Date: Tue, 29 Jun 2010 19:17:26 +0300 From: Cem Yaz?c? Subject: Sixteen Emerald Nights-Chapter 0 Author's Message to the Reader: Dear Reader, The following is the prologue to a story composed of sixteen chapters. The story will include homosexual themes, emotions and sexual intercourse between males. If you have a negative opinion on these matters, I would suggest you not to read this story. Also, the following chapters will include graphic sex and that means no readers under the age of eighteen. If you fit into the criteria stated above, then stay awhile and enjoy the sixteen stories I will tell. Reviews will be cherished at this address: cemshyte@gmail.com Sixteen Emerald Nights by Cem Yazici Ouverture or Trapped! The sharp cold was like a knife to the weary yet joyful procession. It was snowing violently, large flakes of white against a backdrop of shades of grey. The group was not disillusioned though. They were happy to experience Winter at its fullest. That was, after all, what they had come here for: The Celebration of Winter, the Death and Rebirth of the Sun, which was yesterday. Now, we were walking from our hometown, Molvar, the City of Peace, to Gulmet, the City of the Twin Comets, carrying eight chests of pomegranate seeds, eight chests of dried apples, eight chests of citrus fruits and eight chests of red grapes, a symbolic gesture, which had lost its meaning over the centuries. We were singing loudly, as our kegs of ale and beer were still full to the brim. And I was not aware that it would be today that my life would change, and like every good story, it would first be very, very bad and then be better than ever. In my case, the ending will be different, as it will be, for me, at least, the "best" ending imaginable. Though it should be known to my dearest, best beloved reader, that I write this story eighteen years late and my memory has become blurred, like my vision itself. The Sun had grown old and wise this year. Our harvest was the best one I could remember. I, like other citizens, was pleased with the possibility of this being a chance of enlightening our economical situation, although I wasn't a farmer. The fiddler on top of the ox cart had begun a lively tune and the young girls were all singing merry tunes. We were all happy. We were so happy, it was bound to happen: Some of us were left behind. We were probably a group of twenty, slow walkers and dreamers, like myself on that particular day and people who had lost the rhythm while talking to one-another. We had realised it a bit late, and the convoy was fifteen minutes' walk ahead of us. It was bound to happen. A small group in a snowstorm during night... The howls of wolves from afar were heard. We had suddenly realised that we had better be running and that was what people shouted to each other. Then, from the trees leaped the largest wolf I had ever seen; not that I had seen a lot. It was obviously the alpha-male and my thoughts were proven by the other seven smaller wolves that followed their leader. Our group scattered at the sight of this. Eight of us, me included, ran towards the mountains on the opposite side and the other twelve, whom four of the wolves dared follow, manoeuvred cunningly and sped their way to the convoy. "To the mountains!" cried a brutish fellow. "Take refuge in a cave!" Needless to say, we all agreed, the seven of us followed the man who seemed to be acting on pure instinct. The man turned first left, then, right and seemed to find a small entrance. "Over here!" he called. "Rally to me!" At that moment, I had understood that he was a soldier and a quite high-ranking one too, as he seemed to bring people together easily. Three men, including the Soldier, waited up front for the wolves to come. I knew all our hearts were pounding as we heard the soft but swift claws of the wolves approach us. Then, with a snarl, two wolves appeared on the hill, their gnarly teeth yellow in contrast to the snow and their breaths condensed to the lightest tone of gray. "Come on, you mongrels!" the Soldier taunted and took a boxer's stance. Another man took a large jagged dagger from his belt and quickly dipped it in a bottle he took from his pocket. The third man was muttering. I could barely hear them, but I understood from his facial expression that they were incantations to increase his power. He was obviously an Alchemist, and from his stance and cool-blooded behaviour, an experienced one, like the Soldier. The second man, I couldn't discern, but he seemed a bit like a ruffian with the scars on his cheekbones and his messy dark hair. The wolves snarled some more and the one on the left suddenly leaped on the Soldier. Taken by surprise, the soldier raised his left arm to protect himself. While he was struggling with the wolf's bites, the second wolf attacked the Alchemist, whom he, or she, had mistakenly sensed to be weaker. The Alchemist was ready though and he was able to blast the wolf off by a couple of metres. The wolf was relentless and it quickly galloped to the Alchemist again. This time, the Alchemist shouted garbled words and the wolf became suspended in mid-air. Meanwhile, the Soldier was bitten by the wolf and he was trying to wrestle it. The other man, whom I identified as a ruffian, had remained inactive, unsure whether to help the Alchemist or the Soldier. The Alchemist began reciting with a faster and darker tone, his voice becoming more and more powerful by the syllable and then, he raised his right hand, clenched. The wolf whimpered and tried to claw its way out of the stasis, but the Alchemist showed no remorse, with a sharp and strict vertical movement of his index finger, he caused the torso of the wolf to be split into two. The animal's innards fell to the ground, splattered blood and guts everywhere. The Alchemist clung to the side of the cave for support. He had obviously been drained from the ordeal. The Soldier, on the other hand, was not quite done with his fight. He was still wrestling the wolf that had caused cuts and abrasions on his large left arm. The ruffian finally decided to act and he swiftly approached the wolf from behind and jabbed the animal's neck six, seven, eight times and he appeared to get a sadistic pleasure out of it. The Soldier then hurled it over the cave where it hit the wall to our left, leaving a trail of blood as it slid to the ground. The body hit the ground with a silent "thud", muffled by the wolf's blood and fur. "I'm not a hunter, dammit," said the soldier, holding his left arm as he walked, obviously exhausted, into the cave. "Are you alright?" asked the ruffian. "Lemme see that arm of yours." "Stand back, I'm a doctor," said the guy next to me. He approached the Soldier, who hesitantly held out his arm. The Doctor observed the arm and asked the ruffian if he "could please bring the bag over there". "What's your name, sir?" he asked the Soldier. The reply did not come from him, but from a boy around my age: "His name is Serjo." "Alright, Serjo, this might hurt a bit, but your wounds will fester if we don't do it." "I know, Doc," said the Soldier whose name was apparently Serjo. "I've been through enough battles." The Doctor took two bottles of clear liquid, a forceps, a pair of surgical scissors, some bandages, a needle and a piece of thread. "What's that do?" asked the ruffian, pointing at a bottle. The Doctor disregarded the ruffian, opened one of the bottle's cap and handed it to the Soldier. "Drink this." "What is it?" asked the Soldier. "Gin," the Doctor replied, with a smirk. "It's to dull the pain." The Soldier took the bottle and drank five gulps; he grimaced and made an "argh" sound. The Doctor proceeded with opening the other bottle and held it above the arm. "This will hurt a lot," he said, frankly, and without letting the Soldier protest, he poured the liquid, which, I deducted, was pure distilled alcohol. "Aaaaaarrgghhhhhaaahhh!" the Soldier cried as the liquid cleaned the blood and filth from his wounds. The ruffian watched, mesmerised. Then, the liquid bubbled and the Doctor proceeded to clean the wound with his forceps. He plucked out the wolf's fur from the open wounds and cleansed it again with alcohol. He then checked to see if there were any large slashes. Luckily, there was none. He then took the bandages and wrapped the Soldier's arm up. His bleeding had slowed down and only a small tinge of red appeared on the bandages. "Thanks a million, Doc," "It should be me thanking you three, as it is you three who saved us from those damned creatures." The rest of the group and I murmured in agreement. I took a step closer, feeling a need to get involved in the conversation. I held out my hand and shook the other people's hands and introduced myself. "My name is Stetton Bableer," I said, "I'm a student at the University." "Serjo Panbeck," he said, shaking my hand firmly. "Brigadier General of the Kingdom of Nedjek" "An honour, sir" Others proceeded with the ritual of shaking hands, again, a symbolic ritual showing that the sides did not carry weapons to hurt each other. Our group was composed of the Doctor, whose name was Chengell Kolf, the Alchemist, who went by the name of "Potash", which was suitable to his reddish-brown appearance, signalling he was from the south. There was also Djanmer Cwelth, an Artist, a "jack of all arts", if you'll excuse me saying. The person whom I had identified as a ruffian turned out to be a Bounty Hunter, who told us only his professional name, which was "the Raccoon" . Not to forget a Farmer by the name of Feddle Deeda. The only one left, was the boy who had told Serjo's name to Dr. Kolf. He, with a holier-than-thou attitude, and quite snobbishly and coldly had said: "I am Jering III., Royal Prince of the House of Nedjek." If his servant's were around, I was sure he would demand us to kiss his ring. Although I had started to dislike him immediately, he seemed familiar. I knew I had seen him before, but I did not remember where from. The snowstorm appeared even more violent and the weather felt colder, if that was possible. We made our way into the cave as much as possible and decided to stay there until tomorrow morning, when we would probably be able to survive in the open. We did not dare go out to gather wood for a fire. We just took the corpses of the wolves and Serjo skinned them, quite meditatively and then he ripped every edible piece of flesh from the bones. He then wrapped them in paper and put it in the corner. "Just in case," he replied to the quizzical looks he got from the group. Nobody said another word. We just reclined and looked outside at the escalating snowstorm. Thankfully, the cold winds did not reach into the cave. Serjo had chosen a swell place. One by one, we drifted to sleep in the comfort of the old motto "united we are strong", unaware of the misfortune we were going to discover the next day.