DISCLAIMER – This story features images of violence, adult language, and some adult situations.
The following story is Copyright © 2015 Padraig O’C. Copying this story without permission from the author is strictly prohibited.
The pines that grew upon the mountain side were brushed, and pushed by the harsh airy winds that caming whipping up the from the river valley below. Down upon the mountainside the trees leaned with the wind and formed a series of lamenting forms that shifted like old men at prayer. The very movement worked with the mournful sound of the whistling rush of the wind itself. A ghostly sound that only served to set the tone for the night at hand. Along the road up to mount Baker in Whatcom County sat a lone heavily clothed figure out walking.
A lone individual out for a nightly stroll surrounded by lamenting prayer? The whistling wind sang past the form as a hat was ripped from their head. Dark green eyes shone in the light of a car heading home as it hurried by down the roadway. The figure could only smile. A series of winding leaf like forms licked the edge of the individuals face. They looked like a series of creepy briars in the flash of lone headlight, and the driver could only briefly note it was a grim looking man in his rearview mirror. Then the image was gone as quick as it came.
Alone again with only the praying trees, and the man smiled, that was the his response. His hat was gone, and his close cropped hair in a distinctive military cut was now wet from the wind. Yet it was not cold out for him. Honestl, he could not have care less what the temperature was, or the freezing feeling that was biting at his skin. The stranger walked for a mile or two before come to stop on the edge of the road, and staring out along the the valley as it stretched out before him. The form of mountains loomed in the skies above him as the moon appeared from the cloud cover that was laying out the light sheets of rain.
Upon reaching what appeared to break in the tree line the man lookedout over the horizon toward the valley below. He was perhaps halfway from the summit of Mount Baker up the highway, and as he looked a silent padding of footfalls descending beside him. A woman, mayhap just his height stood beside him covered head to toe in fine tightly wrapped silk from her trousers, to her shirt. Her boots were the only thing that did not fit the already strange outfit, a pair of dark brown hiking boots. She pushed aside a wisp of snowy-white hair, and blinked a pair of emberic eyes. Vine like markings similar to the man covered an exposed portion of her arm, as she breathed in the moist cold air of the mountain scape.
“Tricksy, tricksy,” the woman spoke in an accented tone. Rolling her ‘r’ in a purring fashion that laid stress up upon the ee of the word. The man shooked his head, as his he held his brow with his right gloved hand. Both were meeting there for a reason they could only ponder a part of. Their masters had goaded them to that place so they could meet, and discuss plans for the future.
“Failures are only minor setbacks,” the man finally broke in after letting his compatriot sniff at the air like a wolf sensing prey.
“Tell that to the Conclave,” the woman spat. Her partner had spent years setting up what had amounted to almost nothing. A grand plan to set the pieces forward by decades, dashed away in some mad fool’s attempt at redemption. Or was it simply salvation of a selfish kind? It no longer mattered. Both had to look forward, more works lay ahead of them; contingencies activated by the rash actions of one individual.
“The Conclave will do what they will, our local chapters are conversing with one another, and we are infiltrating other factions to create puppets to do our bidding,” came the man’s response. The woman blinked her green eyes, and pressed her thin bloodless lips together in frustration. Her patner was forever the patient one, willing to wait, always willing to wait. There had to be more determination, more aggression. He would never agree to it.
“How long will that take?” she asked.
“Until the Dreamer awakes,” he responded referencing an old bit of forsight dating back untold centuries.
“I hate that old addage,” she grumbled while then glancing at the shining moon that hung in the sky.
“Our agent will be in position soon to better watch the target, and others associated with them,” the man told her without any provocation.
“The one who meddles,’ was all he replied.
“That one, great. I love having this esoteric discussions in blustery mountain passes, shall we do this again next sunday?” she snarked. Her body tensed as she noted what she was assuming was a growing impatience in her partner.
“Our meeting is concluded,” He crossed his arms before turn to return to walking down the road.
“I concur,” she said in return. Soon there was a subtle crack of thunder, and the woman was gone. The man was all alone once again as he had started. Only the lamenting trees shifting in the wind continued to keep him any semblanced of comapny. He lifted a cigarette from within his coat and lit it with a finger, light hovered from a cemtimeter away from the tip as he inhaled the nicotine smoke. Slowly, he began to trudge back down the mountain road. His progress intent upon the goal of entering Bellingham Washington.
“So much to do, and so little time,” he sighed, and then blinked as he noted it was nearing dawn.
“Necessary, but bothersome,” he croaked to himself, and as he walked the sun came over the horizon to bathe the man in its glow. His face was slighty ruddy, and red from the exposure, but his eyes were strange, almost greyish. With each step he walked with purpose intent on whatever or wherever he was going or going to do. A man upon a mission, and that mission held ill content for whoever was in his way.
So concludes the first Nyla Clarkson Novel in the Agaera series, stay tuned for the sequel, Driftwood Soul!
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