Sons of the Earth

Connecticut Colony, January 8th, 1649

     "Monster!" Story shrieked. "Demon! Be gone from me!"

     Merlin stayed as he was, pressed within the shadows behind a large boulder. Even there, he could feel Story's power. The wind lashed and tore at the surrounding trees. Fortunately for him, it was the most the Son of the Wind had learned to do. Merlin considered himself fortunate that Story had been so desperate to fit in. Had he been actively working on developing his powers, Merlin might have been forced to fight. Having finally found the one being he considered his family, Merlin had no desire to trade blows with him. "I am no demon," he called, staying low so as to avoid antagonizing Story too much. "Neither are you."

     "Lies!" There was a loud crack as a large tree fell over. "How can you look at us, at this unnatural power we possess, and not know for certain that we are the denizens of Hell?"

     "So you've been there? How is it this time of year?"

     His answer was another gale that uprooted a sizable boulder and sent it rolling in his direction, forcing him to dodge out of the way. Ok, perhaps making a joke was the wrong way to approach this. But unfortunately, Merlin was running out of ideas. The Foundation was giving him one year to bring Story to heel before they got involved. Too much of that time had been spent chasing the Son of the Wind and having him slip through his fingers. If he couldn't sway Story before his time was over, he'd be forced to fight the Foundation to protect his stubborn brother. Merlin had more than enough fighting to last several lifetimes. He had no desire to battle other humans with supernatural abilities and less to do so while also fighting with Story. Time for a different approach. "Story, what evil have you done in your short mortal lifetime?" he tried. "Did you curse those around you? Did you undermine the teachings of your church?"

     "I have sinned!"

      "To the extent that you'd expect a denizen of Hell? And in only seventeen years? You truly are evil indeed!" Taking a chance, he reformed and stood up, revealing his location as he raised his hands. "I am not here to drag you to Hell. I have no book of evil for you to sign, no demonic ritual for you to participate in. All I want is to talk to you. Are you not a man of manners? Would you refuse my request for a simple, non-binding conversation?" He grimaced as the wind increased, ducking down to avoid being blown over. "Come now!" he yelled. "This is intolerable. Surely you are every bit as tired of this constant conflict as I am?"

     To his great relief, the winds died down. A cyclone of debris formed some distance away, coalescing into the figure of Elias Story. He appeared to have suffered terribly in the past year. His hair was loose and ragged, his clothing little more than filthy rags. Dirt covered him, broken only by the tracks of long-shed tears on his cheeks. His cheeks were gaunt with hunger. He barely seemed to have the energy to remain upright. How he'd continued fighting in this state was a mystery. As it was, he stumbled his way over to the recently fallen tree, where he sat down on the trunk and cradled his head in his hands.

     Merlin dared to approach, moving slowly, telegraphing his every move. Story didn't look up until Merlin was close enough to sit on one of the branches of the same tree. Then, weary blue eyes finally turned to him. "Are you here to take me to Hell?"

     "No. I'm here to help you."

     "Help me." His voice was flat, his eyes dull.

     "Yes. This battle between us has gone on for long enough. We are brothers, you and I, the Sons of the Earth. Yet you've done nothing but fight against me from the day we met. For what? Can you not understand that I am not your enemy?"

     Story slumped, resting his elbows on his knees and hanging his head. His shaggy, unkempt hair hung down to cover his face. "What do you want of me?" he whispered.