Long before cities grew. Long before roads carved through the mountains. Long before the outside world understood Appalachia as anything more than wilderness.
They learned that some things were not meant to be fully seen.
The Appalachian Empire never hunted them. Never spoke threats. Never demanded worship.
They simply existed.
And that existence was enough.
Those who lived deep within Appalachia began to notice the signs. The blue mist that moved without wind. The feeling of being watched. not with malice, but with awareness. The sound of slow footsteps when no one else was there.
Some who saw the Empire directly were never the same again. Not harmed. Not attacked.
Changed/Lied
They spoke of age beyond comprehension. Of a face hidden behind a cracked mask. Of a body made not from flesh, but from forest and time itself.
Others listened.
Others adapted.
They began wearing blindfolds.
Not to hide.
Not to deny.
But to protect their minds from the weight of witnessing something that had survived nearly half a billion years.
They lived by a simple understanding:
“If I cannot see you, you cannot fully reach me.”
And the Appalachian Empire respected this.
They never removed the blindfolds. Never forced their presence. The mist would thin when passing through these settlements. Their footsteps would grow quieter.
The blindfolded faithful continued their lives. They built homes. Raised families. Prayed. Worked. Endured.
They knew they were not alone.
And they knew they were allowed to remain.
They did not worship the Empire.
They coexisted?? with it.
And in return, the Empire never drove them away.
To this day, deep within Appalachia, there are those who still wear the blindfold.
“This is awful weather,” said the plain one. “It is entirely too cold out.”
“Yes,” said the pretty one, “but perhaps you’d be warmer if you’d worn a coat. All the people I know who don’t wear coats are consistently freezing.”
“My father never wears a coat.”
“Are you very much like him?”
“I hope not,” said the plain one. The wind blew, and she shivered. The pretty one pulled a pack of Camels out of her pocket, lit up, and took a drag.
“I hear those are bad for you,” said the plain one.
“Yes, that’s what I hear, too.” The pretty one exhaled, and the steam of her breath mixed with the smoke in the air so that it was hard to tell which was which.
“I hear they give you cancer.”
“Sure.”
“You do this often, hm?”
“Often as I please.”
“What about the cancer?”
“The cancer?”
“Why yes,” the plain one said, eyebrows raised, “the cancer. Don’t you mind?”
“Not in the slightest.” A gust of wind blew by. The pretty one shoved the hand she was not using in her coat pocket. The plain one shuddered.
“Well, I wouldn’t mind.”
“Don't you usually keep gloves in your pockets?”
“Do you want them?”
“That's not what I said.”
“That's what you meant.”
“You don't have to,” said the plain one as she slipped on the gloves. Then neither said anything. It smelled like tobacco. They watched the horizon like there was something there worth seeing.
“That cloud looks like something,” said the plain one.
“Like what?”
“I’m not sure. Something familiar, though, don’t you think?”
“It’s a cloud.”
“Fine. It’s a cloud. How long until we go home?”
“Long. I have to finish this.” The pretty one put the cigarette to her lips again. The paper was stained dark red.
“What about the cancer?”
“I told you I don’t care.”
“You should,” said the plain one through chattering teeth. Without a word, the pretty one removed her coat and handed it to her. The plain one wrapped the coat around her shoulders. “Are you sure?”
“I’m not cold,” said the pretty one as goosebumps pricked her skin.
They were silent for a moment.
“Awful weather,” said the plain one.
“Terrible.” The pretty one took a drag.
“The salt wrecks the cars.”
“I hate the salt.”
“Still, it does melt the ice.”
“Still, I hate the salt.”
“Me too.” The plain one stared at the cigarette. “Why do you smoke if you know?”
“Know what?”
“About the cancer.”
“I like smoking.”
“The smell?”
“No.”
“The taste?”
“No.”
“The look?”
“Partly.”
“The nicotine?”
“Mostly.”
“How does it taste?”
“Good enough.” The pretty one paused. “I’ll probably get lung cancer before I’m 25.”
“That’s not funny,” said the plain one. The pretty one just shrugged.
“Better cancer than hypothermia.”
“I disagree.”
Neither girl elaborated. The winter persisted. The cigarette glowed on.
Atticus was dumped unceremoniously onto the sandy earth when they finally reached the two figures he had spotted in the distance a few minutes earlier. The trip to them on the Raven’s back had been as uncomfortable as it had been humiliating. Atticus had been convinced he could physically feel the Raven’s resentment towards his weakness as they traveled over the rocky ground. Brushing the sandy dirt off of his pants and shirt, he stood to face the two strange beings they had driven through the night to meet.
The larger of the two was male, standing a good ten feet tall and having shoulders twice as broad as Allen’s. He was wearing a larger version of the loin cloth the Raven had originally arrived in and also had a sort of helmet covering his face. Unlike the Raven’s mask, which covered the top half of his head only, this was more like a knight’s helmet or something. Made of a reddish wood, it encased the man’s entire head, leaving only rectangular eye slits, a grate at the front for breathing and small holes in the sides to, Atticus assumed, help the man hear. His hands, truly enormous, were bound in layers of thick, worn leather and in his right hand was some sort of weapon; a long staff with a huge, perfectly round ball of stone on one end. Atticus guessed that it was some kind of club, but wondered why a creature this imposing would need any sort of weapon at all.
The other one was much smaller and clearly female. Atticus could tell this not only from her build, but from the three pairs of exposed breasts that she was displaying unabashedly above the silky skirt that thankfully covered her lower half. Atticus could see what looked like six daggers, all encased in leather scabbards, at various places on the woman’s person, but what really caught his eye was her mask. It was metal, brass-like, and covered only the woman’s forehead and eyes, of which there were six, leaving her nose, lower cheeks, mouth and chin exposed. The woman’s skin was dark, richer than the Raven’s, and her head was shaved bald above her mask. Despite the size disparity with the man at her side, it was this woman that made Atticus nervous.
“Well met Raven,” the man said in a booming voice. For some reason Atticus had the thought that this would be what an old tree sounded like if it ever found a voice. “Iktomi did not think it wise to wait for you, but I knew you would be here. When we heard there was trouble in the Shadow, I knew I could count on finding you at its heart.”
The woman looked a bit peeved at this, but she too said, “It is good to find you here, Harbinger. Is it true there are others with you? We’ve heard such strange stories…”
“There are others,” the Raven said, “but that can wait. Why have you come?”
Atticus, wholly focused on the other two since being dumped off the Raven’s back, looked over to his companion to find him standing tensely at his side, the feathers that ran down the back of his arms on end, stone blades in each hand. Atticus was shocked by this reaction. He had assumed the Raven’s insistence on coming with him was due to his certainty that who they found here would be allies. Now though, the Raven was making Atticus glad he’d brought his pistol with him. The heavy sidearm felt odd on his hip, but he hadn’t wanted to come out here without being able to defend himself. Cautiously, he let his hand rest on its grip as he watched the scene before him play out.
“I can see you haven’t changed much since we last shared a fire,” the man said with a booming laugh. “We came when we knew you were stirring up trouble.”
“The Voice told everyone to stay away from the portals until instructed otherwise,” the woman, Iktomi, said, shooting her companion an annoyed look, as if she knew the Raven wasn’t to be ignored when he was in this mood. “That’s never happened before, not with all of the portals at once, and not so directly. Wei came to find me the night after the message was sent and told me, well, he told me some odd stories. Even if half of them were half true, I agreed it was worth investigating. So here we are.”
“What have you heard?” the Raven said to the man, Wei, ignoring the woman for some reason.
“That the A’Sin was sent back by Prey with the help of one of the kin,” Wei said, leaning on his club as if this were just small-time gossip. “Then we heard, well Jehto heard, you know he isn’t very reliable, that one of the witches up north and her graul were sent back, by, well, you.”
“Then,” Iktomi cut in, “we heard that you, Ghat-soh and that beastly fellow from the western deserts helped these same Prey send three of the Loa back. No one knows if that is true, we only know the Prey in the southern swamps have overthrown the Loa and killed them to the last. The Anaye also tell a similar story, about being sent back by you three that is, though no one listens to anything they say.”
“It is true. All of it,” the Raven said. “Why should I trust that he didn’t send you to put a knife in my back?” Now he was looking at the woman and all six of her eyes avoided his.
“I can see why you wouldn’t trust this one,” Wei said, stepping between them, “but can you truly see me aligning with him?”
“And he brought me along,” Iktomi said, staying behind Wei. “I still can’t say this was a good idea, but if you’re up to what we think you are, it might be worth it.”
“I think we might want to take them at their word for now,” Atticus said gingerly.
“What you think is of no consequence,” the Raven shot back.
“Ah, it speaks,” Wei said, shifting his focus to Atticus. The boxy helmet did not allow for eye contact exactly, but Atticus looked directly into the mask’s eye slits anyway. It was very much like staring down a wild bull. “What is this thing you brought with you Raven? It looks like Prey, but weaker, older.” Atticus was not thrilled with this assessment of his person, but kept his mouth shut. He didn’t have any idea what was happening between these three, but the last thing he wanted to do was dissuade the newcomers from joining their cause.
“Atticus Daniels is not a good representative of their kind. This world’s Prey are not like those from our home. They are more advanced. Their minds and weapons give them an edge the Prey in our world are sorely lacking.”
“I find that hard to believe,” Iktomi said, leaning around Wei’s broad back to look at Atticus.
“He is old,” the Raven said, sounding frustrated. “The Prey here live much longer. I can show you much better specimens than this. Allen Becker, another of their kind, is a formidable warrior who stood toe to toe with Samedi and lived. If the tribes and clans back home had warriors like this leading them, our kind would have much to fear.”
“Samedi?” Iktomi whispered as if the name alone was dangerous.
“This is true?” Wei asked, looking down at Atticus.
“It is,” Atticus nodded. “Many of our people have taken down intruders from your world.”
“How old are you, little man?” Wei asked, crouching low to meet Atticus’ eye line, as if he were a child. He seemed interested now that he knew what they were capable of.
“Getting close to sixty,” Atticus grumbled. He didn’t think about his age much. Hadn’t since forty.
Wei looked taken aback as Iktomi strode forward and said, “Does it speak the truth?”
“It does,” Atticus said, annoyed. They could harp on his age, fitness and build all they wanted, but he would like the respect of being treated like a sentient entity.
Iktomi stopped, bowed to Atticus, and said, “I apologize. It is just that your kind barely live to be thirty years of age in our world. Elders are few and far between.”
“Well there are quite a few of us here,” Atticus said. “I appreciate that this is a lot for you two to take in, it is for my people as well, but we need to start discussing what happens from here.”
Wei and Iktomi looked from Atticus to the Raven as if the idea that the Raven would let one such as Atticus speak for him truly shocked them. “He is right. We must,” the Raven said. “It is dangerous to linger out in the open like this.”
“What do you mean?” Iktomi asked.
“Yes, and what do you mean, ‘what happens from here’?” Wei asked just after her.
“Explain,” the Raven said, looking down to Atticus.
“No,” Wei said, sounding testy for the first time. “You will explain what is happening here Tenoshin. I will not be taken for a fool and forced into servitude. What is going on?”
The Raven and Wei were standing inches from each other now and Iktomi looked as nervous as Atticus felt. The Raven, forced to look up at the larger man, said, “I came here to buy time. I want our world back, from him, from the Great Ones, or anyone else that might impose their rule on our kind. My plans changed when I met this man and his people. They can help us. They will help us. All we need to do is help them beat back those who would make use of their world during this cycle. That is the price for an alliance and it is one I am happy to pay.” Atticus had no clue what the Raven was talking about. No one, not to his knowledge anyway, had offered the Raven assistance after all of this was over. He couldn’t tell if he was dangerously out of the loop or if the Raven was lying. At this point, Atticus just hoped it worked. They could figure the rest out later.
“So you have indentured yourself to them?” Wei said with disgust.
“Did Ghat-soh agree to this?” Iktomi asked, seeming more open minded than Wei at this point.
“Her and the creature known as Coyote,” the Raven said. “They live and fight side by side with the Prey of this world. Ghat-soh even seems tempted to stay here long term.”
This seemed to give the two across from them something to think about. “A moment please,” Iktomi said, grabbing one of Wei’s arms with three of her own and leading him away from the spot where Atticus and the Raven stood.
“How is this going?” Atticus whispered to the Raven.
“As expected,” the Raven said, though he did not sound happy about it.
Atticus didn’t see any reason to bother the Raven so he simply watched as Wei and Iktomi held council fifty feet away. No cars had driven by as of yet, but that was bound to change at some point and Atticus was starting to get antsy. After ten truly agonizing minutes, the two seemed to have come to a decision and made their way back to where Atticus and the Raven had been waiting.
“We will join you,” Iktomi said, smiling widely, a gesture the Raven did not return.
“For now,” Wei added.
“Excellent,” Atticus said, smiling back. “We need to get moving then. Only a matter of time before someone sees you two.”
“He will not fit in the transport you brought us in,” the Raven said, turning to Atticus, hands on hips.
“I was thinking about that,” Atticus said, finally confronted with the problem he had spotted at this odd meeting’s start.
“Where is the place we are going?” Wei said.
“A great distance. Do you think you can make it on foot?” the Raven asked.
“I can do it,” Wei said. “I do not tire here in the Shadow as I would back home. It will be good to travel this land in the light of day.”
“Can you manage that unseen?” Atticus asked.
“Must I?” Wei said, clearly not understanding why this would be an issue yet.
“If it can be managed,” Atticus replied, “that would be helpful.”
“Then I will stay out of view,” Wei shrugged. Atticus wasn’t sure how the gigantic man would accomplish this feat, but this was probably one of the top ten places in the country he might be able to pull it off.
“And I will travel with you then?” Iktomi asked the Raven.
The masked man said nothing to this for some reason, so Atticus said, “Yes, that will probably be easiest.”
“Then let us not waste time,” Iktomi said.
“Agreed,” Wei nodded, sliding his club into some sort of sheath that lay across his back. “It seems I have a long journey ahead.”
“You and us both,” Atticus said. “Give me a minute you two,” he added to the Raven and Iktomi. “I need to give Margret a head’s up. She’s not going to want to be left out of the loop on something like this.”
I don't know if anyone else has this problem, but I feel like I need to let my ideas marinate for a bit before I write them down, like there is only so much my brain can think in one sitting so then I just stretch thinking throughout days at a time. I know when an idea clicks, like it makes sense and solves a plot hole I've been thinking about or adds a new layer to my story. But I can't just sit and think about them, like they need to come naturally.
So when I decided to write this book, I knew it would take time. Like I had a very VERY vague idea of where this was going and some scenes and little things I knew I wanted throughout. The plot came to me across maybe two weeks, bit by bit in a few brainstorming sessions and others just at random parts of the day. I still struggle to sit down and plot or develop the story because I just get stuck.
I fear this will take forever, I don't know how to force myself into actually doing it without literally scarring myself off with the pressure. But well, I don't have a deadline so it can take as long as it needs.
There was a time when life felt like my own. A time when I didn’t have to think before speaking, before laughing, before dreaming. It was simple. It was mine. ☀️
But somewhere along the way, I stopped recognizing the person I had become.
Maybe it Chan the day we packed our bags and left behind everything familiar. Or maybe it was when I realized that freedom isn’t something everyone gets to hold on to. 🕊️
I don’t remember the exact moment I started fading into the background, but I do remember this - there was a before, and there was an after . And the two versions of me… they are nothing alike.
