The Creator's Eye: Mover of Fate, Part I

When Michael came to, he wasn’t sure if he was alive or dead, although the cold, wet, and pain, seemed to indicate the former. He found himself wedged against a boulder by the current. He had to get out of the frigid water, so despite the pain in his arm where he had been shot, he managed to hoist himself onto the rock. Unable to see in the pitch black cave, he could not afford to stand up and walk lest he fall off his perch and cripple himself even worse.

  He called out into the darkness for his friends, but his words merely echoed dully against the moist cave walls before fading away. He had no idea how far into the cavern he had been carried. He began to despair.

  He sat there for a while worrying before realizing that he was a Mover and knew how to make fire. He didn’t have a sword or a wand to focus with, but still could Move something.

  He closed his eyes. He needed to focus his energy as best he could, to focus beyond the bruises and pain throbbing in his arms and legs. He held his hands out and focused on light flying out of them like a butterfly escaping a child’s jar. Light pierced his clenched eyelids, but by the time he opened them, the flash had already dissipated. He caught only a glimpse of where he was, but his eyes could not adjust fast enough to soak it in.

  He tried again, but with the same results. He needed a light that he could hold for longer, so he concentrated on a small flame. Michael was now shivering from the damp and cold, which did not help him concentrate on making fire. It sputtered out as fast as the flash of light.

  “Damn it!” he exclaimed in frustration.

  He could try to fire a burst, but when he tried that against the black dogs back in Canaan, the flames went wild. It was hard to control without a wand or sword as a medium. Plus, he had no idea how big the cave was. He could be a few feet from a wall and bounce flames right back into his face. He needed to Move carefully without closing his eyes.

  He took several deep breaths and tried to relax. His shoulder was throbbing, but it would be easier to Move if he was calm. After deep breathing for a while, his initial panic subsided a little. With his eyes still open, he visualized energy Moving from his brain down his spine, through his shoulders to his arms, and emanating as a bright flash from his hands.

  The room illuminated for a brief moment. It was just long enough to see that the rock that he stood on was actually a stony embankment above the river that clung to the side of the cave. Michael began following it upstream. He did not get a long glimpse though, so moved slowly, shuffling his feet. He did not want to trip over a rock and strand himself with a sprained ankle.

  After moving ten paces or so, Michael chanced another flash and saw that the cave went around a bend up ahead. He kept one hand against the wall for stability. Whenever he wasn’t sure where to step next, he fired another flash, each time with an audible poof like dry tinder igniting. He also glimpsed his shirt, which was soaked from the river. The left sleeve was wet with blood from the shot and probably a few other abrasions. This method did work, but was horribly slow. He needed to dry off and do something about his wounds before they became infected.

  He periodically called out for his friends as he scrambled along, but suddenly thought better of it. He had no idea what else lived down there. There were wolves and serpents and other nasty beasts that inhabited the caves of Arimbol, not to mention the demons were surely still hunting for him.

  Just as Michael was considering his stance on noise, a dim light illuminated the cave beyond the bend.

  “Maya…Sefu…is that you?” he asked cautiously.

  The owner of the light did not respond, but appeared to be getting closer.

  “Grant?” he asked.

  Still no one responded, but he could tell that it was definitely edging nearer. Michael began to panic. He had no weapon with which to defend himself. He did not want to light another flash for fear of drawing whatever this was to him even faster. He felt around on the ground and picked up a rock then leaned against the cave wall, trying to blend in with the stone. As the light crept nearer, he slowed his breath, afraid to move or make a sound, but whoever it was had surely already heard him. They knew he was there. If he ran, he would likely trip and injure himself, so he clutched onto the stone and prayed that whoever it was would pass.

  The light did not rock or flicker like a person carrying a lantern would. It did not shake or dim with each foot step, because it wasn’t walking. It was floating. Michael cringed when he realized what it was.

  The floating head came around the bend. Except that it wasn’t just a head anymore. The faint outline of a torso was apparent, but not exactly human, or even demon. It was tall— taller than Michael and had four long arms that ended in hands with two wide, mitten-like fingers.

  Michael shrank back against the wall, but it did not matter. The room was illuminated from the creature’s soft glow. It stared ominously at Michael with its eyeless face.

  Michael’s heart raced. He cocked his arm back, ready to throw the stone with one hand and blast the apparition with his other.

  “Stay away!” he shouted.

  To his surprise, the creature paused, appearing to listen.

  “What do you want?” Michael asked, still terrified.