The Last One

The man reached out and caught Matt by the wrist.  The man's grip was like cold steel.  Matt tried to pull back, surprisingly the man held on tight.  His unusual blue eyes penetrated Matt's soul.

A thousand years and I am the last that knows.  The rest are dead, many years now.  He hunted everyone down that stood in his way.  I am the last one, the old man said pulling Matt closer.  I am the last and I nearly failed.  Please forgive me.

Time is running out for him.  He searches for the first but he doesn't know where to look so he kills them all.  One will banish him from this world and another will restore light into the land and its people.  An easy task by no means.  Whole races have been wiped out by him in his search.  Those that remain have struggled for so long their spirits are nearly as black as his.

A thousand years, light will shine again.  A spark in a vast forest to start.  With a little wind, an ember will inflame a world.  But it's not too late for him.  He can still snuff out the flame.  It won't be long though.  Already it smolders and he can't smell the smoke.  Besides, he's been searching in the wrong forest all this time.  The old man chuckled which turned into a fitful cough spitting up blood and mucus.  Forced to attend to himself, he released his grip on Matt's arm.

Matt stumbled backward.  A chill ran up his arm traveling throughout his body.  The small hairs on his arms and the back of his neck stood on end.  Shaking it off, he quietly watched the old man.    

Michele patted the man on the back, then noticed a cut on his side.   You're injured.  Lie back, you must rest, she said.

It is okay, my child.  My journey has ended.  The flame has been passed.  The man weakened and allowed Michele to tend him.

He's crazy, Scott stepped closer.  Hey old guy, hey you.  Where are we?  Can you hear me?  Where are we?  Hey gramps.  Scott waved he arms and snapped his fingers.  What's the matter with you?  Smokey the Bear got your tongue.  Scott and Chubs enjoyed a brief laugh.

Scott, leave him alone, Michele said.  He's sick and injured.  We should get him to a doctor.

That's a good idea.  I can do that.  I'll call, Susan said nervously.

Fine.  Let's call a doctor, Scott said.  Hey old guy, which way to a pay phone?  You know, 911.

Stop calling him that.  I'm sure he has a name, Michele argued then asked the old man, but he remained quiet under closed eyes.  Scott threw up his arms and walked away.

Finally, the man mumbled something, barely audible.  Michele being the closest one to him couldn't make out the words either.

He said 'Bachaan' then 'Wyam,' Matt said crawling closer to the old man.  We're in a land called Bachaan and his name is Wyam.  He brought us here.  Matt bent close to Wyam's ear.  Wyam, how do we get back home?

Wyam partially opened his eyes struggling to keep them open.  Matt shook him slightly calling his name a second time afraid the old man may never wake up again.  Wyam's eyes wandered and rolled.  Matt was loosing him.

Wyam, how do we get home?

Finally, his eyes focused on Matt's.  In my pocket, Wyam said drawn out and slurred.  Matt cautiously felt around the layers of ragged clothing.  Reaching in one pocket as instructed, Matt pulled out an ivory colored ball.  He studied it up close for a few moments.  The ball was about the size and weight of a billiard ball with no imperfections in its smooth surface.  Unable to see through it, the ball gave off a dim glow that seemed to get brighter the more Matt handled it.