed, her bare feet no doubt freezing on the damp bare floor.

'Take her to the Priest. We'll get answers from her, one way or the other.'�

----

They took her to a different portion of the castle, a room so long in disuse that the smell of decay had just started to creep in around the edges. Years before the Prince was born his father had to suffer many traitors to the throne, the ravages of the war no doubt inspiring such greedy aspirations amongst the people. Here was where those guilty were questioned and the faint ghosts of pain and revelation lingered in the wood.

It was a small room, tucked away in the center of the castle, with no windows and only one door, which strangely enough could only be bolted from the outside, thus locking both inquisitor and the criminal in until all was resolved.

Peter had prepared the room, a near inferno of a fire raging in the fireplace. Despite this the room was still drafty and only mildly warm. In the center of the room was a long thin table, many nicks and scratches upon its hardwood surface. A chair at each end made this setting appear almost cordial, perhaps a room for affairs of the state to be settled. It did little to intimate the room's true purpose, until one looked at the chair for the person being questioned. It possessed heavy shackles for both the feet and the hands and the back of the chair was merely two support beams with a thin piece of wood at the top for the neck to rest upon, thus leaving the back completely exposed.

The Captain and a lieutenant pushed the girl into that chair, closing the iron bands around her small wrists and ankles. Eric jerked his head towards the door, thus relieving the guards of their responsibilities. Peter stood near the fire, shaking his head.

'This is not the way, Prince. This will do no good and you know it.'�

'Be quiet. This is how I will handle it and if you do not approve of it then you can leave this castle for good. That book was written thousands of years ago, why should I believe there's any truth in it? I will deal with this my way, the only sacrifice made will be on her part.'� His cold gaze fell upon the girl who was staring at the fire, a slight quiver to her lips.

On the table Peter laid a folded cloth, heavy with its unrevealed burden. Eric stepped over and pulled the cloth apart to reveal three items that made the priest sigh in disapproval and the girl whimper in fear. Eric ran his hand over the sharp tarnished silver edge of the dagger, the second a small wooden paddle with rather jagged pins sticking up from its warped surface and finally a small riding crop, the end sheathed in iron.

'Torture serves many purposes, girl. My father and his fathers before him used these very items to rid our lands of traitors. Liars become prophets, thieves become philanthropists, murderers become saints at the mere touch of these instruments. Your memory will return, I assure you of that. Now, tell me your name.'� His fingers rested on the riding crop, awaiting her answer.

Despite the obvious fear she felt, her words came out clear and steady. Perhaps she was insane, he thought, for only insanity could mock such impending pain.

'I have told you, I have no memory of it.'� Her eyes flickered towards him and something seemed to move behind them. Something reawakening in those flashing depths. Suddenly her entire demeanor shifted, away from the demure unsure child she had seemed when he had awoken her to a more complicated creature. She seemed invigorated, an arrogance revived by his threats.

'So sure you sound.'� He lifted the crop, walked to the fire and held the iron end in the fire for moment, just long enough to redden its edges. Then in one swift move he stepped behind her and brought the end down upon her exposed back, the heated iron shredding her thin dress and searing her tightly drawn flesh.

Her scream made Peter cringe in disgust. Despite the necessity Eric felt in doing this, his heart ached at hurting such a beautiful girl. In all his life he had known nothing but peace, never had he been made to truly hurt another creature, hunting with the Guard a completely unrelated exception. But despite this anguish he felt, it must be done. The alternative was not satisfactory.

'Your name.'� The smell of burnt wool lingered briefly like a snuffed candle wick. The girl gasped as if she had lost all breath and looked up at him. She sneered suddenly and her voice was a lilting whisper full of menace and delight.

'I have no name, Aman. Yes, Aman. You. He's in your blood, Prince. I can smell the reek of his purity in your sweat.'�

Eric's face fell and Peter looked terrified. It was only a second of shock before Eric thrust the crop into the fire again and once more brought it down upon her back, layers of skin melting away beneath the fierce heat.

She merely laughed this time and so he did it again and again, trying to force her into silence. Peter shook himself free of his fear and grabbed Eric by the arms.

'Stop it before you kill her!'�

'Oh! Go ahead, Aman. Kill me. Release me from this fleshy prison so I can make the most of my powers. Loose me upon your precious fragile earth so I can consume it!'� Her laughter was otherworldly. It echoed against the stone walls and filled Eric's soul. He threw the crop down upon the table and spit into the fire.

She snorted derisively and licked her lips.

'Did you think your pathetic priest there was lying to you when he read you the omen? Hmm? Your entire family has been delusional for centuries, thinking I would not return. It has taken a long time'�too long in fact, but things are as they should be now. You haven't the strength to do what is right. What is demanded of you. You're weak, Aman. The millennia have worn you down to a grain of sand and I am the undying ocean come to wash you away'�'�

'That's enough! You're a demon. Unholy'�impure. The righteous heart shall defeat you. I shall defeat you.'� Eric turned his eyes to her, almost sickened by the sudden pall to her skin. She seemed much changed, the heat from the fire had dampened her skin and a sheen of sweat covered her face. Her eyes were vivid and wide open and in their unblinking gaze he could feel the terror of ages aching to be loosed. She twisted slightly in her restraints, rolling her shoulders and closing her eyes for a moment.

'Let me loose, so we can fight like men. Good against Evil. Pure against Impure. The Righteous One against the Unholy. Whatever poetic drivel you want to call it. You know your choice. Let us see who's the stronger soul, Aman. I doubt your power has carried its weight throughout the years in that pitiful bloodline you chose.'�

The more she spoke the stranger he felt. As he had noticed a change behind her eyes, he could feel something stirring inside his own being. It was like a rolling shiver through his stomach and he closed his eyes to the uneasiness it caused within him.

Aman...come out to me, Priest of Life. Possess this boy's mind and fight me firsthand.

Eric seemed to drift out of the room, the weight of his body suddenly no longer his responsibility. He could see the room falling below him and then it was clouds.

----

Aman opened his eyes and saw light for the first time in three thousand years. He could smell Its sweat and it disgusted him. Turning he saw it shackled in that body, a body he could only smile at for it was such a counterfeit image for the evil that possessed it. His body felt solid and powerful, the perfect weapon to destroy It for all Time.

'Leave the room, Priest. And pray to our Father God that this Evil shall be vanquished.'�

Peter nodded his head and practically evaporated from the room. Finally alone It looked up at him with a triumphant gleam in Its eyes.

'So you've returned? The boy sacrificed himself for the sake of his people. How noble.'� The sarcasm dripped from Its tongue like acid.

'It has been too long since last we battled. I felt for sure I had ripped your essence into enough pieces that it would take you eternity to gather the ragged scraps back together again.'� Aman flexed his hands near the fire, its warmth soothing and delicious.

It snorted. 'It took longer than I expected but you were never one for finishing a job properly. Perhaps this time things will be different.'�

'We shall see. Get up.'� Aman moved his eyes over the shackles on the chair, releasing It from the restraints.

The bodies disappeared as the two beings clashed in battle. A storm suddenly enveloped the land for miles around, thick unearthly clouds sending hot sheets of rain down like hail. In that room the fire swirled and a sickly sweet smoke filled the room, revealing the strange shadows of two amorphous creatures tearing and ripping at each others beings.

The castle shook in intervals, fires went out in grates and horses reared up and vaulted from their stables. All those around could hear the silent weeping of the World as Good and Evil raged in their shadow war.

Somewhere around him, Eric could feel a warmth. Like a ray of sunlight boring into his naked skin. There was a rustle of sound, much like the bare feet of children running through tall grass and the sudden rhythm of a heart echoing in his mind. He could taste blood in his mouth but he could not imagine where his mouth would be, here in this blankness. Far off, suddenly, he sensed a great need. An urgent cry for help. His blood pulsed in his veins, seemingly reversing its flow.

A flash. Then he could see. Aman, the Priest of Life, the Father of his people. The protector of this world and the breath that flowed through his core. He was struggling against something vile. Something black and dense, yet utterly immense, like smoke from a fire enveloping all the world. He needed help. The millennia of peace had weakened his nature just enough to make him vulnerable. Perhaps he would fail. Eric felt a deep sadness at this thought and without hesitation flung himself between the two Beings.

Aman grasped hold of the frail human soul and once intertwined sent It reeling into nothingness'�like powder blown from a palm, each particle spread to every corner of Time and Eternity it left only a cold hum in its place.

''�through such sacrifice, life shall be renewed'�'�

----

Eric opened his eyes to sunlight. He found himself lying spread eagle in the middle of the orchard behind the castle. The intense clean of the earth after rain enveloped him and he sighed with a deep peace reverberating through his soul.

The clouds above him shimmered, the sound of finches in the apple trees was a delicate music. His heart breathed in the calm of the world and in his mind he felt the weight of a million years bloom into an immortal flower of light.

His skin was electrified and his soul enriched with the wisdom of his Fathers. The war was won for now, as in time, the Evil would reform and gain strength enough for another round. Until then, this fragile earth was safe.

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