Date: Tue, 29 Jun 2010 19:17:26 +0300
From: Cem Yaz?c? <cemshyte@gmail.com>
Subject: Sixteen Emerald Nights-Chapter 0

Author's Message to the Reader:

Dear Reader,

The following is the prologue to a story composed of sixteen chapters. The
story will include homosexual themes, emotions and sexual intercourse
between males. If you have a negative opinion on these matters, I would
suggest you not to read this story. Also, the following chapters will
include graphic sex and that means no readers under the age of eighteen. If
you fit into the criteria stated above, then stay awhile and enjoy the
sixteen stories I will tell.

Reviews will be cherished at this address: cemshyte@gmail.com


Sixteen Emerald Nights
by Cem Yazici



Ouverture
    or
Trapped!


	The sharp cold was like a knife to the weary yet joyful procession.
It was snowing violently, large flakes of white against a backdrop of
shades of grey. The group was not disillusioned though. They were happy to
experience Winter at its fullest. That was, after all, what they had come
here for: The Celebration of Winter, the Death and Rebirth of the Sun,
which was yesterday. Now, we were walking from our hometown, Molvar, the
City of Peace, to Gulmet, the City of the Twin Comets, carrying eight
chests of pomegranate seeds, eight chests of dried apples, eight chests of
citrus fruits and eight chests of red grapes, a symbolic gesture, which had
lost its meaning over the centuries. We were singing loudly, as our kegs of
ale and beer were still full to the brim.
	And I was not aware that it would be today that my life would
change, and like every good story, it would first be very, very bad and
then be better than ever. In my case, the ending will be different, as it
will be, for me, at least, the "best" ending imaginable. Though it should
be known to my dearest, best beloved reader, that I write this story
eighteen years late and my memory has become blurred, like my vision
itself.
	The Sun had grown old and wise this year. Our harvest was the best
one I could remember. I, like other citizens, was pleased with the
possibility of this being a chance of enlightening our economical
situation, although I wasn't a farmer.
	The fiddler on top of the ox cart had begun a lively tune and the
young girls were all singing merry tunes. We were all happy. We were so
happy, it was bound to happen: Some of us were left behind.
	We were probably a group of twenty, slow walkers and dreamers, like
myself on that particular day and people who had lost the rhythm while
talking to one-another. We had realised it a bit late, and the convoy was
fifteen minutes' walk ahead of us.
	It was bound to happen. A small group in a snowstorm during
night... The howls of wolves from afar were heard. We had suddenly realised
that we had better be running and that was what people shouted to each
other. Then, from the trees leaped the largest wolf I had ever seen; not
that I had seen a lot. It was obviously the alpha-male and my thoughts were
proven by the other seven smaller wolves that followed their leader.
	Our group scattered at the sight of this. Eight of us, me included,
ran towards the mountains on the opposite side and the other twelve, whom
four of the wolves dared follow, manoeuvred cunningly and sped their way to
the convoy.  "To the mountains!" cried a brutish fellow. "Take refuge in a
cave!"
	Needless to say, we all agreed, the seven of us followed the man
who seemed to be acting on pure instinct. The man turned first left, then,
right and seemed to find a small entrance.  "Over here!" he called. "Rally
to me!"
	At that moment, I had understood that he was a soldier and a quite
high-ranking one too, as he seemed to bring people together easily.
	Three men, including the Soldier, waited up front for the wolves to
come. I knew all our hearts were pounding as we heard the soft but swift
claws of the wolves approach us. Then, with a snarl, two wolves appeared on
the hill, their gnarly teeth yellow in contrast to the snow and their
breaths condensed to the lightest tone of gray.  "Come on, you mongrels!"
the Soldier taunted and took a boxer's stance. Another man took a large
jagged dagger from his belt and quickly dipped it in a bottle he took from
his pocket. The third man was muttering. I could barely hear them, but I
understood from his facial expression that they were incantations to
increase his power. He was obviously an Alchemist, and from his stance and
cool-blooded behaviour, an experienced one, like the Soldier. The second
man, I couldn't discern, but he seemed a bit like a ruffian with the scars
on his cheekbones and his messy dark hair.
	The wolves snarled some more and the one on the left suddenly
leaped on the Soldier. Taken by surprise, the soldier raised his left arm
to protect himself. While he was struggling with the wolf's bites, the
second wolf attacked the Alchemist, whom he, or she, had mistakenly sensed
to be weaker. The Alchemist was ready though and he was able to blast the
wolf off by a couple of metres. The wolf was relentless and it quickly
galloped to the Alchemist again. This time, the Alchemist shouted garbled
words and the wolf became suspended in mid-air. Meanwhile, the Soldier was
bitten by the wolf and he was trying to wrestle it. The other man, whom I
identified as a ruffian, had remained inactive, unsure whether to help the
Alchemist or the Soldier. The Alchemist began reciting with a faster and
darker tone, his voice becoming more and more powerful by the syllable and
then, he raised his right hand, clenched. The wolf whimpered and tried to
claw its way out of the stasis, but the Alchemist showed no remorse, with a
sharp and strict vertical movement of his index finger, he caused the torso
of the wolf to be split into two. The animal's innards fell to the ground,
splattered blood and guts everywhere. The Alchemist clung to the side of
the cave for support. He had obviously been drained from the ordeal. The
Soldier, on the other hand, was not quite done with his fight. He was still
wrestling the wolf that had caused cuts and abrasions on his large left
arm. The ruffian finally decided to act and he swiftly approached the wolf
from behind and jabbed the animal's neck six, seven, eight times and he
appeared to get a sadistic pleasure out of it. The Soldier then hurled it
over the cave where it hit the wall to our left, leaving a trail of blood
as it slid to the ground. The body hit the ground with a silent "thud",
muffled by the wolf's blood and fur.  "I'm not a hunter, dammit," said the
soldier, holding his left arm as he walked, obviously exhausted, into the
cave.  "Are you alright?" asked the ruffian. "Lemme see that arm of yours."
"Stand back, I'm a doctor," said the guy next to me. He approached the
Soldier, who hesitantly held out his arm. The Doctor observed the arm and
asked the ruffian if he "could please bring the bag over there".  "What's
your name, sir?" he asked the Soldier. The reply did not come from him, but
from a boy around my age: "His name is Serjo."  "Alright, Serjo, this might
hurt a bit, but your wounds will fester if we don't do it."  "I know, Doc,"
said the Soldier whose name was apparently Serjo. "I've been through enough
battles."
	The Doctor took two bottles of clear liquid, a forceps, a pair of
surgical scissors, some bandages, a needle and a piece of thread.  "What's
that do?" asked the ruffian, pointing at a bottle. The Doctor disregarded
the ruffian, opened one of the bottle's cap and handed it to the Soldier.
"Drink this."  "What is it?" asked the Soldier.  "Gin," the Doctor replied,
with a smirk. "It's to dull the pain."
	The Soldier took the bottle and drank five gulps; he grimaced and
made an "argh" sound.
	The Doctor proceeded with opening the other bottle and held it
above the arm.  "This will hurt a lot," he said, frankly, and without
letting the Soldier protest, he poured the liquid, which, I deducted, was
pure distilled alcohol.  "Aaaaaarrgghhhhhaaahhh!" the Soldier cried as the
liquid cleaned the blood and filth from his wounds. The ruffian watched,
mesmerised. Then, the liquid bubbled and the Doctor proceeded to clean the
wound with his forceps. He plucked out the wolf's fur from the open wounds
and cleansed it again with alcohol. He then checked to see if there were
any large slashes. Luckily, there was none. He then took the bandages and
wrapped the Soldier's arm up. His bleeding had slowed down and only a small
tinge of red appeared on the bandages.  "Thanks a million, Doc," "It should
be me thanking you three, as it is you three who saved us from those damned
creatures."  The rest of the group and I murmured in agreement. I took a
step closer, feeling a need to get involved in the conversation. I held out
my hand and shook the other people's hands and introduced myself.  "My name
is Stetton Bableer," I said, "I'm a student at the University."  "Serjo
Panbeck," he said, shaking my hand firmly. "Brigadier General of the
Kingdom of Nedjek" "An honour, sir"
	Others proceeded with the ritual of shaking hands, again, a
symbolic ritual showing that the sides did not carry weapons to hurt each
other. Our group was composed of the Doctor, whose name was Chengell Kolf,
the Alchemist, who went by the name of "Potash", which was suitable to his
reddish-brown appearance, signalling he was from the south. There was also
Djanmer Cwelth, an Artist, a "jack of all arts", if you'll excuse me
saying. The person whom I had identified as a ruffian turned out to be a
Bounty Hunter, who told us only his professional name, which was "the
Raccoon" . Not to forget a Farmer by the name of Feddle Deeda.
	The only one left, was the boy who had told Serjo's name to
Dr. Kolf. He, with a holier-than-thou attitude, and quite snobbishly and
coldly had said: "I am Jering III., Royal Prince of the House of Nedjek."
If his servant's were around, I was sure he would demand us to kiss his
ring. Although I had started to dislike him immediately, he seemed
familiar. I knew I had seen him before, but I did not remember where from.
	The snowstorm appeared even more violent and the weather felt
colder, if that was possible. We made our way into the cave as much as
possible and decided to stay there until tomorrow morning, when we would
probably be able to survive in the open. We did not dare go out to gather
wood for a fire. We just took the corpses of the wolves and Serjo skinned
them, quite meditatively and then he ripped every edible piece of flesh
from the bones. He then wrapped them in paper and put it in the corner.
"Just in case," he replied to the quizzical looks he got from the group.
	Nobody said another word. We just reclined and looked outside at
the escalating snowstorm. Thankfully, the cold winds did not reach into the
cave. Serjo had chosen a swell place.
	One by one, we drifted to sleep in the comfort of the old motto
"united we are strong", unaware of the misfortune we were going to discover
the next day.