Manitou Island, Part 1 (standard:fantasy, 858 words)
Author: Tehuti	Added: Aug 23 2001	Views/Reads: 3098/5	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
An online serial fantasy. Part 1: The demon Dreamspinner searches for the one who may save the Island from destruction...

CRYSTALS LINED THE edges of the high cave.  If more light had been able
to make it within, they would have set the place aglow in every color 
imaginable, but as it was, they could only gleam dully in the flicker 
of a primitive torch or two.  The one who lived within had no need of 
much light.  His own eyes glowed brighter than any gems that surrounded 
him, floating like two disembodied emeralds in the dimness.  One of the 
torches flared and then sputtered in a small gust of wind, and the 
light bounced off him when he moved.  The faint glint of a curving 
horn.  The glossy blackness of a wolf's fur.  Feathered wings, and a 
long winding snake's tail, whispering softly across the sand on the 
ground. 

He had an interest in only one of the crystals, the biggest one, set in
a small stone hollow.  This one glowed more brightly than the others, 
and it glowed of its own accord; it didn't need the fire to light it 
up.  Within it, he kept his emerald eyes on the one thing that held his 
interest now, the one thing he knew that mattered more than anything 
else at this time. 

Humans.  Humans would be coming here soon.  Outsiders, not from the
Island.  The Island had been visited by outsiders several times in the 
past, but most of them had not stayed long, and most of them had never 
been able to find their way back once they were gone.  That was the way 
it was.  The fog kept the Island hidden, protected it from outsiders, 
just so he and the other residents could go about their lives in peace. 
 He was certain most of the natives weren't even aware of all the 
changes that had taken place on the mainland in all the years they'd 
been here, "trapped" on the Island; in this place, time didn't have 
quite the same meaning it did as on the outside, and that could be a 
problem for both his kind and the natives, *and* for any outsiders 
involved.  Which was why it had to be important for him to *want* 
outsiders to come. 

Not just any outsiders, though.  A *particular* outsider. 

He could see her in the crystal now.  A young girl, standing with a boy
about her own age; from the looks of it they were in some kind of 
store.  An antiques store, if his albeit flawed understanding of the 
outside world served him properly.  He could not hear their voices as 
they spoke, but they spoke excitedly, poring over an old photograph in 
a silver frame.  He recognized the photo.  It had been taken many, many 
years ago, on this very Island.  Not on the island these outsiders 
*thought* it had been taken on; for as of this moment, neither of them 
had any idea this Island even existed. 

*This will change, soon,* he thought to himself. 

He leaned forward to peer at the photograph for himself, and felt a
pang.  He recognized one of the subjects of the photo.  A young woman, 
her features like those of the natives on the Island, yet her 
hair--even in the black-and-white photo--not the same as theirs.  
Lighter in color.  He knew it was red, although one could not tell by 
looking at the picture. 

*Red Bird.  Perhaps you do not believe the camera can steal your soul,
but this time it may very well come close.  You should never have given 
the outsiders your picture.  Now I will have to interfere with 
everything.  Outsiders started all our troubles, but outsiders will 
also be the ones to help us end them.* 

This particular outsider--the young girl holding the picture, staring at
it, wondering who the red-haired woman within the frame might be--she 
would be the one to set things right. 

But first he would have to convince her to come to the Island.  She
already held the picture in her hands; already the seeds of curiosity 
had been planted.  All that he needed to do was inform her that her 
curiosity could only be satiated by coming here.  Not to that other 
island, the one where all the mainlanders headed in the summer to ride 
the horses or see the sights...but this Island, *his* Island, the 
Island in the fog that so few mainlanders ever got to see. 

He would make certain she saw it.  He had a way with dreams...he would
have his way with hers.  By the time of the next great fog, she would 
be on her way here, to him, and she would find out what she had to do. 

He stepped to the mouth of his cave, peering outside, to the south,
where the mainland lay.  The mainland, so easily sighted by him, from 
the Island, so invisible to the outsiders.  He lifted his head and 
sniffed at the air, nose twitching, emerald eyes searching.  Evening 
was coming on, and here and there a wisp of fog floated by.  He stared 
up at the stars.  Fog.  Not enough yet.  But soon. 

He would see her in her dreams soon. 

Continued... 

©2001 by Tehuti 


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