Cursed by the spirits von abgemeldet (Spirit Tracks Oneshot) ================================================================================ Kapitel 1: Cursed ----------------- The Spirit Train came to an abrupt halt. The wheels screeched, as though the train were to fall apart any moment. Instead it stood in its own gray cloud of steam, which vanished quickly and revealed a person descending the locomotive. Byrne’s fingers found a firm grip on the roof; elegantly, he swung himself up on top of the locomotive. His bare feet gave him a steady stand. He meandered across a few waggons before sitting down on one of them. Sighing and closing his eyes, he tilted his head and removed the hair band from his long black hair, whereupon a torrent of blue-black velvet disgorged down his shoulders. Two long strands ran down his slender chest, Byrne tucked part of them behind his right ear. The colorful hair band wrapped round his right forefinger, he rested his arm on his bent knee and gazed into nothingness. Down below, the waves of the sea of the Ocean Realm burbled gently, turning into white crests on the low shore. A lukewarm breeze whistled through the trees and whirled up Byrne’s hair. In a gesture of pain, the boy’s eyebrows contracted, his eyes still closed. His left hand felt for a secure grip on the wagon roof but found none, and so his finger nails scraped the material desperately before the fingers turned into a fist. Why? Reluctantly, he glanced at the sea. It was to be his final glance at the tacit, august majesty of the ocean. The last time the seagulls flew their circles above him in the breeze. The last time he saw the sparkle of the sun in the waves. His final moment of freedom. „Why …,“ he whispered, devoid of energy. His hand slackened. Depleted, his slender fingers lay on the warm roof of the Spirit Train. A curious golden dolphin considered him, dived, and left nothing behind but a quiet splash. The animals were used to Byrne; he journeyed through the Realms nearly every day, however this was where his heart was. He tended to linger. The sight of his favorite place choked him, his heart beat faster. It was a mere few hours till sunset and time did not stop. It seemed even to pass by faster than usual. Time was an issue to him, a Lokomo. It made him age, slowly but still. Many decades were to pass by before he took his final breath. The Gods had condemned him, and for the moment that was all that mattered. Rael had summoned a clueless Byrne in the morning. His grandfather’s concerned face had alarmed him immediately. The Lokomo had merely told him that Anjean wished to see him, and so Byrne had taken the Spirit Train toward the Tower of Spirits to find all five of them – the Spirit servants: Gage, Steem, Carben, Embrose und Anjean. The only woman in the group had advanced. The despondent faces of the others glancing at him, Byrne’s concern had grown. What was going on? “Byrne. Boy.“ Anjean’s voice was warm and friendly, as always when she spoke, and especially gentle when she spoke to him. “How are you?“ Unsuspicious of what was going on, Byrne glanced at her warily and shrugged helplessly. “Fine. But I don’t understand what this is about, grandma.“ He called her so despite the old Lokomo not being his true grandmother. The others he addressed as uncle, and referring to Rael as his grandfather was natural – they were related by blood. “That's good news,” continued Anjean, “I’m going to explain to you and I have one single entreaty, Byrne – listen to me before you speak, will you?” The young man nodded, anxious, and leaned against the locomotive. “Well?” Abstracted, Byrne twisted his hair band. He was still sitting on the roof. The thought of the conversation turned his stomach. It was the holy commitment of his race to guard the Tower of Spirits and stand sentinel over the sealed demon king Malladus, lest he brought evil over Hyrule again. The Lokomo were aging, however, and he was the youngest among them. The other six were doing worse with each year that passed. In the not so far future Rael would have lost his ability to walk on his own accord. Anjean’s wish – the wish all the remaining Lokomo shared – was for Byrne to finally accept the inheritance of his people. He was to settle in the Tower of Spirits and guard the Spirit Train which, until now, he had conducted himself. Byrne sympathized with Malladus at the thought – bound to a location against his will, from which there was no escape. Despite the reluctance to bow his head to his task, quite different concerns bothered the young Lokomo. Though he was the strongest among the seven physically, he was weak. He doubted he was able to protect the train in case of emergency. The Tower of Spirits was to be his new home – eternally. Never again would he see the four realms; he would have to bid farewell to Rael, with whom he had lived so far. It had been no pleasure living in a hole underneath the sand, but at the thought of seeing none of the Lokomo but Anjean ever again he could have screamed and lashed out. However, Byrne was a composed young man. He sat on the roof, motionless and silent, considering the water surface as it sparkled in the rays of sunlight. It is an honorable task to serve the Spirits and conserve our beautiful world’s peace. His grandmother’s words were no more of a euphemism for his coming confinement. “Farewell, Hyrule …,“ he whispered, devoid of energy, and buried his face in his hands. The hair band slid off his finger. A barely audible splash interrupted Byrne’s hoarse sobbing for the fraction of a moment. Hosted by Animexx e.V. (http://www.animexx.de)