Corin Duttoni

The New Katipunan

2009-09-03T10:47:00.000+08:00

“When I was a kid, I wanted to become a superhero just like Superman or Spider-Man. I wanted to be able to save humanity from the dangers and evils around them, us. I wanted them to look up to me and say, ‘When I grow up, I’m going to be just like him!’

But growing up soon made me realize that fiction can never be part of the facts; that superheroes cannot really exist in the real world. But I never gave up on being able to someday save humanity from the dangers and the evils; I never gave up on wanting and hoping that people will someday look up to me and say, ‘You’re my hero.’

In fact I realized when I founded this organization, sometimes the world really needs a Hero to change it to a better place. However, being a Hero doesn’t always mean you’ll be looked up to; sometimes people tend to ignore and oppose the things you do for the good; sometimes people will see you as a Villain.”

-Founder of the new KKK

Bartholomew Everdark, 1

2009-08-18T13:32:00.003+08:00

"In one of my travels, I came face-to-face with death; but I did not fear him, nor did I run away. With my faith in God, I faced him in all my ardor."

- Bartholomew Everdark

A Door To Dreams

2009-08-05T12:22:00.003+08:00

I used to tell myself that Loch Ness does not exist. I used to believe that Nessie was just something people at Loch Ness made up for fame and money. I used to tell myself that Big Foot is just a figment of our imagination or a photographic illusion done in those days. I used to close my mind and make myself believe that they really don’t exist.

That ended when I walked into a red-framed black door one day. It was a typical day and I wondered what the bizarre-looking door was for in the middle of empty spaces in a shopping center. It proved to me that there are things in our world that are beyond real.

I wonder. Where do our childhood fairy tales come from? How do writers write such fantastical stories? Do they stumble upon a door which leads them to another world?

I wanted to write my extraordinary experience before and let the whole world see what my own eyes saw. So, one day, I bought a little black book to write the sentences and phrases, and words and letters that would perfectly fit my experience and sat down in front of a painting inside the museum. Though, I have to say, I’m not much of a writer. I’m dyslexic, see? Letters or words or phrases get mixed up. It’s definitely difficult to read and write especially at lengths. That’s why I stopped schooling.

I paint. It’s the way I could express my feelings and ideas. Both my parents are painters too. Maybe that’s where I got my talent. My dad’s into realism while my mom’s into surrealism. I’m more of a conceptualist, myself.

So, I sat down in front of my favorite painting. It was painted by a Brazilian guy named Celso Junior. His painting depicts his impression of a world called, Imagine Nation. Like this painting, most of his paintings illustrate a variety of actions and colors. It also describes the world of Imagine Nation how he sees it. In his painting, the world of Imagine Nation is built on a floating mass of land. The mixture of colors, as I understand, represents the diversity of the people living in that world. The rainbows and the different objects springing into life through bubbles floating could represent the overflowing of inspirations brought about that place. It truly is a work of art.

Instead of writing down, all I have accomplished then were a bunch of doodles and sketches on the first few pages of the book. There was a sketch of the security guard who looked like a walrus with his receding hairline and its big teeth and tummy. There was a sketch of two lovebirds flirting with each other. There was a little boy rocketing into space with his balloon. He was being chased by his older sister who was blasted like a cannonball.

There were a few words too, some I have already written, like “Once upon a time” or “Long ago when…” that are completely blacked out with ink blots and scratches. I didn’t know where and how to start.

I just sat there with my mind blank, as if time slowed down. And as I looked around the hall, time really did slow down—literally! I could see—through the window—the tiny drops of rain in thin strands of water slowly thrusting down onto the green lawn of the museum. I could see the security guard slipping on the banana peel—left by some kids—in slow motion! Everything was in a time warp, except for me—I still felt normal. Suddenly, the color of the whole picture—everything around me—turned sepia, like that in the old pictures and movies. I looked around, stupefied, and then saw a girl with long hair run towards my direction. She looked normal unlike the others and she had colors just like me. She stopped in front of me, just in front of Celso’s painting. She acted a little strange though that she showed no sign of curiosity against the abnormality of time.

“HEY!” I shouted at her but she doesn’t seem to hear me. I moved towards her but, just then, my body began to move in slow motion too.

Looking first in opposite directions, checking if somebody was on the lookout, she then placed her two palms against Celso’s painting. She pressed hard on the painting and started smudging the picture in circling motions.

“Hey! HEY!” I shouted once more. Louder this time. I think I may have broken the barrier between us. She looked at me, stunned. Immediately, I lunged at her and grabbed her by her shoulders. “What do you think you’re doing?!” I asked as I shook her. She looked at me; her eyes now wide open in bewilderment. “That’s a million dollar worth of painting! What do you think you’re doing?!” I asked her again. Her mouth opened but no words came out. I shook her again and accidentally pushed her against the painting and suddenly I felt like falling…

My insides were churning as I felt gravity pulling me down. I kept my eyes closed as I felt the cool breeze slap me on my face. I felt my clothes flutter as we—wait, the girl—

I opened my eyes to see if the girl was still with me or if she was somewhat ahead of me, falling down too. As information entered by brain, I realized I was alone—falling into oblivion. It was a sickening, dreamy feeling, seeing nothing but darkness and emptiness. How could I have pushed her into this void? How could I have let her stray away from my grip?

I waited for my destruction. I waited for my doom. It’s only a matter of time until my face comes into contact with the ground. Luckily, I was saved. I landed in a body of water—which kind of looked like one pool of black liquid. I paddled my arms and struggled to keep my head above the water, trying not to swallow any. Though I tried hard not to swallow anything, I couldn’t avoid tasting it. It tasted like seawater; only, my brain doesn’t accept the fact that it’s black. I only realized later that somehow, I was swimming in the ocean. I paddled towards the shore where the grains of sand were not white nor pale of color but of gray—as if they were stained by the dark waters. I swam for shore and realized I wasn’t alone. A girl—the same girl from the museum—drifted to shore. She was trying hard to stand up while coughing out the black water she had swallowed.

With my worn-out muscles, I tried to crawl towards her, slipping on every black wave the sea pushes at me. “Hey…” I choked out.

The girl looked at me—surprised I made it this far. “What are you doing here?” she asked, sounding bothered.

“I asked you first,” I told her.

The beach’s sand was gray. The water was black. I looked around and the trees beyond the shore were all black too. It was impossible not to get lost in these woods. The sky was of the same shade as the sand but it was covered with darker clouds like storm clouds. What is this place?

The girl gave out a deep sigh of defeat as she fixed her hair. She shoved the wet strands of hair on her face and tied them altogether with the rest up in a ponytail. It revealed her pair of pointed ears. She took off her jacket, which was soaked up with the dark water, and laid it on the sand to dry. Her arms were marked with what seemed like tattoos. They started from the tip of her fingers, trailing up her shoulders and, I guessed, all over her body. She wore a turtle-necked garment, which had belt straps on the torso. The straps were fastened tightly around her body to perfectly fit her figure. She had a belt-bag tied around her waist. It carried a dagger.

“I’m a Deliverer,” she said, finally. “I’ve been asked by the El—“ Just then when I was about to hear her story, a loud grotesque shriek interrupted us. The sound echoed from the horizon beyond the sea. It was followed by similar more shrieks and growls coming from different directions. Now, what?

“Come on!” she beckoned. She was way ahead of me when I turned to her. She left her jacket on the sandy beach and ran towards the black woods. I ran toward her direction. As soon as the distance between us had been a yard, she snuck into the gap between the trees.

The woods, as I imagined, would get you lost easily. The trees were as dark as black, shooting out from the ground like thick prison bars. The branches were just as dark as the trees but it seemed like my eyes were getting used to darkness then. There were rocks hidden in the shadows that I have skipped. There were cracks on the earth that I have evaded with the help of my eyes.

“What was that?!” I asked her as we ran deeper into the black forest. From time to time, she would call out to me, just to make sure I be on the right track.

“Dream Catchers!” she exclaimed as she tried to breathe regularly. We could hear their shrieks above the trees behind us. I could imagine their dragon-like necks strike at the gaps of the trees. I could hear the shuffling of the leaves and the cracking of timber as their teeth snapped at them. “Over here!” she pulled me close toward an opening in the earth.

We curled up together in the black crack trying to catch our breath. The Dream Catchers stopped destroying the forest. It seemed as if they were reading us through our smell and movements. “Stay still,” she whispered. “Dream Catchers…,” she breathed, “…they are tasked to capture all dreams, like me. Everybody else,” she spoke in pauses, still trying to restore the regularity of her breathing, “…almost everybody else have been captured.”

The sounds of the Dream Catchers faded away. It seemed as if they had given up—as of now. We stayed in the earthen gap a several minutes more before she told me it was okay to move. I stood up dusting off the black dust from my pants. I noticed her limp as she stood up and saw the blood stained on her jeans.

“You’re wounded,” I told her but she ignored me and kept walking onwards. “Hey! Hey, didn’t you hear me?”

“I can’t stop right now. I have to return to — Urgh!” I caught her just in time before she collapsed. I helped her towards a leveled land and sat her there.

“Don’t worry, I can help you.” I told her. Indeed I could. I was actually part of the medic squad when I still schooled.

I searched her belt for the dagger and took it. I took it out from its sheath and noted its remarkable edge. There were markings on it, just like the markings found in her arms.

“Why are you doing this?” she asked but I ignored her.

With the dagger, I tore the left leg of her jeans just below the knee. She had been pierced with shrapnel probably during the escape. It had been punctured into her shin; blood smearing all over. Even though I have been a medic, I haven’t been in this kind of situation yet. I have seen situations like these only through war movies. And usually, they have alcoholic drinks to ease the pain. Crimson blood was oozing out from her leg but as soon as they touched the ground and dried, they turned black. It was an unpleasant sight.

I can hear her breathing hardly and I could feel her shivering. I handed her her jacket hoping this could warm her. Strangely, the jacket was already dry. She placed the jacket on her to keep herself warm. I gave her a thick black twig to bite on at the instance I pull out the shrapnel. I laid my handkerchief on my lap. “Hold onto something!” I told her tensely.

Carefully, using the dagger, I spooned the shrapnel out of her shin. She was biting hard on the twig and I could hear her cry inside. I didn’t look at her eyes because I knew they were welling up with tears. When I asked her to hold on to something, she gripped my left arm. She was squeezing it so tightly that I knew this was really hurting her. As soon as two-thirds of the shrapnel was exposed, I dropped the dagger and pulled the shrapnel as quickly as possible. I tied my handkerchief on her leg to stop the continuous flow of blood. I tore down the sleeves of my polo shirt and used it as well to stop the blood. I tied my sleeves in a double knot, making sure it won’t come off that easily. Her grip was loosening and little by little she was falling to sleep.

I leaned back on another tree and watched her. I waited.

It seems as if hours had passed until she became conscious once more. She pulled herself up against the black trunk of a tree. Her wound was still fresh but she was feeling more stable now, I guessed. She looked at me. “Thank you,” she said.

During that time, I didn’t hear her thanks. But when I reflect on it, she did say ‘thank you’. I was still lost in my mind, swimming in questions. “Where exactly am I?” I asked.

She stood up and stretched her legs, forcing them to cooperate, and sat down again in disappointment. “You’re in Imagine Nation,” she said with despair in her voice. I remembered the painting in the museum—the painting called Imagine Nation. It was full of vibrant colors and lively actions. It was very different from this place.

“THIS is Imagine Nation? What happened to all the colors?” I wasn’t sure what to expect from this place, but I knew that Celso’s painting told the truth.

“It used to be,” she said. Tears were welling up in her eyes once more. It must have been hard for her. She stopped herself from crying and straightened up. By leaning on the trees, she forced to walk deeper into the forest. She told me there’s not much time and she needed to go on and fulfill her mission.

“Wait,” I decided, “I’ll come with you.” Besides, she couldn’t walk properly and I don’t know the way back. The doors—or door—seem to randomly be anything and anywhere, and I decided I’d rather be with someone than wait for a door that I don’t know when will appear next.

“I’m Circe,” she said as she tore off the right leg of her jeans the same length as the other in preparation for our journey. She slipped on her jacket and wondered ‘how did this dry so fast?’ as well. “As in Circinus, the constellation. It means compass. That’s why the Elders sent me to find them.”

Elders? Them?

“Can you help me up?” Circe asked. “We shouldn’t stay here. It’s not safe. They could be back.” I didn’t argue with her. I’ve had the same feeling they would be—with reinforcements.

I supported her weight as she looped her arm around my neck. “I could give you a piggyback ride,” I suggested. It would be hard but it would be the quickest way to get to our destination, wherever it was. She hesitated at first but she soon gave in and agreed. She wasn’t heavy as I thought she would be. She looked the same age as mine and was just a little shorter than I was. She wrapped her arms around my neck and her legs around my torso. We traveled to the black forest once more—in a pace quicker than when walking.

“Corin,” I said briefly.

“Nice to meet you, Corin,” she whispered in my ear. Her voice was sweet and soothing. I blushed and thank goodness she didn’t notice. She would whisper in my ear every now and then, telling me to turn right here or go straight there. It was impossible to know the exact way especially if the trees all looked the same—all black. But she didn’t doubt the directions she gave me as if there’s a map of this whole place at the back of her head.

We took breaks every now and then and we would move on again as soon as we both had enough rest. “I was wondering,” she started one night—when the sky was even darker and starless—“how is it that you saw be then—back at the museum?” I didn’t know either. I turned, my back from her, and pretended to fall asleep. It made me wonder too.

The next day, I woke up and realized Circe wasn’t there. I was in the middle of darkness alone. I cupped my hands against my mouth and called out. “Circe… Circe… Circe” The darkness echoed. The trees surrounding me began to sway and shuffle their dark grayish leaves. As the leaves and the barks of the trees fell off like pieces of puzzles, something like a cocoon was found inside each of the trees’ barks. Soon, standing where the trees had once been were things somewhat wrapped in silken thread. One by one, the cocoon-like pods trembled. Butterflies of different colors emerged from each of the cocoons. The ground shook, scaring away the butterflies. The butterflies flew in different directions until I was left alone again in darkness. Then the ground shook once more…

Then I woke up, this time for real. I bolted upright, waking Circe up unintentionally by the sudden movement I made. “Corin, what’s wrong?” she asked.

“I—I don’t know,” I explained, “I had this weird dream…” And I told her what happened in my dream.

“Impossible,” she said looking down.

“What is?”

“Nobody dreams anymore,” she started. “Do you remember when you had your last dream before this? Do you remember what it was about?” Upon asking this, I realized I’ve had no previous dreams for a long time now. I shook my head. “As you know, the Dream Catchers were commanded to capture all dreams. Some were even devoured by the Dream Eaters. Nobody makes dreams anymore.”

“Who—Why?” I asked Circe but she said nothing in reply. She had no idea who was behind all this, I guessed. If what I saw during my sleep was not a dream, what was it?

“We have to go, Corin,” she pulled me as she walked limping. There was something bothering her. I can see it in her eyes and I can sense her uneasiness. Beneath my feet, I could feel that the ground was shaking just like in my dreams. I wasn’t so sure though, maybe it was just my imagination.

“We’re almost there, Corin,” pulling me harder and faster. She told me she could not be a burden anymore and wanted to walk by herself and exercise her legs.

“Imagine Nation used to be a colorful place,” Circe reminisced. “But when the Elders—leaders of Imagine Nation—have been overthrown by a more powerful force, the colors slowly faded away. The colors simply died and were worn out. Light became scarce.”

“We, the Story Whisperers and Astrals (or Deliverers) alike, formed a resistance to restore what was taken away from us. But we all knew we were far too weak against him, our enemy, alone. Our enemy decided we posed a great threat to him, so he created his own army and called it The Enders”

I shuddered at the name. “They were tasked to destroy the dreams—us,” she said.

“The Enders… Are they…?”

“No,” she answered as if she read my mind. “They’re not the Dream Catchers, nor the Dream Eaters. They are only mere pets of The Enders.”

“While our enemy made his army, the Elders used their powers to create The Wall. It’s a massive row of tombstones stacked against each other to create a giant wall. This prevented the darkness from the Watch—the former home of the Elders—from seeping through the resistance’s territory because the darkness was out enemy. Everything the darkness touches fades and dies. The Wall is the only sanctuary left in Imagine Nation. That’s where we’re heading… or else, we’re going to fade away… just like the others.”

“The Story Whisperers—people who make dreams—were in charge of the frontline defenses,” she paused as if she was waiting for me to ask.

“But The Wall… You said The Wall would protect you?”

“For each passing day, fractions of The Wall crumble. The Elders are weakening; they cannot protect us any longer. That’s why they tasked us to go to your world and find them—The Messengers.”

I felt a my spine tingle as she said the word. Messengers.

“The Messengers are people from your world chosen by the Elders to share stories of the Story Whisperers to other people from your world. Together with the Story Whisperers, their powers may be doubled—making them more powerful against our enemy. Maybe—just maybe—the power of dreams and imagination could be resurrected.”

She explained later afterwards that the Messengers have the ability to return to Imagine Nation whenever they wanted not like the Dreamers. The Dreamers, according to her, are the people deep in slumber. They travel to Imagine Nation with the help of the Astrals—Circe’s race. She made it clear that even if a Dreamer can travel to Imagine Nation, he may not remember what happened as soon as he wakes up. His mind would however, create a reenactment of the experience and call it a dream. Dreamers would often have the strong feeling that the dream happened in reality. These Dreamers, as she said, have the potential to become Messengers one day. On the other hand, the Messengers (also known as the Story Tellers) would never forget a thing once he gets back in his physical body.

“The Astrals’ job,” she told me, “is to deliver a Messenger or a Dreamer to Imagine Nation and back.” She explained that there might be times when a Messenger or a Dreamer never gets back to reality. I didn’t further ask about that but she told me otherwise. She said that if a Messenger or a Dreamer strays off from an Astrals grip, his Astral body—the traveling soul—might not be able to return to his physical body. The Soul Copy, which is an immediate copy of the one’s soul wherein it could remember the most recent events or occurrences the True Soul experienced, will die as soon as the journey is disrupted. She made sure I could clearly understand everything she said that I didn’t have to ask any other questions.

Imagine Nation. The name ringed in my head as if it was telling me something. “Can anything happen here?” I asked Circe. I was wondering if, “Is it possible to make things happen here?”

Circe stopped for a minute to think. She looked down and sought something in her mind as if she was rummaging an old treasure chest hidden deep inside her memories. “It was possible before,” she said. “Nowadays, only the Elders and the enemy are strong enough to do that. Possibly the Messengers too.”

Circe wasn’t sure what help the Messengers could give but at least she believed in something. Then the ground shook once more. I looked at Circe and she looked tenser. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to know what’s happening. Aside from the quake, we started hearing noises—voices and shrieks. I’d recognize those shrieks from anywhere—they were Dream Catchers. Circe rested her right hand on the dagger sheath on her belt, trying to feel secure. “Don’t worry, I’m here,” I said, reassuring her even though I don’t feel fine myself.

At last, we reached the end of the black woods and what laid in front of us was a lighter shade of black but a darker shade of gray growing out from the ground and high up into the sky. The Wall.

We looked up towards the black sky. Before the wall, soared the Dream Catchers, while on the tip of the tombstone edges stood an army of fully armed and fully coloured individuals—like us. The frontline defenses of The Wall—the Story Whisperers—were battling the Dream Catchers who were diving in from different directions of the black sky.

“Hop on!” I told Circe. She understood immediately and climbed onto my back. She looped her arms around my neck as she tightened her feet’s grip around my body. I charged towards the wall, carrying Circe on my back, pushing myself to the limits.

The Wall seemed so close before but as I ran towards it, I realized it wasn’t getting anymore closer. Right then, Circe heard low growls behind us. Her grip tightened even more. I could feel her heartbeat across my back pound faster. “Dream Eaters!” she yelled.

She told me before that Dream Eaters were hounds of doom and that they would leave nothing behind once they could take a bite from you. I need not be told twice. I ran forward with all my strength. The Wall was getting closer but so were the Dream Eaters. I thought it was our end until the ground shook once more…

THUMP…

There were yelps behind us just as soon as the ground shook. I turned around to look at the Dream Eaters and found out they were thrown away. Behind us was a huge figure, colored as I was. “Go on!” he shouted, “I’ll cover you!” I nodded back at him in thanks and inched on forward, once more, to The Wall. I assisted Circe to the vertical tombstone wall. I let her climb ahead of me so I can support her if she needed me. “Use your dagger!” or “Keep your footing in place!” I would shout at her.

It was a battlefield out there. The Enders’ minions versus The Elders’ resistance. There were attacks in the air and on land. Each side was matched with the other. There was constant earth quaking from below. I knew it was the huge guy who saved us earlier. And there were constant swooping—the Dream Catchers diving in like pelicans ensnaring their prey in their cage-like claws. The victory was on our side when suddenly the tides turned.

From high up halfway across The Wall, Circe and I could see the Story Whisperers defend the sanctuary with their lives in the corner of our eyes.

The huge guy, the one who previously rescued us, had been surrounded by the Dream Eaters. Defenseless, he was attacked by the Dream Eaters simultaneously. “NO!” I cried and Circe could not look. I wanted to go down but I knew there was nothing else I could do. Circe still held on to the sharp protruding edges even though I knew she could not take in everything that had happened.

“Ruof!!! No!!!” another Story Whisperer cried out and free-fell towards the huge guy. Another one swooped down to the kid-whisperer and carried him away. “Ruof sacrificed his life for us, don’t waste his deeds!” he said strongly. Though I can see that his hands were balling into fists and his cheeks were wetted with tears.

Far away, another Story Whisperer—a girl in gothic clothes--was caught by a Dream Catcher. She was then rescued by another whose head was aflame. “Tellus!” he called and an angel-like figure came swooping down to catch the girl. The flaming hero fought the Dream Catcher as, together, they went crashing through the black forest. “Sifr!!!” the girl in Tellus’ arms cried out, reaching for her friend’s silhouette.

At last, Circe and I reached the top of The Wall but we didn’t feel successful at all. Circe was drowning in her own tears so I put her in my arms and comforted her. I wanted to tell her everything would be all right but I couldn’t because I knew it wouldn’t be.

Story Whisperers who guarded the wall approached and greeted us. They called two others to assist and accompany us down to the Sanctuary. I surveyed the Sanctuary as we climbed down a giant staircase engraved on The Wall.

The other side was filled with colors. Although they weren’t lively colors, you would know this was a safe haven. We could still hear the noise from the other side but soon cheers from the crowd below the other side of The Wall overwhelmed it. It seems as if they were happy to see Circe again. Hopeful that soon they will all be saved. There were people like her—with markings on the body—in the crowd. Astrals too, I guessed.

After a while, the crowd divided and revealed two old figures of leadership—The Elders. They walked towards Circe and appraised her success. She had fulfilled her mission but she wasn’t happy. The Elder in white touched her forehead and then she felt more relaxed. He walked over to where I stood and studied me carefully.

“And who might this be?” he asked turning to Circe. He had an arched back and he wore a smooth garment in the whitest of whites.

“He… He’s my friend, he saved my life,” she replied as she bowed her head down in respect.

“I’m Corin,” I said, “Corin Duttoni.”

The Elder in black, an old hag, stirred from the shadows. “Corin Duttoni,” she repeated. Like the dark waters, her garment was covered in darkness. But in its darkness lay tiny silver sparkles like the star-studded night.

“Your name has meaning,” the Elder in white said.

“Did you, sir, called for me?” I asked him. His eyes widened in surprise and he frowned. I wanted to ask him that, if I had been called as a Messenger.

“No, young one,” the old hag said. “We did not call you.”

Circe’s eyebrows crossed each other in protest. I knew she was thinking the same thing I was. “He had a dream, Mistress Mara.” Circe was talking to the old hag. That dream—it may be some kind of vision.

Mara looked at the other Elder. “Oneiro, brother, do you think…?” Now I see the resemblance: Oneiro and Mara are siblings—probably twins.

Oneiro shook his head. “No,” he said; his expression did not change. “I’m afraid you must continue your journey,” he told me and pointed his finger away from The Wall, toward the horizon at the edge of Imagine Nation.

I heard Circe complain but she was soon hushed by Mara. The crowd remained silent, always agreeing with The Elders though I knew from their faces they too were disappointed.

“The path to the door back to the museum is far too dangerous,” Mara said. “But, there is another door, at the edge of Imagine Nation.” I looked up at the sky above. Unlike the dark sky at the other side of The Wall, this was filled with glimmering jewels. I decided and it saddens me of my decision.

“I’ll come with you!” Circe exclaimed as she ran towards me, ignoring the piercing pain on her leg. I did not answer because I knew she could not come. I had become fond of her and I didn’t want to just leave. She read the answer through my eyes and started crying once more. “Promise me, you’ll be back!” I looked at the Elders and they gave me an answer with their stares.

“Promise, I’ll be okay,” I said as I walked towards the path to the edge. The crowd divided as I walked without looking back. The noise of war was slowly receding, but I knew it wouldn’t be over yet.

Before I reached the edge, I thought about my question before—if anyone could make anything happen; I thought about my dream—my vision. I knew in myself that it is not just a dream. I knew in myself that I should not stop believing like I used to. I looked up again to see the stars. Some were fading; others were dying. Each of them were slowly dimming when suddenly, as if I had called them back to life, the stars trembled in place in shook off the black dust covering them. Each of the stars glimmered in a new light—in a new life. They twinkled in different hues of colors and started falling towards the Sanctuary. I watched them leave their marks with their blinding light as they trailed towards The Wall.

I looked at the Elders and I knew they weren’t quite surprised with what happened. Oneiro and Mara both nodded at me in appreciation and they turned back to watch the shooting stars. My dream came true. I made it happen. I made the stars into sentinels to guard The Wall.

I thought of Circe one last time before I stepped backwards to surrender myself over the edge. I promise, I’ll be okay.

A Door In The Dark

2009-07-28T02:41:00.004+08:00

I stepped through a door in a conspicuous part of a newly constructed mall. It was a single door in between two under renovation spaces. A mysterious door which couples and children do not seem to notice as they passed by. Its red frame and ruby-colored knob caught my attention. It seemed to be calling me over and over again. “Come, boy,” I heard them say—those voices beyond the door. I walked towards the door and reached for its elegant yet twisted door knob. I heeded its call by stepping through its red frame.

The atmosphere beyond the doorway is far colder than the mall’s air-conditioning system at the other side. I held onto the knob behind me so that the door would not close. But I let it go when a vile stench stung my nose. The door drew back slowly, creaking, as if it was being pulled by someone at the opposite side. Then it slammed close. Alarmed, I turned around to see and realize that there was no door behind me.

The vile, salty stench filled the air as a cold wind blew. Light slowly appeared from the ceiling as I looked up. I saw shadows moving away, unveiling the single light illuminating above. It was only a little later when I realized it was the moon I was looking at—the big, perfect, full moon—and the clouds uncovering it. Around me, stood tall, dark shapes looming out to be trees that looked alive and eyeing my every move.

Gathering my courage, I took a step and another, and so on, exploring the dark woods unknowing what will face me next. “Come, boy,” the voices behind the trees still whispered. I can’t make sure exactly where they were but I knew from the voices that they are everywhere. Suddenly, I heard rustling up ahead. I imagined it was the sound of a squirrel hopping on the scattered leaves on the ground. Hoping I would find a way out of the forest maze, I followed the sound. A little noise is better than nothing, I persuaded myself even though I did not want to go that way. It was like my feet were possessed that I could not control them. It reminded me of some first-person suspense movies, where the protagonist will find out where the body is hidden. The stench grew stronger as I came closer. I felt my stomach churn.

The stirring clouds and the trees’ shades blocked the light of the moon in that part of the woods. I can barely see what was in front of me, only shades of gray and black. My heart was pounding heavier inside my chest as, little by little, I imagine where the smell must have come from. The salty stench in that area can only be one thing, I thought. Blood.

When at last, the clouds above gave way to the moon, its silver light shone through the gaps of leaves revealing what lay in front of me: a dead man lying down with his eyes opened wide as if staring blankly in the sky. He laid flat on the blood-spilled ground while a boy, a little younger than I am, crouched in front of him. The boy was undoubtedly whimpering and in pain.

Even though I did not know what pain he felt that moment, I snuck up closer, hoping maybe I could ease the stranger’s pain away. Hoping not to startle him, I walked more quietly. With every step I took, I tried very hard not to make a sound. I moved in sideways to learn what has really happened, to see them both clearly under the light. It was only soon that I realized that this was not a good idea. Even just the thought of trying to comfort him was bad. How bad? Very. Under the full moon’s light, it was all clear now that the boy was not embracing his father—if he was his father. The boy was crouched down before him because he was feasting on the corpse. The dead body was already rotting away. Flies were flying in every direction. Slurp, slurp, the sound it makes. Shuffle, shuffle, the dry leaves go.

Terrified, I took a sudden step backwards where, unfortunately, a fallen branch lay. Crack! I slipped and fell down on the ash-colored leaves. Startled, he turned around revealing a set of sharp canine fangs, dripping with cold faded-crimson blood. His eyes, which I noticed under the moonlight, were crimson like the blood he was indulging in. Slowly, he walked towards me-with both of his hands opened into palms, waving at me-reassuring me that he meant no harm. Who would believe that? I started scrambling onto my feet as he came closer.

I got up on my feet in no time, picking up the branch I stepped on. I can use its other end as a weapon, as a stake, if he attacks.

"Wait, wait," he pleaded as water dripped down from his eye. Was that a tear or was that just a dewdrop from a leaf of a tree. Thinking about it, I heard him crying before. His voice sounded sincere as he spoke while licking the blood in his lips. I wasn't entirely sure what to believe. This could be a trap, I kept telling myself.

My hands were shaky that I didn't notice the branch--my only weapon—fell from my grip. I started running away from him, hoping I can get away. I didn't look back, afraid of what I may see behind. The trees around seemed to whisper still, "Come, boy" or "You can't get very far". I wished this was only a dream, or a nightmare, and in just another minute I would wake up. But I didn't and I kept running. I was running in circles but I was too afraid to realize.

Wishing that finally I had lost him, I glanced behind me, slowing down my pace. The voices too had gone. I was lost deeper in the woods. As soon as I felt that I was safe, I stopped to breathe. I bent my knees, leaned forward and supported my weight with my arms against my legs as I closed my eyes and breathed hard. My heart seemed to skip a bit as soon as I half-opened my eyes. In front of me, there he was standing, with no trace of dirt or sweat. His clothes were clean and, oddly, he was groomed.

"Please, don't go away," he said. His voice was still calm and pleading. "Please, I don't want to be alone anymore."

“I…I…” I was trembling and I did not know what to say. Clearly, I was afraid and hoping that any minute from now, I’d be waking up with a start.

“Come with me,” he said and looked back and pointed to what looked like a tower up ahead, “I’d like to invite you to my home up there.”

Somehow, I felt something good in him that I agreed to come with him to his mansion. So much for the saying, "Never accept a vampire's invitation."

We walked—well, I walked while he hovered—together through the woods without speaking a word. I could not make out what he was thinking since he was on the lead and I was following him. If only I could see his face. A while longer, we reached the end of the forest maze easily as if he knew every single tree. At the end of the woods was a rocky path trailing downhill and up the steep mountain. A black coach pulled by two black stallions waited for us there. It was being manned by no one so I guessed it was magical or some sort.

As soon as we reached the carriage, he moved closer to the horses—which I noticed had hollow eye sockets—and patted them gently down their necks. He walked over to the door of the carriage and opened it. Inside, the coach’s cushions were of red fabric, probably silk.

“Step in, friend,” he said invitingly. Normally, people would not easily believe vampires but if you heard or felt his voice, it’s easy not to doubt. I reached up for the handle bars hesitantly and pulled myself up to the coach seat. As I sat myself comfortably, I stunned to see him beside in front of me, sitting comfortably as I am as if he was there before I climbed up.

“How did you…? I mean, how…” I trailed off knowing the answer already. Vampires tend to do those stuff anyway. He did not seem amused or enthusiastic when I asked that as if he did not want to do that by any means.

“I’m Alfonse,” he stuck out his hand timidly. I felt he did not want to be rejected.

I took his hand and shook it in return. “Corin,” I said. His hand was as cold as death but his smile was warm enough to melt anyone’s cruel heart. “So,” I tried to start a conversation but the words didn’t come out of my mouth. I wanted to know what happened back in the forest or how he came to be.

“What you saw in the woods,” he started as if he could read my mind, “it’s not what you think.” He paused. He looked outside the carriage’s window, deep in his thoughts, as if he remembered something from the past.

“I did not kill the man,” he explained. “He was dead two days ago. He was killed by his friend, or so he thought he was, because of a fight between a girl—a prostitute, if I may say.”

His words were mature for a 13-year old.

“They were both drunk. He had the knife, while they both agreed they both screw the girl in turns. The girl was drugged, so she did not know what really happened. He was first to do her,” he stopped. I was rather feeling awkward listening to this kind of story, even more, from a 13-year old. I signaled him to go on. “Right. He induced her with drugs once more before he did her. Then they took turns—there in the part where you found me—over and over again. It was his turn soon and he asked his friend to move but his friend stabbed him with his own knife, which he left beside the drugs they used. It’s a cruel world.”

“How do you know all this?” I asked him.

“All the memories of a person courses through his own blood. Once my kin taste a person’s blood, his memories will be carried onto us,” he said. “To survive,” he continued, “I had to satisfy my hunger. I needed blood.”

I felt scared. I wanted to get out of the carriage at once.

“Though,” he said reluctantly, “I am still not ready for my first kill yet. Not at this time. Bartholomew, my father—“ Father? Is he bringing me to his father? I started. Even though it was cold, sweat trickled down my face. He must have noticed my uneasiness then that he looked through my eyes sincerely and said, “Please understand. I am not here to hurt you. My father… He—he’s gone. He taught me how to survive. He taught me to feed only from the blood of poultry, or cows, or corpses. He taught me to only feed from people with hearts as black as the forest. But still, I am not yet ready.”

I was about to ask him about the ‘first kill’ when the coach abruptly stopped. “We’re here,” he said, “Helfort.”

Helfort was the name of the mansion. According to him, Helfort had been there since their kin’s first generation. I learned later on that he was of the 8th generation. If I would do my math—considering the factor of immortality and that each generation could take up to at least hundred years—Helfort would be almost 8 centuries old.

“Let us talk more, about everything you want to know, inside,” Alfonse said as he opened the carriage door for me. He had been educated well, I thought. He treated his visitor with utmost courteousness. I peered out and looked about. Unsurprisingly, Helfort wasn’t a lively place to be in. It had the ‘haunted house’ image we believed in, only darker. A garden—a lifeless one—slept in the yard in front of the mansion. There was a maze of hedges with gargoyles and statues with lonely faces. The pathway was paved with huge, smooth stones as old as Helfort.

“I see you’re acquainting yourself with my home,” he said as he, too, looked around, reminiscing the memories he had. As soon as we both got off the coach, the stallions pulled it, as if by command, towards the stables east of the mansion. Slowly, as I looked at them, the stallions, as well as the coach, became translucent then faded into the stable just like…

“Spirits,” I whispered.

Alfonse nodded. “They are the spirits of those who died in this territory. They are cursed to serve the Master of Helfort in their eternal damnation. I do not will it. It is a blood oath.”

“I thought you were alone?” I asked as we stepped through Helfort’s antique front door. Two women hovered towards us. One of them assisted Alfonse as she took of his crimson-black mantle. The other directed us through the hallway. Both of them wore veils to cover their faces. “I mean, these spirits…”

“I am,” he said fixing his sad eyes on the woman in front of us. “It is different having you here or visitors from time to time.”

We arrived in a room as big as my house’s lot back home. It looked to me that this room was a study, since there were shelves towering each wall and cobweb-covered books carefully arranged in the shelves. The first woman pulled out a chair, dusted it and assisted Alfonse to sit. The other woman came in with a tray of goblets and something else and put it down on the table. “They only live to serve,” Alfonse said as soon as they went out the room.

“Please,” he insisted, “grab a seat.”

I took a chair which was stacked up on top of other dusty chairs and stood it by Alfonse’s table. I reckon Alfonse didn’t get visitors that often.

“Friends, on the other hand, they give me life—stories,” he continued.

“So… How long have you been here?” I asked him as I tried to silence my stomach. I’m guessing he was about a hundred years older than I am.

“I was eight when I was first bitten,” he narrated as he offered me a goblet of crimson liquid. I told him I don’t drink blood then he laughed and said it wasn’t. “It’s been 50 mortal years since then.”

“If you were bitten at 8, shouldn’t you look 8 too and not 15 or 13?” I asked.

“Where did you learn that?” Alfonse sounded confused. I remembered that there wasn’t any evidence in the real world—my world—about existing vampires or their lifestyles. Things about what we knew were only figments of our imagination. This, this was the real thing. “Vampires tend to delay aging whenever he drinks human blood, until our first kill.”

There he is again. The ‘First Kill’.

“50 years ago,” he said as he leaned forward, crossing his fingers together, “beyond the mountains of the boundaries, somewhere at the foot of the Alps of Hollerdam, my father—my real father, my brother and I were gathering wood for the winter. I don’t remember who my mother was but my brother, for he is older, says that she is a kind, loving, and beautiful mother. Father says she was taken away.

We were collecting wood from Daggerpoint Forest to sell to our neighbors for the cold nights of winter. It wasn’t safe in those parts of the woods for they say, a vile creature lingers and anyone can be its next victim. My father told us, my brother and I, to stay and keep an eye on the firewood pile while he go and collect more.

It was taking a while and brother was already getting worried. I, too, was very anxious to go home. When all of a sudden, a shriek and a cry echoed through the woods. We knew one of them was father. I started to cry and pray, hoping he is all right. When the woods became silent once more, brother picked up the axe and told me to run towards the village. At first, I did not want to leave him. But then, he shook me by my shoulders and hugged me as a tear fell from his eye. ‘Run, Alfonse, don’t let father down,’ he said.

I ran south towards the village. I ran as fast as I could. Tears were trickling down my face. I did not want to leave father nor brother. Family just doesn’t work out if you’re alone.

There was another cry. I recognized the voice of my brother. I stumbled on the ground crying even more. Then I heard the shrieking noise closing in behind me from above. There was a sound of flapping. The whispers of the wind rustled against the leaves of the trees. Somehow, I felt a presence behind me. I knew then I was not alone anymore.

‘Alfonse…’ it said. It knew my name. ‘I will take you to your father,’ it said slyly. Its voice sounded like long breaths and hisses.

Trembling in fear, I gathered the courage to turn around and face it. It had a very pale skin and a monstrous face. Its face was similar to a normal person’s, only it is deformed. It had long jet-black hair. Some strands were covering its face but I could clearly see that the whites of its eyes were red and its pupils glowed in dark like a cat’s. It was a man and a monster at the same time. It had bat-like wings connecting its skinny arms to its sides. Its limbs were bent in an awkward position.

It grinned. ‘Ah… You have your mother’s green eyes,’ it said in its dry, throaty voice. ‘I remember when I took her away…’

Rage was overwhelming me. I wanted to strike with an axe—if only I had one. I wanted to lunge at it like when I fight bullies in the village school. I wanted to but then, I was frightened. The monster stood upright and straightened itself like a normal man. He walked towards me; sky light from the south was shining upon him. He raised his arm against it to protect his eyes as moved in closer.

‘Peace, brother,’ another voice said from behind. It was more peaceful than the monster’s dry voice. He was against the light that when I turned around, he was just a silhouette. ‘You do not need to do this. You have taken enough lives to satisfy yourself!’

‘He’s mine!’ the monster said as he suddenly appeared beside me. ‘And you… are not a brother of mine, fool!’ He pushed me aside with his clawed hands. I could feel a tearing pain across my chest. My vision was beginning to blur but before I blacked-out, I saw its face change from man to monster. Its jaw opened from ear to ear, revealing tombstones of sharp teeth overlapping each other. Fresh blood oozed down from it.”

I stirred on my seat as Alfonse told me half of his story. It was getting colder and darker outside. I didn’t know how long was I there, but it seemed like ages already. He called the wraiths—his woman servants, that’s what they were called—and asked them to light some wood in the fireplace. He later asked them to make me something to eat. A while later, they came back with, guess what, fried chicken. I helped myself with dinner as Alfonse continued his story.

“I woke up to the sound of the waves colliding on a ship’s deck. I did not know how I got there. I opened my eyes and tried to stand up but I couldn’t keep my balance every time the ship rocked to the ocean’s sway. As I stumbled towards the starboard, I felt someone support my back. I looked up at him—a man of honor and dignity. I recognized his voice from the tragic incident in Daggerpoint. He was the voice behind me.

‘It’s been 3 weeks, my boy,’ he said. ‘You were out for 3 weeks,’ he repeated, ‘he must’ve given you a very deep wound.’

You saved my life, I told him gratefully but he looked down swimming deep in his thoughts. ‘I saved you, yes but,’ he was hesitating, ‘you were already dead.’

I asked him what he meant. It was difficult to understand at first.

‘You see, Troken—the monster you met—slashed your chest open,’ he carefully said. ‘You were dying. He retreated as soon as I injured him, cursing me as he flew to the depths of Daggerpoint. Well, I managed to reach you in time, hoping what I willed was the right thing to do.’

He explained how he saved my life and how he gave me a cursed one in return. He thought he was too late but still brought me along in his journey home. He later told me that Troken and us were of the same kin, only that our ways differ from his. ‘I know how hard it is to understand at first,’ he said as he put his hand on my shoulder. He knelt down and faced me, ‘but, let me make up for your loss, son.’

Son. He called me son. I cried remembering my father—my family. He let me sob on his shoulder, even though there weren’t any tears. Since that day onwards, I treated him like my father and he treated me as his son.”

Alfonse told me his father’s name—Bartholomew—and pointed to one of the portraits hanging in the study. Even though the study was filled with cobwebs, the portrait of Bartholomew was spotless. There were other portraits beside Bartholomew’s, much older than his.

Bartholomew looked 25 in the portrait. He had straight, brown hair tied in a ponytail. His skin was normally pale—normal for vampires, that is. His eyes were as sincere as Alfonse’s. He wore fine-tailored clothes with ruffles on the sleeves. Around his neck, hung a crimson-black mantle, which I noticed Alfonse wore before. An amulet made from a rare gem hung over his neck.

“It is the family crest,” Alfonse told me. He managed to follow where my eyes were looking at. He fumbled the necklace under his shirt. Alfonse told me that as soon as they, Bartholomew and him, arrived in Helfort, Bartholomew gave handed him the family crest. It was the symbol that whoever has the crest, is Master of Helfort and the forest around. He was even given a second name: Vladmir. From then on, he had been called Vladmir Alfonse Everdark.

The Everdarks were the Masters of Helfort and of the Everdark Forest. It is the forest around Helfort where the trees were said to be once cruel people who had been cursed to serve the Everdarks. The country within the surrounding forests was then named after the forest itself, Everdark. Thus, in reality, making the Everdarks master of which their name conquers.

Bartholomew was a pureblood according to Alfonse, and so are the previous generations. The Everdarks had been the just eyes roaming around Everdark, protecting the innocent and the weak, and punishing the cruel.

Alfonse mentioned the First Kill, at last. It had been bothering me the whole time since he talked about it. “It is the initiation of immortality, he said. “Though it is not the kind of life we seek, we only truly attain endless youth and eternal life through our first kill. That is the reason why even when I had become a vampire at 8, I still continued to age and mature.

As long as I savor my hunger with blood, my aging process slows down. It was father who taught me how I could control this curse.

It may be hard at first especially if you have fallen in love with the world and the people around you. Though sometimes, one cannot escape this fate, there will come a time that we will need to kill. Father said there would come a time when it is the right thing to do. And I, I shall wait for that time.”

I had just finished eating the chicken he served me. Though, I still haven’t touched the goblet of crimson liquid he gave me to drink.

“It’s bloodberry juice,” he said laughing heartily, “it’s one of my favorite drinks when I was still, well, alive.” He stood up and walked to the glass door of the terrace. It was still dark outside as if time in Everdark froze. “Bloodberries were originally grown in Frostglades—the village south of Daggerpoint. It gives off heat once its juice is taken into the body.

When my father gifted me,” gifted was the term Alfonse used for making him a vampire. He did not treat what Bartholomew had done to him as a curse, “parts of my memories have been shared with him. He learned of my family, of how they have been killed. He learned off the youth and how I have enjoyed it. He learned that the juice of the bloodberry my father—my real father—used to harvest was my favorite.”

In Alfonse’s story, Bartholomew—before leaving to Everdark—bought sacks of seeds of bloodberries in the village of Frostglade. They were carried on a ship called The Endchaser. The Endchaser belonged to a good friend of Bartholomew who owed him half his life. Bartholomew’s friend, the captain of The Endchaser, used to be a pirate. He retired after he was crippled. The ship was then used as a bartering vessel across different countries.

They traveled over sea for 4 months where they were fed with the live poultry’s blood. The rest of the poultry were cooked and fed to the captain and the crew. Alfonse made a few friends in The Endchaser but they soon had to say their goodbyes as they reached the country of Ashen, one of the neighboring countries of Everdark. From Ashen, they traveled to Helfort on a carriage even though Alfonse had already learned to hover.

“It isn’t advisable to hover in Ashen. Not like in Everdark where the sun seldom comes out, Ashen is home to the sun.”

“What do you mean?” I asked him.

“Here in Everdark, it’s always night. It has not been explained why the sun hardly crosses the boundary between Everdark and Ashen. While in Ashen, it’s the complete opposite, the sun never sets,” he explained.

So that explains why time never seemed to pass. I thought it was still night when morning had already broken through.

“Legends say that once upon a time when Solos, the sun god, fell in love with Lunul, the moon goddess and vice-versa, they chased each other every passing day. Solos chased Lunul to the west while Lunul chased Solos from the east but they never reached each other, even just once. Solos, decided to wait for Lunul instead hoping she would pass by again. Lunul, as a woman, got tired of chasing after Solos—who she believed should be chasing after her instead—waited for her lover.

Solos, while waiting, built a city filled with prosperity and opportunity and named it Ashen or the country of Light. Lunul, who had been waiting all her life for Solos, became deeply depressed. Her gloom that she felt were poured down in the land, which was originally rich like Ashen, and turned it into the countries of Darkness.

Up until now, they are still waiting for each other. A sad story, actually.”

“Quite funny too,” I added but his facial reaction didn’t change. If something were funny, he would probably laugh. Instead, he had become more serious and quiet.

“Father… father was killed because of that,” he tightened his grip on the goblet. “The villagers insisted that the Everdarks were the reason why this place is unpleasant to live in. They believed that we are the cause of their hardships and misfortunes.”

“I… I’m sorry… I didn’t mean…,” I said. I wished that I had just shut my mouth. I really was sorry.

“The villagers were rallied up by the town mayor. He said nasty things about the Everdarks as if we ever made his life a misery. He rallied up the villagers—farmers, merchants, even the eldest sons of families, making them carry their own weapons. From the tower, I could see their torches burn from far away. They marched like ants towards Helfort. Father told me to stay in the tower just like what my real father told us (my brother and I) once. Stay here.

I did not want to stay. I wanted to come with him. I wanted to fight in his side if he would fight. I wanted to be there.

I ran down the spiraled staircase of the tower. As soon as I was in the great hall, I hovered towards the arch door. I flew out the door and saw him there, waiting by the gate.

He noticed I was behind him and he scolded me for that. That was the only time I heard him roar. Even though he was angry, I felt his concern. He knelt down before me and shook me like the time in The Endchaser. ‘Vladmir Alfonse Everdark,’ he said, ‘do not be reckless!’ The villagers chants were getting louder and louder. The light of their torches was getting nearer and nearer. ‘Stay here, son, I do not want to endanger you,’ he pleaded. He took off his mantle and tied it onto my neck. The Shroud of Darkness. It was a family inheritance passed on from generation to generation. Whoever wore it will be protected under the darkness. He gave me one last hug and kissed me on my forehead.

He flew out the gate and into Everdark forest. He called out to the villagers and led them deeper into the woods. It rained that night. I didn’t see him the next day.”

“Your father, he’s” I said. He sacrificed his unlife for Alfonse, who wasn’t even blood-related to him. I knew that one day Alfonse would be just like his father, “a brave man.”

Alfonse smiled behind his sad eyes. “Thank you, Corin,” he said meaningfully.

“No,” I remarked. “Thank you.” This adventure had been a wonderful experience. I have to thank the red-framed door for that.