The Apologue of Rydar Study: The Worlds of Nightbreaker Luxada

By Mark Vincent Vicari

The Apologue of Rydar takes place in a world of fantasy on the planet Luxada, which orbits the First Star, Nightbreaker. It is the recording of seven episodic stores, each with wondrous elements and detailed characters, that are all interconnected to form a larger single narrative. Each story centers around a main theme, and in this publication version that is then covered in a devotional focus immediately after each story.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Mar 26, 2024
• ISBN: 9798823023047

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THE WORLDS OF NIGHTBREAKER

LUXADA

THE APOLOGUE OF RYDAR

STUDY

BY

MARK VINCENT VICARI †

777arkV.com

AuthorHouse™

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.authorhouse.com

Phone: [phone]

© 2024 Mark Vincent Vicari †. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 03/26/2024

ISBN: 979-8-8230-2305-4 (sc)

ISBN: 979-8-8230-2303-0 (hc)

ISBN: 979-8-8230-2304-7 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2024904482

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Pricing Disclaimer

Foreword

Prologue

~ I ~

~ II ~

~ III ~

~ IV ~

~ V ~

~ VI ~

~ VII ~

Epilogue

Afterword

Onward

Appendix - I

Appendix - II

Appendix - III

Special Thanks & Acknowledgements

For this, my first, all thanks and praise go to God Almighty,

Jesus, the Christ, the Savior of the world…

...and even of me.

I’m sorry it took so long.

Pricing Disclaimer

Self-Publishing & Print on Demand

The price of this book reflects the unique distribution requirements and cost per page for self-publishing and print on demand (PoD) distribution. Self-publishing is a process of making a book available for purchase through personal funding, often through a company that offers self-publishing service, and not a commercial publishing company investing in publication, distribution, and printing costs.

Print on Demand operates by printing needed copies of a book in real time as copies are sold one by one. This means the purchase price for a PoD book is higher than traditional publishing for the following reason. The standard practice of commercial traditional publication is offset printing, and has an advantage of covering the cost for bulk production of tens or hundreds of thousands of copies in advance of being sold to a customer.

If you have bought a physical copy of this book, I, the author of this book, would like to personally thank you for supporting me and my efforts as a writer, despite the higher cost. I also would openly advocate for the digital e-book version, as the price for the e-book is much lower. Whether a physical copy, paperback, hardcover, or e-book, if you have enjoyed this book, please tell others of your experience, and I thank you for that as well.

I can assure you that both you and I are looking forward to a time when a physical copy of my book is sold in the traditional way, and at the traditional pricing. It means I became successful as a writer, and it means a lower price for those who enjoy what I write.

I am considering a Patreon.com, Locals.com or other crowdfunding / donations account. Information for interested parties will be posted to my site 777arkV.com accordingly.

Mark V Vicari †

Foreword

This book, is at minimum, in my estimation and opinion, ten years too late. That is not surprising seeing as the fact that it is nearly twenty years old, regardless of beginning either at its inception, or when the very first word was ever put onto its very first page.

This book, this story, and I, have been through a lot together. I could (and may someday perhaps) write a book telling the story of my writing this book’s story. At that, I do want to warn (if that is the right word) you of one thing, and that would be that the first story was written by me, again, nearly twenty years ago. Then, I believe that the last part of this book was written about 7 years later. So there is a very clear progression in writing development that eventually levels out at some point that I will let others enjoy debating about.

While I did at times consider going back and rewriting the prior material, I always ended my thoughts in the belief that there was something of value to leaving them in their original state. In no small part it is to be honest for lack of a better word at the moment.

(Warn, Honest, not doing too well with words here for an author, am I? I’m really trying to write this candidly, in one sitting without too much in the way of perfecting it, because otherwise, writing this could end up taking me another twenty years with my standards and methods for achieving them. I came across a phrase once I fully admit applies to me; I expect perfection from everyone - and I demand it from myself.

I digress…)

What I mean by honest, is how I wrote the first things I wrote, was sincerely me at that time. A younger, headstrong, passionate, idealistic I’m going to write stories and be an author! me. So to me now, wiping out all that guy’s work, as if he did not invest a genuine portion of himself into it, and covering it over or rewriting it to make it appear as though I was never he, and did not live and grow in experiences, and as a writer, would be inauthentic. Because you see, I’ve grown, and changed, so that now I am an older, headstrong, passionate, idealistic, I wrote a story and I’m an author! me. The me I am now has been Adam, and Eve, Jacob, and Esau, Sampson, David, Peter, Paul, and nearly every other broken human found in scripture, that has too often chosen to ignore, defy, or wrestle with God, rather than to submit, obey, and be loved by Him instead - and while perhaps I do not have a dislocated hip, I do have my own kind of scars to prove it.

I have not forgotten my original point - that this book is at least ten years too late. The world seems to have gone through two-hundred years of changes in just the last twenty, and the only thing that has matched the exponential advancement of technology is the equivalent decay of society. Or is it not late at all? What if God had me writing a book twenty years in advance to fit the time it would finally have the chance to reach the people who may read it? Perhaps.

I don’t really know.

What I do know, what I can say with utmost honesty, is I do not know the number of times my editor and I would be going over a story, a section, a chapter, and just… stop - - - and one of us would say something like, ....and this was written almost ten years ago, but, it fits so well with what is going on in America, and, even in the whole world today, it’s almost exact…

It’s the many moments like that where the phrase This book is ten years too late. came from.

So that is where we are now. Late, or, on time… I don’t really know, but either way…

… here it is.

~ 777ark V †

Prologue

From the lands and waters of Luxada, third child of Nightbreaker - First Star.

By the hand of I, named Rydar:

I have given this letter to the messenger that travels between what’s in between the light of the sun and the glow of the moon. I hope it reaches you with speed and safely.

I have little time, so directly, I write you for this reason: there is a difference between my world and yours that I find troublesome, and causes me to worry for you greatly.

Allow me to first tell you some about my world, it will help explain why I harbor such fretting for you in my heart.

A time ago I witnessed two cursed insects, controlled by an undead abomination, infest a town with jealousy and greed like a storm cloud, the whole town daily growing more aggressive and violent in an all-consuming want for what others had.

I have fought a monster of lies that had the ability to shift into any shape it wanted, and seemingly turn people into statues of lifeless stone.

I have encountered tongue wasps that breed in the skulls of living people, swarm from their mouths riding on the animosity of evil words, to infect the minds of others.

I have known Despair, who could multiply himself and watched as he became an army of thousands which seemed to be so overwhelming it was impossible to believe in victory.

I have been engulfed in a hoard of guilt bats, each echoing the stories of the others, and all of them sounding out a cacophony of my own failures.

I once even had to struggle with myself, and cursed that I could not overcome him for good. He was me in all ways, but twisted, devious, selfish, and was everything I hate.

Now here is this, and here is why I worry and fret so over you and yours in the world you abide in. In my world, evil is obvious. It has horns, and yellowed eyes; they screech with a soulless laughing, and have wings made from shadow stuffs. They have fangs that drip with venom and claws that drip with blood. You can destroy them and feel no remorse; watch them die and feel no sadness or guilt. They can never be mistaken for a life that is not a monster. I correct myself, I did once need to contend with the mimic infection, still appearing and acting right in all ways, but in truth, deeply corrupt…but even they had a telltale giveaway. That was my most difficult battle.

Yet…is that not how your world is all the time? Evil there never manifests as monsters that no one would doubt is evil. In the world that is yours, no matter the completeness of evil’s corruption of a person, it never shows an indisputable sign of it. No matter how utterly evil a thing is, or a person becomes, by any means possible and all observations, such things and persons appear as mundane and nondescript, as typical and inconspicuous as any and all others.

How is it that you will ever survive? How can you ever hope to defeat the evils in your reality when all evil hides in the mask of normality? When darkness masquerades as light? When people are so surrounded by such things, they don’t even know what is abnormal, and evil?

Here, evil looks evil. There, it does not. I fear for you. For unless you and your kind take dutiful study of all that is good, and come to know what is wickedness, you are surely doomed.

No one can fight, least even win, against an enemy that they cannot identify, or worse yet…not even know the existence of…or even worse still - simply not believe in the existence of!

I tell you again, that in my deep compassion I fear for you and your kind. I will always petition the Sovereign of Stars (for He is Lord of all, and you have stars there…do you not?) for your safety, for your livelihood, and that He may lead you to ultimate freedom from the evils that plague your world.

I warn you, cling tightly to the Truth that you know, my friends. Or we will never meet in the Platinum Palace on the other side of the last moment of time.

Deepest peace, surest safety and greatest blessings of the Sovereign to you and all yours.

Your Friend,

Rydar R.

771st Knight of the Sovereign

~ I ~

I have fought a monster of lies that had the ability to shift into any shape it wanted, and seemingly turn people into statues of lifeless stone.

- - -

One could tell by the way he carried himself as he walked that he was no stranger to traveling, and had most likely been a wanderer for several years. That is, someone who had no destination, no direction, and no end to their goings about. He would live in one place enjoying whatever could be enjoyed until it did not suit him any longer, and then move on to another. This day, however, is the beginning of a life of change he would live.

His name was Rydar. (He hated the nickname Ry.) Looking ahead and finally seeing a small hamlet at the center of all the crops he had been walking past for most of the day now, a full, and for the most part, straight toothed smile broke across the entirety of the features to his face. This smile, like many others, was sure to add more crow’s feet than already faintly showing to the corners of his eyes. He had been traveling for some time now, and being a clean man by nature, he hated the feel of grimy clothes—a clear drawback to traveling. That dislike for dirt brought a dour expression of frustration to his face as he considered that the only portion of his white cotton shirt, that would still actually be white, would be the parts of his sleeves that, being rolled up past his elbows, were hardly ever exposed to the elements. The rest of his shirt more resembled the tan of his goatskin vest he wore over it. That vexed him because while he could be called messy in many ways, he was in effect, a neat man.

The hamlet had the standard layout for a farming community in the region. In the center, in a nearly circular pattern, were all of the buildings for living: homes, sheds for tools, and small barns for a single work ox or mule for lighter labors. These buildings were in turn ringed by the land used for farming, they then being dotted with extra sheds for convenient access to the most frequently used farming implements, and accented with dirt paths used to get to and fro. In all, it looked like a giant dart-board. This kept everyone in the bullseye, making a quick gathering to fend off possible threats much easier, discouraging most ruffians from considering an attempt at lawlessness, despite locations arrayed thusly, clearly looking like a large target when viewed from a hilltop.

It was past suntop when the people of the hamlet saw a stranger who was just under six feet tall calmly walk into town. Rydar looked around as he combed his fingers through his just-short-enough-to-keep-it-out-of-his-face sandy light brown hair. While clean, it was usually wind whipped and unkempt due to his traveling, disliking head-gear, and him not finding his hair to be as important as his clothes. Finishing his initial quick scan, he decided it seemed like a nice enough place. People were friendly; really almost too friendly. Nice scenery, nice food, it was all just nice. The last place Rydar stayed (for any measurable amount of time) ran out of nice things, so he had packed up and moved quite a few weeks ago. He had been on the road ever since, passed through a few other farm populations that didn’t suit him, and finally selected this one. Although, being tired of the constant traveling may have had something to do with the choice as well.

Rydar was born to a woodcarver in a lumberjack camp, so he was strong of arm and back, but growing up poor, without an oversupply of food, he turned out to be a little more lean than bulky. This very able-bodied appearance helped him to acquire a spare room in a small farm house in exchange for helping the farmer with daily chores. The farmer had lost his wife a year and some time before, and had two children, a boy and a girl, only ages 7 and five respectively. While they could do some smaller things, for many chores, they were just too small to take up. Just a few days after staying with the farmer and his children Rydar grew more aware that the attitudes of the village folk were a little... unbalanced.

First of all, and in retrospect, he noticed that Jakenson, the farmer he ended up staying with, was the first one he asked about a stay, and a room was almost thrown at him. At the time Rydar thought it could have just been because he was eager to gain some strong help, and so wanted Rydar’s mind made up before he found a different place to stay. Then as the days went on, he decided the people really were being too friendly. Everyone was being sociable the same way some would be to a lawfist: kindly, with a hint of edgy nervousness, regardless if they had done something wrong or not.

As a common favor for Jakenson, he would often need to go get, or go give, some tool or some item that was needed or had been borrowed. Once he had to return a length of chain (over-borrowed for past a month) to Garity, a friend of Jakenson on the opposite side of the locality. As he walked, no less than four others offered to help by bringing the chain for him. When Rydar said he felt it was his responsibility to see the chain delivered, he then needed to decline their offer to simply walk beside him and carry it so he wouldn’t need to.

When he finally arrived, Garity reacted as if even though the chain had been overdue for a month, that he was the one who had impinged on Rydar. Oh ya had to carry that all on yourself? I’m sarry bout that. You shudda just left it there and I wudda come got it on my own.

Everyone was always like that. When Rydar went to give Terta, a woman who kept goats, some eggs in exchange for some milk, she bustled about like Rydar was in a rush when he clearly wasn’t. When he asked Howgard, the next farm neighbor, for help with replacing a fence post, instead of helping, he gathered up his two sons, Tom and Roi, and hurried out to take on and finish the job without Rydar.

Jakenson was no different. Since the first day Rydar had stayed with Jakenson, he had been overly interested in trying to please Rydar. He was always asking the night before what Rydar wanted for breakfast the next morning, or clearly taking all the more difficult work, and always making Rydar’s lunch and giving it to him before he had his own. He would also scold his children for staring at Rydar, and they were indeed staring or peeking around corners or peeping at him from across the dinner table quite often. After only a few days, Rydar was growing uncomfortable enough that he was already beginning to think it was time to move on again - oddly enough because this town was too nice!

Perhaps he would have actually left, if it wasn’t for how those same staring, peeping children had endeared themselves to him. Not to mention having lost their mother garnered much empathy from him as well. That all, and he just found them funny.

One day while Rydar was clearing out some brush that had grown by the barn’s back door, his goal being getting things so the door would freely open again, he overheard a conversation Jakenson was having with his children, whose names were Jake, Jr. and Sarili.

I’ll tell you two again to leave it alone!

(It? Rydar raised an eyebrow quite high at that expression.)

Jake, Jr., picking his nose, was not convinced. How do you know it’s him?

Jakenson pulled his son’s finger away from its explorations. I don’t, and that’s the danger. We must presume it is.

Sarili wasn’t convinced either. But he offers t’do chores, Dadaw. Isn’t he always s’post to be selfish n’ mean? Like the one here b’fore?

Jake, Jr., now looking at his finger, was confused. Wats perzoom?

Listen you two, stop your curiosities. You’re being selfish. Don’t you realize you could get the whole town into trouble if you make it mad? (There was that it word again.) Now off with ya, feed the chickens, and not another word outta either you about this, and leave him alone, in all ways. Do you understand?

The two children glumly nodded, and sulked away, totally unappeased, to feed the chickens. - They surely disliked feeding the chickens.

Rydar now knew obviously that the hamlet thought he was some kind of high authority inspector or something, although he did think calling one it was a bit harsh, even for an inspector. At any rate, he didn’t like or want the attention, so he decided that, at dinner that evening, he would admit he heard the conversation to Jakenson, and explain he was no such person.

At that moment, the children, running around the barn playing tag, ran right into Rydar quite roughly. The fear in their wide eyes was obvious.

Rydar rebalanced himself by pushing off the barn door. Hey now, watch your scampering. Aren’t you two supposed to be feeding the chickens?

Their eyes grew wider, and Sarili whispered, although failed in childlike over zealousness at not being heard. Maybe eh’tis him, he can hear thoughts! Jake only shrugged, also not quite perceptive enough to grasp the implications of Rydar being just around the corner when their father gave them the task.

Then Jake cast a quick glance at Rydar, and also failed at whispering back to his sister. I’m gonna test em’. He then turned to Rydar with his wide-eyed sister trying to tug him away while anxiously shaking her head No the whole time. Mr. Rydar, wud you do a kind thing n help us feed the chickens... cuz... we asurly donlike feedn the chickens.

Rydar smirked and shook his head at how clearly Jake added the phrase a kind thing to his request. The antics of the children were so adorable and silly, he was compelled to go along with it. Well, I guess so, but if I do, then you must not jump on your beds tonight, making noise and keeping me up. Deal? The children flushed and giggled at being heard tousling around in their beds, and ran off toward the chicken pens.

Rydar fed the chickens, getting the bags and carrying them to the fenced-in pens. The children couldn’t carry the bags, and had to go back and forth with a bucket (a great many times at that. Such is why they disliked feeding the chickens), so Rydar was able to finish the chore much faster than the two children ever could have. All the while, Jake over-obviously scrutinized Rydar’s every movement, with his sister peering from behind her brother the all the while. Off and on the whole time they would skitter away to argue and then scamper back. Finally when Rydar was done, the children argued a final time. Apparently they came to an agreement, and so as boldly as the two tykes could, strode up to face down Rydar. Jake put his hands on his hips, and after a nod to his sister, who nodded back, blurted out, So lets have out wit’it. Are ya the monster or ar’nt you?

Rydar was stupefied. Monster? What are you kids talking about? The children took turns explaining, sometimes overlapping, Jake leading off.

The grown ups say there’s a monster that…

…he comes ta town and takes things…

…whatever he wants really, but ya can’t tell it’s ‘ihm…

…you can’t telit’s him cauz he can look different like…

…he can look like anybody he wants and he’s mean…

…and no one knows where he’s from…

…or why he’s here, but one farmer…

…Righin…he was nice…

…tried to fight him and…

Here the children said in unison as they finished…

Got turned to stone!

Rydar shook his head, and looming down over them with his hands on his hips said, perhaps more pointedly than he intended to the small children, "I am not, a monster. There are, no, such things, as monsters."

Rydar then shooed them away, being more focused on having monstrous work to do than the children’s monstrous accusations. So he spent the rest of the day doing his chores, with the children ignoring all his efforts at shooing them away, continually following at his heels giggling, and, asking questions to prove there are no such things as monsters, and that he wasn’t one himself.

So he explained things like monsters don’t like light, but he walks around in the daylight, and that monsters always look ugly or bad, but he has no horns or red eyes, and he explained that, really, monsters were just what people made up to explain things that they didn’t understand or were afraid of, like why wolves howl at the moon and other such things.

The children believed him.

But then why - Jake finally interjected, - do they say the statue is in the forest?

Rydar couldn’t resist a completely lopsided smirk, as he knuckle-rubbed the tops of the heads of both children, eliciting squeals and all the expected reactions. Probably to scare overly curious children, so they won’t go wandering through the forest alone.

The children ran away hooting, We’re gonna go and find it, can’t scare us! It’s s’posed to be by the old well! We’re not afraid! There ain’t no monsters!

Rydar yelled after them Now you stay away! I’m sure you’ll get a whoopin’ if you’re caught! He was sure his warning was to no avail, if even heard, as the kids ran and giggled and tumbled into the tall wheat.

It seemed their quest was all bluster, as they had taken a turn away from the forest and toward the Hobault farm, where Rydar suspected it was their friend Kip and his new litter of kittens that had become their focus. Everything seemed safe and fine - until later on when Rydar was finishing the last of the chores.

He was beating the dust out of a rug up against the property fence. He looked up to see Jake and Sarili heading into the forest. He scolded himself for piquing their interest about monsters and the statue. He didn’t want to see them get into trouble for that, so he started off after them.

Luckily, it wasn’t as dangerous as he envisioned. There was a worn trail, and it obviously led to the old well. He trotted a little ways in to hear eeeaking as the children came running into him for the second time that day.

Seeing that the two children were so frightened they were sure to run right past him, Rydar knelt down, scooping one in each of his outstretched arms. Hush now! What’s all this about? What’s wrong?

The children cried about how the monster was going to get them, because there was indeed a statue, and they thought they saw a monster in the well. Rydar calmed them down as best he could. Then started to explain away their fears again.

Now come with me and listen. He chided.

The children were reluctant, and Sarili sobbed every now and then, but after a moment they arrived at the old well. It looked like it hadn’t been used in a decade or so. Rydar simply assumed it had gone dry. It was grown over with vines, some bricks were missing, and sure enough, there was a statue. It had both hands on the edge of the well, and the man was leaning over slightly, as if pensively peering into its depths.

There now, you see? It’s just a decorative statue. You can make wishes in wells, you know. The statue man looks as though he just threw in a coin, and he was wondering if his wish was going to be granted. Nothing scary…looks nice I think. Did you ever have a sculptor live in your town?

Wut’s a skullpter? Jake asked with confusion.

Rydar sighed Nevermind.

Sarili was still worried. What about the monster in the well?

Rydar walked over to the well, There are no such things as monsters! Look, it was probably a raccoon, or something else living in it since it doesn’t get used.

The children watched in terror as he turned the loud rusty crank and pulled up the bucket.

As he did so a raven cawed.

The chain rolled up and shadows seemed to shift…

...but in the end, there was only cold clear water in the bucket.

There. You see? Rydar placed the bucket on the edge of the well. Just water, no monsters. I should tell your dad on you. Scampering out into the forest by yourselves, over such silliness as monsters. Now let’s get back to the farm before he notices none of us are around.

With the rejuvenated courage that comes with childlike faith, the children, again believing Rydar’s assurances, took off playing freely (as if mere moments ago they weren’t fraught with fear), running home wanting to avoid being caught by their father, that they had been caught by Rydar, away from their property. Before following them in returning to the homestead, Rydar turned to take one last look at the marvelous statue. It was incredibly detailed, he thought to himself; the sculptor must have been a master at his art.

They all got back to the farm without incident. Rydar decided to let the children off, and not report the whole thing to their father. He still felt somewhat at fault for his role in encouraging their curiosities. There was dinner, and then bed. The evening was cool, and calm. The children were either keeping their promise, or had tired themselves out during the day, as there was no rambunctiousness coming from their room. The house was silent, and lying on his bed in the dark, Rydar had some disturbing thoughts...

The well isn’t dried up, I pulled up a full bucket. Could be tainted I guess. And Righin, is what they called the statue. So, it at least has to be a statue of someone that’s not here anymore. Can’t have a legend of someone being turned to stone, if he’s here to walk around every day. Probably a lover who flung himself into the well heartbroken or something. Ya, and they didn’t want to explain to kids why an adult would do such a thing, and why they wouldn’t want to use the well anymore. That would explain the artwork, they probably built a lil’ memorial to him in the form of a statue. I’m sure that’s it…or something like it. And so he went to sleep.

The next morning Rydar woke up to the smell of ham and eggs. Ever since he mentioned it was his favorite, it was made for him every day. He got dressed and went to the kitchen. Breakfast was more of the norm. The children were already getting into mischief bringing one of the farm’s ducks indoors and chasing it around. They were trying to get an egg out of it because they were curious to know if duck eggs would taste different than chicken eggs. After having been shooed (the children were forever being shooed) out of the house, (along with their duck) the two men sat down to eat.

It was awkward (for Rydar) and silent as Rydar decided to mention something about this monster rumor, and so try and get to the bottom of what was really going on. Continuing his thoughts from the night before, he wondered, Maybe there was a murder? And so the town was on edge, and trying to keep it a secret. That wouldn’t explain the statue though. Unless it’s two stories mixed together? One that the children made up to explain something the adults weren’t telling them.

Rydar was just thinking how he wished he knew the truth, when a very loud commotion outside startled him. He and Jakenson bounded over to the door, and squeezed out the threshold at the same time. What they saw made Jakenson’s face turn ash white, and made Rydar blush a beet red.

A new stranger had walked into town, and upon seeing him, Jake Jr. and Sarili immediately rushed up to taunt and frustrate the man, yelling and dancing all around him, as he, with temper rising, tried to get them to go away.

Are you the monster?

There’s no such thing as monsters ya know!

Go away! Get off my feet!

"You’re mean, maybe you are the monster!"

How come you’re mean, Mr. Monster?

Get away! Insolent little…

The other folk in proximity stood wide eyed, horrified and holding their own children back, while farmer Hobault even bodily grabbed up his son Kip round his middle and rushed away toward his house. At this point Jakenson ran up and pulled his own children away from the man, swatting them both on the rump, talking to the man with a veritable outpouring of apologies.

I’m so very sorry, they’re just children, they get out of hand when they get a good night’s sleep, they’re so energetic in the morning then. First time in weeks they haven’t jumped in their beds, actually.

Rydar’s face was still as red as ever, half out of embarrassment at, again, what he believed he caused, and half out of anger at the children’s foolishness. The perpetrators were hard pressed to hide, each one being held by one hand of their father, the angry stranger in the front, an angry Rydar behind, and curious onlookers pulled away from their morning chores, all with worried expressions on their faces. All the two children could do was hang their heads in resignation.

The stranger was fuming. "I… don’t care! I need a room, and since I suffered affront by your two unruly children, I will have one in your household!"

The problem with that demand was there was no room to spare. Jakenson was worried, and filled with fear, but in the end his honor won out. This man has already taken my spare room sir, and I…

The stranger interrupted with an outburst, Then I will stay in the room belonging to those brats and they can stay in the barn! How dare you refuse me after I suffered such embarrassment!

Rydar was about to attempt to diffuse the situation by offering that he himself stay in the barn, but it turned out to be moot. Because, already more powerful than his fears, and more powerful than even his honor, was Jakenson’s love for his children. He spoke with a courage, and even defiance, the children had never seen from their father. Sir. I will do no such thing. I would never, even if they caused the death of my best head of cattle, banish them to sleep in the barn for even a single night.

The look in the stranger’s eyes—the way he trembled—was a terrible thing to see. He straightened his posture to his fullest and said in a strange voice, You can not deny me. You can not defy me. You must always oblige me, doing what I demand. You have no choice.

Then Rydar witnessed something very strange. Jakenson believed the words, for he replied to the stranger, I know, I wish it could be different, but you haft to stay in their room. They need to sleep in the barn; it’s only for one night.

The children, however, didn’t seem to believe the stranger’s words as easily, and they, knowing and loving their father, could only think of one reason why he changed his mind. With the fearlessness of a single-minded child they both rushed at the stranger and beat upon his legs.

"You are the monster! they shouted. What did you do to our dadaw? You stole his heart, give it back!"

Jakenson just stood there, dumbly staring straight ahead, so Rydar, aghast at the children’s assault on the man, was about to rush up to pull them away.

Then nightmares revealed they were not confined to the time of sleeping.

Rydar saw the stranger glimmer and wobble, and so he changed into a creature that was liquid in form, and flowed like blackest glistening pitch, yet wore the general appearance of a man. Even that was a poor description at best. The face flowed and reformed itself over and over again. Arms would jut out, only to melt back into the center mass, and be replaced by new appendages.

The creature loomed over the children and from a rippling mouth it emitted a voice as ever changing as its shape. Be ever still lowly beasts of flesh, as now you are ever stone!

So before Rydar’s very eyes, they became stone.

There was a second of silence as many that were gathered roundabout watching the confrontation unfold held hands up to their mouths, then - all scattered and ran. Rydar had seen enough, and he knew he could not just stand and watch such horrific events unfold. He knew he had to do something.

So Rydar ran away.

Everyone else was in a panic, so it wasn’t difficult to get behind some kind of obstacle, then a house, and then simply turn and run. Rydar had brought nothing important with him that wasn’t on his person, so stopping to gather things wasn’t an impediment to, nor as important to him as, his escape.

Rydar ran away from the village, and in the opposite direction of the old well that he now fully believed was the home of the monster. He was not an unfit man by any means, so he was a good five miles away and into the forest before he had to stop to catch his breath, and get a drink from a nearby stream. It was clear and babbling, and he knelt down to drink, when he was interrupted.

Don’t drink that water; it’s bitter water, and will turn your stomach sick for a week if not a day.

Rydar was still skittish as a frightened mouse, so, hearing the voice, he sprang up and whirled around. There before him was a small, elderly man. He was leaning on a staff that he held with both hands out in front of him. Rydar looked the stranger over, and noticed the staff was a shepherd’s staff with a large crook at its top. He had average length snowy white hair, no facial hair though, and eyes that were the blue of a perfect summer’s day.

The stranger was very calm. I’m sorry if I frightened you. I’m glad you even heard me this time.

Rydar made a face as he asked, This time?

Yes, I’ve tried warning you of things before, but you didn’t hear me. Never mind that now, come with me and I will give you a drink of clean water. So the old man turned and walked away.

Rydar had just sweat for five miles of running, so was very thirsty, and there was nothing to disbelieve about the old man, so he trusted in his offer of clean water. Rydar also admitted to himself that, as friendly as the man was, he would offer him some food as well perhaps. He watched the old man and saw that he walked with a strength to his step that looked more of an accomplished woodsman than an old hermit. He also noted how he seemed to know every root and branch he walked over or ducked under, respectively. It was obvious he had lived here for a very long time.

Very soon the old man motioned with his hand into a little thatched hovel. Here we go then, come on in.

Once inside, the man told Rydar he could sit on a woven rug and he went to pull a vessel out of a hole in the ground that was covered with some rough hewn planks. He lifted out the water vase, winking at Rydar, explaining that underground storage kept the water colder, and then took the cover off. Taking a wooden ladle he doled out some water into an empty gourd for Rydar, and instructed him not to be shy, that he would be given his fill.

So Rydar drank deeply, and as he was drinking, the old man did exactly what Rydar had hoped and gave him some bread as well. The old man then got and held up a small jar, From the Honey Harvest Holiday, year of the Laughing Lilies. A good year for Stonefoot’s honey. So, honey was added to the bread, and Rydar didn’t resist at all, eating the honeyed bread with eager enjoyment. While he was thoroughly enjoying his snack, the old man sat on the rug across from Rydar and looked at him with deliberate observation, and so said:

You are fleeing the monster of the hamlet.

Rydar almost gave the bread he was chewing on back to the kindly man as a spit flying missile to the face, but actually managed to swallow it instead, while he only stared with wide eyes back at his friendly accuser.

Oh don’t look at me as if I’ve done a hard thing. I know of the hamlet, and I know of the monster that torments it. Would you have me assume your run was just a spirited jog in the woods? Tell me this though, why did you run? Did you believe the monster?

Rydar wiped some crumbs off his lips, took another drink, and gathered his mind back to himself. I ran, because it was a monster, I mean, it…believed it? What do you mean? I ran because… I couldn’t do anything.

Yes, yes, I know all that much of it. What I was asking is, did you run because you felt afraid?

Rydar was confused, and almost offended. Of course I was afraid. It was…it was a thing…not even a beast, it could command things to become stone!

The man calmly continued his odd interrogation. So then, you did believe it? You ran not only out of fear? Rydar missed that the word only was given an emphasis.

He also thought the question stupid. Was there another reason to run? Listen, thank you for your kindness and water, but I need to move on now, to find a road before dark.

The old man ignored Rydar’s excuses to leave. You didn’t run because you believed what it said to be true?

Rydar was now plainly frustrated, and stood to leave. "What do you mean ‘believed in what it said’? I didn’t care about what it said, it was there in front of me, there was no question of what about it to believe in."

With a slight smile, the old man almost rolled his eyes as he pressed Rydar to think more thoroughly. Does not the monster always proclaim that it can not be resisted? Does it not announce that it must be obeyed? Does it not assert its victims are stone? Now I ask you again, consider, why did you run? Was it only out of fear? Or was it because you believed in the monster’s words?

Rydar calmed a bit, and thought. He did consider the change in Jakenson at the monster’s odd demands of submission. Even the way the monster seemed to be imposing the idea that the children were stone, more than it being a command that held true power. He was quiet, and introspective, and the old man gave him his time.

No. He said at last. No, I didn’t believe what the monster said; I felt it was only like a bully taking milk coin from another child in a schoolyard. Not that it wasn’t dangerous, but the words were powerless to me, but, still, I was afraid. I ran out of fear, and now, I admit I don’t even know why or what I was truly afraid of. Now though, I wish I did know the truth.

There was a moment of silence, and Rydar asked then. Why are you asking?

The old man stood, and put a gentle hand on Rydar’s shoulder. Rydar... Indeed, his heart stopped when the old man called him by name - when Rydar had not told it to him. "You are different from the rest. You do not naturally accept the world as it presents itself to you. You wander from place to place looking for something that is truly real, something that’s not ever changing on the whims of what people want to believe, or happen to understand at the moment. In one town there is a law against an action, where in another town that very action is encouraged. One family has a wicked father and the children grow to be honorable, other times the father is a great man, and the children grow up selfish and cruel. Yet, you think that under it all there is something that doesn’t change, a conflict between two things. One thing is true, and does not change, the other shifts and changes and is never the same, always in attempts to obscure what is true. Compassion versus enabling, charity versus obligations, benefaction versus entitlement, man-made laws versus laws made for man. What is always straight versus what is always bent. Simply put - What is Truth versus what is not."

Rydar had no words to reply; it was as if his heart was being read to him as a book.

What is the constant amidst the change? What is the order that holds together the chaos? When chaos and depravity is the path of least resistance, from where comes the strength to resist? Why is there strength behind honesty, when it is easier to lie? Why does man keep the weak alive when natural law condemns the weak to die? When some in mankind victimize the weak they are seen as evil, while those that help the fallen are seen as good. Why? If man is comprised entirely of laws nature provides, why does man defy those directives?

Rydar had no answers, and couldn’t have even taken a breath to give one.

The old man smiled as he gave Rydar another pat on the shoulder. Why are there some that believed the monster’s words, while you didn’t? Here and now I give you an opportunity: to believe in something that, while the world may say is foolishness, is where I promise truth. I have been waiting for you; waiting for you to become so desperate for truth that you would open your eyes fully to see. Although looking into a bright light after being in darkness can hurt, you’ve become thirsty enough to do just that.

Rydar was hollow with dumbfoundedness, and finally took a breath. I don’t understand.

The old man shrugged, as if that was irrelevant. Faith does not require understanding.

Rydar stood there, silent and still, and then it seemed as though he was moved by something from within the heart to