Ancient Daze

By Tobey Truestory

If a person's weaknesses can literally be negated by something as unexpected as a sword, they would surely seek to claim it as their own, even if they have to steal it. Even if they have a close bond with the sword's former owner. Regardless if they would have never known the sword existed without the owner having approached them to begin with. They would never be able to see him again, but perhaps they could get past the shame of that. Or maybe they could convince themselves the sword was always meant to be theirs. However, their hope for shameless peace is short-lived when someone other than the previous owner confronts them with a sword similar to theirs. In a normal town among normal people, the manifestation of an urban legend with mystical swords is sure to turn some heads with mixed results. Unable to put away the past or remain convinced they were in the right, this wild pursuer forces them to confront inconvenient truths. This is surprising, since these truths are supposed to be secrets shared only between them and the owner of their stolen swords.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Jan 4, 2021
• ISBN: 9781716266652

Book preview

Ancient

Daze

Tobey Truestory

Edited by Carol Petro

Ebook Edition Published 2021 by Lulu

www.lulu.com

ISBN: 978-1-716-26665-2

Copyright © January 2021 Tobey Truestory

The right of the author to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright owners.

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Printed in the U.S.A.

For those inspired by the strengths of others

The Field

Just let it go . . . , she whispered, but her voice carried across the field. The night and its lights were too far away to interfere, but the tall grass swept at her words, caught them, and juggled them for consideration.

There was no need, because little space moved between her face and his. 

His eyelids were falling over the black depths of his eyes. The strange green rings that outlined his equally green irises were the only color to contrast the dark flesh found there. The mysteries others longed to unravel in his vision were hidden even more so, now that this varying color was fading. There was an ongoing debate whether or not the centers of his eyes were really his pupils. A popular theory entertained what others saw weren’t really his eyes at all.

They knew he could see. He saw more than anyone else did.

She wondered if truly his focus was failing for the very first time of his peculiar existence. That’s why she hovered over him now, making sure he could see the curiosity in her bright blue eyes, which aided the soothing tone of her voice.

. . . and give it to me.

Her hands were pressing into the center of his bare chest. The tan of her skin’s complexion was vibrant against his milky grey pallor. She knew he wasn’t always this faded. He had been the flame in the night. The way her hands rested almost side-by-side, her thumbs and index fingers overlapping, she could have been accused of holding his light back. Yet, there was a small triangular space between them. It was just enough to let his light pass through.

All of him continued to fade, but the light that was left gathered there where her hands waited. It could have been a rogue mist, a trick of the eye, or tears smearing her vision, but she spoke with a confidence at the first signs of the arrival.

That’s it.

His response had touched her, but she didn’t let this show. Her soft eyes and easing words—all of it was to make sure he would go through with this.

It’s okay.

She didn’t want to take her eyes off his. That was part of the trust, but when the so-called fog started to glow from within, her focus was forced downward. That was a part of his charm.

The stars danced inside that growing light. The stars of one’s childhood. Those with five points, but these weren’t made from the scrapings of crayons. They were a deep red. Just like her hair.

He might have mentioned something about fate in this.

She tried to keep up with them all, her once-heavy eyelids now lifting, giving her full spectrum. They spun and bounded, but they never twisted about. Never once proved that they were more than some optical illusion.

With her hands now submerged within the glowing fog, she wondered if she could feel them, catch their points along her skin and finally see if they were as sharp as she imagined them to be.

They called for a truce against one’s defenses. Dazzled the viewer, bringing not a smile to their face, but a slack jaw.

Then they would dig inside, and a warmth would settle over the viewer’s entire being. It wasn’t the heat from the growing light. She had experienced this before and knew the sensation came from within, because it was her reaction to their presence.

Just like before, she whispered, feeling strength leaving her. First in her upper back. She had enough of her mind to flex the muscles in her arms a little more to support the extra weight pressing down on them.

At some point, she realized, the foundation of his chest would give way. Her hands would drop. How far, she didn’t know. No one knew. His being was just as fathomless as his eyes, which were darkening further.

A part of you . . . , she whispered, feeling the strength along the back of her neck giving. She hung her head, putting her face that much closer to the light, bringing those stars into her breath.

. . . something sacred . . .

Her hands were consumed by the light, but she could still feel his chest underneath her palms.

. . . placed in the hands . . .

She felt the warmth moving from her extremities to gather along her back. There, and at no surprise to her, seeing as she never forgot about his charm, the warmth trickled up her spine. Instead of subduing her, she was given a mysterious strength. It wasn’t her own, but his. He was already there, seizing control.

She whispered a gasp, and felt the muscles in her neck flex. Her head came up and tilted back as his strength flexed further, catching in her lower back.

She whispered another gasp, arching backward, throwing her gaze toward the sky, but she had closed her eyes, totally focused on where his strength had gripped her. The bottom of her buttocks lifted slightly from him, and her thighs clenched around his hips.

Her lips parted further as if to utter a third gasp, but this was a reaction to the sudden connection made with her hands. There had not been any warmth coming from the light, but she did feel the solid surface of something else. Something there in the center of his chest.

Something metal.

It, too, was warm. Not because it was there in that light. Not even because it had emerged from within him, but because it had been in his grasp up until this point.

His mysterious grasp.

He was always wielding them.

Now that he had released it, she curled her fingers around it.

. . . of another, she whispered, finally letting herself smile.

The handle was made for his hand, so when she gripped it with both of hers, she could tell the entire length was free. As her grip was firm, so was his. The strength in her lower back was still flexing, holding the curve of her spine and keeping her head tilted backward.

She trembled under his grasp. This was unfamiliar to her, but still no surprise. What was familiar was the shape of the handle in her hands.

When she pulled, it didn’t budge. Her smile twitched.

When last she had come in contact with it, the same strength that held her now had supported the weight then. That glimpse was all she could bear at the time, and so he had been gentle. With the handle unsupported by him now, it was dangling over the chasm. She was witnessing for the first time its true eight.

Trust me, she said, her voice just above a whisper.

His grip on her didn’t falter.

Neither did her smile.

You can trust me.

She sought out her own strength, forgetting her hands for the moment. Gathering what she was aware of, she channeled it all into her lower back. Shuddering, she pressed against the shape of her spine.

Daring to best his fathomless strength was a foolish notion, she knew.

But she also knew that he was fading. She had only to be ready. She still needed his strength. Just for that quick moment. Before it faded entirely. Yet, she had to coax him in order for this to happen the way she hoped.

Who knew how long it would take for his strength to actually fade?

She could only last so long, but she had something to use to her advantage. The only thing she had that was potentially as powerful as any strength he might have. He may have had a grip on her, but she had a specific grip on him as well.

She knew just how persuasive her grip could be.

It could even coax him to give in faster.

So she flexed her strength, pressing hard at the shape of her spine. Every movement she could muster was a strike beyond his defenses. Her rear jolted. She groaned under her breath and then gasped, more surprised by the amount of air that was allowed to escape her lungs. His strength flexing in her lower back had lost its grip but only for a second.

Her lips parted further when his strength slowly regained its grasp. She tried to suck in a breath but only uttered a quiet squeak. Her brow furrowed as the thought of letting his grip finish her passed through her mind, but she made herself fight back.

Sending a pulse of strength against his, her buttocks pressed back down onto him. She groaned during that brief contact and felt his strength wane. Her weight pressed down onto him, and she gasped with the room given to her lungs. She thought his strength had completely fallen away but his body, so far having been limp, suddenly tightened underneath her.

His strength snatched at her lower back, reshaping the curve of her spine. Her buttocks came off him, and she thought she might lose her grip.

That thought went away when all the strength he had burst inside her body. She felt herself flying upward, but she knew she wasn’t being physically thrown. The burst of energy had only one direction to go, which was toward the sky.

She didn’t know if his grip on her neck was still there or not, but her body reacted regardless, throwing her head to the side as she wailed. Her thighs clenched his sides, forcing the rest of his strength upward. Her mind went blank with warmth. All there was to know was the rippling rise of that warmth. Her voice had been drowned out by the roar of that flow. It was all there in her mind. She felt it heating to a deep red. That hue pressed against the backs of her eyes, looking for a way out. She would have let it fly free if she could only open her eyelids.

The thrill had sealed them shut, giving allowance to her mouth to expel her uncompromising shout.

Something broke behind her eyes, and she felt that red hue spill just underneath her face.

Below, his body released its tight, bridge-like shape, and he slumped into the grass. The flow escaped with the last of her shout, and she rocked forward. Throwing her hands ahead to catch herself, only her left arm obeyed, anchoring her palm in the grass. Her elbow locked into place, and she tilted there in a hunch.

Panting, she questioned the use of her eyelids. When they parted according to her will, she blinked and then eased them open. Her face was inches away from the tall grass that surrounded them both. She looked down, seeing his faded white hair. His face was buried between her breasts. He was motionless, quiet.

The way her left arm was locked at her elbow, her shoulder was arching upward. Noting that she was resting at a slant, she remembered how her right hand had refused to lurch forward along with her left to move into place as support. Turning her head slightly, she glanced back to find her right hand lying near her knee. Her fingers were curled inward.

She spotted those red stars. His light hadn’t vanished. It had just relocated slightly away. There, just past her hand. The stars were jiggling. They emitted enough light to glimmer off the metal peeking between her fingers.

The handle rested in her grip. The stars formed a path through the parted grass. No longer dancing, they were marking the shape of the crimson surface stretching to some distant point in the field.

She felt it was far away, because she had forgotten how big it was.

The blade.

The stars were quiet, hiding the weapon’s image under the night. They weren’t weakening. They were in shock. For the first time, it was no longer in contact with him.

Her eyes opened further. Her pupils mirrored the red life of those stars. Though, her irises were still the same bright blue. She could feel this. She didn’t know how she could feel it, but she knew there had been a change.

Her smile returned.

I have it, she whispered.

Turning back to him, she lifted her breasts from his face. His eyes were closed. He looked as if he was merely sleeping. Her expression softened. She bent down and pressed her lips into his hair.

The Blonde

Those things I can’t forget.

I wish I could, but at the same time, I can’t. Can’t let go, because I need them. Don’t need them all, but there’s no separation.

My relationship with those things . . . what can I say? Shameful? No. Not anymore. At first, sure. Was there a lingering effect? Can’t deny that, but I turned away from the direction the shame followed. Actually, I had turned my back on the shame as soon as I . . . claimed what I wanted.

The shame followed behind. Followed for longer than I’d hoped. Of course it stung, but maybe I started to become numb to it. Got further away from the moment I claimed what I wanted. Stayed the course toward my goals. Distracted myself with my goals.

That was the whole point of all this, anyway. All this happened because of what I needed. Yes, needed.

He knew what I needed.

Now I have it.

At my side is where it rests. Better yet, that’s where it’s secretly active. I don’t need to brandish it. Although, that would probably be more fitting if I did. Yet, he hardly ever brandished it. Only that once. And look what had to happen.

Not like anyone would see it, though. They can’t. Not it, specifically. That’s not how this works. No, they only see the results it produces.

Through me.

That’s sort of how he explained it. He was more poetic with his words. I just know that it works just like he said it did.

I don’t have to unsheathe it. At this point I am what it is. I have unsheathed myself.

Standing Unashamed Among the Rabble

Noise.

Not just from them, but from the traffic. The corridor of shops, stores, cafes, offices . . . it directs the sounds through and attaches to each vehicle that passes. They take their bundle and sweep it along the sidewalks.

That’s not the wind that swirls around my face and ruffles the wings of my collar. That’s the other. The pieces of lives that aren’t mine. When the cars pass, sure, I take the interruptions. Can’t avoid them, really, but I don’t have to reach out to cup a handful of them to keep in the pockets of my slacks. Those little anecdotes. Trivia. Worries. Whispers behind backs.

No, as soon as the car passes, I let those bundles leave. Let the small flecks that tried to cling to my suit jacket get caught up with the tendrils of currents that forced them against me. When the air settles, I just reach up and adjust my glasses, take this moment to check the face of the watch against the underside of my wrist, and then lower my hand to look toward the oncoming traffic.

I smirk.

Above me, the schedule of this bus stop makes several promises. The tall, grayish-blue bus slowing down as it approaches has stayed faithful to those promises. Its bulk rumbles up along the edge of the sidewalk. I hear the loud hiss of the brakes, which have no chance of drowning out the immense collage of lives that have attached themselves all over its surface.

The corridor is always looking for those objects more likely to help it push the world through its walls. This bus practically attracts the pieces of lives, dragging them for miles along the street until they can no longer hang on. They either fall off and roll for many yards along the asphalt, or careen into unsuspecting pedestrians.

I’m aware of all this sound, and that’s how I’m able to ignore it.

Yes, I can do this now. It was a part of my training. One of those things I can’t forget.

And