Tor's Trial

A snapping twig brought Tor's blue eyes open. He had been alone so far. Not even a squirrel crossed his path. With the stories told of these woods, from his village elders in his mind, Tor held his breath.

Leaves ruffled closer, to the right of Tor. He slowly lifted himself off the ground, gripping the two protruding roots at his sides to do so. Using every muscle, Tor controlled his movements, meticulously placing his feet on clearly visible dirt. Hugging the tree, Tor peered around it. A of couple yards away stood a bandit with a repeating crossbow.

A pulley system, attached to a spring, drew back the string after the small weapon was fired, while another arrow rose from a compartment below. What should have been bright Oakwood was dark and blotched from the heavy rain. The added weight would cause it to function less than perfectly.

Thank Odin for nature's changing seasons. Tor thought to himself observing the bandit.

A dark piece of cloth covered the bandit's face below his eyes. Black hair fell over the bandit's forehead and ears overlapping with the cloth. The physique, thin with long limbs and a small chest, led Tor to assume the bandit was a man. Pale skin peaked out at his wrists, between his long sleeves and gloves. Pants, finishing off the camouflage outfit, covered his legs with dark wrinkles by his boots.

Wiping small beads of sweat from his eyes, the bandit continued on his way. Tor slowly moved around the tree, keeping it between him and the bandit. The lack of focus was seized by dumb luck. The leather sole of Tor's boot did well against rocks and sticks, but was little use on a slick tree root. His leg flew out from under him, sending him crashing into a pile of leaves and twigs.

The bandit whirled around at the noise, firing instinctively. The bolt hit the tree where Tor was hiding.

Digging into the mud Tor clawed his way to his feet, with a rapid succession of arrows chasing him through the forest. His pants drooped around his waist and clung to his calves. Another bolt whizzed by Tor's ear as he slid across a bunch of leaves covering a slick patch of mud.

Sweat and clinging clothes irritated Tor's skin. A breeze cut across his path highlighting the moister soaking into his pores. The brief change in temperature cut the warmth in his body, heightening the chaffing between his thighs. Keeping a steady pace, Tor was barely out of breath, but his will was tested against his discomfort.

Hopelessly, Tor's mind wandered to a story from his village. A group of bandits tracked one of their greatest warriors for three days. They treed him a couple of times and cornered him several other times before he managed to pick them off.

Tor was only facing one, but unlike his counterpart, he had no weapon to defend himself. Nature's obstacles were Tor's only defenses and ahead the ground split into a gully. With a barrage of bolts, it was a matter of time. The last one fired grazed Tor's his left arm drawing warm blood to the surface.

Jumping into the small gully, Tor heard the wiz of a bolt overhead. It flew through the air, where seconds earlier, his head had been.

The bandit skidded to a stop over the break in the earth. The small puddles on the ground rippled, masking which way the boy may have gone. Leaning over the edge, he gazed one way, then the next, but he saw nothing. Satisfied that Tor had continued running, the bandit loaded a few more bolts and followed the path to the right.

After a brief period of quiet waiting, the bandit's pounding feet were out of earshot. Peeling himself away from the mud and grime of the wall, Tor ran to the left. His hair was covered with mud, swaying back and forth as he ran. His ponytail acted like a jockey's whip, urging him to run faster against the suction of the muck.

The gully began thinning until it was barely shoulder width. Tor bounced off both walls of the gully fighting to keep his balance. Trudging through mud, almost losing his boots twice, Tor finally saw an incline that lead to sturdier ground. Less dense in this area, more rays pierced the shield of leaves, evaporating a lot of the rainwater. The saturation of vapor coalesced into thick fog.

Climbing to the top of the gully, Tor heard the splashing of footsteps again. A drone of a dozen others followed. They seemed to come from everywhere. The canopy echoed the splashes back to the forest floor. The footsteps grew louder until Tor saw the bandit run past. Growls and bays made up the howl of a pack of wolves. They flew by nipping at the bandit's ankles.

Two wolves caught up to him. Running alongside they steered the bandit where they wanted him to go. Trapped, and too close to use his crossbow, the bandit leaped at a tree. Pushing off it with one leg while spinning, he shot the wolf on his left with a bolt.

Tor's eyes narrowed. The bandit had changed direction, heading back towards him. Glancing around he searched for a stick, a rock, anything he could use as a weapon. Most of the sticks on the floor had wood rot from numerous rains, and would be too fragile to make a useful club.

The group had closed in and Tor still could not find a weapon. The bandit tried his trick again but a third wolf leaped from the brush, clamping its jaws around the bandit's arm holding the crossbow.

"Get off of me, you damn feral mutt!" The bandit yelled as he hit the ground, more than arm's length away from his bow. The other wolves converged on the bandit, either unaware of his screams or uncaring.

Tor couldn't pass up the opportunity to grab a weapon. Other creatures, more dangerous than a pack of wolves, lurked in the woods. Heart pounding in his chest, throat closed, Tor wiped his muddy hands against the mud of his vest. His muscles fought against his common sense, as Tor slowly and cautiously walked up to the feeding pack. As his arm stretched out, streaked were sweat had parted the grim, a growl stopped him cold.

What looked to Tor, as the alpha male, stood two feet away its teeth bared, and the hair on its neck up.

"Easy boy, I need this." Tor kept eye contact with the alpha. Any movement, other than his slow approach to the weapon, would lead to his death. "That's it, I'm not an enemy."

The alpha barked a warning, more than a threat, but the point was there.

Once the bow was in Tor's hand, he backed away his free hand in the air continuing eye contact. In a twist of luck, both the alpha and Tor looked away at the same time.

His back to the pack of wolves, Tor walked away, the buildup of anticipation urging him to run.

Hunting parties always returned with stories about wolf packs. Two battled for superiority in Tor's mind. The first was when Tor's father returned with three fewer men, after encountering a pack of a dozen or so. The other was brighter. A pack of wolves had saved a hunting party after they stumbled across a bear's den.

Once safely away from the pack, Tor's nerves settled. The hair on the back of his neck relaxed. The adrenaline in his veins diluted, and his shoulders slouched. Even in the relaxed state, Tor's senses remained alert. With his muscles no longer tight, a brutal sting pulsated up his arm. Twisting it, to get a better look, the skin slipped from his grip, smearing mud over the wound. Tor winced, grinding his teeth, punching the nearest tree. The shock dropped a full-leaves-worth, of water on his head.

Shivering through the freezing bath, he fought through the fog to find a place to clean his wound. A few less trees, mostly scattered, with some bushes mingled in didn't leave many options. In addition, the relatively flat terrain was useless.

Tor found a tree, leaning against another. Between them grew a bush that could provide moderate coverage. More dirt and moss stuck to Tor's hand as he propped himself against it. The recent storm hadn't knocked this tree down. Its branches laid on the floor in brittle pieces. The center of it was hollowed out and the stump had already sprouted new saplings.

Grabbing a nearby leaf with some water on it, Tor poured it over his arm. It stung briefly, but once it was clean, the chilled water soothed the open wound. The arrow head had been serrated, a favorite amongst bandits. As it cut across Tor's arm, it tore out some flesh and meat. The speed of the bolt left the wound shallow, but the serration opened it wide. He ripped the bottom of his pant leg off for a bandage. The hair covering Tor's shin was soaked and his skin was wrinkled.

Squeezing the cloth under his arm, Tor held one end in his mouth and tied the second around it. The cloth soaked up the blood well, spreading out from the center of the wound. Unfazed by the blood, Tor took up the crossbow. Its string was released and all the slots for extra bolts were empty. Cursing, he tossed it away. It clanked, bouncing hard off the sopping ground. He still needed a weapon.

Raising his head to the sky, Tor saw a potential club in one of the tree's limbs.

The rotten tree snapped half of the branch when it fell. Tugging on the branch, the still-attached half held solid. Giving up on the branch, Tor started to search, tracing the perimeter of the fallen tree. Amongst the scattered twigs, he found a fresh branch. It was about leg size, light enough to swing with one hand, and in Tor's it could kill a small animal.

The only way to survive the forest, his father told him, was to face the dangerous areas. Rays played on the back of Tor's neck. He guessed at the height of the sun that he had about five hours of daylight left. With his new weapon, Tor turned back the way he came and headed out. The wolves were back that way and that meant so was their prey.

Using his club, he swiped at excess brush and twigs. The transition from open forest into dense wood slowed Tor's progress. Knowing a pack of wolves was roaming about, lead to over-cautious paces. With the fog looming in thick clouds, visibility didn't exist. Step-by-step, Tor made sure his foot was placed on stable ground. As the heat rose, the fog burnt Tor's throat. From the sun's intensity, he judged it was early afternoon.

A twig snapped. Sloshing through the fog the snap was longer than normal. The ushered silence felt heavier on Tor's chest than before. A second presence resonated through the fog.

A sharp pain engulfed Tor before he could strike with his club. Fresh water drifted up his nostrils from the forearm pressed against his throat, holding him against a tree. Digging into his spine was a knot. A smooth hand wrapped around his wrist, surprisingly cold for a humid day, disabling his club. Tor's arm burned from one side to the other.

"Are you trying to get yourself killed?" The elf attached to the forearm asked.

Tor gazed at his attacker, stunned that he was taken by surprise. His heart beat drummed against his chest, sweat spouted from his pours dripping down his forehead, into his eyes, and across his mouth. The elf's forearm was pushing in his throat, squeezing his windpipe.

The elf's hair was long and white, falling down past his chest in pin straight lines. His nose looked human, a little elongated and slim, but human. There was no hair on his arm or face. His skin was lacking color, as if he spent most of his time avoiding the sun. Spots blotted Tor's eyes, as the pressure exerted by the elf grew. The elf stared at Tor, unmoving. His eyes were dark grey and flat as his expression.

"Answer my question only." The elf slowly released the pressure on Tor's throat.

"I am in the middle of a frolic though the--"

"Do you think this is a game? There is a clan of vampires tracking you as we speak." The pressure was back on Tor's throat; cut the flood of air off, before it reached his lungs. Grabbing Tor's arm the elf twisted it to see the wound, "If you survive the infection, there is always something out there to get you."

Tor hissed out a jumbled array of chokes trying to speak.

"We're safe until night," Tor repeated once the elf's forearm was removed. Tor rubbed at his throat coughing to open up his air way.

"Normally you would be right, but the fog this forest creates is ideal for daylight haunting."

The elf held up a hand singling Tor to stop, before he opened his mouth. Listening carefully, Tor tried to focus on what the elf noticed. The birds on the branches above them were solid while the wind rustled the trees. The occasional crack of the distant forest was gone. At once, Tor and the elf looked to the tree behind them. A snapping branch gave the vampire away.

A blur of black fell as the air turned icy. The smell of death, a pungent yeast and fermenting aroma, wafted around its prey.

Tor closed his eyes. It moved to fast to see, but sound had betrayed it once. A ruffle of leaves brought Tor's club up and around in a violent swing. Through the pain, Tor pictured the vampire exploding in a puff of smoke. Unfortunately for him, the vampire ducked under his swing. Wrapping its arm around Tor's, it dug its claws into Tor's opposite shoulder blade. Five, needle-like nails drilled though the bone, sending a flaming itch of pain into Tor's chest. Rearing his head back in anguish, Tor's neck was exposed. Two perfectly-aimed fangs punctured Tor's neck. With a pop, the blood poured into the vampire's mouth.

It was short lived. The elf sprang forwards with an arrow in his hand, piercing the vampire's heart. Dust exploded into Tor's face. It caked his eyelids, got into his ears, and nostrils. Tor coughed up vampire as he collapsed.

The elf knelt down beside Tor, checking him over. Blood pumped from the staple sized holes in his neck, and clotted on the leather vest around Tor's shoulder. The infected wound on his arm had torn open from the violent swing.

The elf placed Tor's arm, attached to the cracked shoulder blade, across his stomach, repeating the step with his infected arm. Tor's consciousness came and went. It was too risky to move him, even with a clan nearby. As the elf ground rocks, leaves, and ingredients from his belt into a wooden bowl, Tor attempted to talk.

"Where am I? Who are you?"

"I am Alf, and you're in good hands."

"Alf the elf," Tor muttered before passing back out.

Tor was uncomfortable, but unsure why. His shoulder was stiff, and it felt like someone took a fire poker to his neck. He was walking through the forest, luscious grass between his feet. Around him, bright trees that smelled of thick sugar guided him forward.

"You are the boy."

"The boy of to-be-history."

"Maybe."

"Possibly."

Out of trees, the ground, thin air, sprites appeared. Their skin glowed from a single light, in the center of their transparent chest. Some were blue, others green, the sprites from the ground where a very light brown. All of them surrounded Tor, repeating the same few sentences. Tor recognized these forest creatures immediately. His hazy mind lit up in flashes feeding his subconscious facts. They live in service of nature. They do not like humans. And... And... The thought trying to speak stayed in a fog. All of the sprites crossed their arms, scowling, as they surrounded Tor. Tor knew that he was in trouble, and then the thought flared. Sprites tend to enter the dreams of humans, driving them mad.

"Get out of my head!"

"Not fun, when unwanted are in your space." One said, and the rest echoed the last two words.

"You don't own the forest, but this is my brain."

"Child! This is our mind, body, and life."

"Without a forest we do not exist."

"You drive men insane. Even some of the strongest of warriors, but I am not afraid!" Tor clenched his fist standing up straight. He glanced from one sprite to the next, unsure of where to start.

"Fear."

"Fear."

"You fear."

"Us." A glowing green sprite smiled. She was beautiful. Her teeth shined like Ireland's meadows. Her translucent skin was fluorescent, smooth as silk. Vines draped over her body and leaves covered her in appropriate areas. Most of her body was still showing. Her voice spoke to Tor's spirit, entering his ears washing through him like a waterfall over rocks.

The sprite crept in real close. Tor could only see her face.

"You could be great, but will you want to is what you will have to answer." The sprite spoke, moving her lips slow, getting closer to Tor's. Their lips touched and the sprite kissed Tor, her hands holding his head in place. Green veins raised on Tor's face, starting at his lips, extending to his ears. The veins curled around his temple and Tor woke up.

Alf jumped back, startled. Tor swung his arms and wiped at his mouth in the sudden fit of consciousness. Once he realized he was awake, his hands shot to his face. He ran his hands along his squared jaw, up his smooth face to his temple.

"Where are the vampires?"

"Calm down. I killed him, remember."

"But they travel in packs."

"It was just a rouge."

Everything was okay. Sweating and breathing heavily, he turned his attention to Alf. The man with pointed ears looked like he was forty. Lines streaked across his forehead and bags hung under his eyes. Any youthful glow had vanished from his demeanor ages ago.

He wore green cloth that clung tight to his thin physique, highlighting his muscle's definition. His shirt was long-sleeved, probably to protect his arms from his bow, which was slung on his back. The threads were pulled along both sleeves, and sporadic along his chest.

Alf's pants were the same fabric as Tor's, camouflaged to the bark on the trees surrounding them. His entire outfit had holes in it, where it wasn't frayed, revealing more hairless skin.

Tor's attention was attracted to Alf's bow, dark brown and curved like a flying bird. Its bowstring was strong even though it was thin. A quiver hung from Alf's left side, opposite of a small dagger. Under the bow was a belt with numerous pouches, where Tor had seen medicinal and herbal items taken out.

Gathering his thoughts he asked, "Who are you, again?"

Alf explained himself to Tor as the sun crossed the sky. Through the branches and leaves, the rays dried the wet forest. At the rate it was going, the sun would set before the forest was fully free of fog.

Alf told Tor about his mission to cleanse the forest of vampires. He explained that he was from a village in the forest somewhere he couldn't say. Alf explained how vampires are the anti-elf, and while elves accept nature, vampires' seek to destroy it. The conversation took a darker turn, when Alf explained that Tor had been infected with the vampire virus. If he had drank from the vampire's blood he would have turned, but now he only had a bond to that vampire. Since that vampire was slain, Tor would forever be lonely and sad.

"But the vampire was slain?"

"Which means you will live the rest of your life, incomplete. Searching for the lost part of your soul."

"I wish you would have let me drink, then killed me."

"I've done that before. It was for an older elf, but he had no hope of growing out of the bond."

"So I could grow out of it."

"It's never happened before, but you're young. It's possible."

The long-shot chance was all Tor had. He already felt the emptiness in his heart, and knew he couldn't live like this.

"Tell me, Tor, why are you really in the woods?"

"I'm participating in a coming of age ceremony for my village." Tor rolled his shoulder blade as Alf cooked up stew.

"Some coming of age ceremony, leaving you in the woods."

"You don't have anything like that in yours?"

Alf nodded, stirring the broth, "A test we take. It's pretty rough and requires a lot of intelligence."

"Ours is based on survival and direction."

"So how far is it?"

"I don't really know, but I had three days."

"Is that part of the ceremony, beating that record?"

"It's not a record. It's a limit."

"And if you don't reach your village by then?"

"You are exiled."

"Same consequence of missing a perfect score."

"It is our way."

"After we eat, I'll make sure you get to your village." Alf explained, pouring out two bowls of stew.

"I only have until tomorrow morning to get there." Tor added, taking a mouthful of stew.

"Like I said, I'll get you there."

The two men ate enough food to sustain them, doused the fire, kick around the ground, and headed in the general direction of Tor's village.

The dense forest grew thicker at first, slowing Tor and Alf down. Trees with wide trunks sprouted up with smaller trees that had large leaves in-between. Bushes mixed in the empty spaces forcing the two, too climb over the wall of foliage. Alf leaped the bushes with the agility of a deer and Tor climbed the tree, swinging himself over like a burly bear.

Alf's movements became erratic. He felt the familiar sensation of being followed, and they were close. Twice they had to circle back because Tor didn't recognize the area. The sun's glow began to fade and shadows took up the forest floor.

"Alf, why do you hunt vampires?" Tor huffed.

"I told you they are the anti-elf."

"No, I get that. I figured it was because you were exiled."

"I wasn't exiled. I left willingly," pausing, Alf held a finger to his lips. Through one of the rips, Tor saw goose bumps rise on the elf's arm. In similar fashion, Tor felt the prickling bumps spread all over his body. "How's that bite on your neck?"

"Throbbing, why?"

"I was afraid of that." Alf's expression darkened.

"What does that mean?" Tor asked, picking up his pace to keep up with Alf, who began running.

"Wraiths."

"I've never heard of them."

"Most people who encounter them don't live. They're the soul of a vampire."

"What's wrong with that?" Tor asked looking over this shoulder.

"Nothing, unless you're bit. Wraiths eat the life force of any living vampire."

"If they catch up to us we can just kill them." Tor spit out between breaths.

"They are basically specters so you can't. Unless you have the right weapons."

"You hunt vampires. Do you have what we need?"

"I have such weapons, but let's hope that's not necessary." Alf lead the way as the forest opened up. Anything that stood in his way, seemed to part for the elf, and closed back up behind Tor.

A creek ran in a slithering path through the woods, and the two companions came to it just north of Tor's village. An old oak, split in half by a lightning bolt, was the marker. Half of the mighty tree still stood tall, scorched down the split. The heat cauterized the exposed bark. Faded grey next to the shining white, the dead half of the tree hung in an arch. Its once tall branches mingling with the mud of the riverbed.

"We're almost there."

Alf stopped halfway between the tree line and the creek. Night had fallen and stars glistened in the cloudless sky. "Keep going, you can still make it."

"I can't ask you to do this Alf."

"You didn't."

"The smallest chance they kill you, and follow me is too great. The village is my family, Alf."

The taller warrior looked at the boy with pity and respect.

"You're going to stay and fight either way." Alf summed up looking back into the forest. The visibility extended deep into the woods, where shadows danced. Behind them, the creek spoke as it glided over rocks. "You're going to need this." He said, taking his dagger out of its sheath.

Tor dropped his club, to grasp the hilt attached to a water bottle sized blade. The grip, a perfect fit in Tor's hand, was cold to the touch, but not to the point of pain. The dagger grew heavier at the tip, forcing itself down, before losing all weight, rising up again. All of Tor's aches from the hard traveling stopped, as the cooling sensation worked its way through Tor's body, hitchhiking in his blood.

"Astonishing, are all Elvin weapons like this?"

"Only the ones meant for wraiths."

"It feels like it's alive."

"It has too, in order to kill a ghost."

A hollow howl cut through the night pricking bumps all over the companions' bodies. Flickering grey silhouettes hovered from the depth of the forest. Tor and Alf focused their eyes on the sound. Alf notched an arrow with a dull glowing blue head. At full draw, Tor thought the bow would snap or the string would break. Its tension seemed not to phase the elf, who scanned the tree line for his target. Alf let the arrow go, firing at the closest wraith. The arrow seemed to pass through harmlessly, but a second later the wraith vaporized.

Up until now, Tor's legs were wobbly. From his waist down his muscles were tight, but would loosen at odd times, causing his blood to flow out of rhythm, inducing pain. Since grabbing the dagger, Tor's body relaxed, the tightness in his stomach was gone, replaced with a full blazing fire.

A choir of howls pierced the innermost part of Alf's and Tor's eardrums. Alf winced and Tor fought his reflex to grab his ears.

Alf forced himself to focus. Narrowing his gaze until his eyes were as thin as cards. Each arrow he fired hit its mark as another was notched and released. Lost in his movements Alf didn't realize the enemy below. While he loosed an arrow, as the feathers passed the end of the bow, Alf fell backwards.

A tree root grew out from the ground, sneaking up behind Alf, wrapping around his ankle, bringing his legs out from under him. The slight inconsistency caused the arrow to miss its mark. More roots sprouted from the earth, cocooning the elf in a thick wooden casket.

Tor tried to reach him but his feet were sealed in similar, wooden shoes.

"Not so fast child. I warned you. You insist on disrupting nature."

"I am only trying to protect my village!"

"As I am my forest." The green sprite smiled. Tor's hair fell over his face as he glanced down at his covered feet, and his companion in a root cocoon. The wraiths still coming for him, Tor's choices were taken away. He struggled with the roots, using all the strength in his legs to tear himself free. The anchors used for keeping old trees in place didn't budge.

All the tension in his muscles relaxed. Tor was ready to fight or die. Both if it came down to it. He looked back at the forest spirit his dirt colored hair parting at his eyes.

"I am going to find the tree, where you dwell, and burn it down." Tor promised.

"You'll never find it."

"Then I will torch the entire forest!" Tor growled. The sprite's face widened, in horror before it vanished, leaving both Tor and Alf stuck in roots.

The closest wraith flew at Tor. He swung the dagger, but the apparition flickered from existence, avoiding the attack. Its raptor like claws sliced away Tor's leather vest like it was clay. Five shallow scratches opened up on Tor's back from the attack.

In his situation, Tor had to flip the dagger upside down and stab the wraith behind his back. A freezing loneliness crept into Tor's heart, as a cool wind hit his naked back. One wraith down. Immediately, another wraith shimmered into existence in front of him. Instincts took over and Tor shoved the blade into the wraith's head, between the eyes. A burst of cold wind seeped into Tor's chest, from the vaporized wraith. Tor felt as if his insides were melting. Heaviness in the pit of his stomach slowed his movements down. Numbness worked its way up Tor's legs. Two more wraiths moved in on him. Their faces were black, removing all identity of who these specters could have been. Glancing down, the roots grew to wrap around his calves. The faceless wraiths swatted at Tor's body. He had to fall to the ground to avoid the attack. With his legs caught, Tor fell awkwardly, while the two wraiths hovered over him.

I wonder... Tor thought, taking the knife up. He drove it down into the wraith's haze colored cloak. It vanished once the dagger touched the misty silhouette. Tor repeated his attack on the other wraith killing it too.

Struggling to his feet, more roots sprouted from the ground, leaping at his arms. Swatting them away he got to his feet. All around him, the darkness of the forest grew. The trees looked like enemies in the confusion of the attack. The wraiths ability to flicker in and out of sight made tracking them extremely hard. Five more wraiths attacked Tor, slicing his arm were the bolt had grazed him reopening it, stabbing him above the knee on his right leg and cutting five skin splitting lines across his chest. Tor made each pay, as they fell under the swift movements of the dimly glowing blade.

Tor's face dripped with sweat even in the chilly night. His muscles' strands-of-fiber-look, showed under his skin as his shoulders hung low. Falling over Tor's chest, his hair matted in clumps. His chest bounced under the force of his breaths. The six-ridged bumps on his stomach expanded with the muscles around them, as Tor fought the urge to collapse.

How many were there? Tor thought, searching the forest for movement. Slowly the muted stream came back into focus, until it was screaming in Tor's ears. Thick mucus lined the inside of his mouth, coating his tongue. Turning his neck, he realized he was just out of reach. Over his numb legs, the branches climbed higher over his thighs.

"Is that all you've got!" Tor yelled.

A hollow wind blew past Tor as if saying, not yet.

A single wraith appeared in front of Tor, a sunken in face of bone and no eyes smiled at him. Its hand swatted away Tor's knife, stinging like a piece of smoldering firewood. It wrapped its long twig like fingers around Tor's hand, searing his skin, but its presence sucked the air out of his lungs.

"I see your life, child." The specter whistled like a high-pitched wind, "It is dwindling. Each time you kill one of us."

Tor's legs gave out. The roots around his legs held him up. The pair of hands, burning his skin, shocked the muscles in his legs, releasing the struggle to stand. Feeling was briefly restored in his legs as the roots crumpled. The wraith's grasp didn't falter. It slowly lowered Tor to the ground. Heat with no source scorched his insides, itching the underside of his skin.

"I don't think you have enough left to kill another."

A muffled movement reminded Tor that Alf was still buried. Aware of where he was, Tor's mind came back to life. Alf had let the arrow go before he hit the ground. The elf would have reached for another. Tor's fingers crawled, like a dying spider, to the mound of root. Inches away from Alf, Tor's fingers wrapped around the shaft of an arrow. The cold sensation flew through his insides fighting off the hollow heat. A single breath of air filled Tor's lungs. With it he said, "Let's see."

In a single movement, he drew up the arrow, twisted the head towards the wraith, and buried it in the ghostly shape. The wraith vaporized and Tor's heart stopped.

All sounds ended. His vision was dotted with tiny lights. Tor's breaths no longer filled his lungs and feeling left his skin.

With one blink, it all rushed back into his body. A deep breath found its way into Tor's lungs, providing long awaited oxygen. Even the aches, stings, and pains were a welcomed feeling.

The roots constricting Tor's feet crumpled and he leaped to dig Alf out. Those roots too were crumpling. Alf took a deep breath as Tor ripped off the root covering his face, but overall, he looked better than Tor.

Night's cool atmosphere faded, as night itself was waning.

"Your trial?" Alf huffed getting to his feet with Tor's help.

"I've got time." Tor sighed, dropping into the stream as the two men laughed at their mortality.

Alf gathered up all of his arrows placing them back in his quiver, as Tor explained what had happened. Pausing as he bent to grab his knife.

"Evil green sprite, huh?"

"It was weird." Tor leaned up droplets sliding off his skin, "I'm surprised you're not cursing me."

"What do you mean?"

"Elves are one with nature."

"My people have their flaws contrary to what the outside world thinks. I have seen both sides of nature so it doesn't bother me." Alf grinned tucking his hair behind his pointed ear. Standing up, he flipped the knife in his hand, so that he held the blade. "Take this. I have a feeling you might need it."

"Is this your way of saying good bye?" Tor asked, looking at the weathered elf with admiration.

"There are many other vampire clans and packs of wraiths that I have to kill."

"Why?"

"Some things a man has to keep close to his vest." Alf said extending a hand.

"To meeting again."

"Under better circumstances." Tor smiled. Alf grinned and the two parted ways.

Tor ducked under the hanging half of the oak tree. Pushing away brush and bushes a village came into view. Waiting on the other side was a large group of people. Their hands were full of ale and food. As Tor crossed the perimeter of the village, they all raised up in cheers.

Tor had just passed. Seconds later the sun traversed the horizon. His father and several other warriors heaved Tor on their shoulders. The heat from the morning sun warmed Tor's naked torso. Looking over his shoulder, into the living woods, Tor thought of his ceremonial coming of age trial. He knew he would have to recount it for all of his fellow men. How would he explain it? Where would he start? Most of all he thought of his friend still out there and longed for the fight.

THE END

Bio: In his own words, "I moved from the publishing capitol of the world, NY, to the music capitol of the United States, TN. No, I can't sing, but I love the country. I hated English in high school because there weren't enough Sci-fi/Fantasy books we were forced to read. I always loved to write, but got a late start. I haven't published anything yet, but here's hoping." 

Congratulations on making the grade, Mr. Muller.

E-mail: Alfred Muller

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