Visitors

         Taroc’s body slid easily along the ice, leaving a bright ribbon of blood behind. Iko pulled it behind him as he trudged forward, his large hand clasped around an ankle, his eyes fixed on the dark shape of the tower ahead. It jutted angrily into the sky, higher than any of the great trees he had seen in the Eastlands.

         Before, it had been night. Iko had seen stars on the tower. Red, green, and the brightest white. What power could control the stars? Or do what had been done to him? Iko flexed his hand, remembering. A pale scar along his wrist was the only trace of his wound.

         Soon he was near the edge. The size of it made him cower. So large that the entire tribe holding hands could not circle it. He wondered what the elders would say when he had proof.

         Without warning the hole opened. A giant hiss and light poured out. He entered the tower, pulling Taroc behind him.

         The little man was waiting inside. He looked so pale and weak, his limbs like twigs, his face flat and his eyes large. His body was covered with strange skins. He moved quickly around Taroc’s body, poking it with confusing tools. The object in his hand made ghostly sounds. Iko remembered those sounds. He rubbed a hand along his arm, feeling the hard square that the little man had put beneath his skin.

         The man stood up and pressed his hand to a wall, speaking words in a thin voice. Iko tried to repeat them, like a child learning to speak.

         “Buyo lojikul hahsurd” He stuttered. The man turned to look at him, eyes wide, and held up the object in his hand. There was a popping sound and Iko’s world went black.