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The Cursed. ------------- Darkside June 2002 Introduction by Sam King It was about two years ago, that I came up with the concept for the "Cursed" universe. While I can't now fully remember the genesis for it, I know a good deal of it came from reading Dave Duncan's book, "The Curse" particularly his treatment of those cursed with involuntary shape changing. Over the next few years, I started the story a number of times, never getting very far, and always unhappy with what I did write, and so the concept languished. And then along came the Fictionmania bake sale. Personally, I feel, that the advent of fictionmania, marks the Golden Age of TG fiction on the internet. Not that there weren't and still are many fine TG sites on the net, but it seemed as if, in the brief year after Mindy started it, that TG fiction exploded. Her excellent site, her mailing list, the chats with authors, including just before the end Jack Chalker, seemed to be pulling in simply phenomenal authors. Well a number of those authors have generously offered their time to help keep Fictionmania alive, and so I was lucky enough to get Darkside, to write this first story for me. I say first story because I always intended it to be an open universe. I don't want to spoil any surprises here, so I'll wait till the tale is complete, to post the rules. Many, many thanks to the Fictionmania task force especially Darkside. Sam King Introduction by Darkside Firstly I want to say thanks to Sam. Mainly for being so patient as months went by without me sending him anything, and secondly for letting me turn his excellent story idea into something that only bears a passing resemblance to it. As with the Fury saga, this story contains song lyrics to help set the mood and tone of the story. By reading the story at my website you can listen to streaming audio of the songs. Secondly as many of you will know, this is my last ever TG story(except for completing an unfinished rewrite of Fury Book's 1 and 2(I hate loose ends)). I'm finding it harder and harder to get the time to write, and even harder to get the enthusiasm for writing TG fiction. I started writing to give something back to the TG community, and to practise writing for more 'mainstream' material. I believe I have achieved those objectives. Lastly, many thanks to Vickie Tern without who's encouragement and advice I would never have gone past my first story. I wrote for feedback, please feed any comments you may have(even a simple two word mail will do), to either [email protected] or [email protected] It's your feedback that keeps people writing, and why so many people give their precious time for free. Hopefully my stories have taken you to the deepest darkest parts of human nature, to revenge, hatred, murder and genocide and then on to the parts that drive us on, those of love, forgiveness, redemption and hope for the future. After eight years, about one half million words, just over 1200 pages and a lot of soul searching I find I have no more to give. They say end on a high, and I hope Cursed will be that high. May God go with you in all the dark places where you must walk.. Darkside - June 2002 The Cursed. ------------- Turning and turning in the widening gyre the falcon cannot hear the falconer; Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold; mere anarchy is loosed upon the world, The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere the ceremony of innocence is drowned; the best lack all conviction, while the worst are full of passionate intensity. Surely some revelation is at hand; surely the Second Coming is at hand. The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out when a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert A shape with lion body and the head of a man, A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun, is moving its slow thighs, while all about it reel shadows of the indignant desert birds. The darkness drops again; but now I know that twenty centuries of stony sleep were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle, and what rough beast, its hour come round at last, slouches towards Bethlehem to be born? William Butler Yeats A small forest, near Eyam, Derbyshire England 1172AD His heart sank to the pit of his stomach as he saw the plume of dark gray smoke rise from above the trees ahead. The blood red streaks of the sunset only served to heighten his concern. This was a bad omen. The smoke started to dissipate as it reached above the trees and it swirled and formed a million shapes and patterns as the wind blew it in all directions. He urged his horse onward, faster and faster. His back and legs ached from the bone shattering ride that he had forced upon the poor animal. He bent down and whispered an incantation that would give the horse more strength and more speed. It didn't matter to him that it would kill the horse as soon as he stopped; only two things mattered now, more strength and speed! He could hardly see as night rapidly fell and as he galloped into the forest gloom his fear rose. Not of falling off and hurting himself, but of failing to reach the source of the fire in time. He had to slow down, so as not to get hit by the branches rushing towards him at reckless speed. He trusted the horse to see its way thru, the incantation saw to that. But he could sense that failure and death was only a single mistake away. He ducked down, narrowly avoiding a thick beech branch that sprang at his head, as if waiting for him to come by. Another realization struck him. They knew he was coming! That didn't matter. Only two things drove him forward; more strength, more speed. The forest was almost as black as coal, and now he could see the orange glow of the fire thru the thick, gorse covered thicket of trees. He slowed down and quickly dismounted, he would have to go on foot the rest of the way. He glanced back at his horse, she had served him well. He counted under his breath, "one, two three..," The horse rolled its eyes upwards, tried to neigh in pain, but no sound came out. It staggered for a few moments before gently and quietly falling to the ground, dead. He felt no sadness; it was an animal, nothing more. He quietly made his way into the clearing and had to stifle down a scream. A young woman and a child of about three had been tied to a long wooden scaffold. Underneath them had been lit a fire, which still continued to blaze into the night. Their once peach white flesh had been charred into dried black husks. He nearly ran out into the clearing, but caution checked him. He wanted to cry, wanted to wail to the gods and demand an answer for why this had been done to them, but better sense prevailed. Then it hit him, the sweet sickly smell of burning flesh, the wind must have changed and now its sickening, awful aroma assaulted him. "My love, My son," he struggled to say and fought back tears of rage and sorrow. He looked around the clearing, checking to see if the murderers were still nearby. Then and only then did he rush out into the clearing to see if there was any hope at all. Summoning his concentration he reached out his left hand and breathed a quenching spell. He closed his eyes and in his minds eye he saw the flames flicker and die down, as if water was being poured on them and extinguishing them. A few moments later he opened his eyes and saw that the once flaming inferno of wood, kindling and oil had been doused. He ran to the now charred body of the woman and, ignoring the heat clenched her legs tight, tears streaming down his face. Her flesh was hard, crisp and almost too hot to touch. Worse though was the smell, the awful smell of her still burning skin, bone and sinew rammed itself into his brain so much so that he almost recoiled in horror. Only his love for the woman, his wife kept him there, still clinging to her dead and partially cremated body. He had flash backs of the last time he had held her close, he had just come back from the holy land where he had been searching for relics from the old times and she had been waiting for him for over two years and he had missed her every heartbeat he had been over there.. He let out a long sob; the pain of hurt had to find its way out somewhere. He let go of her and stared upwards at the body of his son, they had killed his son! Strands of his son's blonde hair still hung from the burnt skull like face. All the skin had been burned away and the once blue eyes, full of life and curiosity were now gone and only the dark, empty eye sockets remained. He could hold in his grief and anger no longer and let out a howl that seemed to shake the very ground he stood on. His son, they had killed his only son. He heard the snap of a twig and whirled around and saw ten or more hooded figures were now circling in on him. Why did he not see or sense their presence before? Each of the figures carried a sword and his heart sank as he saw the lethal outline of a longbow and quiver on the back of every figure. He caught a glimpse of a red cross embroidered in on the breast of one of the hooded figures. Knights Templar! But no, that couldn't be! They would never get involved in such atrocity, but their presence would explain why he was not able to sense the ambush. He gathered his heart, mind and soul together and drew on the anger and power within him. Clenching his fist he went as if to throw a stone at the leading figure. A ball of white, incandescent lightning flew from his open hand and struck the figure. He expected the figure to scream in pain but the ball lightning just entered the figure and was seen no more. Shock and fear rippled thru his body. Knights Templar should not have been able to defend against that attack so easily. Who were these murderers? The lead figure spoke, "They died without honor. Screaming and begging for mercy, just like the ungodly demons they were." He fought down the anger that welled up within him. That is what they wanted of him, to become so angry he would make an error. The time for anger would come later, not now. He was no use if he was dead. One thing did vex him. He was outnumbered and surrounded, so why did they hesitate to attack him? "You will not take me so easily," he hissed and readied another attack. A figure stepped out from behind the row of hooded men, "That will not be necessary, old friend." He almost took a step back in shock, "Bedwyr!" The figure drew his hood back from over his head to reveal a thin, narrow face, framed with long silver gray hair. A pair of piercing blue eyes looked at him in sorrow, "They would not turn y'see?" The smell of the still burning flesh hit his nostril again and it was all he could do not to vomit in revulsion and shock. He reached into his scabbard and drew his sword. As he held its long, black steel blade it gave him some comfort. "Come old friend and pupil, let us parley for a while," Bedwyr replied softly. He recognized it as the same tone Bedwyr had used when he was his student and was struggling to perform the most basic of charms. Thru fresh tears he managed to stammer, "Why, why?" "Look around you, old friend. The old ways are dying. The new faith of the little Christs has come and swept all before it. This new god is stronger than our old ones and must be obeyed." "What are you saying?" he managed to say. Bedwyr was right, since the Normans came many of his kin had turned toward this new single god. His kind, Bedwyr's kind, were a dying breed. "I am saying it is time to renounce your power and the ways I taught you. They were..," Bedwyr paused for a few moments and then added, "mistaken." Still clenching his sword tight, his eyes darted around the clearing. He was looking for the slightest weakness he could use to escape. What curse had been put on Bedwyr that would cause him to do such a thing and renounce all that he had worked for? "Why did you kill my family, my son, my only son. He was but a boy?" Bedwyr turned his head away, "They had become evil, they were guilty of witchcraft and so had to be cleansed. My friend and my pupil, please turn from your ways of evil and join me or suffer the same fate as they." Anger rose inside him until he could bear it no longer. Using all his power he punched a fist at Bedwyr. This time a glowing red ball of fire shot from his hand and exploded on Bedwyr's chest with a loud crack of thunder and bright, blinding burst of flame. When the smoke and fire had cleared he was staggered to see both Bedwyr and his assailants still standing and untouched. Bedwyr gave him a sympathetic look, "The power of the new god is way beyond that of the old. These robes we wear have been washed in water blessed by his holiness the pope himself. Nothing on heaven or on earth can touch us, while we still wear them. Now please, no more of this. Here, I have a precious gift for you, "Bedwyr reached beneath his robes and pulled out a leather bound book." "Your book of power!" He breathed. "In a way. This is my copy of the holy scriptures of the one god. It took many months of writing to complete them, and now, I give them to you," Bedwyr offered the book out in his hands. He then had an idea, he would take the book and use it learn how to defeat this new enemy. "I will read the book," he said and took it from Bedwyr. "Now come with us and be baptized," Bedwyr stated. It was not a request, more an order. He saw his chance, one of the guards behind him was glancing around and not looking at him, if he could not harm them directly then maybe a distraction. With the slightest movement of his finger he chanted a noise maker. It was the simplest of spells, but in this case it was his only hope. A loud crashing sound erupted thru the forest, as though the thunder god himself had descended on the forest. The guard behind him leapt in shock and for the briefest of moments was distracted by the noise. He saw his chance and jumped at the guard, his sword already in mid swing. He felt a stiff resistance as the sword bit into the guard's fleshy neck. He quickly withdrew it and ran off into the darkness of the forest. He heard a shot of pursuit and sprinted his way thru thick brambles and thorny bushes. He could feel the thorns scratch his face and hands but he could not afford to slow down. He saw shadows flitting between trees all around him and expected to be captured at any moment, but the crashing sounds of pursuit could still be heard from behind. In the glint of the moonlight, he saw the dim figure of a man, guarding some horses in a small clearing ahead. The man hadn't seen or heard him yet! Gathering speed he ran up to the man and sank his sword deep into his body. The man screamed in pain and crumpled to the floor. It took both hands to remove the bloody sword from the body and by the time he had jumped onto the nearest horse he could see Bedwyr and his murderous group dash into the clearing. "Stop!" Bedwyr called. He took no notice and taking hold of the reigns of the horse sped off into the night. Bedwyr watched his old friend ride off into the night, There was only one thing for it now. He must not be allowed to escape! "Archers ready." His compatriots took the longbow's from their backs and readied to fire. Bedwyr hated to do this to his old friend, but it was the only way. Britannia had to be purified. Still, the longbow was the most feared weapon in the world, a trained archer could unleash up to twelve arrows a minute up to a range of nearly three hundred yards and a skilled archer would be able to hit and kill a new target each time. Each arrowhead would have been tipped in blood , faeces and dirt and left to fester for weeks. If the wound were not fatal, infection and disease would soon follow, more then likely killing the victim. Bedwyr breathed deeply, "Fire" He knew they would use the longbow against him, so he zigged the horse this way and that, trying to put the archers off their aim. arrows whistled past his head. Just as he thought he was clear a sharp, stabbing pain shot thru his shoulder and he slumped forward onto the horse's neck He forced himself back to consciousness and sped off into the night. Bedwyr watched the arrow imbed itself in the shoulder blade of his target. He had time to see the man slump against the horses neck before the figure galloped into the night. He indicated to his comrades to mount their horses and pursue. He knew what the fleeting figure was capable of doing, should he be allowed to escape. Images of the small boy, learning his first charms sprang into his mind. How things had changed. Bedwyr thought back a few hours when he'd burnt his quarry's wife and child alive because they had refused to let go of the past and embrace the future. He felt sorrow for what he had had to do. He could still hear their screams as the flames started to lick the soles of their feet and the screams of agony rose louder and louder until they seemed to consume the very forest itself. The child had died first, his mothers name on his lips as the fire took him. The mother had died moments later, trying to scream curses at him as she too succumbed to the flames. In his old life this would have troubled him for the rest of this life. However his new church was a jealous one and didn't tolerate witchcraft. He just hoped and prayed his old student would see it that way, either in this life or the next. Ignoring the pain from his wounded shoulder he sped into the night. He had cast a vision charm on the horse so it would not fall or stumble in the darkness. Before he could grieve or think on revenge he had to escape his pursuers, but where. Bedwyr knew all the secret places to hide. Bedwyr himself had founded many of them so he could not go there. He did know of one place he could go. Hopefully Bedwyr would not know of this place as he had only discovered it on his journey back to see his family. Rage, sorrow and unbelief crashed thru him like a bolt of lighting. Quickly he put down his feelings, he dare not succumb to them, yet. When he was safe he would allow himself to mourn, and after the mourning would come such revenge that even the gods themselves would tremble at his wrath! He awoke, he knew not where or when, but from the sun shining bright, dazzling rays thru an open window he knew it must be sometime after noon. His vision was still blurred somewhat but he could make out the shape of a room, a table to one side and sitting, on a what looked like a wooden stool was the figure of a woman. He tried to move to get a better view but a stabbing pain shot thru his shoulder and he cried out in pain. "You rest easy now, Myrddin. I've put some healing balm on your wound, it will stop it rotting," the woman's voice was comforting, like his mothers was when he was young. His vision cleared and he saw that the room looked like the bedroom of an inn. How did he get here! "It's alright. You are with friends now. They won't find you here," again the woman tried to comfort him. By the looks of her she was forty years old. Her face was wizened and deep lines creased out from a pair of deep brown eyes. Her graying hair had been tied back and by her tanned complexion he worked out she had worked on the land for some years. "Who are you? Where am I? How do know my name?" He demanded. "My name is Brigid, you are in my husband's inn at Eyam. We know your name because of who came looking for you." Myrddin eyes opened wide in fear, "Bedwyr!" Brigid nodded, "That was the name. He came visiting the village with ten of those dark monks of his. Offered five gold coins to anyone who knew where you were." "You didn't..," Myrddin started. "Fear not. No money is worth a man's life. My husband found you, on near the stone circle two days ago. Figured you'd tried to use it to heal yourself. We heard what had been done to that woman and child near the ring cairn. Old Cai found them yesterday morning. He saw the crows swooping and circling above the wood. Thought he'd take a look and found em. Been burned alive by the looks of em he said." Myrddin glanced away in sorrow, "My wife and son," he whispered. Brigid gave him a look of sympathy, "Thought as much. We didn't much like the look of that Bedwyr when he came looking for ya. We though you might need some help. It's not our way to give away strangers, no matter who is looking for them." Myrddin managed a smile, "That I do," he silently thanked the gods he would live another day. "Rest now, "Brigid said softly and suddenly he felt as though a stupor had come over him. He closed his eyes and slept. Myrddin awoke to find it almost dusk. The flickering light of a candle gave just enough light for him to see by. He tried to sit up and much to his surprise his shoulder felt much better. The door opened and Brigid walked in, carrying a large wooden bowl of what looked to be lamb broth, "You looked as though you could do with some of this," she smiled and gave him the bowl. Myrddin ate one spoonful of the thick meat and vegetable stew and soon devoured the rest. He didn't realize he had been so hungry, "How long was I asleep?," he asked, handing the empty bowl back to Brigid. "Two weeks." "That long!" "Your wound was bad, had it not been for my mothers healing balm you would have died," Myrddin shuffled upright on his straw mattress, the pain in his shoulder had all but gone and only a nagging ache remained. "I am in your dept. What can I give you in return?" "Nothing is required. A man who has lost so much, needs to give nothing in return." Images of his wife and son, hanging on that scaffold and of the flames burning away their charred flesh hit him anew. For the first time in weeks he allowed himself to cry for them. Brigid seeing his pain and anguish sat down beside him and put his head to her ample bosom. She knew this had to be cried away. Myrddin found that it gave him small comfort to release his dark despair to an almost total stranger. Mixed in with his grief was a fury that seemed to grow inside him. Bedwyr would pay for what he had done, those with Bedwyr would pay and in spite of all their kindness the entire world would know what it was like to feel the pain he felt now, "they will pay, the whole world will pay," he sobbed. A few days later Myrddin gave Brigid and Cai a fond farewell. He owed them much and their hospitality would not be forgotten or remain un- rewarded. The last the few days he had spent in almost isolation, trying to come to terms with his loss and his betrayal. In talking with Cai and Brigid he knew where he was going to go. It was many days ride to the south but the marshes around Ely gave perfect refuge. No one, but a few locals knew their way thru the treacherous marsh and bog of that area and but a few generations or so ago Hereward the wake had held out for years, using the marshes as an impenetrable fortress against the Norman invader. Only the traitorous monks of Ely caused his downfall, or so the legend went. Now, it was the ultimate place of sanctuary for those who did not wish to be found. Of course scum and villainy was rife, but he hoped his status as one of the grand mages of the north would hold him in some regard. Bedwyr and his kind, the dark monks would not be able to find him there. He hoped that by now, the trail had gone cold and so he would be left in peace. The peace he needed to avenge his family and ensure the world would never forget the name Myrddin. Ten years later. ------------------- Myrddin sat on his basic wooden stool and studied the manuscript in front of him. He glanced out of the window and saw a landscape of dark, almost black marsh and of miles upon miles of desolated barren beauty. The scenery was dominated by the sky, which seemed to go on forever and now, as the sun set it was alight with gashes of orange, yellow color. As though the sky itself was on fire. He had never got used to this places savage climate, as with no hill or valley to stop it, the wind would blow with an icy ferocity for most months of the year. That suited him perfectly. The climate and scenery outside matched how he felt inside himself, empty, cold and devastated. No one had come looking for him in this place, Bedwyr must think he was dead, or that even he was afraid to cross this most dangerous of places. Ten years had passed, slowly and inexorably but he had quickly gained the local's trust and in some cases friendship by acting as healer and soothsayer to his local village. It had taken three years of study to decide what he needed to do, in order to avenge his family upon an evil world. Bedwyr's new holy book had been right about one thing. Mankind was inherently evil and needed to be brought back into line. Even this Christ who he had read about said that, but had gone about it in the wrong way. True power and true victory came from strength and fury, not the giving freely of oneself. He, Myrddin saw this clearly, and had used it to identify what he needed. Six years ago he had met an escaped prisoner from the crusades and this follower of the God 'Allah' who had told him of the wondrous treasures and artifacts that had been found in the ruins of the cities of the Jews. The man, called Osman had belonged to a secret Guild of assassins, who would perform any task, if the price were right. Within a few months the men had become firm friends and Osman promised that he would return with the artifact that Myrddin sought. Now, a messenger from the next village had told him that Osman had returned and bought with him a large wooden crate. At long last, the tool of his revenge was at hand. Osman was less than a day away and after tomorrow it would not matter if he lived or died. The next morning was the strangest once Myrddin could ever remember. Although it was nearly noon the darkness had only just begun to brighten and the usual squawking of the gulls and birds could not be heard. He heard the sound of several horses drawing to the outside of his house. There was a loud knocking on the door and a loud, brash foreign sounding voice boomed, "Myrddin. Open up I have it!" Myrddin leapt up of his chair, his pulse racing in anticipation, "Osman, old friend!" he called and flung the door open. Osman stood there, soaking wet and muddy from the journey, but his face was smiling in triumph. Myrddin looked over his shoulder and saw six bearers lifting a large and heavy looking crate from the cart. "Please come in, and your bearers too. You must be frozen. Tell me all about it," Myrddin beamed. It took a few minutes for the crate to be lifted into Myrddin's house and during that time Myrddin took the opportunity to throw a few more logs on the fire that had been smoldering for most of the night. He also put some vegetable soup he had prepared earlier, on to reheat. Osman walked in, closed the door and gave his friend a large hug, "Allah be praised. We were successful!" Handing Osman and his porters a fresh bowl of soup Myrddin sat down on the floor, near to the fire and beckoned Osman to tell all. Osman took a sip of soup and started to talk, "It was just where you thought it would be. We followed the path of the river Tigris until it met the River Euphrates and then headed east. It took us many years of searching but, in what looked like an abandoned plantation we found a large black granite slab. It looked as though it was covering something but it was like solid rock. We spent over a year, digging our way thru it so thick was it! We would have given up, but we knew this was the right place, something told us it was! In the end we came upon a dark cavern. I have seen nothing like it. Every torch we lit was snuffed out almost right away so we had to work in almost pitch darkness. We lost ten men inside that dark pit. Four of them accidentally brushed the side of the object and were instantly turned to fire and sulfur. You told us not to touch the object, but even we did not expect the ark of the covenant to have this effect." Myrddin gave Osman a smile and then a nod, "I'm afraid I misled you a little old friend." Osman gave Myrddin a look of suspicion. "Then, what in Allah's name did we bring you? We almost had a mutiny on board every ship we took it on. Where it not for my Guild companions the Ark would be at the bottom of sea." Myrddin breathed out, "From my studies of Bedwyr's holy book I found out several things. I told you about the Ark of the covenant and how it held the ten commandment's given to Moses. It was also used as a totem in battle, and was said to represent the one God's power on Earth. Those who stole it had plagues and curses bought upon them until they gave it back." "Yes, the Koran speaks of such an object. It also says the ark was covered in gold. The object we found is as black as the night." Myrddin smiled at Osman, "Then you DID find it! There is a theory among the little Christ's that everything the one God creates, his archenemy Lucifer counterfeits. I reasoned that if the one God had created this all powerful ark then Lucifer would have done the same. The ark you uncovered is Lucifer's not the one God's!" Osman was shocked to the core of his being, "What!. I suspected it was evil, but this!" "The world is an evil place, it deserves nothing less than the ultimate evil unleashed upon it. My friend and mentor allowed my wife and son to be burned alive. What kind of a world allows that to happen, my gods did not watch over them, so they deserve to be punished. The Book of the one god is right; mankind is evil and deserves to face a greater evil." Osman's face shot his friend a look of fear and of betrayal, "Myrddin. What are you talking about?" "Osman, You know how they burned my wife and child while they were still alive. You remember how I told you that I found their charred bodies still hanging from the gallows where they had been murdered and how I barely escaped with my life. The anger and desire for revenge grew inside me year after year until I knew what must be done. I will unleash such a blight on mankind that they will suffer for all eternity. You, my friend have given me the power to do it." Osman's heart sank. What had he done! He had thought Myrddin had wanted the ark to benefit all mankind, that he had wanted atone for all the evil thoughts he had had over the years. How wrong he was. He tried to stand, to draw his sword but found he could not. He glanced towards his men and saw them clutching their stomachs in pain, moments later a hammer blow of pain struck him, "What..." he managed to croak. "Don't worry old friend. The potion I put in you soup will soon relieve you of you life. I hope your God is merciful You have done well," Myrddin glanced down at Osman now writhing in pain on the floor. Happy that things were progressing well Myrddin turned his attention to the night black ark. He walked closer to it and saw strange writing inscribed in what looked like gold on the lid and on the sides. Before he could use it, he would have to translate the writings. His thoughts were interrupted by the cries of the dying men around him. He would have to wait until they had passed on before looking at the ark again. A sudden draught of air made him whirl around and he saw that the door was open, he glanced around the room and discovered to his shock that Osman was missing. He must have escaped! Myrddin gave a wry smile. It really didn't matter too much. Osman was dying and would never make it out of the marshes alive, besides it would save him the trouble of buying another body. By now the moans had subsided and Osman's men were still. The poison had worked well, better than expected. Not waiting to dispose of the bodies, Myrddin turned his attention back to the ark. He knew better than to touch the ark itself. If the ark of the one god was deadly to the touch then who knew what effect the ark of Lucifer would have? He ached to open it up and look inside, but again his natural caution took over. It was likely to have traps and safeguards to stop the unwary or foolish, and Myrddin was no fool. He would wait and he would study. Days flew by and little by little Myrddin managed to translate what was said on the side of the ark. It seemed odd to him that he managed to translate so easily. It was as if someone wanted him to read what was said on the outside. He had taken the time to write down and record everything he had discovered. It helped him to remember. On the left hand side of the ark was written. "All praise and glory to the light bringer, true ruler of all creation," on one end "The secrets to all life and knowledge are within". Underneath these proclamations were inscribed instructions on how to open the ark. He had to fashion poles of the purest yew and slide them into small holes each side of the lid, and then lift. Anything else would kill him. He glanced to the corner of the room, where two finest yew poles lay. The village carpenter had delivered them just this morning. He turned his attention to the inscriptions nearest too him "Honor goes to the prince of the air, for he has freed all mankind from the yoke of the Most High" Underneath that in small, precise writing was written something that he could not quite make out. He could see the word 'curse' but not much else. He sighed. It would have to wait until the morrow. He had been at this for hours. He thought on the word 'curse', yes it seemed as though he was very close indeed. Part of him, a small diminishing part of him told him to stop what he was doing. He thought of Brigid, who had saved his life so many years ago. The times he had shared with his wife and son came into mind. Would they be proud of him for what he was about to do? Did they want him to unleash such power on an unsuspecting world? He settled down to rest and was soon fast asleep. He awoke the next morning after having the most vivid dream of his life. He rushed to his work desk and wrote down the details as best as he could remember. He was visited in his dream by a being of such radiant beauty that he could not find the words to describe it. Jewels of every description encrusted the beings shining golden cloak and robes. He only saw a brief glimpse of the beings face and it was beyond beautiful. "Who are you? Are you the one god?" He remembered saying. "You can call me light bringer, my child," the beings voice was sweater than any he had ever heard. "Have you come for your ark?" "Not yet, what do you want?" Light Bringer asked. "I want justice," Myrddin scribbled down the words, remembering feeling his pulse race in anticipation. Light bringer pointed a ringed finger at Myrddin and instantly Myddin found himself staring again at the charred remains of his family. Myrddin paused, his quill needing fresh ink. The images was fresh in his mind. Memories he had suppressed for over ten years came to the fore. He tipped his quill in the ink and continued to write. "I too seek justice. Open my ark and receive your justice," light bringer stated. "It was you, you showed me how to read the writing on the side," Myrddin wrote down, still remembering the triumph he felt inside. Light bringer simply said, "Yes." "What will it do? I know it will bring curses on the world, but I do not know what." Myrddin could feel light bringer smile, a triumphant smiled, "It will bring a curse such as mankind has never seen. It is a living curse, one that will grow, think and change for all eternity." Myrddin liked the sound of that. At last his wife and child would be avenged. Mryddin finished writing and walked over to the ark. The inscription that had defeated him yesterday was now clear. He read it out loud to himself, "Woe to you, who defies the light bringer, woe to those who do not eat from the tree of life, woe to whole of creation, for the curse is at hand." Myddrin smiled, now was as good a time as any. He walked over to the far corner and picked up the two yew poles. He located the holes in the black marble lid and slid the pole in. He was surprised at how easily it fitted in. The second and last pole slid in just as smoothly. Suddenly there was a loud knock at the door and a loud voice called out, "Myddin open up." Myrddin took a step back in shock, Bedwyr. How had he found him? There was a loud crash and Bedwyr burst in, followed by ten armed men. Another man accompanied him; it was Osman! "Thank the lord we are not too late," Bedwyr breathed and glanced at the still shut ark. "Bedwyr, Osman, How!" Myrddin shouted. He would not be foiled, not now! "Take him," Bedwyr ordered his men. Bedwyr's men rushed at Myrddin who bolted around the other side of the ark. Myrddin grabbed both poles and shouted, "Stay or i'll open it." Bedwyr screamed "STOP!" to his men who froze. "You should be dead," Myrddin called out to Osman. "Normally yes, but you will find that we of the Guild have many talents, of which survival is the greatest. I only took one mouthful of your soup and it was nearly enough to kill me. I knew you must be stopped and summoned Bedwyr. Old friend, please do not do this. Think of those who have helped you. Does the world deserve such a thing as you want to do" "How do you know what opening this will do? The light bringer himself has told me, told me that I will get justice." Sensing things were getting desperate, Bedwyr pleaded, "We do not know the specifics but do you want mankind to be blighted for all eternity? Surely those unborn do not deserve that." "Like my son deserved his fate? Like my wife," Myrddin sneered. "That was long ago. I was wrong Myrddin, I was so wrong. I thought you dead. For the sake of our friendship and our future please forgive me. The one God has, so please forgive me," Bedwyr pleaded. Myrddin noticed the tears in Bedwyr's eyes, there was no doubt he was sincere. He tightened his grip on the yew poles, "You God may have forgiven you, you killed them in his name. You showed them no mercy, neither shall I you." Myrddin shoved with all his might and the lid came loose. At the same time he felt an almighty searing pain in his chest and looked down to see Bedwyr's sword jutting from his chest. Still hanging onto the poles he collapsed onto the floor, dragging the lid off as he fell. "NOOO!" Bedwyr screamed as all of a sudden a mighty wind, blew open all the doors of the house and seemed to shake the house to its very foundations. From the now open Ark, rays of black light erupted from the inside, and a loud peel of thunder shook the whole house. The black light punched holes in the roof, letting the daylight stream in. Seconds later the light was extinguished, plummeting the room into near darkness. Tormented screams of thousands of voices filled the air, deafening all in the room. The ark started to glow orange and red as molten, red-hot magma started to pour out of the now opened inside. Bedwyr was almost shook off his feet as the ground seem to heave an shake beneath him. "Quick we must close it, before its too late!" Bedwyr shouted above the screams and the wind. One of Bedwyr's men tried to pick up the lid but slipped and he just touched the exposed black marble. There was a bright flash of fire and smell of sulfur and the man was instantly turned to ash. Pressing against the wind Bedwyr and Osman managed to grab hold of the yew poles and lift the lid back onto the top of the casket. The heat from the magma was becoming unbearable as they moved it back into place. Summoning all their strength of will and might they were slowly moving it back in place. All of a sudden dark shapes, hideous in nature erupted from between the gaps and flew up out of the holes in the roof, screaming insults and curses as they flew, firstly around the room. With a final scream of anger and fury they flew thru the holes in the roof. "Nearly," Bedwyr breathed. The demons that had escaped just now would cause untold havoc, but his fear told him something more malevolent was still inside. The lid was nearly back in place when a black scaly clawed hand reached up out of the ark and pushed it off again. The creature, if it was a creature gave a loud scream, as though in triumph and rose into the air. Bedwyr only caught a glimpse of its face but for the rest of his life he would have nightmares. It was though all the pain, hatred and sorrow of the world had been given a face. Quickly lifting the lid back into place, he and Osman managed to close the ark once more. The creature turned to Bedwyr and smiled, it was all Bedwyr could do to look away. In his mind images from his past assaulted him, everything he had done wrong in the past was as though it had happened that second. Somehow he found the strength to push it to one side. He had only one chance now. He alone did not have the faith or power to banish the creature, but maybe he could bind it until someone came who could. "I bind you!" he shouted. The creature gave a loud laugh and the screams of pain and horror continued to attack everyone in the room. One of Bedwyr's men tried to slash at the creature with his sword and to Bedwyr's horror the sword passed right thru the creature. How could it be so solid and yet the sword had passed thru it, as though slashing at air? The creature breathed a yellow, sulfurous gas over its attacker and the man shouted in pain. Bedwyr looked on as the man's body seemed to twist and flow. In a blinding series of light and fire the man's body seemed to take on the forms of animals, men, women and mixtures in between. Moments later in a bright flash of fire and lighting that was so bright Bedwyr had to shield his eyes, the man had turned to ash. The creature started to rise, as though to escape from the house. "I bind you in the name of the risen Christ!" Bedwyr shouted, "Men, Do not look at its face, cover your eyes! God will give you the power. In the name of Christ you are BOUND!" Bedwyr shouted at the creature once more The creature gave a loud howl, as though in pain and stopped its ascent. Taking encouragement from Bedwyr, his men repeated Bedwyr chant. The creature tried to crash its way thru the thatched roof but was seemingly held back by an invisible force. Bedwyr kept chanting, trying to remember his exorcism mantras. The creature must not be allowed to escape. The creature turned its attention to its assailants and stretched out its clawed hand. Blood red beams of light spat out from its hand and struck another of Bedwyr's men. The man glowed red, then yellow and then in split second of melting bone and flesh vanished. For the first time fear gripped Bedwyr. Could nothing stop this creature from the pits of hell! He had already lost three men to it, and although it must be weak from being imprisoned for so long and the exorcism mantra's were starting to work he didn't know how long he could hold out for. "Lord help us!" Bedwyr called out loud. For a moment he was tempted to fall back on his old arts, but nothing he could think of would be of any use against such a terror. For the first time in his life he felt out of his depth. Osman had drawn his sword and was about to attack the creature when Bedwyr screamed at him to get back. The warning was just in time as the creature was about to fire another fiery bolt at Osman. Osman managed to dive out of the way as the bolt flew past his head and with a loud crash caused a large section of wall to explode. The wall then caught on fire, which was quickly spreading outwards. Thankful of at least a little light a thought struck Bedwyr. He had heard of swords being blessed by wise men and prophets before, that by doing so they had gained power beyond their strength. It had to be worth a try now. He ran to help Osman up, "Give me your sword." "You saw what happened," Osman breathed. "Give it to me," Bedwyr demanded. Reluctantly Osman gave Bedwyr his curved scimitar. All he needed was a few moments, Bedwyr called "Men Pray! Pray like you've never done before!" He was already three men down; he just hoped the spiritual assault would be enough to quell the creature while he carried out his idea. Bedwyr's plea seemed to lift the prayers and chants of his men and the creature seemed to be fighting against invisible chains once more. Bedwyr held Osman's scimitar in front of him and prayed, "Most high God, grant us your protection in our darkest hour. Let you word and power fall over us." The creature gave a loud cry of pain and in spite of its efforts to escape sank a little lower to the ground. Bedwyr continued to bless the scimitar he held in front of him, "Most high fill me with your power, equip my arm with your might and wash this sword in your holy blood." To Bedwyr's amazement, the tip of Osman's scimitar began to bleed. Within moments the blade was covered in deep, arterial blood. Bedwyr went to touch the blood that now covered the entire curved blade of the scimitar but just before he could touch it the blood vanished, leaving the gleaming metal of the sword once more. The creature cried a scream of rage and Bedwyr saw it reach out its claw once more. Bedwyr stood his ground and held the scimitar, so that its blade was facing the creature. Bedwyr managed to just see the bolt of red fire spit from the creature's outstretched claw. The bolt struck the sword and ricocheted off the blade, knocking Bedwyr of his feet and throwing him back several feet. The bolt had struck the edge of the roof, setting the thatch and wall ablaze. Bedwyr stood up, still holding the sword upright, "Behind me men," he called and moved into the attack. He lunged at the creature's chest but it side-stepped and started to breath its deadly, sulfurous breath at him. As if working on its own his arm brought the scimitar down and seemed to scythe thru the gas, dissipating it as it went. Again, as though being worked by someone else, the scimitar slashed upwards and Bedwyr felt it dig into the flesh of the creature. With a howl of pain the creature, readied another attack. Bedwyr noticed that his blow had cut a gash several inches long in the belly of the creature. It was oozing thick black liquid that was slowly congealing and healing itself. Another fiery red bolt was fired from the creature, and the scimitar seemed to catch it and deflect it harmlessly out of a hole in the roof. Bedwyr moved closer in, the prayers and chants of his men behind him and the knowledge that at last; he seemed to have a weapon that was of use gave him courage. Again, as soon as he neared the creature his arms felt guided where and how to attack. The creature took a swipe at him with its massive clawed fist but somehow the sword parried the blow and again he felt the blade dig into its flesh. He looked up and saw the creature's hand, almost severed and bleeding black tar like ooze onto the floor. Wherever the tar landed was instantly melted into a glowing red pool of magma. A loud crash diverted Bedwyr's attention for a split second. A beam that had caught on fire had now burned thru. So busy was he fighting against the creature he had forgotten about the house, which once on fire in a few small places was now threatening to become a full scale blaze. By now the creature was starting to weaken. The last assault by Bedwyr and his companions seemed to have taken its toll. Although its clawed hand had partially healed Bedwyr could still see dark, reddish flesh inside a huge gash. The creature was struggling now, as though being bound up in chains. Still chanting Bedwyr saw to his relief that it was slowly sinking to the floor. 'That's it. Get back to the abyss where you belong', Bedwyr thought as he struggled against the wails of pain, now coming from the creature itself. As soon as the creatures scaled and clawed foot touched the floor there was a tremendous Crack, like thunder and the ground seemed up open up beneath it. With the sound of splitting rock a fissure formed in the floor and in the dimness of the room it seemed to go down forever. Again the power or whatever had been guiding Bedwyr's arm took control of him and he threw the scimitar at the creature's chest. Bedwyr looked on in amazement as the sword seem to change direction in mid air and avoided being swatted out of the way by the creatures good arm. The creature gave an almighty roar of pain as the scimitar sank deep in its chest. Still struggling and screaming against the force that was trying to send it into the chasm below it pulled at the sword, but every time it tried to grab it, the creature would call out in great pain. Inch by inch the creature was being dragged down into the opened pit. It was now up to its chest and was scrabbling for grip on the walls of the crevice that had opened up. Anger built up inside Bedwyr. It wasn't anger born from any human emotion, more like a feeling of being defiled, as if this creature had no place being created in the first place. "To me, sword!" Bedwyr called out and from the creatures chest the sword flew back to Bedwyr's outstretched hand. Pointing the sword at the creature Bedwyr imagined the anger and outrage he felt being channeled thru the blade of the sword and out of the tip. He just had chance to see a massive white beam of light erupt from the tip of the sword and pierce the exposed chest of the creature. The beam punched thru the creature's body and the ground shook as it struck the floor. Moment's later Bedwyr was blown several feet backward under the force of the beam. When Bedwyr managed to open his eyes he just caught the creatures head sinking into the deep crevice. With a final roar of outrage, fury and pain the creature was gone The darkness that swept over the room so quickly vanished, and daylight shone in thru multiple holes in the room. The screams and fire went as soon as they had come and even the deep chasm had sealed up without leaving a mark. Bedwyr looked around him. To his amazement all the fires had been extinguished and the walls showed no signs of the massive holes that been punched in them. The room however was a mess, the wind had knocked over almost every item of furniture, several terracotta plates, bowls and tankards had also been shattered. Bedwyr walked over to the Myrddin's dead body and pulled his sword from Myrddin's bloodied chest. Bedwyr looked at Osman in deep sadness. "Why so sad? The creature is gone." Osman asked. Bedwyr looked around him and shook his head, "It is bound and defeated, but not gone forever. We did not kill it, it was weakened from its long imprisonment. If it emerges again I do not think we will defeat it so easily." Osman glanced down at the floor where the creature had gone to, "It will come back?" Easily! Bedwyr thought that the battle was easy! He thought. Osman secretly hoped he wouldn't be around to witness it again Bedwyr nodded. "We've have bought ourselves time, time to study how to defeat it and time to work out how to prevent the blight from falling upon us. Here take this," and gave Osman his sword back. "What did you do to my sword, that was the turning point," Osman asked and examined his scimitar. It showed no signs of the battle and looked exactly the same as it ever had done. "I called upon the one God to give us a weapon to fight this creature with. It appears as though he heard our plea." Bedwyr turned to his men, "Thank you my brothers. Your courage and faith made the difference." Osman thought back to Bedwyr's words a few moments ago, "How long have we got?" Osman asked tentatively. Bedwyr shrugged, "Who knows. When the world's evil has spread too far. When the end times are near it will emerge, if we do not move to stop it now. As the world's evil grows, so shall its power of that I have no doubt." "Why have all the fires gone, and the walls repaired," Osman asked in amazement. "That I do not know. Only that I am glad they have. Come we will collect Myrddin's notes and we will send for a cart to move that," Bedwyr pointed at the black ark, "To a place where it can do no more harm. I will then embark to Rome to plea to his holiness to give me the scholars we require to prevent the creatures release once more. Come my friends we have much to do!" In a place that no light had ever shone, no ray of sunshine had ever permeated down; the curse struggled against its chains. It would wait until its strength grew and it could emerge once more. The one who bound it was wrong. It had not been defeated, nor made powerless, instead of lying dormant and conquered, it would seethe for a thousand years. -- oo -- oo -- "In the latter part of the twentieth century 'the age of enlightenment' was seen as the triumph of science over superstition. In the first years of the twenty first century, 'the age of enlightenment' was now seen as the death of hope and the shattering of dreams; for the curse had returned, and all knowledge on how to prevent it had been lost in the mists of time." Excerpt from "The Origins of the curse' By Prof Richard nee Jane Andrews, Chair Magic Studies, MIT. ISBN 353245543 Eight hundred and thirty one years later. ----------------------------------------------- "Right, your money NOW!" The mugger shouted at the helpless woman and thrust his knife closer to her jugular vein. "Pl.. Please don't hurt me," the woman whimpered and beckoned for the mugger to take her purse. "Oh no I won't hurt you. You're much too cute to hurt," the mugger sneered. Fear rippled thru the woman, like an icy cold shiver. She felt the muggers hand run up her skirt and she recoiled in horror as he felt her touch her pussy. She tried to scream but the sound didn't come. Deep inside a place where no light had ever shone, no ray of sunshine had ever permeated down the curse pulsed with the power of the evil and corruption that had been feeding it, healing it, growing it for the past eight hundred years. He felt the mugger's pleasure in raping the woman and with a last push the chains that had held it captive snapped. Finally after centuries of torment it was free and more powerful than it could ever remember. The curse had come upon the world. -- oo -- oo -- "Everyone can remember where they were when the curse first struck. In the wink of an eye three million people, worldwide were changed on the first day alone. Of course these numbers seem almost trivial now. At first there was confusion, then panic set in. As the numbers grew from three million, to eight million to sixty million there was hardly a man, woman or child on the face of the planet who didn't think that the end of the world had come upon us." Excerpt from "The Origins of the curse' By Prof Richard nee Jane Andrews, Chair Magic Studies, MIT. ISBN 353245543 Curse +724 Days Pat's Story - Sugar Mice ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ I picked up my guitar from where it lay and packed it in its battered plastic case. I was just about to jam shut the lid when my eye caught the capo, lying just under the bed. I retrieved it and put it around the neck of the guitar. After grappling to get the clips on the case shut I picked it up, blew a kiss to the photo of my ex wife and closed the door. I had gone as far as the stairs when I remembered I'd forgotten to take my antibiotics. The last thing I needed now was the plague. I dashed back inside, poured myself a glass of water and rummaged around in a kitchen drawer for my bottle of antibiotics. A few moments later I'd swallowed two little white pills and dashed back out again. I had ten minutes to walk to the coffee house where I was employed as 'the live music', it was loads of time even in the dreary wet November day. What in hell was I doing in New York, four thousand miles away from home and scratching a living by playing in second rate coffee bars? It wasn't as though many people came out anymore. Only three years ago the streets of New York had been crowded to the point on claustrophobia, now two years after the plague had struck their numbers had thinned to a third of what they had been. Fear ruled the streets of New York, just as it did in LA, Lisbon or London. Still, live goes on, people need to eat, drink and meet and that's where I fit in. I'm the 'entertainment'. It's odd how things change, only six months ago I was successful lawyer, on the verge of partnership in a small firm in Iowa. Then the partners caught the plague and the firm closed overnight. It's then that my wife announced she was leaving me, for no good reason it seemed. Just that 'we had grown apart' and she needed some space. I tried my damndest to get her back, but she didn't want to see me. No job, no wife and no home. So that was it, my life was fucked. . A warning shout bought me back in to reality. The people in front of me had scattered in all directions, as though fleeing from something. I didn't see what the problem was straightaway but walking, no stumbling towards me was a man, well a wino really. What made people run in terror was the man's face. Half of it was that of a young Asian woman with long dark hair. The other half, as though split down the middle, was that of a sixty year old man. FUCK, Plague!! I sprinted out of the man's path. Why in hell wasn't he in a camp? He knew the rules, everyone did! I dived into an alleyway, and far enough out of the way so as not to get anywhere near him. I waited for a few minutes before venturing out again. Man, that was close! The rest of my trip to 'Joey's coffee house' was uneventful. I opened the glass plated door, disinfected my hands in the supplied sink near the door and walked inside. As per usual the place was nearly empty. I have no idea how Joey manages to make enough money to keep it open. Oh well, I guess that's his problem. "Hey Pat. Thought the plague'd got ya," Joey's heavy Bronx accent called out to me from across the room. "Nearly did. Some dumb wino walking out in broad daylight," I replied. I placed the guitar case on a vacant table, and took out my guitar. "Where is everyone?" I asked. Usually there were a few people just stopping in for a coffee and bagel before work. This morning Joey had only about ten customers. Joey looked at me with a look that summed up how he felt about his business slowly going down the pan. He wasn't alone, just about everyone's business was going down the pan. It's hard for anyone to make money when people are afraid to leave their homes, "You gonna talk or do what I pay ya for?" Joey commented. I shrugged. I hope Joey wasn't expecting me to sing anything light hearted first thing. I picked up my guitar and gave it a quick tune. I was about to start on a rendition of 'I don't like Monday's' by the Boomtown rats, but I thought back to the wino I'd seen a few minutes before. My running from him was a natural reaction but I felt sorry for him. It wasn't his fault he had the plague. It wasn't anyone's. Was he and myself so dissimilar? His life had fallen apart, just like mine had. Soon he'd wind up in a camp, cut off from the rest of society until he was given a clean bill of health and who knows how long that would be. I'd been thrown out of my home too. I smiled to myself, 'this is song for both of us". Adjusting the guitar on my lap I started to sing. "I was flicking through the channels on the TV On a Sunday in Milwaukee in the rain Trying to piece together conversations Trying to find out where to lay the blame But when it comes right down to it there's no use trying to pretend For when it gets right down to it there's no one here that's left to blame Blame it on me, you can blame it on me We're just sugar mice in the rain I heard Sinatra calling me through the floorboards Where you pay a quarter for a partnership in rhyme To the jukebox crying in the corner While the waitress is counting out the time For when it comes right down to it there's no use trying to pretend For when it gets right down to it there's no one really left to blame Blame it on me, you can blame it on me We're just sugar mice in the rain" Curse +730 Days Maki's story - Homesick ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ God, I hate America. Why in hell did my parents insist on sending me to this dumb ass college in LA? Today was turning out to be a pretty crappy day, as usual! Not only did I have double European history I also had to put up with Dr Sellick all afternoon. At the start of the year I was so excited to be on a student exchange to America but now I'm regretting every moment of it. Because of this damn plague I have to disinfect everything, take antibiotics and all kinds of stuff. Why can't they take a more liberal attitude like my native Japan does? Sometimes being a fatalist has its advantages. Actually I'm surprised they let me out of the country at all, but I showed clear on all the tests so they couldn't stop me. I guess I'm not enjoying it, is because I'm missing my family so much. My dad said a little independence would do me good, before I join his corporation. I want to do archaeology, not sit at some desk and slowly watch the stock markets crash. We compromised, I would study what I want and then would go and work for him. Some compromise! Yawning loudly, I got up and ran the shower for a few minutes. It always started off with ice cold water so it was best to leave it to slowly heat up above freezing. Like every good citizen it was my first duty to check myself for signs of plague. It was a daily ritual of checking hair color and texture, skin tone and height. Every day bought the same feeling of trepidation and fear. Did I have the plague? Was I going to stay as I'm supposed to be for one more day? Will I be dragged off to a camp, never to be let out again? Being satisfied that everything was as they were supposed to be I stepped in the shower, ready to start the new day. Curse +733 Days Matthew's story - From the front line. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ I adjusted my bra, trying to get used to the feeling of being constrained and bound up. It had been three months since I had woken up, with long dark black hair, deep brown eyes and Mediterranean skin color. I remember being sick in my stomach, as I knew what was coming. Over the next few days I was going to change from a normal 40 year old man, into a woman with God know what traits. I had the plague. I made a call to CNN, and told them the news. As someone with the plague I wouldn't be allowed to mix with 'normals' in case I infected them. But who in hell had infected me? I guess it didn't matter anymore. My career as a reporter was over and I was going to be sent to a quarantine camp for the good of society. Too late to protest, too late to do anything, martial law was martial law. It seems so long ago now, that I was collected by the army, put into a hermetically sealed coach and driven to the Nevada desert for internment into Camp Anderson. I remember seeing the miles upon miles of barbed wire, minefields and other such devices to keep people in. Before I caught the plague I thought such camps were a good idea, now being interned in one my views are to the opposite extreme. But more on that in my weekly report later on today. As I put on my black lace panties I again couldn't help but look at