☇ ☈ ☍ ☊ ☩
You have been invaded by the freezine of fantasy
and science fiction. You no longer need to sub-
scribe, for we are already subscribed to you.


Monday, January 4, 2010

THE FALLEN GUARDIAN'S MANDATE: 0

by David Agranoff





Prologue:

Central China, 1635




The Governor’s palace echoed with screams. The servants who worked during the day tried to sleep, but the sound of the Governor’s daughter carried across the court yard. The governor Sung sat outside his daughter's bedroom, rubbing his prayer beads. He looked up at the full moon. The courtyard barely needed torches.

“Where is he?” His wife Wei screamed at him between sobs. Sung had no answer for her. The temple had promised that the monk would arrive before sunset. Behind them they could hear the kang their sweet Jiang slept on banging against the wood floor. Jiang fought the ropes that bound her to the bed.

Yes, tell us father,” a voice called from inside the room. It wasn’t that of an eleven year old girl. It boomed, drawing its breath from the burning core of the earth, deep and twisted, like it was chewing on gravel. “Where father? Where is this savior?” the unnatural voice called out from the young girl’s body.

Wei sobbed a fresh wave of tears, Governor Sung wiped tears from his eyes, and that is when he saw the monk.

He walked slowly into the courtyard. His yellow and orange robes stood out against the black forest behind him. Wei ran towards him, but the monk's pace never quickened. The governor and his servants stood and saluted the monk. Behind them, the floor shook as the demon laughed inside Jiang’s body.

The monk walked carefully to the Governor’s side using a seven foot spear like a walking stick. He returned the salute. The governor was a man of honor. After last year’s flood, he had given tribute to the temple and helped feed the sick and dying. It was unheard of, but here, up 1,000 steps from the river, he devoted the space of the court yard for relief. Helping this man was the least the monk could do.

“Thank you for coming, abbot.”

“I am Xu; I am but a humble monk.” He lowered his head in respect. Wei tried to grab the monk’s robes but he moved quickly out of the way. She fell toward the ground, the monk held out the spear, catching and keeping her from falling. The Governor pulled his wife up straight and looked at the monk.

“Please, you must save our daughter.”

Laughter boomed from behind the bedroom door. It shook the earth. Xu ground the end of his spear into the dirt to stabilize himself.

“We were told you are known for solving such problems.”

Xu raised an eyebrow at this but ignored the governor. He leaned down and ran his fingers along the ground towards the base of a large tree just outside the window to Jiang’s bedroom.

They’ll die tonight, monk!” The demon behind the walls screamed. When it did, Xu felt the roots to the tree tighten under him. The tree creaked as if moving under a strong wind. The night air was still. Xu stood and looked at the governor.

“The tree demon controls your daughter like a puppet.”

The assembled crowd of servants and family members gasped.

“Destroy the tree, you’ll cut the strings.”

Wei looked desperately at her husband. "It will tear her apart.”

Xu jumped up on to the deck of the house and stabbed his spear into the door. “I won’t let it happen.”

Something tried to hold the door shut from the inside. Xu pushed the spear hard into the door, and thick tree sap bled from it. The monk struggled to pull the spear back but the door only allowed it to withdraw by three small inches. Behind him two servants ran away. Wei recited Taoist chants in an unsteady voice, and the Governor begged Xu to save them.

A burning red light spilled out of the crack as Xu struggled with the door.

“You want in so bad?” The tree demon growled.

Xu looked behind him as the tree twisted in the ground, churned mud, and spit earth along a path under the house. Two roots grabbed the edge of the door like a large hand. Before Xu could react, the door slammed open and shattered into a thousand pieces. The spear fell out of the Monk’s hand, but he knew it would do him no good.

Light poured into the room from under the bed the young girl laid upon. Tree roots spread out from underneath the kang's framework. As Xu stepped into the room, the roots moved out of his way and cleared a path. Young Jiang’s face was puffy and red from days of tears and suffering. She turned and looked at the monk.

Xu’s heart instantly broke seeing the young girl’s terror and fear. “Let her go.”

Her mouth opened and formed a smile while her eyes expressed nothing but renewed terror.

Come closer.”

Xu didn’t move. Jiang convulsed. Her body shuddered under waves of pain. Xu stepped closer. Her pain eased with each step he took.

That’s right, you learn quick.”

Xu could feel heat like a fire coming from under her bed as he stood over the young girl.

Closer, I have a secret to discuss.”

Xu looked under the bed as he kneeled down. The demon’s tongue, almost a foot wide and probably a mile long, had slithered out of a hole in the floor. Xu winced when he realized it tore through the bed. It was burrowed into her back, and wrapped around her spine. The worst possible situation.

Xu of the Shaolin Temple, a student of the great demon slayer Zhong Kui’s teachings,” the deep voice spoke from the little girl’s body. “I know you, monk.”

Xu saluted mockingly and looked back into the courtyard. The servants were nowhere to be seen. He hoped to glimpse them with axes for the tree. “Well I don’t think you have introduced yourself?”

The roots slithered slowly around Xu’s feet, closing the path outside. “There are foolish demons who fear you,” Jiang’s right arm shook in the bondage; it wouldn’t be long before she snapped the rope or tore open her wrist. “But not I; no, monk. I see inside you.”

Xu laughed and felt relief as he heard running feet in the courtyard. They were finally coming to cut down the tree.

You are not so pure. You desire women. The taste of flesh tearing in your teeth. There is no truth you trust.”

“Well it was nice talking but…” Xu stood and relaxed his body as he heard the axe take its first swing at the mighty tree. The axe slammed into the tree and Jiang’s midsection lifted in the air. The girl's body twisted like an upside-down letter U.
The demon growled, and for the first time it controlled her completely. Xu could see the hate burning through her. Slowly she rose off the bed, the giant tongue spearing her through the back. Blood poured out of her stomach where the tree demon tore through her.

“Faster!” Xu called out to the axe-men. The axes fell twice as quickly and Jiang twisted in the bed. She growled like a cornered dog.

I would stop them monk… you didn’t really think it could be that easy, did you?

Another servant joined the chopping at the tree's base. Jiang broke her right arm free just as a new wave of pain shot through her. She was a foot off the bed. Xu grabbed at the tongue inside her back. It slid past his gripping fingers deeper inside her. He could hear her spine begin to crack and pop. She opened her mouth and a child’s scream rang in his ear just before she puked blood on his face.

Xu tried to close his mouth but he swallowed a bit of vomit. He tasted it, burning hot like curry, he wanted to beg the axe-men to stop but the blood clogged his throat. He felt the roots twisting around his ankle.

The tongue pushed further out of the hole it had made in the bed, lifting Jiang’s dying body higher into the air. The rough skin of the tongue slid through Xu’s hands. Blood drained out of Jiang’s mouth and the demon’s voice spoke through a bloody gurgle.

They will all die. All but you, monk.”

Xu reached into his pocket and pulled out the yellow pieces of paper he had labeled and blessed with magic. “Demon, free this girl of your curse.”

Xu threw the yellow paper magic into the air. The tree demon screamed and the earth shook. Xu looked up in time to see the tongue swing Jiang across the room. Still impaled by the giant tongue the young girl’s body slammed into a wooden support beam. Xu closed his eyes but heard the impact. The neck snapped, a dozen or more bones broke at once.

He didn’t have time to mourn. He pulled two more pieces of paper magic from his pocket and blessed them. The Tongue coiled around to face him. The end split open into a mouth. A smaller, forked tongue shook inside of it. The teeth in this mouth were made of decayed human arms. The hands flexed desperately for food. The moldy smell of hot tree demon-breath filled the room.

Xu felt his lunch stir in his stomach again as the giant mouth at the end of the tongue coiled toward him. He reached over into the pit and dropped the paper magic. Xu flipped out of the way as the mouth struck at him with grasping teeth.

He landed in the court yard and he couldn’t believe the mayhem. The governor’s palace was in flames. The tree was gone. Nearby he could see dead servants lying on the ground. The governor screamed in the distance. The Tree Demon had torn through the palace. Xu walked and slowly followed the screams of the governor.

A hole remained where the tree had been rooted. Xu looked down into a blinding orange light. The governor and his wife were down there screaming and begging for mercy. As he stood there helpless the screams seemed to get louder.

“Xu save us please!”

He hated this part most of all. Soon he would hear her voice, Little Jiang.

“Please stop it, it hurts so…”

The monk put his hands over his eyes but he knew the voices were nowhere they could be blocked. He prayed for them to stop. A prayer to be free of the nightmare, but it had been years since he had faith. As soon as he closed his eyes he would hear the screams, see the face of the little girl. But no, he had to relive that night again…



Something hit his face. Xu was startled out of the nightmare. It never ended this easily. Every time he had slept over the last nine years, he had re-lived the night with the Tree Demon. He curled under the covers, reaching for the woman he'had brought back to his room. He felt nothing beside him. Then he felt the smack against his face again.

There she is. When his eyes opened, it was not the jade eyed beauty he remembered at the tavern. He shook his head, his long tangled hair needed a brushing. When his eyes cleared, he instantly came awake. Master Zhen, who had been one of his martial arts instructors at the temple, stared at him holding Xu's opium pipe.

“Master?”

Master Zhen smacked Xu even harder this time with the pipe. Xu grabbed his sore face and saw the jade beauty. She was putting on her clothes. Across from her four shaolin monks averting their eyes and chanted. Xu looked to the right of the bed and saw a young man dressing himself. It was at that moment when the fallen monk felt shame.

The boy was just as beautiful as the woman, so after a moment he let the shame melt away. It was all shameful to the monks. Xu leaned up in the bed and smiled at his former master.

“If you had informed me that you were visiting I would have dressed for the occasion.”

No one laughed. Xu’s young lovers headed out the door.

“Wait--they were just leaving!” Xu knew it was pointless. He fell back on the bed.

“Shameful,” Zhen said and the other monks chanted.

“Yes,it certainly is shameful to ruin a man’s morning.”

Zhen raised the pipe ready to swing again, this time Xu put up a hand and signaled he was ready to fight. The master lowered the pipe. Xu Looked at the younger monks and then the master.

“Nine years since I left the temple,” Xu stood and the monks turned from his naked form. He laughed, taking his time to put on his robe. The master relaxed when he was dressed.

“Xu we failed you,” the master said solemnly. “We are here to help you and appeal to your sense of loyalty, to the temple, to your nation.”

Xu smiled and then laughed wildly. “You're joking, right?”

“I am sure you have heard the rumors of a Manchu invasion.”

Now Xu’s interest was perked. What could he possibly have to do with that? He knew nothing of armies amassing in the north, besides the general whispers in taverns. He nodded, urging the monk to continue.

“The emperor fears the invasion will happen soon, they've been warned that the temple is in danger. Spies have informed them that if the Manchus ascend, they intend to burn the temple to the ground and outlaw the martial world.”

“I still fail to see how this concerns me?”

“We have entered an agreement to send an elite group of monks to help defend the emperor. In exchange, their spies will keep us informed of troop movements. The emperor made one puzzling request. He wanted you to serve him.”

Xu put his hand on his chest and laughed. “Does the emperor know that…”

“That you’re a fallen, disgraced monk? No, he doesn’t. We told him that your skills were… unpracticed. That you no longer fought demons; yet he insisted.”

Xu slipped his shoes onto his feet and walked to the water basin over by his bed. He couldn’t wait any longer: he peed in the bucket.

“You're just going to have to tell him what happened,” he said as he drained himself. “Besides, he needs an army, not a demon slayer.”

“I told you he would never come,” one of the young monks shook his bald head. Xu turned to look at the young man and almost peed on his feet.

“Kui–-mind your place,” the master reminded him.

Xu finished his business and scrubbed his hands before walking over to the young Kui. There he saw his own, lost innocence. Xu thought of being a young monk and almost laughed in the face of the naive creature.

“Don’t be so sure I won’t come,” Xu walked over to the master and grabbed his opium pipe. He shook it but it was empty. “Is there any payment involved?”


Click Here for Chapter 1

No comments:

Post a Comment

Archive of Stories
and Authors

Callum Leckie's
THE DIGITAL DECADENT


J.R. Torina's
ANTHROPOPHAGUS


J.R. Torina's
THE HOUSE IN THE PORT


J.R. Torina was DJ for Sonic Slaughter-
house ('90-'97), runs Sutekh Productions
(an industrial-ambient music label) and
Slaughterhouse Records (metal record
label), and was proprietor of The Abyss
(a metal-gothic-industrial c.d. shop in
SLC, now closed). He is the dark force
behind Scapegoat (an ambient-tribal-
noise-experimental unit). THE HOUSE
IN THE PORT is his first publication.

Sean Padlo's
NINE TENTHS OF THE LAW

Sean Padlo's
GRANDPA'S LAST REQUEST

Sean Padlo's exact whereabouts
are never able to be fully
pinned down, but what we
do know about him is laced
with the echoes of legend.
He's already been known
to haunt certain areas of
the landscape, a trick said
to only be possible by being
able to manipulate it from
the future. His presence
among the rest of us here
at the freezine sends shivers
of wonder deep in our solar plexus.


Konstantine Paradias & Edward
Morris's HOW THE GODS KILL


Konstantine Paradias's
SACRI-FEES

Konstantine Paradias is a writer by
choice. At the moment, he's published
over 100 stories in English, Japanese,
Romanian, German, Dutch and
Portuguese and has worked in a free-
lancing capacity for videogames, screen-
plays and anthologies. People tell him
he's got a writing problem but he can,
like, quit whenever he wants, man.
His work has been nominated
for a Pushcart Prize.

Edward Morris's
ONE NIGHT IN MANHATTAN


Edward Morris's
MERCY STREET

Edward Morris is a 2011 nominee for
the Pushcart Prize in literature, has
also been nominated for the 2009
Rhysling Award and the 2005 British
Science Fiction Association Award.
His short stories have been published
over a hundred and twenty times in
four languages, most recently at
PerhihelionSF, the Red Penny Papers'
SUPERPOW! anthology, and The
Magazine of Bizarro Fiction. He lives
and works in Portland as a writer,
editor, spoken word MC and bouncer,
and is also a regular guest author at
the H.P. Lovecraft Film Festival.


Tim Fezz's
BURNT WEENY SANDWICH

Tim Fezz's
MANY SILVERED MOONS AGO

Tim Fezz hails out of the shattered
streets of Philly destroying the air-
waves and people's minds in the
underground with his band OLD
FEZZIWIG. He's been known to
dip his razor quill into his own
blood and pen a twisted tale
every now and again. We are
delighted to have him onboard
the FREEZINE and we hope
you are, too.

Daniel E. Lambert's
DEAD CLOWN AND MAGNET HEAD


Daniel E. Lambert teaches English
at California State University, Los
Angeles and East Los Angeles College.
He also teaches online Literature
courses for Colorado Technical
University. His writing appears
in Silver Apples, Easy Reader,
Other Worlds, Wrapped in Plastic
and The Daily Breeze. His work
also appears in the anthologies
When Words Collide, Flash It,
Daily Flash 2012, Daily Frights
2012, An Island of Egrets and
Timeless Voices. His collection
of poetry and prose, Love and
Other Diversions, is available
through Amazon. He lives in
Southern California with his
wife, poet and author Anhthao Bui.

Phoenix's
AGAIN AND AGAIN

Phoenix has enjoyed writing since he
was a little kid. He finds much import-
ance and truth in creative expression.
Phoenix has written over sixty books,
and has published everything from
novels, to poetry and philosophy.
He hopes to inspire people with his
writing and to ask difficult questions
about our world and the universe.
Phoenix lives in Salt Lake City, Utah,
where he spends much of his time
reading books on science, philosophy,
and literature. He spends a good deal
of his free time writing and working
on new books. The Freezine of Fant-
asy and Science Fiction welcomes him
and his unique, intense vision.
Discover Phoenix's books at his author
page on Amazon. Also check out his blog.

Adam Bolivar's
SERVITORS OF THE
OUTER DARKNESS


Adam Bolivar's
THE DEVIL & SIR
FRANCIS DRAKE



Adam Bolivar's
THE TIME-EATER


Adam Bolivar is an expatriate Bostonian
who has lived in New Orleans and Berkeley,
and currently resides in Portland, Oregon
with his beloved wife and fluffy gray cat
Dahlia. Adam wears round, antique glasses
and has a fondness for hats. His greatest
inspirations include H.P. Lovecraft,
Jack tales and coffee. He has been
a Romantic poet for as long as any-
one can remember, specializing in
the composition of spectral balladry,
utilizing to great effect a traditional
poetic form that taps into the haunted
undercurrents of folklore seldom found
in other forms of writing.
His poetry has appeared on the pages
of such publications as SPECTRAL
REALMS and BLACK WINGS OF
CTHULHU, and a poem of his,
"The Rime of the Eldritch Mariner,"
won the Rhysling Award for long-form
poetry. His collection of weird balladry
and Jack tales, THE LAY OF OLD HEX,
was published by Hippocampus Press in 2017.


Sanford Meschkow's
INEVITABLE

Sanford Meschkow is a retired former
NYer who married a Philly suburban
Main Line girl. Sanford has been pub-
lished in a 1970s issue of AMAZING.
We welcome him here on the FREE-
ZINE of Fantasy and Science Fiction.


Owen R. Powell's
NOETIC VACATIONS

Little is known of the mysterious
Owen R. Powell (oftentimes referred
to as Orp online). That is because he
usually keeps moving. The story
Noetic Vacations marks his first
appearance in the Freezine.

Gene Stewart
(writing as Art Wester)
GROUND PORK


Gene Stewart's
CRYPTID'S LAIR

Gene Stewart is a writer and artist.
He currently lives in the Midwest
American Wilderness where he is
researching tales of mystical realism,
writing ficta mystica, and exploring
the dark by casting a little light into
the shadows. Follow this link to his
website where there are many samples
of his writing and much else; come
explore.

Daniel José Older's
GRAVEYARD WALTZ


Daniel José Older's
THE COLLECTOR


Daniel José Older's spiritually driven,
urban storytelling takes root at the
crossroads of myth and history.
With sardonic, uplifting and often
hilarious prose, Older draws from
his work as an overnight 911 paramedic,
a teaching artist & an antiracist/antisexist
organizer to weave fast-moving, emotionally
engaging plots that speak whispers and
shouts about power and privilege in
modern day New York City. His work
has appeared in the Freezine of Fantasy
and Science Fiction, The ShadowCast
Audio Anthology, The Tide Pool, and
the collection Sunshine/Noir, and is
featured in Sheree Renee Thomas'
Black Pot Mojo Reading Series in Harlem.
When he's not writing, teaching or
riding around in an ambulance,
Daniel can be found performing with
his Brooklyn-based soul quartet
Ghost Star. His blog about the
ridiculous and disturbing world
of EMS can be found here.


Paul Stuart's
SEA?TV!


Paul Stuart is the author of numerous
biographical blurbs written in the third
person. His previously published fiction
appears in The Vault of Punk Horror and
His non-fiction financial pieces can be found
in a shiny, west-coast magazine that features
pictures of expensive homes, as well as images
of women in casual poses and their accessories.
Consider writing him at paul@twilightlane.com,
if you'd like some thing from his garage. In fall
2010, look for Grade 12 Trigonometry and
Pre-Calculus -With Zombies.


Rain Grave's
MAU BAST


Rain Graves is an award winning
author of horror, science fiction and
poetry. She is best known for the 2002
Poetry Collection, The Gossamer Eye
(along with Mark McLaughlin and
David Niall Wilson). Her most
recent book, Barfodder: Poetry
Written in Dark Bars and Questionable
Cafes, has been hailed by Publisher's
Weekly as "Bukowski meets Lovecraft..."
in January of 2009. She lives and
writes in San Francisco, performing
spoken word at events around the
country. 877-DRK-POEM -




Blag Dahlia's
armed to the teeth
with LIPSTICK



BLAG DAHLIA is a Rock Legend.
Singer, Songwriter, producer &
founder of the notorious DWARVES.
He has written two novels, ‘NINA’ and
‘ARMED to the TEETH with LIPSTICK’.


G. Alden Davis's
THE FOLD


G. Alden Davis wrote his first short story
in high school, and received a creative
writing scholarship for the effort. Soon
afterward he discovered that words were
not enough, and left for art school. He was
awarded the Emeritus Fellowship along
with his BFA from Memphis College of Art
in '94, and entered the videogame industry
as a team leader and 3D artist. He has over
25 published games to his credit. Mr. Davis
is a Burningman participant of 14 years,
and he swings a mean sword in the SCA.
He's also the best friend I ever had. He
was taken away from us last year on Jan
25 and I'll never be able to understand why.
Together we were a fantastic duo, the
legendary Grub Bros. Our secret base
exists on a cross-hatched nexus between
the Year of the Dragon and Dark City.
Somewhere along the tectonic fault
lines of our electromagnetic gathering,
shades of us peel off from the coruscating
pillars and are dropped back into the mix.
The phrase "rest in peace" just bugs me.
I'd rather think that Greg Grub's inimitable
spirit somehow continues evolving along
another manifestation of light itself, a
purple shift shall we say into another
phase of our expanding universe. I
ask myself, is it wishful thinking?
Will we really shed our human skin
like a discarded chrysalis and emerge
shimmering on another wavelength
altogether--or even manifest right
here among the rest without their
even beginning to suspect it? Well
people do believe in ghosts, but I
myself have long been suspicious
there can only be one single ghost
and that's all the stars in the universe
shrinking away into a withering heart
glittering and winking at us like
lost diamonds still echoing all their
sad and lonely songs fallen on deaf
eyes and ears blind to their colorful
emanations. My grub brother always
knew better than what the limits
of this old world taught him. We
explored past the outer peripheries
of our comfort zones to awaken
the terror in our minds and keep
us on our toes deep in the forest
in the middle of the night. The owls
led our way and the wilderness
transformed into a sanctuary.
The adventures we shared together
will always remain tattooed on
the pages of my skin. They tell a
story that we began together and
which continues being woven to
this very day. It's the same old
story about how we all were in
this together and how each and
every one of us is also going away
someday and though it will be the far-
thest we can manage to tell our own
tale we may rest assured it will be
continued like one of the old pulp
serials by all our friends which survive
us and manage to continue
the saga whispering in the wind.

Shae Sveniker's
A NEW METAPHYSICAL STUDY
REGARDING THE BEHAVIOR
OF PLANT LIFE


Shae is a poet/artist/student and former
resident of the Salt Pit, UT, currently living
in Simi Valley, CA. His short stories are on
Blogger and his poetry is hosted on Livejournal.


Nigel Strange's
PLASTIC CHILDREN


Nigel Strange lives with his wife and
daughter, cats, and tiny dog-like thing
in their home in California where he
occasionally experiments recreationally
with lucidity. PLASTIC CHILDREN
is his first publication.