I’ve been offline for awhile now due to a new career opportunity that is quite challenging and requires nearly all my attention. I still love writing so a new goal I’m setting for myself is a “sentence a day” goal. I don’t know if I’ll actually hit a sentence a day, but my goal it to get more consistent so my writing doesn’t disappear in the larger scale things happening in my life right now.
Hydrate then Communicate
Communication is one of the first things we learned to do as children. It’s an essential part of our lives, so much so we’ve discovered ways to make communication easier no matter what language you speak if you speak at all. Despite its grand importance, one of the things people struggle with most in their relationships is just that, communication.
Communication all begins with expectations. We expect our work acquaintances to interact with us on a superficial level while also maintaining boundaries on more touchy topics, like politics or religion. We put our friends on a higher pedestal. Not only do we expect cordial conversations, we expect a level of acceptance no matter how our opinions differ.
With friends, a new dynamic is introduced into our relationships, reaching out. While in our superficial relationships, we don’t expect and sometimes don’t want to receive a random call checking in. In our friendships, there’s a level of expectation to be valued.
Here’s where communication gets tricky. Being valued means different things to different people. One person finds value in being able to maintain a relationship without constant verbal communication. These relationships become more valuable the busier you get. Knowing someone is going to be there no matter how much time has passed is a great feeling.
On the other hand, people find value in being remembered. Even people with the above feelings may fall into this category as well. Being remembered is about people thinking to include you. It’s about getting that random phone call asking how life is going. In some ways, it’s what everyone wants in their life, a friend that always remembers them.
I could go on about problems with communication for days. The takeaway is, communication is complicated for everyone. Every human being is terrible at it, so every human being can get better at it. Never let communication get in the way of your relationships just because it’s hard because communication is essential.
Goals vs Tasks
Recently my wife and I were able to sit in on a personal finance course. These courses are organized through our church and run by volunteers. In this particular session, the discussion focused on goal setting, and an interesting thought was shared. One of the members of the group mentioned having a goal to go to the gym each morning. Now at the onset that sounds like a great goal. You can keep fit, you gain discipline, and it’s a great way to start your day, but the longer I thought about it the more I realized it was a horrible goal.
Why so bad? It’s simply too hard to accomplish. Can you imagine having to complete a task daily as a goal for the rest of your life? If you mess up once, you’ve failed. If you don’t make it to the gym for any reason you’re now left making excuses for yourself as to why it doesn’t count against your goal. This sparked a whole new idea in my head that related directly to my own goals as a writer.
For a while there I was setting goals to write daily. I felt like by committing to writing every day I would be able to accomplish my overall goal of completing my book and publishing it. The problem I was always facing is I’d have legitimate reasons for not being able to write, but the failure of writing took me down a deep slope of hopelessness until I finally picked myself back up and set a new goal.
Failure is hard and setting a daily goal to write and constantly failing and re-failing on that goal was exhausting. When I listened to this person describe what their goals were to what they are I realized writing daily wasn’t a goal at all, it was a task I needed to complete to achieve my goal. How does that change anything? By making writing a task suddenly I’m no longer a failure when I don’t write. Instead of spending weeks to months being stumped because of that one day I decided I wanted to do something besides write, I feel invigorated by the idea I can fill my time with whatever I need to help me achieve my overall goal.
Not all people’s brains work like mine. Some people work perfectly well under a strict daily goal. Even with this method, I think it’s smart to keep short-term goals right alongside those long-term goals. For now, I’ll focus on setting a weekly goal. At this point, I’m just trying to properly title my actions. By labeling my daily writing as a task to complete I know it will just get more challenging to keep my goal if I fail to complete it, rather than failing to achieve my goal. I find I often make the switch anyway after setting the goal, but I’m affected more deeply when I haven’t defined it from the beginning.
The Story Release
I think I’ve mentioned my childhood a lot on this blog. I remember so many instances as a kid just finding ways to express my creativity. Being creative was a deep part of me that I always thought would disappear when I became and adult and often times I repressed as an adult. For so long we’re taught that creativity is a hobby meant to come and go as our life allows it and not an essential part of being an adult.
As a kid I remember sitting in front of the swamp cooler with my action figures as they tried to cross through the perilous winds. Sometimes they’d traverse the great tree filled with lights and large ornaments, although the protector of the tree was always nearby waiting to shoo away the intruders. The house was my characters world and everything could become a new adventure.
My world expanded when I began writing. Suddenly I wasn’t limited to what I saw in front of me. My characters could traverse any location, could fly with dragon or ship, and could come to live as a king or a millionaire. With writing also came a firm backdrop. My stories went from lasting as long as my game, to lasting as long as I kept the papers they were written on, which I still have today. Writing is what helped my creativity transfer to adulthood.
As an older kid I still played games sometimes, but I was mostly occupied with school activities and friends. I wasn’t ever the kid to be stuck in a good book while there was an activity going on that I could be a part of. I didn’t like missing out on things. This was a hit to my creativity because I developed an idea in my head that by being creative, (writing or reading) outside of assignments in school, I was taking away from my social life. Creativity turned from an outlet to a way to impress my friends who didn’t realize I like to write poems or paint.
As an adult writing was the only creative outlet I kept with me. It was the one thing I could continue to do without prying eyes asking what I’m working on, because I could always say it was something else. It’s weird to think of being embarrassed by creativity, but as a creative thinker it is embarrassing when you’re not especially talented at your creative outlet. Some people who love painting are bad painters but they paint for their heart, not the views. Some people are bad writers, but the have stories welling up inside that they need to put on paper.
Creativity is an essential part of life. Too often I’ve been told or heard someone being told that they should work on their craft before putting it out there, but I think that’s wrong. Art is emotion we’re trying to let out and it’s important to let it out. We may not become a best selling author, a movie star, or even a famous artist and that’s okay. What’s important is being able to express yourself as an adult for no reason at all. Creativity is essential to releasing the inner pressures of life.
Tolkien
So quick explanation. I’ve been posting less because I just got a new job offer which will require a big move. That was the root of my last post. I was realizing how precious time was because it could so easily be taken away. Today I wanted to bring things around to what I’ve recently been listening to and that is Tolkien.
If you’ve heard of nothing else you’ll know of the Lord of the Rings movies, whether you’ve seen them or not. They were amazing in so many ways. Even better were the books themselves, but as I’ve delved deeper into the writings of Tolkien a whole new world has appeared.
Tolkien was an amazing writer, but on top of that, he was an amazing world builder. I mentioned before I felt a sort of kinship to Tolkien and that comes from his world-building side. I love world-building. My book began as a story has evolved so much over the time I’ve been writing it, and a lot of that is because I’ve looked deeper into the world.
One of the amazing things Tolkien did was incorporate lore he’d created in his youth and placed it into the Lord of the Rings books. So much of the lore surrounding Lord of the Rings is completely lost if you don’t look deeper into Tolkien’s writings and try to understand the deeper world he created. I love that about Tolkien.
I think that speaks to us, beginning writers. Tolkien created a world and he wrote a compelling story that held to many of these strange ideas, and information not necessary to the moving forward of the story. As a beginner, I think I get so caught up in telling a story in a way readers will understand I forget to let the world of my story play a part in the tale.
Tolkien is an inspiration on letting creativity pour out in the way that suits the artist, and not for the sake of the beholder. Writing is good, but it should mostly be for oneself. Creativity is something powerful and important no matter how much money you gain from it. Never let creativity die.
Time, the Most Important Tool
As a writer, especially one that doesn’t make a livelihood writing, time is precious. Thirty minutes could be the difference between finishing a project or having an unfinished manuscript sitting on your computer hoping you’ll remember it exists. Time is one of the most important things you’ll need when writing.
The biggest challenge is finding that time. When it comes to writing it’s very easy to put it last. Work that pays for your living comes first, then family time, then sleep, and necessary eating. Finally, writing sits there usually squeezed in front of the sleeping and eating. Even then the time could only be a few minutes leaving it hard to keep a train of thought.
At the end of the day doing what you love has to cut into your time somewhere. Whether that be making a simpler meal, letting family know you’ll be sitting some time out, or staying up some late hours. The extreme would be quitting your day job and take on some full-time writing.
Personally writing is a release for me most days. It’s nice to sit down before sleeping and put my imagination onto paper.
The Imagination of a Writer
Growing up I would say I had a very active imagination. I enjoyed playing video games that made me a part of the story. I enjoyed pretending with friend and on my own epic tales of adventure and heroics. Last of all I enjoyed writing.
When you get into Jr High school is about the time it becomes “weird” to have your head in the clouds. This is the time people get into sports or other activities that were tangible. I fell into that mold in school. I wanted to play sports, but a part of me still clung to the imaginary. It started with choir and turned into being in theater.
While not letting out the true imagination I felt I kept a hand on that imaginary world that grew in my mind throughout my life. All of this seemed weird to me. I mean I’m a grown adult still imagining a complex world that doesn’t exist. Many times I doubted the worth of continuing to grow this pretend world, but as many times as I doubted I also clung to the joy I felt when creating it.
Needless to say, it’s been a great comfort these last few days listening to books and podcast, both by and about J. R. R. Tolkien. Not only was he and intelligent scholar, but his imagination was active. He created a world he was so entranced by it dominated his life behind the scenes till he wrote the Hobbit and suddenly that world was put forward for the world to see.
I’ve always loved the Lord of the Rings, but the more I learn about Tolkien the more I feel like kindred spirits. I always thought of my book as a history about a time in an imaginary land and even thought to write an opening explaining it to be such. I only recently learned that was the Tolkien’s style when writing the Lord of the Rings and the Hobbit. It gives me encouragement to hear his own thoughts on his world creation and on creativity in general.
The Tragedy of Grasslan
In the ancient world, dragons roamed among men. Villages made treaties, some even befriended the dragons. Some villages garnished protection from their flying friends, others simply made do with their existence.
After years of peace, fighting broke out. The men of the times worried the dragons would turn on them and attacked the creatures. Bounties were put out, battalions gathered, even traps set to capture the few unsuspecting dragons.
In all this, there was one village separate from the chaos. High in the mountains, the village of Kayon was a peaceful place. They knew very little of dragons until they saw the shadow of thick wings fly into the mountains above them. Terror filled Kayon as the people worried what horrors were in store.
The wise mayor decided in order to keep the beast at bay, they would send a patrol of men and women into the mountains and present the beast with mounds of food. The tradition was set. Every full moon the village would gather a tax of food and send it to the mountain tops to feed the great beast.
Time past and many forgot the old tales of the dragons. The village forgot the purpose of their tax but continued it nonetheless.
One night, a dark shadow passed from the mountain and disappeared into the darkness. Some witnessed the great beast, others claimed to have seen it, but many no longer believed such creatures existed. For those that believed fear was revived. They continued the tradition of bringing food to the mountain more vigorously than before.
Gail lived in a family of believers. Since his fifth birthday, he marched to the top of the mountain with his family and laid the food at an old alter. His belief grew with every trip, for each time they returned the food they had left was gone. With each trip, he desired the pleasure of seeing the great beast.
“The creature can move silently and make itself invisible,” Some would say.
“It would assume anyone to be food if they stayed,” Said others.
None of this changed Gail’s mind when he decided to watch for the dragon. When the time came to take the food Gail pretended illness. After his family had gone a ways to the mountain he snuck from bed and followed. Silently he watched as his family and every other believer, placed mounds of food before the alter. When they had gone the air fell silent.
He waited, but patience was not something he’d expected to need. Quickly he thought back to the words of the unbelievers. At the instant, his mind swayed he felt the ground rumble. He turned back to the food and to his astonishment a great animal appeared from the path leading to the peak.
The creature stood taller than two of his houses stacked atop each other. Its green scales shined like emeralds in the moonlight. Its head swayed back and forth with a loud sniffing. Two large wings stretched across the stony canyon shading the moonlight. In a few short steps, the creature was at the alter consuming every morsel left for him.
Feeling as though he’d accomplished his goal, Gail began moving away from his hiding place. A stone slipped beneath his foot causing a great echo to sound. The dragon turned, its bright blue eyes locking onto Gail. The boy froze too scared to think.
“What are you?” A deep voice said.
Gail turned, locking eyes with the creature. He felt even smaller as the great head moved closer, the eyes matching his own size. The dragon’s mouth hadn’t moved, Gail had heard the words inside his head.
“I… I… I,” He tried to reply.
“Hmm,” The dragon responded sitting down as normal as any human would. A great claw came up to his chin and scratched as if he was thinking deeply. “You are a little human are you?”
“Gail,” Was all the boy could manage.
“Gail. I have not heard of Gail before. Is that like Dwarves?” Something about the dragon’s voice soothed Gail.
“That’s my name,” He added with a smile. Suddenly his limbs soften and he was able to move to a spot where he could sit and look at the dragon.
“Aww. So you are a little human. Gail.” The dragon seemed to practice the word. Gail was perplexed as the words appeared in his head, but the face of the dragon changed as if to verify the thoughts. “I am Grasslan.”
“Dragons have names?” Gail blurted. His cheeks reddened immediately. The creature opened its jaws and made a chirped growl that came out in three short bursts. Gail wouldn’t have known it by the sound, but in his mind, he felt the Grasslan’s amusement.
“Of course we have names, little human.” He answered, “How else am I to know what to call my fellow dragons? You don’t call your fellow humans human?” Gail chuckled.
“We don’t know much about dragons. Most people don’t even believe you’re real.”
Grasslan seemed to sober at that thought.
“No. Our kind has kept silent for a while. We find it is better to be mythical than to risk causing fear among humans. The big ones tend to lose their wits. You must be a very little human to be so calm.” Grasslan gave a smile, at least what could be considered a smile. Again Gail felt the dragon’s emotion rather than read it from its expression.
“I’m seven. Big people can be set in their ways.” Gail mused, “I wish I knew more about dragons. I was always scared of you, but you’re so kind. At least I feel you are kind.”
Grasslan gave Gail a longing look. For a moment he wondered why this small boy stood here. Humans had set traps for them in the past. There was something different here. He felt he could trust the boy.
“What would you say to learning more about the dragons?” Grasslan asked.
Gail felt the seriousness of the question. Without hesitation, he answered.
“I would like that very much.”
And so grew a grand relationship. Each full moon Gail would sneak atop the mountain and learn all there was to know about dragons. He learned Grasslan was nearly two hundred years old, and that he had arrived atop the mountain with his mother. He learned that dragons would often spend many years with their children preparing them to live on their own. He learned of the politics dragons dealt with among each other. Gail became a wealth of knowledge from both the human world and the world of dragons.
At eighteen Gail awoke to the sound of a horrifying roar. His mind was filled with a familiar connection, but his heart was feeling anger. He jumped to his feet and ran outside. A crimson dragon soured over the village spewing orange flames the laid across the houses like lava. In moments every house was aflame. Gail rushed into his own home and pulled his mother free. They hurried to the outskirts of the village dodging burst of flames and low-reaching claws.
As quickly as it had begun the dragon disappeared leaving behind the bright orange flames consuming Kayon. Gail felt the anger disappear as the red dragon faded away. He’d learned from Grasslan how to distinguish his own emotions from the emotions given by the dragons. Others in the village were not as well trained. Their fury was peaked and they grasped Gail by the collar.
“Where is your dragon?” They spat at him. His reputation had quietly grown over the years as the boy who spoke to the dragon. Gail refused to answer seeing the hate in the eyes of the villagers. They threw him down and drew their swords. “Where is it?” They demanded.
With a heavy heart, he looked upon his mother. He shook his head refusing to give up Grasslan. To his horror, the men seized his mother and laid the blade across her throat.
“Take us to the creature!”
Defeated Gail stood and lead the men up the mountain. Each step felt like his shoes had gathered mounds of mud. The men behind pushed him forward, but Gail continued his slow pace hoping they would simmer. He had no luck.
In a few moments, they stood at the mouth of a cave. The opening stood taller than four of their largest houses stacked atop each other. In the depths, Gail could hear the deep breathing coming from Grasslan as he slept.
“It wasn’t Grasslan,” He pleaded as they threw his mother down and moved towards the cave. He lurched forward grabbing one of their arms. “Grasslan wouldn’t attack us. He’s not even the same color.” The man ripped his arm away, kicked Gail to the ground, and spit at him.
“A dragon is a dragon.” Gail stood to retaliate, but two strong hands held him back.
The two men entered the cave moving silently on opposite sides. The creature laid curled up, moving only as it took in deep breaths. Kayon wasn’t a big village, but even they had heard the rumors of the dragon wars, and even they had heard the rumors of how to kill a dragon. The two men clung to the hope the rumors were more than that.
With a deep breath, the larger of the two men placed his sword between two of Grasslan’s chest plates. He counted in his head, his heart working to burst from his chest. At three he plunged the sword into the creature’s skin. With a roar, Grasslan woke, throwing the man aside. Immediately he felt the blood beginning to pour from his chest and the weakness followed.
The two men raced out of the cave, one holding a sword dripping with blood. Those holding Gail released him and rushed away. Without hesitation, Gail hurried into the cave. He rushed to the dragon, whose head laid weakly on the ground. He grabbed the creature’s nose.
“Grasslan! Grasslan!” Tears poured from his eyes, “I’m so sorry,” He cried.
“It is okay,” The deep voice rumbled in his head. He immediately felt the dragon’s forgiveness. “Sometimes we cannot combat the anger of men, no matter how kind we are.” Suddenly he felt the calming emotions fade.
“Don’t go,” He cried. The emotions grew stronger, then faded again.
“My brother,” A faint voice called in Gail’s head. “Take my brother home,” With those final words every hint of Grasslan’s emotions disappeared. Gail felt alone.
He hugged the dragon’s face for the rest of the night, comforted only by his mother. When the sun rose Gail stood wiping away the remaining tears. With a heavy heart, he made his way to the back of the cave. His mother followed him closely.
In the deepest part of the cave was a stone, about the size of a large chicken, sitting among other jewels. It was emerald green, matching the color of Grasslan’s scales. Gail grabbed the stone and immediately felt the emotions of the dragon fill his soul.
Standing on the shore, Gail’s mother gave him one final hug.
“You will find your way home again?” she asked.
“I will,” Gail promised. With a final push, his boat moved away from the shore and slowly faded as Gail headed to the land of the dragons.
Soldier: By Julie Kagawa
Author
See Talon Review
Story Set-Up
Here we begin with Garrett’s investigation of the hierarchy of St George. After the events of Rogue, Garrett begins to question St George’s involvement with Talon. All his life he’s been told dragons are horrible creatures. Now he knows that’s not true. What else is St. George lying about?
Rating
Language: This is similar to Rogue. You get the occasional F-word, but it is used as a cuss. Other language is throughout the entirety of the book.
Violence: You get men shooting guns at dragons, dragons attacking and killing humans. Men fighting against men in sword combat.
Sexual: In this one, you get suggestive material, but it could also be interpreted as nonsexual because the feelings that are being had are not understood by the characters themselves.
Plot
I’m going to be honest. At this point, I was a fan of Garrett’s so when I found out the title of this book was Soldier I got excited. I really enjoyed seeing Garrett out on his own searching for answers about St George. I also enjoyed the interaction with Jade, the new eastern dragon. I think that was a cool inclusion.
I was really upset about Ember and Riley’s relationship. Honestly, I felt like Riley backtracked because Garrett was gone. Sure he has a few moments where he really shows Ember what he’s feeling, but it only seemed to come after Ember forced it out of him.
Just like in Rogue we get a back story, but from Garrett’s past. I feel like this flashback was much more productive than Rogue. Here we get a story we didn’t really know, with a satisfying connection to the current story we’re hearing about.
The conclusion is epic. Not only do you get a surprising reveal, but the tragic end that I felt Garrett deserved.
Character Development
Garrett: Honestly Garrett’s character is going through the same changes since Talon. Here we get him actively fighting against St. George and trying to help his fellow soldiers see the light. I think so far Garrett has the most growth throughout the series.
Ember: Ember makes her choice here. She chooses to love Garrett despite her bond to Riley which is a big step. It was nice to finally get an understanding of what those feelings were, but even better to see her chose Garrett despite that natural bond.
Riley: He actually grows in this story. Instead of being stuck in his usual rebel without a cause attitude, we see more of that caring side in him. He’s able to break some of his previously held prejudices and actually see Garrett’s sacrifice for what it really is.
Dante: I love how Dante’s story progresses. You see into his mind all the terror he’s witnessing and why he keeps pushing forward. You see the evil taskmaster with no emotion, then see the emotion come out where it can’t be seen. You get to see Dante become evil and it’s a cool perspective to be a part of.
Summary
I think every series has a book that you read and say, “That’s the one that made things interesting,” and that’s what Soldier was for me. Talon ended on a cliffhanger, Rogue kept the story going, but Soldier made the story interesting.
Episode One
I stared at the ceiling watching the shadows shift as cars passed by the road in the front of my house. I’d left the window open just a crack, just enough to allow a cool breeze to flow through the room. My alarm clock flashed as another minute passed by. I shifted to my side closing my eyes in an attempt to fall asleep. Usually, the fresh air from my window was all I needed to find my way into a blissful rest, but tonight it wasn’t working.
I looked back at the ceiling. The shadow of my window sat just above my head outlined by the orange streetlight below. Cars were no longer passing by making the room eerily quiet. I listened for the sound of the wind outside, but it wasn’t there. Not even the sound of tree leaves taking on the soft breeze could be heard. It was as if someone had turned the mute on for the outside world. I closed my eyes once more hoping this would be the moment.
I felt my brain begin to melt. I thought of everything I would have to do in the morning. Make my bed, take a shower, finish up some English homework. I felt my body drift into a dream as it seemed to float off the bed.
The whole room lit up in a burst of light.
I leaped off the bed like someone had thrown freezing water on me. I looked around quickly trying to gain my bearings. The room seemed just as still as before. Then another flash. This time it was green. The entire room was being lit up as though someone was shooting fireworks. I hurried to my window and looked into the sky. There was nothing. The lights flashed again and my eyes dropped.
There was a small park across the street from my house. Tree’s ran all the way around it. Behind the trees, I could make out bursts of light shooting across the small field. They shot back and forth as if some other teens were shooting fireworks at each other. I looked around expecting my neighbors to be out yelling. Mr. Cammon could hear a mouse squeak in his deepest sleep. I was surprised to see no one.
Then it hit me. I was only noticing this because of the light. I had yet to hear the faintest sound. I hurried over to my drawer and pulled on an old pair of sweats followed quickly by a pink hoodie with the word, “Run” on it in solid black letters. I slipped through my bedroom door and hurried down the stairs. A few stairs creaked, sounding like airhorns in the silence. Thankfully no one else in the house noticed the noise. I pulled on my running shoes and checked my pocket for the house key. I opened the front door, cringing as it squealed. Cool air rushed past me as I hurried outside and pulled the door shut. I let out a sigh of relief.
It was a brisk night. Stars flickered in the black sky. Winter was only a few weeks away, the cool giving me a stark reminder of that. I pulled my hood over my head and hurried towards the lights.
Like before they shot back and forth, but now it looked the finally. Colors blasted all around, and in quick succession. The closer I got to the park the more I could feel the explosion of light. There was still silence though. It was a strange experience feeling the earth react to the lights but not hearing anything. My heart pounded against my chest.
Part of me wanted to head back home. Honestly, I was in no position to be spying on whatever was happening right now. This was a job for the police. Despite my mind’s hesitation, my feet didn’t stop. Each step brought excitement and anxiety. It felt like my body was being pulled into something beyond my control and I couldn’t stop it.
Moments later I was sitting behind a large stone monument. It was built by an eagle scout a few years earlier. Some sort of beautification project for the park. Right now it was my cover.
I pressed my back against the stone feeling it’s icy cold through my hoodie. Even the monument shook as the lights continued to splatter behind me. I was surprised more people hadn’t woken up and come out to see what was happening. The whole town was being showered with bursts of light. I couldn’t believe the police hadn’t been called. I didn’t know what was illegal, but I’m sure setting fireworks off at each other in the park would be.
I took a deep breath as I prepared to look past the monument. It took a minute to get over the curling in my stomach, but I finally pulled my head around.
I was surprised to see, not young adults, but two men standing on opposite ends of the field. In turn, they threw fireworks at each other. These were no ordinary fireworks either. One man would send a spirling flame, then it would be a deep green laser from the other, followed quickly by a burst of purple almost like a shield blocking the laser.
It was at that moment I realized they weren’t shooting fireworks at all. Each man held a small stick and the lights were emitting from these sticks.
Wizards?
That was my first thought, but these men did not look like wizards at all. The man closest to me wore a black leather jacket that ran down past his knees. His hair was long, probably a little past his shoulders, and clung to his face every time he cast light towards the other man. Beneath the jacket was a white t-shirt with deep perspiration lines. His pants were black jeans. The lights coming from his weapon were usually more like a laser beam from Star Wars.
The other man was even more out of place, especially to be considered a wizard. He wore a well-kept suit. It was fitted with the buttons undone to allow for some flexibility. His tie swung rapidly as he dodged some projectiles, and used the purple shield to deflect others. His hair was cut short, liked he’d just gone to the barber that morning. For all extensive purposes, he looked like he’d come home from work and was met by this mysterious wizard who attacked him.
The longer I watched the more I realized this was no light show. Both had faces of steel with sweat dripping from their chins. Both were precise in avoiding the other attacks. The battle went on for a while. I wasn’t sure how thrilling it would be, considering they were just throwing lights at each other, but the longer I watched the more brilliant it became. I wasn’t sure how the trees hadn’t caught on fire.
A few feet ahead of me was a tree. From there I would get a better view of both the fighters and maybe I could learn more of how this was all happening. I waited patiently until both fighters seemed to turn away then I hurried to the tree. Inches from the tree I felt a pulse shoot through me. Everything changed.
The silence broke as I heard one of the men scream. A loud bang nearly burst my eardrum as a light blue orb shot like a bullet from the man with the leather jacket. A nearly equally loud noise followed as the orb crashed into the purple shield of the suited man. I dropped to the ground covering my ears. The cool air was suddenly gone and I was surrounded by heat.
I looked up and saw the trees had caught on fire. Lookout out on the field I saw the grounds were mutilated. Dirt streaks ran deep in the space between the two men. A few trees were completely destroyed as though they’d taken the brunt of one of those bursts of light. Not only could I feel the earth shake with every attack, but I could also feel an energy in the air. I closed my eyes willing myself to wake up from the nightmare.
It was worse not seeing. With every shake of the earth and boom from closed ears, I wondered how close each attack was to hitting my hiding spot. I unplugged my ears and opened my eyes. The battle was more intense now. The men were slowly getting closer. The suited man was now casting light after light towards his enemy. The man in the leather jacket was smacking the light aside. Each burst would crash into the ground leaving a deep crater. Some flew through the air disappearing into the sky, and some crashed into the trees, destroying them or setting them ablaze.
In a few minutes, they stood close enough to touch. At that instant, they both attacked at the same time. The two lights collided inches from the tips of their weapons. The light in the center began to grow, fueled by the two men. The pressure was so great I could see each of them sliding backward, I could feel the energy blow like a storm towards me. I couldn’t look away from them.
Both men grabbed their weapons with their other hands. It looked like they were playing a game of tight rope, with a massive miniature sun. They each continued to slide away, the ball still growing. The man in the suit began to falter. I could see his arms shaking from the pressure, his knees beginning to buckle under the weight of the energy. The other man smiled.
The man in the leather jacket relaxed removing one hand from his weapon and then pushing back. The ball grew stronger now moving towards the man in the suit. I could tell the battle was coming to an end. I could still feel the strength of the energy push past me when the man in the suit looked up. He wasn’t looking at his enemy, he was looking at me.
I wanted to look away, but I couldn’t. His eyes reflected the bright orb that stood between him and his enemy. They weren’t showing fear, they seemed calm. Accepting even. He gave me the slightest hint of a nod then looked back towards his opponent with new vigor.
For a second I thought my presence was enough to keep him fighting, but something new happened. The man stood and moved his weapon away. His hand came up quickly and took its place. Immediately the sleeves of his suit were set ablaze. The other man seemed confused. The hand with the weapon began moving through the air in random motions. The other man began to yell. I couldn’t make out the words, but I could tell whatever was happening wasn’t good for him.
After finishing the motions he closed his eyes and I saw a pink light sit at the tip of the weapon. He moved it like preparing a sword to strike.
The next moment happened in slow motion. The man dropped his charred arm and swung his other hand up. The pink light swung past the bright orb and smacked the other man in the chest. The man in the leather jacket screamed as the light surrounded him then shrunk around him as it sucked him into a portal. At that same instance, the orb shot into the man in the suit.
The explosion shook the ground, the burst of light so bright I had to throw up my hands to block out the light. I felt a surge of energy push past me so hard it flew backward crashing hard against the monument.
I opened my eyes in a daze. I was sure I hadn’t passed out, but all the noises that had once filled my ears were silent. I looked around. The trees were all there, not set ablaze. The grass looked just as pristine as it had the day before. The only light was the faint orange glow from the street. I stood up looking over my body. Everything was intact.
I walked into the field. There was no sign of anyone. Whatever had happened with that blast had reversed all the damage from the fight. I pinched my arm. Now I was certain this was all a dream. I was still standing here though. I was in the park, in the middle of the night, just standing here. Maybe it was worse that I’d slept walked all the way out here and imaged a magical battle.
That had to be it. I just slept walked. Even as I thought it I couldn’t believe it was true. I started back towards my house and stepped on something hard. I lifted my foot and saw the stick the man in the suit had been holding. That’s all it looked like, a stick that had been pulled off a tree. It was only about twelve inches long, with rough edges. I reached down and grabbed what had to be a wand.