The curtain fell with a thump, and a hush followed, but that second of silence stood out as a thunderclap to his ears. As a body, the crowd rose from their seats, filling the room with the sound of chairs and murmurs and hushed whispers, and filed out, until the auditorium again fell into that piercing silence.

He sat perfectly still, staring hard at the stage. Then he rose abruptly and descended the stairs from the balcony to the auditorium. He kept the long, steady, yet swift and silent strides down the aisle, and leapt onto the stage. “Come!” He spun around to face an invisible audience. His ears rang with mocking laughter, his pale grey eyes saw scorn and contempt everywhere he looked. He clenched his fists, and slowly turned to face the actors, who had gathered on the stage with uncertainty on their faces. “What. Was. That?” The actors gave no response. “That… flump, that lope of a play? Are you actors! Are you performers, or are you simply an assemblage of deficient merry-andrews?”

One of the actors, a young man with dark blond hair, shifted his weight from one foot to the other and cleared his throat. “The crowd was entertained-“

“They were appalled!”

“Sir, the play was good enough!”

He stared at him in silence. “Good enough? You fools, when will you learn that good enough is not! We are not called to be ‘good enough,’ we are called to be perfect!” There was a murmur among the actors, and he straightened and clasped his hands behind his back, his brow furrowed. “Well? Speak out!”

A young woman took a timid step forward. “We did not do our best, Sir. But the audience seemed to enjoy it.”

He looked hard into her eyes. “I am your audience, Miss Forr. I do not write for that rabble, I write for myself. If I am pleased, I am content. If I am displeased, I will not bear it! I am my own audience, and the success or the failure will fall to my judgement.” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. His voice came calm, but stern. “I realize that for young, inexperienced actors, a drama from an experienced playwright may be trying at the best of times. But that performance was not your best! We are called to our very best, I as playwright, and you as actor.”

The young man sighed. “Thank heaven we have a week ’til we perform it again.”

“I hope for all our sakes, Drell, that a week is enough.” He waved them away with an impatient flick of his hand. “Go on home, all of you, I am certain we are all tired.”

He turned without waiting for a response and walked back down the aisle toward the large double doors. He pushed through and stepped out into the humid night, and a sigh escaped his lips. He looked up at the clear sky. “O muse, o fickle element, thou laughest at the failure of men.” He held out his hands in confusion. “Why must I be thy prey?” He let his hands fall. “Why must I bear thy scorn, thy mockery, thy contempt, when thou art to blame for my failures?” He closed his eyes and another sigh fell from him. “‘That performance was not your best.’ You fool, you old fool, when will the time come that you speak to a mirror and not to your shadow? The shadow follows, but you ordain its every movement. Speak rather to the mirror, for therein lies your own reflection.”

“Excuse me, Sir.”

He turned to see a young, well-dressed man, a man he recognized from several meetings of the critics, approaching him. He frowned. “What do you want?”

“Colonel Furrow ordered me to inform you that this failure will undoubtedly cause trouble with your occupation.”

“Trouble? What… Do you mean that I might lose this-“

The young man cast a menacing grin that he had undoubtedly learned from Colonel Furrow. “Yes, that is precisely what I mean. And what the colonel means.” He gave a mocking bow, “I wish you all the best, Master!” He turned and strode away briskly, whistling.

He watched the young man in silence, then turned and trudged down the dusty road, his back to the setting sun. The long and lonely walk from the theater to his house was a silent one, only broken by the heavy thump of his boots on the cobbled stone path and the occasional hissing irritation of an insect. The path turned and twisted, at length, to a broken, overgrown walkway between the ivied brick walls of an old estate, now weather-beaten and ill-worn. He had in his childhood seen the battered mansion in its former glory, but he could not afford to bring it back. Twenty years away in war and roving had torn it down, and five years home could not restore it, even if he had had the money to achieve such a feat. He pulled his worn greatcoat further about him in spite of the heat, for a great cold stirred inside him. Was he falling ill?

He pushed through the rusty iron gate with a little difficulty and latched it, a wry smile crossing his face. The rust did more to keep the gate shut than the latch did. Again, a rush of cold chilled his bones, and he shivered uncontrollably. What was the matter with him? He wiped beads of sweat from his forehead and groaned. “Perhaps I am ill. I would not have thought it. Or perhaps a little sleep will send it away.” He turned and continued up the path to the steps of the veranda, and pulled from his pocket a bundle of matches. But before he could strike one, a strange sound echoed through the dark trees and stopped him in his tracks. He turned and peered into the darkness. “Hullo?”

There came no reply.

The sparkle of the soldier and rambler of his youth shivered through his limbs, and he struck the match and lit the lamp at the porch, then stepped down to the path again and lifted his voice. “I hear thee, great whimperer! Come to the light and we may speak anon. Come not, and thou shalt not have mine attention ’til morrow.”

“I have thine attention now, my sweet. For thou didst call me.”

The voice sent a shiver through his insides, but he squared his shoulders and lifted his chin resolutely. “I spoke thy name, Madame Muse, but I called thee not.”

A whisper came and brushed his ear, but there was no one he could see to speak it. “My name invoked, my presence called, by charms and cursings I am bound to come whence came the invocation.”

He smirked. “Pretty words. But linger not, thy presence called in vain. Return thee to thy seat aloft and peer upon another wayward scribe whose words fall dully to the ears of men. And leave me to my musings, not my muse.”

A silvery laugh, and the form of a tall and slender woman took shape in the shadows to his right. “I always bring thee words when I am here. Thou needest words, indeed, for wright thou be, but write thou cannot.” She laughed again, a playful laugh, and his countenance softened in spite of himself.

“Wit thou bearest as the rose is born by virgins!” He recovered himself and tilted his chin upward a little, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly in mock suspicion. “Come thou in, or shall you stand and laugh ’til my wits are run amok? Or didst thou come to laugh at me in my time of need and lend no help?”

“Beware thy words, o great elocutionist, for they might yet come back to bite you.” She spoke this with a friendly smile, and he caught no tone of anger or displeasure. “Aid I came to lend, indeed, and now I see thou art in need of it more than I fancied. But I will not come in.” She pointed a long delicate finger that seemed to shine in an invisible moonlight. He felt a sudden, painful rush of inspiration, and words flowed through his mind at a volume he could not contain. He stumbled back and gripped his head in his hands. “No, no! Not this way, I beg thee!”

“Words may cast a playful spell upon the one who uses them. My vengeance for thy slight affront shall soon take its toll, but it shall pass, and you and I shall both contented be.” The laugh came again. “You shall need me soon once more.” The silvery voice and the whisper faded, and left him on the ground against the door, his head clutched in his hands.

…

He awoke with a throbbing headache. Early morning light streamed through the drawn curtains, shrouding the room in a soft mist of gold and rose. He threw off the sheet and stumbled out of bed, a steady hammering against his temples. All night as he tossed in his bed, words had passed through his mind, words, phrases, snatches of poetry, catches of literature, things he had heard and had not heard jumbled together in a mass of words until he fell asleep, wearied from the assault, but his dreams, vivid dreams, filled with words, letters. He groaned and slipped to his knees. “Oh, why do you condemn me! No, that’s not the right word. Con… Not consult. Oh, words! Would I could be rid of them!”

The gentle, fresh tintinnabulation of the doorbell cut into his thoughts like a cool Autumn breeze after a sweltering Summer, and he pushed himself to his feet, and, throwing his greatcoat about his shoulders, descended to the front door, and opened it. Drell, the young actor, stood panting on the porch, his blue eyes shining. “Good morning, Sir!”

He pressed his hand against his forehead and grunted. “Yes, good morning. What do you want?”

“You’ve been called to come to the theater at your earliest convenience to have a proposition laid before you, which I believe will be beneficial to every party involved!” Drell’s brow furrowed, and he peered hard at him. “Are you alright, Sir?”

“Call upon a muse and a headache shall be thine end!”

Drell blinked in confusion. “Erm… I see. When will you be available?”

“What? Oh… Soon. I shall come at once.”

“Have you broken your fast?”

“No, no, I am not hungry. Wait here, I shall be ready in a few minutes.” He hurried inside, got dressed, then followed Drell down the path to the theater. As they walked, he noticed a strange stillness in the air. It was much cooler than it had been the day before, but there was no breeze, and the trees’ leaves were silent. Still, he thought, the fresh air certainly did him good, and his headache was slowly receding. He turned to Drell. “You were very vague on the person who will, as you put it, lay a proposition before me. Beneficial or not as the proposition may turn out to be, I wish to know the name of this generous individual.”

Drell looked down uncomfortably, his hand lingering about his mouth, as was his custom when he was trying to find a way to deceive without lying. His hand fell, and he sighed. “Master Furrow, Sir.”

He stopped and looked back down the road with longing. “Perhaps I ought to break my fast, after all.”

Drell chuckled. “We can break our fast after the meeting. But I think you will find it more engaging than you think.” His young face grew grave. “In spite of Furrow. Ah, here we are!”

“How perceptive of you!” He opened the door and entered. The auditorium bustled again with people and noise, but this time the people consisted of the critics he had grown to know and despise, the stage hands, and the actors from the night before. He greeted the critics with a curt nod, and Miss Forr ran up, her dark eyes sparkling, her amber curls bouncing against her shoulders and forehead as she tossed her head back in a laugh. “Drell convinced you, I see!”

“Indeed.” He scanned the auditorium with a frown. “Where is Furrow?”

“I am here!”

He turned at the boisterous voice to see an enormous, red-faced man with thick, black hair and a well-trimmed beard stride down the aisle toward him with great speed.

He forced a smile. “Master Furrow! What a… You are here, I see.”

Furrow stopped and gave him a strange look. “My dear Adamantius! Come, come, what is such a greeting as that?”

He stiffened. Only Furrow could use his name with such ease, and from the corner of his eye he noticed Drell and Miss Forr exchange nervous glances. He turned his attention to Furrow, and did not try to sound or look pleased in any respect. “Master Furrow, you called me from my home at an early and most inconvenient hour, to tell me what? What is this noble and most generous proposition? Do you take me for a mooncalf, that you expect me to agree most wholeheartedly with a thing that, considering the source, is likely so full of stupidity as to be absurd, without hearing what it is?”

“Adamantius, Adamantius, your words lack sweetness. Is it possible a drop of cyanide has fallen into your cup that you speak only bitterness?”

“I shall drop cyanide into your cup if you speak my name again!”

“Very well,” Furrow swatted the incident away with a nonchalant wave of his hand, but there gleamed in his dark eyes a hard, cold flash of cruelty. “Listen, Adamantius. There is an important lady coming to our city this week, well-learned in the art of theater. She has come for the sole purpose of seeing these fine young actors perform at their very best.” Furrow leaned in with a hideous grin. “Now, it has come to my attention that,” he lowered his voice, “that you are displeased with your latest play. It won’t do at all for her to see a less-than-stellar performance.”

He took in a sharp breath through his nose and clenched his jaw to keep from scowling. “I can… rewrite the lines I find lacking in a week’s time. But how soon the actors can re-memorize-“

“Rewrite the lines? I do not want you to rewrite the lines of that old play. I need you to write a new play.”

“What!”

“A perfectly new play, specifically made for pleasing the most honorable Miss Felicity Eskos!”

He opened his mouth to respond, but for the first time in that day, his mind was at a loss for words. He gave an uncomfortable cough and looked away from Furrow’s sneering face to let his expression, an expression of complete disgust, cross his own face. It was bad enough to have to write an entire play in a week, worse yet to write it for a woman he knew nothing of, beyond Furrow’s word that she was experienced and well-versed in the art of theater. A critic, then. But what sort? “A… a woman with knowledge of theater must be the age of…”

“Twenty-one.”

He looked sharply at Furrow. “Twenty-one! A girl of twenty-one possesses the experience of a snail!”

Furrow broke into one of his hearty, aggravating laughs. “A snail! The experience of a snail! My dear Adamantius, your similes are quite entertaining, really!”

He struggled against the desire to lash out and strike the man on his unusually large nose. “That is not the point, Perig Furrow. You expect me to write a play for a twenty-one year old expert – a thing which is simply impossible, no one younger than forty years can even claim to be an expert on anything – for the sole purpose of impressing her? And it is not a simile, it is a metaphor, the difference of which I suggest you study hard, if you are to impress this expert when she comes. For I have no doubt she will know the difference, young as she is!”

“Yes, yes, I have some brushing up to do.” Furrow straightened and arranged his collar and brushed off tiny specks of dirt and dust from the sleeves of his coat, as if he was posing before a mirror, just about to go out to meet this lady. After a few moments, Furrow broke out of his pantomime and smiled at him. “But you have a great deal of writing to do! You ought to start now, for I need it in two days’ time.”

He had never felt tremendous shock before. In war and skirmishes, whether on battlefields or in taverns, he had held his nerve. The slash of a saber or the thrust of a spear never made him cower, but these last words from Perig Furrow gave him such a shock that his mouth fell open in utter disbelief, and he could barely gasp out the critic’s words to make certain he had heard him correctly, hoping, desperately praying that he had not. “Two days!”

Furrow raised his eyebrows. “Yes, of course. I can’t possibly give you any more time, there would be no enjoyment in watching you squirm.”

“I…I cannot do it in two days, Furrow!”

Furrow smirked. “That is not my business. And call me Colonel.”

“I am no longer under your command!”

“That does not matter to me.” Furrow took a step forward and leaned threateningly. He was truly an imposing figure, towering a head and shoulders at least above the average man, his great shoulders stooped as if he were prepared to leap upon the first transgressor he spied. “You are the only remaining man in my unit whom I can torment with the greatest of ease! After all, I am the voice of the critics. One word, and your life will be crumbled to dust. Or, with the right price, you could rise in the eye of the people. Not for very long, no one listens to an old ex-soldier who has at last failed in his childish ambition to be a poet,” he spat this last word out as if it were distasteful to him, “but they might, for a time, if they are compelled by the right people. Eskos and I are those people, Adamantius. Do not forget that!” He shoved him aside and disappeared into the throng of critics.

Hot anger, mixed with burning fear, churned in his stomach, and he pushed past Drell and strode toward the large doors. He needed a play, a good play, in no more than two days’ time. But how? He shoved the doors out of his way and leapt down the stairs, eager to get as far away from Furrow as he could. He ran down the road, his head gripped head in his hands, and a groan escaped his lips. “O, fate, thou art a cruel vampire!”

A sighing, a croon, and a silvery laugh, and he stopped in his tracks and spun around. “Trouble me not, Madame Muse! My humor is of ill sort to hold council with spirits, mortal or otherwise!”

“Why vent thy spleen upon the cradle of thy secrets?” The tall woman stepped out from behind a delicately twisted tree by the roadside. He turned to face her, but she only laughed and tossed her long, dark hair behind her shoulder. A heavy tug of sorrow filled his heart, and he looked away. He felt a soft hand brush his ill-kempt locks from his face. “Adamantius.”

He slapped her hand away. “Why must thou haunt me in thy death as well as in thy life!” Still he could not bear to look at her. “Ghost, foul figment of mine imagination, leave me ere my sorrow overwhelms my sense! I called thee not!”

There was silence. He stood stock still, frightened of turning to find her still there, but fearing he would find her gone. He slowly turned, and she stood there, but her face was turned away, and her dark hair hung down and hid her expression. He took a hesitant step forward and stretched out his hand, trembling. His fingers brushed against her hair, and his hand jerked back. She turned to him. His heart skipped a beat. Her dark eyes pierced through his heart and he looked away. “Why must thou trouble me!”

She smiled and pushed a silver strand of hair from his face. “My love! Two days hast thou to write a play. Tho’ playwright thou, no poet can escape the flow of Time. A muse thou needest, to spur these simple, loping words to life and love and vigor.”

He sighed and shook his head. “If I possessed a thousand such words, still would I fall short of the mark.” He looked up at her in desperation. “Even thou canst not bring to me the time I need to write a good play in two days’ time!”

“The time? Nay, for that is not my province.” She pressed her forehead against his. “But words? This I can and shall do, and with full joy! For thy muse am I, thy love am I, once in life, and now in death.”

He stared into her eyes. They smiled, but behind them he saw a great weariness, a sorrow, a regret deeper than his own. He took her face in his hands. “My muse! How canst thou aid me now?”

A gentle breeze blew through the leaves, and her laughter sparkled through the wind, and vanished. He blinked. She was gone. His hands fell to his sides, and he closed his eyes and heaved a great sigh. Then like a burst of water from the depths of the earth, he remembered his time, and he turned and hurried for his house. He ascended the stairs to his room and from a chest of drawers produced a thick pile of worn, yellow paper, a bottle of ink, and a quill. He sat at a small desk before the bay window, and peered through the crack between the drawn curtains. “Well?”

A soft hand ran through his hair, and he felt her lean against him. For the next few hours, as the sun descended in the west, he wrote, while she sang and laughed, and danced. She said nothing, but her presence brought words to his mind, beautiful, strong, clear, like a pure pool of water or a sweet, refreshing dream. The sky grew dark and the stars came out when at last her laughter faded. He looked over at her, eyebrows raised. “Aurora?”

She stood rigid, her eyes wide, her lips parted. Her fists slowly clenched, then in a sudden outburst she threw her head back and screamed.

He clapped his hands over his ears and cringed. “Aurora-“

“He is here! He is here!” She fled to the corner and fell to her knees, hiding her face in her hands.

He hurried over to her. “My love, who-“

“Oh, the horrid, horrid man!”

The doorbell rang. But its light tingle did not bring the joy of a little surprise. Rather a cold, dead feeling grew in his insides, and he froze for a moment, staring down at Aurora, her fear and his the same. The bell rang again, and he turned, instinctively, and slowly opened the door and stepped out. He could hear nothing. See no one. He descended the steps and approached the front door, his heart pounding. He had a sickening feeling that he knew who it was, and he despaired, the thought of having to stomach the man for even a few moments reeling in his mind.

He stopped at the door, his hand outstretched. The doorbell rang again. He tightened his fingers around the knob, turned it, and the lock clicked. The gentle give of the door as the lock was released made him jump, but before he could do anything, the door swung open, and the huge figure of a man stood in the doorway. He stepped back, his hand flying to his side in an old memory of the saber, now tucked away in a drawer somewhere.

Furrow sneered. “Old instincts, eh, Adamantius? What a pity you have not adapted to the civilian’s life as I have!”

He straightened and forced himself into a calmer demeanor, though his heart raced and his mind whirred. “What do you want?” This did not come out as strong as he desired, and Furrow saw it.

The colonel forced his way in and strode to the middle of the room, looking around disdainfully at the wreckage of the once grand manor house. He was dressed in a great, black military coat, trimmed with gold and donned with medals from his numerous victories in the countries across the sea. In one gloved hand he gripped a thick, black cane decorated with a metal skull, and under his other arm was neatly tucked a riding crop. “This is your… home?” He laughed. “You are in worse straits than I thought!” He spun around and put his hands on his hips. “Major, I am extremely dissatisfied with the state of your… home.”

He clenched his fists, a seething anger he had tried for five years to keep calm beginning to boil up inside him again. “I. Am. Not under your orders! This is my house, you are no longer my commanding officer!”

“And who was responsible for that?”

He began to tremble, and he looked away from Furrow’s dark gaze. Everything about the man reminded him of where he had failed in his life. Why would Aurora not appear and break him from this dread? Why would he not awake from this terrible nightmare? Oh, how he wished it were a nightmare! “Leave me be.” He looked up at Furrow. “Leave me be, I beg you!”

Furrow smiled. “You will be begging me soon enough. I am no fortune-teller, but I do predict several possible occurrences, and I want to make absolutely sure this one comes to pass! And so, I am to be the thorn in your side, sent by the Devil himself to prevent you from writing anything in the little time you have left.”

He pressed his hand against his forehead in weariness and groaned. “You have already made it impossible!” He glared at him. “That ought to make you very proud of your work, Furrow! Why not leave and delight at a distance, and leave me to my inevitable end!”

“Because I prefer to act, rather than sit back and let my plans come to fruition. I am not an idle man, Adamantius. And neither are you, and that is why I am here.” Furrow strode forward, brandishing his riding crop. “You would have already written quite a few scenes in the short time you have been here.” He stopped in front of him and gave a sadistic smile. “I can’t let that happen.”

…

He awoke with a thousand, stinging, throbbing pains. He pushed himself to his knees and groaned, then staggered to his feet. Unsteady, he glanced around the room. Everything was as it had been the last time he was conscious, before the last stunning blow had blotted out all light and sentience, but the front door stood open, letting in a chill wind, a herald for the cold light of early morning. He stumbled to the door and shut it, then turned and crawled up the stairs to his room to check his wounds. Oozing red welts covered his back, shoulders and sides, and the left side of his face was bruised and swollen. He lowered himself to the bed and buried his head in his hands. He had lost a night of writing, and he was terribly weary. He did not know when Furrow would return, if the demon would return at all, and he feared what Aurora would say. He lifted his head and looked around. “Aurora?”

There came no reply.

He sighed and ran his trembling, aching fingers through his hair. Fighting against the large man had taken more of his strength than he had imagined, and every inch of his body screamed for relief he could not give.

The doorbell rang. His head shot up. “No!” He pushed himself to his feet and hurried to the door, staring over the railing to the front door. “No!” He stood for a moment in blank fear, then the soldier stirred, and he turned and ran to the chest of drawers and threw open the bottom drawer. He pulled the clothes away to uncover his old cavalry saber. He pulled it out and ripped it from its sheath. The blade shone in the pale light of morning, and he smiled in spite of the pain, then his smile dimmed. If Furrow stood outside the door, his only chance was to strike before the colonel did. But could he give such an unprovoked attack? He sheathed his sword with a snap and strode down the stairs. Furrow had done many similar things in the past twenty years, and no one had dared stand against him. He could not stand by and be treated like a plain soldier caught stealing provisions on a campaign. He was no longer a soldier, and Furrow was no longer his colonel. He flung the door open, and the young face of Drell smiled at him. “Good-” The actor’s expression changed in a flash. “What happened?”

He lowered his sword and shook his head, backing away to allow the young man in. “What do you want?”

Drell stepped in nervously and looked each way, as if he expected some terrible creature to leap out from the shadows or down from the worn balcony and attack him. “I…” Seemingly satisfied that he was safe, he relaxed. “I wanted to see how the play was coming. And…” he gave a nervous laugh, “well, I wanted to know if there was any way I could help. Forinia came along as well, she wouldn’t take no for an answer.” He peered at him with concern. “Are you really… No, that’s a stupid question. What happened?”

He shook his head again and gave a grunt in response. He did not want to say what happened the night before. There was nothing the young man could do, whether he knew the details or not. “Come in. You and Forinia – I mean, Miss Forr, both of you.”

He led the two young actors to the upper rooms and into the bedroom. The desk was cleared. He stopped in his tracks and stared in disbelief. “What-” He strode to the desk. “Where is it? Where-” The realization dawned on him, and he fell into his chair and buried his face in his hands. “No! How could he do it?”

“What?”

He lifted his face from his hands and stared up at Miss Forr. “He destroyed it. All my progress. Everything Aurora and I wrote, he destroyed it!” He slammed the desk and got to his feet. “That man, that spiteful, bloodthirsty man!”

Drell and Miss Forr exchanged worried glances. “Do you…” Forinia came forward and rested her hand on the head of the chair. “Do you mean Colonel Furrow?”

He said nothing, only stared at the clean desk.

Drell came and stood opposite Forinia, so close he could feel the young man’s quickening breaths. “Why does he come after you so? Why does he do this?” He pointed. “Your face. He did that, didn’t he?” He scowled. “He’s worse than I thought.”

Forinia shook her head. “I cannot believe he would do a thing like this.”

“But it’s evident!” Drell slid his hand across the top of the desk, “Look!” he rapped his knuckles against it, “I know Master Adamantius as well as you, Forinia, he wouldn’t have nothing written! After all this time. And the only person who would come against him is Furrow!”

“Enough!” He glared at the two of them. “Enough.” He stared hard at Drell. “You are… excited. Animated. And so I do not blame you, but do not say my name again! I have heard it enough from Furrow, I will not have it from you, or you, Miss Forr! Now, go.”

The actors did not move. He looked at them sharply. “I said-“

“No!”

He stared at Forinia. “Wh…what?”

“I said no, Sir.”

“I know what you said, but why?” He shook his head. “You are not going to stay here-“

“Yes, we are!” She lifted her chin. “Or at least I am, until you explain several things to my satisfaction.”

“I do not-“

“Yes, you do! I do not know you as well as I should like, but I know you enough to be certain you do not frequently wake up with wounds such as that! I have watched you enough to know that Furrow is an old enemy of yours, and there is no explanation for it that anyone knows, besides you!” She relaxed and heaved a sigh. “And I have also heard you speaking to… a woman.”

His eyes grew wide. “You-“

“Just on the other side of the hedge. I do not eavesdrop, Sir, but in the evenings you and I take the same path, in a way. The way to your home is on the side of the theater entrance. The way to my home is on the side of the backstage exit, the one that goes into the little alley between the back of the theater and the inn.”

“I am well-aware where the exit opens.”

“Well, the alley broadens out to a small path, that goes along the hedge, on the other side of main road. You always speak to her there. I heard you.” She smiled. “One cannot help but hearing you.”

Drell nodded. “But every time I pluck up the courage to peer over, your conversation ends, and you are by yourself.”

He frowned. “You, too?”

The young man gave a sheepish grin. “Well, Forinia’s way home and my way home go along the same stretch of road for a good while. I have heard you and the woman speaking, many times. That is why I do not believe you are half as mad as Furrow says you are.”

“I’m flattered.” He peered at Drell intently. “What does Furrow say? How does he ‘prove’ my insanity?”

“He says you see a ghost, you call it your ‘muse’ and you claim that it helps you write poetry.”

He frowned. If that was all Furrow said to prove his insanity, then he himself would have to admit he was insane. He shook his head in disbelief and weariness. Miss Forr took a step closer. “Sir. Who is the woman? What is her name?”

Could he say? Would these two young actors believe him? They would not leave without an explanation. Any explanation would do, but he was too weary to lie convincingly. “She… She is… No, you would never believe me!”

“Is she…” Drell moved in closer, his bright eyes shining with eager intent. “a ghost?”

“No! Well, not in the manner you think. She is my muse. She always has been.” He smiled sadly. “Even when she lived.” He glanced at the two actors, and he knew he had to say more to satisfy their curiosity. He forced himself to relax. They were trustworthy, in spite of their youth and sometimes childish behavior. And if they believed him, perhaps he would feel better about it himself. “It was many, many years ago, in a faraway country, you would not recognize the name. My unit was encamped, for a while, in a mountain village.” He snorted. “It was more a fortress than a village. Massive, stone walls, impenetrable. Neither wind nor storms nor battering rams had ever brought it down. It… is not that way now.”

He cleared his throat and returned to the main subject. “She lived there. I shall never forget the first time I saw her, dancing by the firelight after we first drove back the enemy from the town. They threw a feast in our honor, and there, I saw her for the very first time. And I knew… I hardly know what I knew then. But I could write. More than ever. I had always had a streak of poeticism inside me, it was mainly for that reason I left home in the first place. But she! She inspired me unlike anyone or anything else had before. I, I was in love.” He smiled, a little embarrassed to admit it before these young, inexperienced and easily moved children.

But Drell and Miss Forr moved in closer, and he knew he had to continue. “I loved her more than anything else. We met, a few times, and spoke. But I was too afraid to speak my feelings.” His smile vanished. “And I was not her only suitor. Furrow, Colonel Furrow he was then, was also enamored of her. He saw my affection toward the object of his dreams, and from that point onward he made it his purpose to torment me in whatever way he could. He and I had never agreed upon anything. He was rash and ‘heroic,’ a man of ambition, who would do, or sacrifice, anything to rise in the ranks. Heaven knows it was the only reason he reached his colonelcy so quickly! But this offense toward him gave him the drive to do anything he desired. He was my commanding officer, I could do nothing in defense against his many clever and cruel schemes. And so those last weeks in the fortress were indeed the worst of my life.” He hung his head.

The memories of those days came back to him in all their foulness and dread, and the haunting of the next event that shattered his life was almost too great to bear. But the attention of the two actors remained undimmed, and he spoke on, struggling to keep his voice from trembling. “Furrow courted Aurora with all his false and fragrant charm. She was young, and she had never loved a man before. Never received so much undivided attention. He persuaded her that she was in love, with him, and she believed. One night,” his voice broke, and he swallowed to right it, “Furrow called Aurora to a ride out in the open country, outside the walls of the town. I told her, and him, that it was foolish, the threat of attack was too great, and he said, ‘Of course. That is why the unit is to come with us.’ He could have found no better way to punish me! I and my fellow soldiers went with them and Aurora’s servants. They pitched a tent, more of a pavilion, and Furrow spoke to Aurora once more of his love and desire and passion. And I…”

He clenched his fists and ground his teeth. “I regret, every day since, that I could have been so weak and foolish, so goaded by his actions! So distracted I was, that I failed in my duty. It was only when the enemy struck that I saw them, and then, it was too late. I ran and warned my unit, told them to come to arms. But they were in a panic, and their commanding officer was gone. Yes, Furrow had fled in the chaos. Still, my weakness overcame my sense and my duty, and instead of taking up the command, as was my right and responsibility, I ran to Aurora, to save her. Abandoning my comrades to death. And even in our flight, I was not to be satisfied. For an arrow came from the darkness and struck her, and as she died in my arms, I confessed my love for her. She wept, and blamed herself for the trouble that I had brought upon us all. And she swore that if ever she could live again, she would live for me, and me alone.”

Drell and Forinia sat in shocked silence, staring at him with wide, unblinking eyes. A terrible moment of silence passed, in which he felt a piercing scorn and ridicule from his audience. But Drell broke the silence, and there was no disdain in his voice. “She is a ghost. Her spirit is unsettled.”

“And now she slavishly aids me when I am in need, giving me words and images with a single look, a laugh. But I know, I can see she longs for peace. As do I. But how can peace be found in this world! How can I bear to live without her! But I cannot bear to see her suffer. My heart shall break if ere I speak the words to release her from her pledge. But my soul shall die if I do not speak. I am undone! Torn between two loves for the same beautiful creature, a woman who has been my every joy and sorrow, I cannot speak! And I cannot be silent!” He buried his face in his hands. “Oh, shall I ever be free! When will the sweetness of death close about me as the early morning mist? When shall I rise to heaven and sing in sweet joy, with her by my side, forever?”

“When it is decided that your time has come.”

He looked up at Drell, tears blurring his vision. “What?”

Drell laid a strong hand on his shoulder and smiled. Sadness shone in his eyes, but behind it lay a peace, a clarity, he had never seen in one so young. “Your time has not yet come, Master!”

“But I cannot!”

“Take courage! And write. You have a day left still, surely there is enough time to write a short play.” Drell pulled up a chair and sat down, leaned back, and steepled his fingers. “Let Aurora rest. For now. Surely a poet can find a muse from something in our living realm.” He grinned. “Even if it is just two bad actors! Come! At least, let us try!”

…

He collapsed into a chair and leaned back with a weary groan. The fingers of his left hand ached with holding the quill, his mind almost slumbered from the constant whirring and wondering and thinking and planning. Creativity came at a cost. The rustling of old paper and the murmur of the two actors as they scanned the inky pages made him lift his head. He hoped beyond all hope that it would meet their satisfaction, but he felt beyond all doubt that it would not. And even if they approved, Furrow would not.

It was futile to imagine that he could write a play in two days that would pass Furrow’s criticism, for he knew now that Furrow had no intention of accepting it at all. It was another scheme that would land him in a terrible position, destined to failure. He peered about the room. This house was all he had left, and it was crumbling. He was barely able to keep it warm when the winter winds blew in. The shutters barely hung from the windows, the balconies lay deteriorating, unsafe to tread for the threat of collapsing completely. All doors but the front door stood in disrepair. What was the use?

“Well…”

His heart leapt into his throat. He could not tell whether Drell was satisfied or disappointed.

“Well…”

He sat up straight in his chair. “Well what!”

Forinia lightly punched Drell in the shoulder. “Don’t keep us in suspense! What do you think?”

Drell looked up from the paper, and grinned. Forinia bounced and threw her arms in the air with a delighted squeal. “Oh, Drell!” She bent over and kissed him on the cheek. “Oh, you are marvelous!”

Drell blushed and gave a short shrug. “I didn’t do much of it! He did!”

Forinia turned and giggled. “I know you don’t like us using your name, but-” She threw her arms around his neck. “Oh, Master Adamantius, I am so happy!”

He smiled. “I… am glad.” He rose and returned the quill to the messy ink-bottle. “And, for your help, I will not object to your calling me by my name. It is only,” his smile faded, “I have never forgotten the way she spoke my name that night, as she died. I could never forgive myself…” His voice trailed off, and he looked down.

“Well,” Drell bounced to his feet, “we have the play! It’s a short play, but the shorter the better, in this particular circumstance. It will be very easy for us to rehearse. Now all we have to do-” His smile vanished, to be replaced with a look of horror. “Oh, no!”

Adamantius shook his head. “Furrow will have to approve before anything else is done.”

Forinia gripped her head in her hands. “But he won’t!”

“He is the head master of the troop. For any play to be approved, it must go through him.”

They sank into their chairs and stared at each other in silence. The joy and energy gifted by their excitement washed away like the sands after a wave, and they sagged, overcome with weariness. Adamantius suddenly leapt to his feet and strode out. He pulled his greatcoat about him, strapped his saber to his side, and descended the stairs. Flinging the door open, he strode out into the night, down the walkway and to the ivied wall, where he stopped and stared up at the full moon sending down to the earth a thousand, shining silver angels in brilliant beams. “Aurora.” He whispered her name into the night. “Aurora.” Now was the time to fulfill his duty. To fall was inevitable. To fall in disgrace and shame was not. If he had only this night before darkness closed about him, he would live it his best. For her. “Aurora!”

The sweeping, sighing laughter of the breeze blew upon his tired face, and there she stood, a beautiful young woman clad in shadowy grey, her long, dark hair delicately whirling about her, her deep eyes staring back at him, wide, unblinking. Her smile was gone, and her face! Her face shone pale, like the pallor of death, in the moonlight, drawn and weary. “You have called to me, my love.” She held out her arms, but her expression only held sorrow. “I am come! Command, and I shall obey.”

Adamantius clenched his fists to keep himself from reaching out to touch her. “Thou art naught but memories and sorrow. I must find mine inspiration in the living, not the dead.”

She stared at him, then her arms dropped to her sides. “But I am thy muse, Adamantius. I have always been, in my life, and now in my death. Wouldst thou drive me away now?” She began to come forward, but he looked away and held up his hand.

“No!” He closed his eyes tightly and ground his teeth. “No, fair Aurora!” Tears slipped from his eyes. “How can sorrow be so strong and life and joy so faint and far? Oh, Aurora, I love thee! But therein lies our tragedy. Thou art gone, my love, and I cannot hold thee to this earth, nor to myself. I loved thee once, as the flowers love the rainfall. But the sun must come out, and the clouds must clear, and so the rain must pass, away, and be forgotten. I…” He clenched his teeth. “Go, Madame Muse. Aurora. I was born to see you a girl, I grew to see you a young woman, but alas, you did not live for me to see us old and turning grey.” He ran his hand through his dark hair flecked with silver. “I have aged, and you remain the same. Go in peace, Aurora. Sleep. I cannot hold thee as my love, I dare not hold thee as my muse. I release thee from thy pledge!”

With a sound like sighing, weeping and screaming, the woman threw her arms up in the air and vanished like a mist under a burning sun. But in a final whisper, he heard in a gentle breeze her voice, sighing, “As the sea without a shore, a poet’s fate without a muse. If I cannot be thy spark, another one must take my place.”

…

Drell and Forinia stood above him on either side, looking down with concern. He blinked. “What?” He straightened, yawned, and stretched. “How long…” He peered up at them. “How long have you stood there?”

“Not long, Sir.” Drell smiled. “It’s morning. Have you slept here all night?”

He struggled to his feet and wiped his hand across his eyes. “What is the time?”

Drell and Miss Forr exchanged a worried glance, and Drell’s hand went to his mouth. “Well, Sir.”

Miss Forr cleared her throat. “If you mean how much time do you have before you must present the play before Master Furrow and Miss Eskos, then-“

“Miss Eskos? She is not to arrive for-“

“No, Sir.” Drell sighed. “Forinia and I left before first light and went to the theater to see what we could do. Miss Eskos arrived today. She wanted to see the rehearsal, and she even wished to be in it, if possible. And what is worse, Colonel Furrow has made it clear that she will receive a perfect, full-length play. In two hours.”

“But perhaps a short-“

Forinia shook her head. “She was very clear that nothing short of a fully-fledged, expertly written, full-length play would satisfy her. Furrow, of course, gave no indication the time limit you were given. And Drell and I were too shocked to know what to say!”

“Then it is impossible. A short play in eight hours, with help and great determination? Conceivable. But a full-length play in two hours? No matter what Madame Eskos might think of me…” He looked down at the young actors. What was he to do? If he did not produce a play to her satisfaction, it was possible that they would never see the world as he had, from the stage, looking out across the audiences of every country and continent. But he could not write a good play, and he would not stomach a fool’s play. He straightened and clasped his hands behind his back. “I resign. I will speak to Furrow, and Miss Eskos, and I shall retire.”

Forinia blinked in disbelief. “You would rather give up your position, your life’s work, your love for writing, than-“

“Go to your homes. Do not follow me, I must face this inevitability alone.”

…

Adamantius stood before the theater, a strangely striking figure, standing in the street in his old military greatcoat, his cavalry saber at his side, his wild, silver-streaked hair waving in the wind. His battered and weary appearance gave him an air of travel and experience, and passersby stopped and stared at him with interest. His pale grey eyes seemed to pierce through the theater doors to gaze upon Furrow. He could sense the colonel was there. How, he did not know, but he felt it, just as he had felt Aurora’s presence.

He ascended the stairs and swung the doors open. The hall to the auditorium stood empty, but he could hear the bustle and general cacophony that often accompanied the critics, and would undoubtedly be caused by the new expert’s arrival. He strode down the hall and into the middle of the main aisle. Upon his entrance, the auditorium grew quiet, and all eyes turned to him. Furrow stood in the midst of everything, towering above the heads of the people around him, and beside him, dwarfed by his enormous size, stood a small woman, smaller than Adamantius expected, with bright, golden-red hair, her green eyes shining from her youthful face like emeralds.

Furrow turned to face Adamantius with a sneer. “Well, well, well! Major Adamantius! What a… pleasant surprise.” He gave a disdainful laugh. “Come to accept your defeat, eh?”

Adamantius pulled from his belt the script, rolled up into a scroll and tied with a worn velvet ribbon. He held the scroll up. “I have written a play, in two days’ time, as instructed.”

Furrow’s face grew dark, and his black brows knit together. “You have written a play?” His face twitched through spasms of emotion, from rage to amusement to confusion, then relapsed into suspicion. “How? Who helped you? Did you steal it?” He strode forward, shoving people out of his way, and grasped for the scroll, but Adamantius tucked it into his belt in one swift, smooth motion.

“I came to pay my respects and compliments to Miss Eskos, Furrow. I did not come explicitly to see you.” He pushed past Furrow and approached the young woman. She lifted her eyebrows and came forward, her hand extended in greeting.

“Good morning, Master Adamantius! I am honored to make this acquaintance. But I must confess, I am bewildered. I knew not that you had such short notice to write. And to you, Master Furrow, I must say I am surprised! Your greeting of this man is to be looked down upon! Indeed, such a master should be honored!” She smiled at Adamantius. “I am favorably impressed.” She held out her hand. “Might I have the honor of reading your play?”

Adamantius drew the scroll out and placed it in her hand with a bow. “Read, milady. But do not expect a work of art.”

“You are too modest, I’m sure!”

“I give thee my word, I speak truth. And on that account,” He turned sharply to face Furrow. “I resign!”

A collective gasp burst through the auditorium and everyone stepped back in shock. Adamantius approached Furrow with steady, even strides. “I have suffered thy scorn and dissension and cruelty long enough, and I would rather return to the far countries and travel for the remainder of my lifetime than serve beneath thy foot! This occurrence is only a harbinger of the days to come! I have been blessed with such a prophecy, and I shall react before thou dost strike!”

Furrow’s face showed complete disbelief and shock, and perhaps, in the deepest parts of his eyes, fear and horror. “You would rather reject your dreams, give up your position, than-“

“Write a lope of a play, a foul, driveling sham? Cause my actors to drool out banal lines and moan their verse because I have no stomach to stand alone against all assaults and face my fate, this Providence, set before me with true faith? Stumble and stagger through the remainder of my life with cowardice instead of courage, growing bloated as thou in my pride and fear? I shall do no such thing, though a thousand piercing troubles as sharp daggers come against me! I do not write to please thee, Furrow! I do not write to satisfy thine ambition and desires! Thou art naught to me but an old revenant clawing for some meaning and position in a world that has abandoned thee to thy fate! If I must fall, I shall do so with joy, by my own hand, beneath the eye of the one who sits in heaven and judges all!” He pointed an accusing finger in Furrow’s face. “Over me, thou hast no power!”

Furrow stumbled back with a blood-chilling shriek, and a sudden gust of burning wind burst through the front doors. The windows shattered and chairs fell from the balcony. Everyone screamed and ran, but Adamantius stood perfectly still and stared at the thing before him. Furrow fell to his knees and stared through trembling hands at Adamantius, then he shrieked again, but this time in rage, and he lunged forward, clawing for his foe. But another burst of wind, a cool, refreshing breeze caught about him, and rose, swirling, then vanished. A distant, muffled shriek echoed about the room, then a soft, silvery laugh…

Adamantius stood in the middle of a wreck of chairs and glass, breathless. Drell and Forinia stood near the entrance to the auditorium, staring in utter disbelief. The head of one critic peered over the top of a chair, then disappeared again, then another head, then a few more. The critics slowly got to their feet, for the first time, Adamantius guessed, at a loss for words. A pile of chairs moved. Adamantius snapped from his shock, and hurried over to the pile and threw the chairs off. Miss Eskos lay on her back, panting, her face flushed. Adamantius held out his hand. “Milady.”

She stared at him, then gingerly took his hand, and he helped her to her feet. “Art thou well, milady?”

“Well? Erm… Yes. Yes, I am quite well. Only a little bruised. I think.” She pressed one hand against her forehead, the other resting over her heart. “I am not certain – I mean, I am not certain I saw what I cannot affirm I did not see.” She looked up at him in confusion. “What happened? Who was that man? Who are you?”

Adamantius looked over to the spot Furrow had been and shook his head in amazement. “After all these years, I did not suspect.”

“Suspect what?” Drell righted a chair and offered it to Miss Eskos, then pulled up another one for Forinia. He then turned to Adamantius, his hands on his hips. “Suspect what?”

Adamantius laughed. Perhaps it was in poor taste considering the circumstances, but at that moment he did not care. His spirit felt relieved in a way he had never felt before, and he found it strangely ironic. And so he laughed. When at last he recovered himself, he pulled up a chair and sat back, smiling. “How absurd it is!” He looked up at Drell. “Before I tell you, I must explain the rest of my story. After Aurora’s death, I left the army. My unit was destroyed, I had nothing left to gain by staying. And so I traveled. And you all must know that I did not see Furrow again ’til I returned home. I thought of it not at all, but it seems ’twas indeed a small fact that would become important.”

Drell slumped into a seat and shook his head. “I still don’t understand what on earth happened!”

“Drell, Furrow must have died! Undoubtedly he was slain by the enemy in his attempted escape. But, as with Aurora, his spirit remained unsettled because of the unfinished business he had with me! Unlike Aurora, however, he chose to use his wit and scheming, and he dwelt among the living. So convincing he must have been to persuade everyone that he was still alive!”

“But, but-” Miss Eskos motioned to the empty space where Furrow had last been. “How do you explain that?”

“There is a thing you must understand about an unsettled spirit. I myself only know of it because of Aurora. A spirit may be settled in one of two ways. Either they reach their desire, or they are released. Or, it seems in this case, rejected. Neither Aurora nor Furrow could ever attain their desire. Aurora’s was to aid me whenever I was in need. Such a thing could not be gained. Furrow’s? I do not know, but I can imagine it was to destroy everything I had. Perhaps, in time, his goal could be fulfilled. Aurora I released from her pledge.” He sighed. “How could I see her suffer in such a way? I myself was the cause for her suffering. I could not hold her. I did not. Her spirit is settled now, in peace.”

Forinia leaned in. “What of Furrow?”

“The realization of his defeat was completed when I spoke those words. ‘Over me, thou hast no power.’ I knew it not then, but he knew, in that moment, that he was destroyed. His spirit was ‘settled.’ I know not how. But,” he pushed himself to his feet and smiled down at the three children. “I think he will not plague us again.”

…

The curtain fell with a satisfying swish, and Adamantius quickly ducked through the halls made by the several stage curtains and entered the small room where Drell and Forinia sat, hand in hand, pouring over a thick pile of papers lying on the table. Adamantius shook his head with a smile. “You have read and re-read those scenes many a time. Will you never weary of it?”

Forinia laughed. “One day, perhaps. But I can only smile when I think how such a marvelous act came to be. To think, it was a vengeful spirit and a limit of two days that, in the end, produced this masterpiece!”

Adamantius looked over his shoulder toward the stage. The roar of the crowd, the continuous applause, filled the small auditorium and made the walls ring with the sound. He smiled. “They seem to enjoy it.”

Drell snorted. “Admit it, Adamantius! This play has been performed in five theaters already, and each time we have received an applause like this! If in the years to come some distant descendant of mine ever decided to compile the best plays of our time, this would be first on the list of few.”

Adamantius laughed. “Very well, very well, I resign to your will!” He frowned. “I only regret that you two have such little to perform in it!”

“Oh, I do not mind it so much.” Drell rested his hand on Forinia’s rounded belly and smiled. “It gives us time to focus on other things. More… important things. Like a family.” He looked up at Adamantius with raised eyebrows. “Speaking of which, I have long been waiting for the day when you will gather the courage to speak to Felicity. A man with a gift for words, surely you can say something to the extent of ‘I love you’ with a little more flourish!”

Adamantius looked over his shoulder again to see Felicity dart through the curtains, a beautiful smile on her face. She laughed as she bounced into the room. “Well!” She pushed her hair from her face. “Oh, my!” She smiled at Adamantius, then vanished into another room.

Adamantius felt his heartbeat increase, and he ran his fingers through his neatly-trimmed beard, his mind tumbling with a thousand and more phrases he could say to describe how he felt. He suddenly felt Drell’s eyes on him, and he turned to the couple and frowned.

Drell raised his eyebrows. “Well?”

Adamantius waved his hand in irritation. “Be quiet!” He took a deep breath, and ducked through the door.