Bowhan stood up. Examining his surroundings, he realized he was alone in an endless forest. His horse, the road… nothing was in sight. He stood there for a moment, completely alone, and set off in a random direction, but suddenly he felt a tugging urge to go the opposite direction. Shaking himself, it remained. “Strange,” thought the warrior, and he changed his course accordingly.
His feelings led him to a river by a waterfall and a cliff. Behind the waterfall, a cave was carved into the cliff. It twisted and turned, only strange glowing rocks providing minor light, but it eventually lead to an old, derelict door, which, not budging, he removed. He took a step into the new structure, which was obviously manmade.
The stone bricks were remarkably fine, with superior quality, and, seeing as how the structure had been made inside the cave, he guessed that either this was some kind of storehouse or a secret entrance to a building. He grabbed a torch mounted on the wall, which, curiously, was lit, and walked farther into the structure. He turned a corner and stumbled into a large room. At the sides, he noticed stairs, which seemed to turn as they got higher. Then, the concept occurred to Bowhan. He edged into to the middle cautiously, torch in hand, and he looked up. The stairs spiraled upward farther and farther until they were no longer visible even with the torch. He turned to the stairs, grunted, and started up the staircase.
In reality, it was not as vast as it seemed, only being five stories high. Each level possessed a landing with a locked door made of iron bars that Bowhan could not break. At the top landing was another strong, locked door and a ladder which led up to a trapdoor. It was not locked, and he climbed through into the floor of some building. Something felt old, but Bowhan ignored it and reached for the door.
It was night outside, even though when he had entered the cave it had been noon, and he was sure no more than an hour had passed. He stood in a ruined cathedral, the walls reaching only high enough to stop the old hunter from climbing over them. Half-columns stood, crumbling and cracking. Indeed, what was left was less than even a shadow of its former majestic self. The only two parts of the cathedral still left with a roof were the wings. From the alter, he had just emerged from the left wing.
His urge disappeared, leaving him standing there in the darkness with his torch. Unknowing what to do next, he called out, “Hello?! Anybody home?!”
He stood there for a few moments, and was about to turn back when suddenly, a young woman’s voice answered him. “He-he-hello?”
It came from the other wing, which was shrouded in darkness. “Hello,” answered Bowhan, encouragingly, “my name is Bowhan, what’s yours?”
“I-I-I don’t think I have one…” the voice answered, shyly.
“May I ask where we are?” Bowhan inquired.
“I’m not sure where this is,” the voice responded, “but it’s my home…”
Are you from the village? You seem oddly familiar?” it asked.
“I’m not from the village,” Bowhan admitted. “But this place seems familiar to me, too. Maybe if you could show yourself it might help me remember. I remember faces better than places…”
“I-I don’t think it would help either of us…” the voice responded.
“Please?” asked Bowhan. “You’re the only person I’ve met since I became unconscious.”
“Are you sure?” asked the voice back. “Please don’t run away.”
Bowhan tensed up at that comment. Had people abandoned this poor lady because she was ugly? He had learned to be tolerant and respectful to people, even if they did not keep the nicest physical appearance. With that, he confidently affirmed the voice. “Yes, I’m ready.”
Immediately, out of the wing emerged a large, red demon. Bowhan’s eyes bulged in fear, and he screamed, reaching for his only defense, his sword. To his dismay, he remembered it had been gone when he woke up, and he readied for death. The strike never came, however. He looked up and saw the demon standing where it had been before, but now, it was saddened, and he could swear he could see a tear rolling down its cheek. Why wasn’t it attacking?
It sighed, and another tear rolled down its cheek. “I’m sorry I scared you,” she sobbed, “I’ll go away now, so you can leave.” She turned to re-enter the building, but Bowhan’s voice stopped her.
“Wait,” he yelled. It might be a mistake, and he might die, but he needed to know. He needed to find out why this demon hadn’t attacked him. “Why didn’t you attack me?!”
She turned back to face Bowhan, exasperated. “Why do you humans always think I will?”
“Because all demons do,” he answered.
“Well, I don’t!” she yelled, completely pouring tears. “That makes one! Doesn’t it?!”
Bowhan, having gotten up, started to walk slowly back to her. “What makes you different then?” He stared into her eyes, the piercing blue he could recognize anywhere.
The demon stopped her sobbing as well, lost in the gaze. It both came to them.
“My daughter…” whispered Bowhan to himself.
“Father…” whispered the demon to herself. “Father? FATHER?!”
Suddenly, the walls seemed to crumble all at once, the ground began to shake, and the trees melted into the ground.
“FATHER!” she screamed. “FAAAAAATHER!!!”
Bowhan’s vision went black and the demon’s voice became ever more distant.
The sunlight burnt Bowhan’s retinas and he immediately closed his eyes again.
“Hey, SLEEPYHEAD!” yelled a male voice nearby him. “Wake up already!”
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
Send Gift Points
Awards
Badges
Send Email
Community Newsfeed
General Discussion
Sponsored Items
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
More by this author