PROLOGUE
The boy twisted and turned; sweat pouring off his weakly struggling form. His legs were tangled in twisted sheets and he tried, in vain, to cry out-to somehow escape from a nightmare that had him thoroughly ensnared:
Across the road, through a window in a derelict house, he saw: there was an old woman with glowing white hair having what was obviously a heated exchange with a man…clothed exactly like and with the mannerisms of; a butler. If that was odd then what happened next was frighteningly unusual. The “butler” grabbed an obsidian spear from apparent nothingness and in one smooth motion hurled it…
Moonlight streamed through the window illuminating the room; casting a silver glow over the bed in which the boy slept- not as restfully as he might wish. A light breeze stirred the pale, see-through curtains, alleviating a little of the oppressive heat and bringing some relief to the sweating boy. Beneath closed lids his eyes rolled frantically as he desperately tried to escape …not wanting to see the grisly end. His eyelids fluttered fitfully and for a moment it seemed as if he would wake—then his head snapped backwards and he was ripped back into the dream:
There was a soundless explosion of light- blinding him -he couldn’t see anything! He cried out, but what emerged was not the frightened cry of a boy; instead the harsh cry of a golden eagle invaded the silent night. What was this? He ruffled his feathers in an agitation that faded as his visibility returned. He could dimly see two figures struggling but who was winning? Spreading his wings to an impressive 10 ft, he dived straight down from the branch on which he was perched- giving the hapless boy vertigo-then rose steeply, on silent wings. As he closed the distance his keen eyesight returned—just in time to see the man plunge the spear into the now cowering old woman. He screamed in pain as he felt something rip through his chest…losing control, he spiralled down to slam into the ground in a flurry of feathers…
The boy's back arched; mouth open in a silent scream of agony. The chords and veins in his neck clearly visible as he strained to loose a cry of pain…tears formed and leaked at the edge of closed eyes as he failed. The pain eventually faded and his exhausted body slumped into blissful oblivion.
Away to the east, in an ordinary street within an ordinary town, an unusual and unnoticed event occurred. There lay, in a dilapidated house darkened by the death of an innocent, the body of an old woman cruelly murdered. Her once bright hair was now dull, tarnished by dirt-by blood and her once whole chest now bore a terrible wound. Her body, cold with death, began to jerk and twitch uncontrollably and slowly—slowly a form began to emerge. First a ghostly beak, followed by a large body and truly massive wings; a Spirit Eagle clawed its way free and took to the air. The physical world having no barrier it could not cross; it shot through the roof and into the night sky. Circling once over the house and loosing a heart-wrenching mourning cry; it paid homage to the old woman, before speeding away.
Through a window illuminated by moonlight, the bird flew, with unerring accuracy to the sleeping heir of a forgotten legacy. Without hesitation the Spirit Eagle dove, straight through the boy’s chest, there to reside at his spiritual core. For a moment there was no sign that anything had even happened—then slowly an exquisitely detailed picture of an eagle began to burn into his skin. Thankfully the boy was thoroughly unconscious as this was extremely painful. As the welts began to fade, there remained an artful tattoo depicting an eagle; wings outstretched, talons poised.
That day a boy died. A Shaman was born.
Chapter 1.
Logan awoke; tawny gold eyes appraised the ceiling groggily. Blinking slowly, he rolled over intending to go back to sleep, only to be rudely interrupted by his mother; knocking on his door. “Logan? Logon get up, its 8 o’clock!” she yelled.
All she got in reply was a garbled stream of invective, muffled by pillows.
“What?” hearing nothing in reply, she sighed and setting down the washing basket picked up a large slim stick that leaned on the wall next to the door.
“Logan? Logan, don’t make me come in there,” she said warningly. Hearing a drawn out groan in response she smiled humourlessly, opened the door and strode in—and stopped mid-stride gagging on the stench.
“Sweet- Mother- of- God!! She choked out.
Waving one hand in front of her face as if trying to dispel the odour, she moved forward determinedly. Walking through the gloomy room with its hidden obstacles was akin to moving through a jungle at night; scary and potentially hazardous to your health. Reaching the window was a breath-taking challenge…literally. Standing to the side she reached out and pulled the shutters open allowing sunlight to pour into the room; burning the shadows away, dispersing most of the smell and illuminating the most disgusting sty she’d ever seen.
In the centre of the room was the bed, on either side of which there was a small bedside table—littered with rubbish offcourse— and directly opposite the bed was a mirrored walk-in wardrobe. The space between the two…couldn’t be seen. Piles of dirty clothing, food wrappers, sports equipment and other such junk lay in ever which way.
She shook her head, disgusted. This boy had some serious explaining to do. She approached the bed slowly, watching her son burrow even further into his blanket. Extending the stick quietly she let the tip rest on her son’s squirming body…then poked him, first softly then harder.
“Muuuuum!” he groaned, finally responding to her not-so gentle ministrations.
“Get up! I don’t have time for this Logan", she said tiredly "I have to go to work, you know”
Rolling over, prepped for an argument he said: “Muu—”- then stopped, taken aback at her appearance. She was wearing a smart black business suit, outlining her nice figure and with her red hair done up; make-up masterfully applied to her nicely shaped face—she looked fantastic.
“I like what you’ve done with your hair” he said argument forgotten “and where’d you get that suit from?”
“Thank you and none of your business” she said but with a slight smile that took the sting out of it.
“Now get up! You start at your new school today and you can’t be late”
“What’s the point?” he said sullenly “its just gunna be like all the others; something strange will happen, someone will point out my unusual eyes and then we’ll run. Face it mum, I’ll be running from the stigma ‘FREAK’ for my whole life" he said harshly.
Hearing this bitter outburst softened her visibly. “Correction.” She said quietly. “We’ll be running from it. Together, now don’t you ever forget that. And besides that’s not going to happen this time." She said smugly.
“Oh yeah?” he said suspiciously “and why is that?”
“Because, my overly depressed little bumpkin, I did my research this time” she said brightly “ this school, in fact this whole area is one of ill-repute, filled with the misfits and outcasts of the entire nation. So you should fit in perfectly. And while I know this is hard on you it is no excuse for living like a pig. Now get up and clean this mess!” So saying she turned around to leave, adding over her shoulder: “the school is a couple of blocks away and as punishment for this ungodly sight and smell, you can walk there.”
For a moment Logan thought of protesting, but what could he say? He certainly couldn’t tell her the truth, which was that he’d deliberately built up the extreme odour in an attempt to drown his overly receptive sense of smell. He definitely couldn’t tell her that he knew he was different and not just victim to an abnormality that had him labelled as a freak. By overloading his acute sense of smell he could pretend that he was normal and that he couldn’t smell each and every individual component of an odour.
Hearing the front door open and slam shut, he sighed heavily and threw the blanket backwards revealing his bare torso and the real reason why he didn’t get up in his mother’s presence; covering his chest was a wonderfully drawn artwork depicting an eagle with wings outstretched and talons poised. An artwork that had appeared on his chest some years earlier as if by magic. It had created a rift between him and his mother, one that had never quite healed.
As he stared; the picture came to life and the regal head turned, at an unnatural angle, to look at him. As it did so a voice whispered in his mind: You cannot deny your heritage…
“The hell I can’t” he said determinedly. Putting on some rumpled jeans and covering the image with a clean black shirt Logon turned and surveyed himself in the mirror. Staring back at him blearily was a tall 16yr old, a good 6ft or more, with an athletically toned body. He had a thatch of light brown hair and a pair of gleaming; frighteningly predatory golden eyes. It was these he focused on with bitter thoughts. His abnormal eyes had caused him to be violently bullied, blamed for all manner of incidents and thrown out of several communities.
Turning away, he picked up his school bag, slung it over one shoulder and strode out of his room.
Very interesting ! Is there a chapter 2 somewhere! If so please do post it !!! =P~
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