The Frozen Moon

chapter TWENTY-THREE: TIME LOST



The shadow closed in around them, leaving no hope of escape. The darkened faces of those surrounding Nameh held no sign of emotion, only callous and purpose. But it was not they who drew her attention. The ink black hair that framed his deep skin and emerald eyes was unchanged, the hard set of his smooth features, the stance of his broad shoulders, the piercing stare of his expression, were unchanged. It was the ghost of a memory standing before her, a perfect image of what she had known, clung to for far too long. The only thing changed, she knew now, was her. She no longer tried to see the hint of Daniel in his eyes, no longer tried to create fantasy that was not there, because she knew it was not.

In his eyes, she could see only spite and the façade of his former self that he tried, even now, to wear. This brought no sorrow to her, however; she had shed her last tear for Daniel long ago. Now she cried for no one. The only remorse she had, when she stood face to face with him after all these years, was that not one of her friends knew her history with the one before them. To all of them, he was just a nameless adversary, and they didn’t know what he was capable of. She decided to take the plunge all at once, like jumping into a frigid pool of water, and speak, though it would come as a surprise to her friends. They had encountered worse things, she thought.

“Daniel,” she said simply. It was a courtesy that, coming from Nameh’s tight mouth, sounded as sweet as tradition dictated, but held all the hidden thorns of the reddest of roses. Roses, she mused, blood red as the day they lived. She felt, rather than saw, the surprise in her comrades at the sound of the strange man’s name. She felt uneasy, knowing that an explanation was due, but this was certainly no time to give one. Daniel would surely attend to that in his toying ways.

“Nameh,” he said in that damned smooth voice, “it’s been a while.” Those in the black ring around him seemed not to hear the conversation’s advances; their faces betrayed no emotion. Completely consumed by dark magic, they must have been, and trained into submission by their valiant leader. She imagined that there wasn’t an individual thought among them.

“It certainly has.” she replied in her cool, even tones. She had always prided herself in her ability to maintain calm. “Still running with the wrong crowd, I see.” A smug smile slid across his features; he had clearly grown used to it. The expression fit him like a worn glove, settling easily into place.

“As usual, that depends on your view of the word ‘wrong’. What you seem to perceive as wrong has given me more power than you could ever have hoped for.”

“And what have you gained from it?” she asked. “Some followers, a name for yourself? If only I could ask the Daniel I once knew if it was worth it. I know it wasn’t.” The words were a release of feelings enclosed for years, what she had always wanted to say to him. It was as though she were reliving the dream that had plagued her for so long, and everything was coming out in an explosion of renewal. Her friends were frozen behind her, sensing that nothing could be done verbally. She wanted to give them a signal, a glance, a hand gesture, but she knew that as soon as she broke eye contact with Daniel, the fragile membrane holding back battle would tear, and hell would break loose. No, not the battle, she corrected herself, the war. The war to end all wars. The war for the earth.

She knew she had to find a way to communicate with them, tell them something-anything. They needed to know who he was and what they were dealing with. She was furious with herself for not telling them earlier, but she hadn’t thought it would prove this important. A voice cut through her thoughts, an answer to her silent plea. Who is he? The voice was pleading, begging for an answer. At first, she waited. Had she imagined it, was it said aloud? She didn’t think so. Daniel she thought with mental pronunciation, the loudest thought she could muster, in a way. The presence in her mind seemed to be surprised. So whoever was speaking to her hadn’t been aware of it. Nameh had experienced this only once before, with a new Whisperer. Sometimes, she knew, if their emotions were strong enough, they could unwillingly whisper into someone’s thoughts. Generally, they would develop more control as time went on, but this was not an initial skill. That had to be what was happening now, she thought. Nameh? Thought the voice. This time, she recognized the deep timbre she had not before. Seth! You’re a whisperer? She steeled herself against Daniel’s stare; he thought he was breaking down her resolve with this battle of wills they were engaged in. Neither moved, or dared move, neither broke eye contact. Hope swam inside of her as she had not known in ages. What an opportune time to find that out, if you ask me, joked Seth’s voice. Definitely, she replied, But that’s how it usually works. Now listen carefully…



His mind pulsed with thoughts, each now felt as though it was trying to escape the confines of his brain. He prepared to whisper the information into the others’ thoughts, but had begun to worry. There were countless secrets enclosed within the mental folds of his brain that he didn’t wish to share with anyone, how could he know he would not betray himself? He gathered his composure, knowing he was wasting precious seconds.

Seth built a figurative wall in his mind, surrounding all of his thoughts. The only thing he left outside his walled city of will was the information about Daniel that Nameh had passed to him. He went through it once more: Daniel, an old friend of Nameh’s who had turned to the Guild and dark magic. She has no attachment to him now, so you must hurt him if you are given the opportunity. He will not hesitate to reciprocate.

Nameh’s voice resounded through his mind, he recalled the intensity. She had stressed to him, several times in fact, that the group must not be fooled by his deceit, he is a master of manipulation. Apparently she had shared this dark realm of her past with no one, not even Mira. He got a strange sense of pride in knowing that he was the first one she told, even though he was the only one she physically could. He liked Nameh; she was not like most of the annoying girls he had known back home. He had found nearly all of them endlessly irksome, just one more reason why he left, but not the main reason, of course. He tried not to think of his parents, the dreadful row, his mother in tears. The tears meant nothing, she cried so often. He despised the thought; it sickened him to think of her fake emotions. Who were they to determine his whole life? It was inconsequential to them anyway. These he drew into the careful safe haven he had built and locked them away along with thoughts of his long-gone best friend. He didn’t want the others knowing where he had come from. It didn’t matter now anyway, he was never going back.

He shifted his eyes slightly, Daniel wouldn’t notice for his eyes were fixed unwaveringly on Nameh, and a few trivial words were being exchanged. His glance fell to rest on Cal, who was to his close left. He gathered all the necessary thoughts and will, holding all else back with his entire self. It welled inside of him as he took one last breath, and pushed it all forward through him. The first words: Don’t move…



Cal had been surprised to hear Seth’s voice, though he had not recognized it as such immediately. It had taken a great amount of control to keep his face expressionless, but he knew that he mustn’t give him away. He found the story curious; this strange figure from Nameh’s past suddenly appearing in the present gave him an eerie feeling. He didn’t like it; the man seemed too powerful, too evil, too lost. It was as though he were a hollow shell, and if you peered into his eyes all you would see was darkness, without a glimmer of hope. He had never encountered someone like that before; his life had always been filled with such bright people, full of life and vibrancy.

Even his mother, whom he had not always gotten along with, had been a lively woman. He now wished he had appreciated it more when faced with the demon-like men that had been so prevalent in his recent life.

He would go back, he concluded. If he lived through this, that is. At least for a while, tell his parents that he loved them, as he hadn’t in too long. He had never planned on leaving forever, and sooner sounded better than later at the moment, when he felt as though his last few hours, minutes, seconds, were slipping through his fingers. He had never thought much about death. If only you could stop time, he thought. This could be it. This could be over.



Wyd had never been whispered too, strange as it seemed. He had simply encountered few, and those he had didn’t find it necessary to employ their talent. He supposed it was much more useful in times of dire need like this, and not as much in everyday life. Not that it wasn’t a godsend, especially now. He supposed it was rather like having a sub machine gun. It wasn’t terribly practical for grocery shopping, but when it came down to war, it would save your life. He had never been one for war.

In fact, that’s why he had joined the Vine, to escape from war. Warlocks were seldom asked to fight in the front lines; they were usually employed for defensive spells on buildings and groups of people. There were few things a Warlock could do these days; it mostly came down to joining the Vine or living in Rome. Rome was where most of the ancient Warlocks lived, those that were still remaining, mostly from the generation after the Great Warlock. It was a beautiful and nostalgic place, because all warlock memories could be passed down from generation to generation, and this place was the oldest of warlock dwellings. In spite of this, the enchanting land was plagued with battle and war almost constantly. Different families fought over land rights, and when one conflict had barely ended, the next had already begun. He had chosen this more peaceful path, though hardly so. He couldn’t see why all Warlocks didn’t follow in the footsteps of the Great Warlock, but some had chosen otherwise, to serve their families and themselves.

His thoughts ventured back to the present situation, though he had only been absent for a moment. It was hard to divert one’s thoughts from such tension. He tried not to think about what little experience he had in hand to hand combat. Though he had tried to convince himself otherwise, he finally came to terms with himself. He was not ready to die. This was not going to be easy, he thought.

But nothing worthwhile ever is.



Talar’s mind swam with eagerness; Seth’s words had invoked in him an even greater sense of impending battle. His blood was already boiling, his teeth lengthening and hardening, his fingertips sharpening. He reigned in his desire; he knew that he must hold it back for another moment. Still, even when so eager for the chance at blood, he couldn’t help but have apprehension. They all knew what they were getting into, and what they might not come out of. He was certain the same thoughts were running through everyone’s head. What did I do with my life? What have I wasted?

These questions were not applicable for Talar. He already knew the answers, had long known the answers. He had lost the only one who had ever meant anything to him. He had lost her. There was not a day that passed when he didn’t think of her shining eyes, her smiling face, her gentle curve. There was not a day that passed when he didn’t think of how he failed her, how they had taken her from just beyond his grasp. This was something he would never-could never tell the others. It was simply too painful.

He’d been too young-sixteen at most, though he was not five years older now, werewolves matured much faster than humans. The Guild had run through the town, leaving few alive. He’d killed every one of them that he saw, but he had wasted his time. He should have ran to her first, found her and protected her. But he ran as fast as he could, and he still couldn’t save her. Whether she was dead or alive he didn’t know, and that was worst of all. Hope was worst of all. Knowledge that somewhere, she could be rotting in a cell in the bowels of the earth where the Guild preferred to operate, killed him slowly from within.

Some days he wished that he could run. Run around the entire world if that’s what it took, searching every city, every country, every continent. Then other days he wished he could simply forget. Forget the star studded nights and crisp mornings. Forget the vibrancy of her presence and the electricity he felt at her touch. But he could not forget. One cannot forget, cannot escape love.

Now his only consolation was the group of Guild members standing assembled before him. And he had every intention of tearing them limb from limb, one by one.



Seth’s words were a beautiful sound, if they could be called so, to Max’s tired ears. He had felt the Guild coming for too long, lived with their magic bearing down on him. It was one of the burdens of being a Senser. He didn’t like the readings he was getting from the man before them. Not at all. Nameh’s message had only reaffirmed this. In fact, never had he sensed so much power in one person, but this is not entirely what made him uneasy. What made him uneasy was the fact that the magic was deeper, locked away somewhere inside him where it was difficult to sense. It wasn’t possible, he thought, but clearly it was. His greatest fear was that more was hidden where he could not find it.

With these fears beating down on him in pulses like tribal drums, he was aware of every aspect of his existence. He knew his time may be limited, and his body was responding to this knowledge. With his heightened senses, he could feel every hair on his body stand on end, feel each deep breath, heartbeat, blink, swallow. They were amplified by a thousand times, whispering to him that they could be his last. He tried to savor them, hold onto each autumn smell, bright color, anything. But he knew it was useless; either he was going to die or he was not.

Though he imagined everyone was forming the same thoughts, he wished he would have lived more. The life of a Markbearer was traditionally shorter, because of the heavy taxes on the body and frequent battles, but he had not been fully prepared for this. He was not a seasoned fighter, ready to shed his precious blood for the cause, but he would now have to become one. Truly, he could finally admit to himself in what seemed like his final hour, the only thing he wanted to do was be with Nameh. He had never felt such love for another person, and already it was escaping him. Nothing he could do would change that.

He didn’t like to sugar coat things, and the odds were against them. It wasn’t a completely hopeless situation, but the feeling of impending doom fell upon him and refused to relent. Regardless of the situation, they were all too far in to back out now. It was a fight that lay before them, and no matter how long Nameh managed to stall, it was still waiting. He gently felt the curving metal of the Relic in his pocket. I hope you were worth it, he thought. But he already knew it had been. He simply hoped that they could finish what they had started, and keep the Guild from the amulet once and for all. The whole task might have been easier if anyone in the group knew exactly what the amulet did. Power, they knew as much.

This would be a battle unlike any he had fought before. At this thought, he was reminded of the cool silver pendant that hung loosely about his neck. The mark of the Tah was still with him, and that gave him some security, though he knew it would be useless until he could read it, which he still could not.

He steeled himself for the battle of his lifetime, the battle that would determine the fate of the world.



The news was surprising, yes, and the method through which she received it more surprising still. Yet she was not shocked that Nameh had a darker past than she let on, she had suspected. She wondered how quickly Seth was relaying the information, how much time they had left. Time, a funny thought. So taken for granted, yet so precious. She thought it was meant to be that way, not valued until you had so little left. Everything seems so clear and simple when your time is short, when there are so few decisions to make and little matters. If only we could have had this kind of perspective when we did have time left. She thought of all the times she’d shared with those around her, they had become a family of sorts. Today, she thought, they might die as a family.

She hadn’t thought about death very often in the past, for it wasn’t a particularly pleasant subject. Now that it was staring her in the face and breathing its icy breath against her cheek, she wasn’t as afraid as she had thought she would be. Being surrounded by the ones she cared about made her feel capable of anything. There was no guarantee they would succeed, but no certainty that they would not either. There is always hope, she thought. Nameh had never been one to hope, was she hoping now? Even if not, she still wouldn’t give up, this much was certain to Mira.

She wished that she could embrace Nameh one last time, and feel that security of being close to someone so dear. There would be time for that later, she thought. Time, again, so much time.

Nameh still held Daniel’s stare, it had been about thirty seconds since Seth had began communicating with the others, and she hoped beyond hope he had been able to tell all of them. She feared his attention would not be drawn for much longer. These seconds dragged on with a meaningless dribble of speech, and yet they flitted by like the lightest of insects or butterflies with complete disregard to her desire to grip them tightly. She felt like a child chasing the butterflies through a field of flowers. She remembered rarely laying hands on them, but crushing them unintentionally from zeal. She brushed the white powder from her hands and moved on; it was time to fight.

It could be delayed no longer, and any attempt would be useless. Now was the time to kill or be killed. She did not know which, though even if she did, it would not change her course of action. Even if she were sure this battle would be her demise, Nameh still would have fought. When one has nothing left in this world, one can always fight.

She thought for what had to be no more than a second or two about all the time she had wasted, and everything she had let pass by. She didn’t think death would be that hard, after all they had faced together. In fact, she imagined it was one of the easiest things to do. Living was difficult, dying was easy.

But it didn’t have to end that way, she mused. They were going to fight, she thought, and there was always hope.