My Name Is Tristan

  My Name is Tristan

  By B. R. Miller

  © B. R. Miller Media 2017

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted by any means without prior written consent from the author.

  www.brmillermedia.com

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  For those who rose when the towers fell

  For those who fight despite injustice

  And for those who are on the run

  Hope is no more than a heartbeat away

  One dark night, In the middle of June, two stars fell, lies became doom. A civilization, as wise as it was old, hid their prince, four years old. Till one day he would rise again and bring his people peace, prosperity would begin.

  PROLOGUE

  Ishnaha Ishnahan Ole Rah Rahnahan.

  The sun’s rays outlined the top of the mountain, its long fingers stretching far into the sky, slowly vanishing, becoming night. The cloudless sky was in a battle between the radiant oranges from the sun and the cool blues and blacks of the night, each fighting for the same space. A flock of birds found a column of warm air and were ascending inside of it, up the side of the mountain, barely moving their wings. The rocky landscape gave way to dark green shrubberies on the lower half of the mountain, but not enough to keep the rocks from occasionally getting knocked loose, sliding down, taking out all in its path. I stood there, alone, at the base of the mountain and looked up, watching the man in a dark cloak slowly ascend the mountain, knocking down small boulders which I side step, miss. The black mist that trails his cloak then disappears shortly after leaving its source, leaves a trail for me to follow. A cool breeze finds my face and kisses my red cheeks, cooling me down. Frustration subsiding, I close my eyes, breathe, and begin to feel the world around me. The dying bush next to me, slowly letting go the last of its leaves. The moth that flutters than rests its weary wings on a rock. A cloud of dust that made its way down the mountain finally reaches me, envelops me in its crude demeanor. My arms thrust towards the ground and in an instant I’m ascended six feet off the ground, a dust cloud forming beneath me. I open my eyes, focus on my target ascending the mountain and lean forwards, arms behind me. My target rapidly approaches.

  I land, feet first, upon his back, instantly crushing multiple vertebrae, immobilizing him indefinitely. He screams out in pain as I slowly bend over so that I’m only inches away from his face. The words I longed to say in this moment escape me as anger, frustration and retribution cloud my mind. I hear him breathe coarse breaths as he slowly gets a crooked smile upon his bleeding face, taunting me. I’ve had enough. I grab a hold of his shoulders and thrust him up in the air. His limp body soars twenty, thirty feet. As he begins his descent back down to earth, I once again thrust myself up in the air. We meet halfway and I contort my body and thrust a kick into his gut. He soars instantaneously towards the mountain side and becomes enveloped in a cloud of rocks, which begin to make their journey down the side of the mountain. I slowly descend and as my feet touch the rocks below, I appear in the crater that has formed, and see through the dust, a crippled, disfigured man, lifeless, the mist silenced eternally. A moment is all I had, to relish in the fact that he’s dead, no longer able to pursue me. But I know there are others, many others, who will follow in his footsteps. It won’t be long before they pick up our trail where he left off.

  I decide to cover up my tracks. I thrust a hand towards the mountain and an avalanche of rocks covers my pursuer’s body. I ascend ten feet above the surface to watch as the rocks over take where I was previously standing. I move down the mountain side and decide to regroup with Skinner and the others. I’m not sure how far my pursuer led me away from them but it is getting dark and I must hurry. The rocky landscape of Afghanistan is no place for me, especially at night.

  ~Chapter One~

  “Tristan!”

  I knew this was coming. I leave in hot pursuit of a Rave and end up killing him and this is the welcome I receive. Figures.

  “Tristan! Don’t you ever leave like that again!” Amille said, twitching his lip which shows his deep and utter frustration.

  Skinner is sitting on a downed tree, shoes off, massaging his aching feet. He looks up at me with a grin as if saying, “I told you so.” A laugh is followed by a head shake and then his attention is returned to his feet. I walk over and sit beside him, a deep sigh lets him know exactly how I’m feeling about the situation. Amille walks over to a rock and begins to clean his gun, his usual demeanor when there’s no words that can express how frustrated he is with either Skinner or myself; a sort of display of his power over us. Fletcher walks over and rejoins the group from scouting.

  “There’s a village about two klicks west of here. We should find shelter there. The locals are farmers and other agricultural workers.”

  “’Ight,” Amille says standing up, trying to say it in a cool way through his thick Hungarian accent, “we’re moving out. Fletcher take lead, Cooly stay with the boys and I’ll take the rear.”

  So we begin our all too familiar march through the night desert. We walk silently, not talking, not making a sound; always aware of our surroundings and looking for signs that we’re being tailed. Occasionally, Amille will hang back and hide to see if were being pursued. He catches up to us and we continue our march, leaving no trail, no sign that we’ve walked this way.

  The sky above us is clear tonight, the clearest it’s been in weeks. The stars shine brightly, as if there’s nothing holding them back; no clouds to hide their glory. Our people believe that is a sign of good luck. I hope so; we could really use some right about now.

  A snap; I hear it to my left. I stop walking and slowly raise a hand, everyone stops and kneels down. I scan the area for any Raves, expecting them to jump out and overtake us for what I did to one of their own. A rock rolls out of place just to my left. I take a deep breath and prepare myself for battle. The breeze kissing my skin, Skinner slowing down his breathing, the light from the moon casting eerie shadows across the desert landscape; all things that I take in in preparation. My hands touch the ground, preparing to launch to myself high into the air if it need be. I glance up and see Skinner in the same position, waiting for the impending doom.

  I look to my left just in time to see a tail dive behind a large rock. I laugh as I realize what was creating these noises. Skinner sits up and starts to laugh, obviously seeing the same thing I did. Walking over to the rock, I crouch down and pick up a small gray cat. It immediately starts purring as I begin to pet it.

  “You better watch out, Amille,” Skinner begins, “Them Afghanistan cats are really vicious.”

  “Alright, alright. Let’s get going,” Amille contends.

  “I think we should keep him,” I add my two cents.

  “No!” Amille quickly interjects. “We are not keeping him!”

  “But we could name him Bernard!” I exclaim.

  “Great, they named it,” Fletcher said. “Now we have to keep it.”

  Amille let out a sigh. “No, we are not keeping him. This isn’t a petting zoo. Now set him down so we can keep going.”

  I give Amille one last expression that told him I disagreed with him then set Bernard down on the ground. We formed back into formation and began walking again. I look back to see Bernard following closely behind us. Amille shakes his head and says nothing although we all knew that he wanted to laugh. Bernard kept up with us the whole way, never leaving our side. When we stopped, he stopped. When we arrived at the outskirts of the village, Bernard came up to me and began rubbing himself against my leg, so naturally I picked him up and began petting him. Skinner and I sat down on the ground and waited while Cooly, Fletcher and Amille we
nt off to recon the area and find us suitable shelter. Bernard lied gently in my lap, enjoying the attention he was getting.

  A few moments go by without any words being said, the only sound coming from Bernard, purring away his worries. I look back up at the stars and suddenly I feel homesick. Friends from back home begin to race through my mind; Jonathon, Adam, Chierstie, Sara, Michael and Grimsey. Oh, Grimsey. He was with me from the beginning. Back before Skinner was in the picture it was David and myself, my first partner. We went to school with each other and when we were selected for the organization, it was a shoe in that we would be partners. We trained hard together and worked our way up the ladder soon becoming well known throughout the organization as the Dynamic Duo. We were taking on harder and more difficult task, slowly gaining an impressive and daunting reputation not only amongst the organization, but also amongst those we sought to bring justice to. Little did we know that that reputation would one day lead us down a haunting and treacherous path.

  I look over to Skinner who is also looking up at the stars, admiring their beauty. He looks back down to the ground and slowly places his hand on the dirt and closes his eyes.

  “Someone’s coming,” he says, eyes still closed.

  Fletcher comes out of the blackness like a shadowed Rave and slowly approaches us. “We found a place. Let’s get moving.” Fletcher turns to walk away but not before stopping and looking at Bernard. “Oh, and you better leave that here.”

  I know he’s right. There’s no sense in us keeping a pet. Our lives are in no way ready or can handle the stress of owning a pet. So I set Bernard down on the ground and stand up, leaving him behind. We walk away and as I look back I see Bernard sitting there, cleaning himself.

  We soon arrive at a little hut not much bigger than a large SUV. We go inside and to our surprise I see an old weathered carpet lying in the middle of the room. How did we get so lucky with such a luxury? We’re so used other windowless rooms that have only dirt floors for us to lie on that we appreciate the small things such as a carpet. I enter the room, throw off my back pack and begin rummaging through it. I pull out a candle that has seen better days and set it in the center of the room. I flick my wrist to light a match; I flick my wrist again to put it out. The candle illuminates the room with a soft flickering glow. Skinner takes off his back pack and sits against the far wall, his feet stretched out in front of him.

  Fletcher comes in and looks around the room. “Do you ever get the feeling that we’ve been here before?”

  “Probably because every room we’re in is the same,” Skinner begins. “No windows, one door and no TV.”

  Fletcher chuckles at this then takes a seat against the wall with the door, resting his gun in his lap. I take out my note book and begin writing in it. My journal is the only thing that keeps me sane during these week long stretches of being trapped in a room with no windows or source of seeing the outside world. Sure, we get to go outside, but only to use the bathroom and even then we always have somebody with us, watching us. They say it’s for our protection, the reason we need to be under constant supervision. Yes, the Raves maybe after us but we have something they don’t; our abilities.

  Training wasn’t always fun when we first started out. We were just newbie’s and the constant drills and exercises were getting drilled into our brains. Defensive maneuver’s, offensive maneuver’s, when and how to use our abilities, etc. all were to become second nature for us. That’s why Grimsey was there. He would show us how something was done and then teach us to master it. Those skills would help us in the future even though we didn’t know it.

  That’s what makes us better, faster, stronger than they are. They may have the advantage in numbers but when it comes down to it, we have the home field advantage. Skinner can see where everyone is by just touching his hand on the ground so no one can sneak up on us. He also has the ability to let out strong pulses. These energy pulses are strong enough to make a full grown man fall flat on his back. I have the ability to manipulate wind which can send me (or others) flying. Also, I have telekinesis; probably my most powerful and resourceful ability.

  I watch as Skinner stares directly into the flame, mesmerized by it. I stretch out my hand and instantly the flame grows six inches. Skinner smiles as he’s suddenly awaken from his day dream. Amille enters the room and quickly shuts the door.

  “Who’s hungry?” Amille asks.

  We’re always hungry on the Two Can Diet. Amille sets his back pack on the ground, opens it up and tosses us each a can of food. Today’s selection: hominy. I hate hominy. The wet, cottony texture coupled with the tastelessness of it makes my stomach turn. But it’s all we have. We call it the Two Can Diet because it’s exactly as it sounds; two can’s of food a day. Yes, you will lose weight on this wonderful diet and it will shed inches but it comes at a cost. Having nothing solid to eat for two years makes your body lean and the only thing keeping us going is the rigorous exercises we do to keep us from going weak. Plus it gives you something to do when boredom sets in.

  I force down the hominy and notice that Skinner hasn’t even touched his can. I extend my hand towards the can and it slowly slides across the floor, resting in my hand.

  “Were you going to eat that?” I ask.

  Skinner shakes his head then stares back into the flame. I immediately can tell that he’s in one of his moods again. Last time he was in this mood it took him a week to say anything to anybody and for no reason at all. I know this game he’s trying to play so I just sit back and don’t say a word. I do, however, set the can of hominy back down on the ground and with a flick of my wrist, it slowly moves back across the floor, resting right beside him.

  I dig into my back pack and pull out an overly used and small pillow (the kind you’d find on an airplane) and a tattered, worn, old blanket that has seen better days. Fatigue hasn’t set in yet but there’s nothing else to do so I grab my journal and lean back, resting my head on my freshly fluffed pillow. Today’s journal entry isn’t particularly interesting as I’ve had many days like this in the past two years: first night in a new place in a windowless void. I do, however, make note of Skinner’s latest mood swing and even draw a little sketch of him lying down on the ground, his blanket loosely draped over him, staring into the flame.

  ~*~

  The music slowly begins. I look around and all I see is people in mask, walking about the room, talking with each other. Their nineteenth century attire catches my eye and I instantly know I’m dreaming. That‘s when I see him. A man, across the room, staring at me. A judge walks by me with two girls, one in each arm.

  “Excuse me, sir?” I ask, the judge stopping and obviously displeased that I interrupted his fun. “Who is that man over there?”

  “That man, over there?” He asked pointing across the room. “Why that’s death.”

  Death? How could the judge calmly talk about death as if it were an old friend? I look back at him and he’s still staring at me, with his white mask covering most of his face. I look up and for the first time I notice that the dance floor is empty and the dancer’s are dancing to the Foxtrot above my head, up in the air. I look back down and notice that Death has moved closer to me, standing right in the middle of the dance floor, the dancer’s dancing away above his head as if there was nothing wrong. I slowly take a step towards him. His mouth instantly opens unnaturally wide and a bright light emanates from it. I’m thrown back ten feet and land hard on my back. A hand comes up to cover my eyes from the brightness.

  The light slowly fades away. What appears to be snow slowly falls down amongst me. I look up and see where the dancer’s were, are now piles of ash slowly falling down, blanketing the room. Something hard and cold appears in my hand. I look down to see a gun resting gently in my palm. I stand up and take a few more steps towards Death. Anger slowly fills me up and with each step I take, I gain more and more confidence.

  “Why did you do this?” I yelled. “They were innocent!”

  Death just stood th
ere, mouth still open, ash gently falling all around him. I’m finally within arms reach of him when I slowly raise my hand towards his mask. With one quick motion of my hand, his mask falls to the floor and I take half a dozen steps back.

  “No, no! It can’t be!”

  I quickly raise my gun to his face and pull the trigger. I watch as my body drops to the floor, lifeless.

  ~*~

  I quickly sit up, out of breath, and begin to remind myself that it was just a dream. Fletcher sits against the far wall, sound asleep and Skinner’s lying with his back to the candle. I’ve had many dreams like this one but never so intense before. What could it mean? Is it a warning? I decide to document this dream while it’s still fresh in my head so I pull out my journal and begin writing. By the time I’m finished writing I’m ready for bed again so I pack up my journal and lie down, watching the flame flicker away. That’s when I see it; Skinner’s journal, just lying there. I know we made a pact to never look into each other’s journals but I have to know what’s going on inside of that head of his. I stare at it a little bit longer, weighing the pros and cons of reading it. Finally, my curiosity takes the better part of me.

  I extend my hand towards it and it slowly rises off the ground. I have to be careful not to make a sound because for all I know, Skinner could still be awake. I twist my hand a bit and the book now begins to move towards me. A few breathless moments go by before the book is resting gently in my hands. I gently open up the pages trying to not make a sound. Scribbles, doodles and half drawn pictures cover most of the pages and actually some of them are pretty good. I can easily tell what he was trying to draw in most of them; the mountains we’ve been hiking through, another windowless room, even Bernard was in there.

  I flip through a few more pages and finally get to some actual journaling. It took me a while but soon I found today’s entry.