Prologue: Ifrit's Vision of Unmerited Favor

The fire light shimmered at the edge of darkness, pushing back the shadows like the sand dunes shove against the never ending sea. Like the ocean, the black of night forced itself upon the weakening flames, eroding it’s brightness away, grain by grain. The Katydids chirped their summer night song in a noisy “answer-call” chorus, oblivious to the wild power of the Linville Falls that fought for vocal dominion deep within the hallowed forest.   It was not the twinkle of the campfire that glinted from the Old Man’s pince nez glasses, but the dull darkness that ate the dying light within his eye that drove a shiver up Edgar Fullbright’s spine.   Edgar stepped inside the dimming light, holding his hands to keep their violent quiver at ease.   “Did you get it?” The old man’s voice was like a full moon at midday. It was out of place, warm and cold at once.   Edgar hesitated. His voice cracked from unfamiliarity and lack of use.   “Yes … I got it.”   The curl of a smile tugged at the Old Man’s mouth.   “Good,” he said. “Let me see it.”   Edgar gently released the clasp that bound his satchel at his side, his eye unwaveringly locked on the Old Man. “It came at a great price,” he mustered as he slowly revealed a derelict book, thick and leather bound.   “Anything worth having is worth having at any price,” whispered the Old Man. He outstretched his hand towards the book. A thrumming of energy tickled Edgar’s hand as the book was released from his grip with resounding sureness and force of will. Like a well trained bird of prey, the book fluttered into the Old Man’s reach. He opened the book like a holy scroll, revered and ancient. The oblivion of the Katydids turned to stark awareness as the power of the text ushered in an unnatural silence. Not even the Falls braved a stuttering splash of sound.   Edgar heard the heart in his body thumping, the blood rushing, as he gripped his hands tighter. Damn shakes! He thought. “Is there anything else, Mr. Bristol?” he ventured.   “No,” said Mr. Bristol as he adjusted his pince nez. “That’ll be all for now.” He closed the book and glared at Edgar. “Be done with that face, Mr. Fulbright. It doesn’t suit you.”   Edgar shrugged. “The young can be nimble, Mr. Bristol.” His eyes rolled back into his head as the body fell lifeless to the ground, leaving behind a silvery spectre of a man, hands still tightly clasped in front of him. “Folk rarely pay much mind to a young’n run’n about,” said the spectre.   Mr. Bristol looked at the corpse as it slumped to the ground, crumpled by the failing camp fire. “Indeed they do.” He took a deep, satisfying breath.   “What’s next?” asked Edgar.   “We find the host,” said Mr. Bristol.   “Then?”   “Then the spook.”   “What about The People? Won’t the Catawba and Cherokee keep you from ‘em?”   “They’ll try. That’s why we’ll need that tainted son-of-a-bitch in our pocket.” Mr. Bristol began walking briskly into the forest as the deafening sound of the Katydids joined with the Falls returned. He called over his shoulder as he faded into the darkness.   “Keep an eye on Mia.”