The Shattered Axe

"HE'S AWAKE!" One of the tools pointed at the beanstalk mansion, the radiant blue lights start to flicker.
   Jack turns from the tools, and gazes into the lights, wide-eyed and hypnotized.
"Jack?" He heard the giant's voice like thunder; groggy Canadian thunder, coming out of a comatose-like state, snapping him out of his trance. Jack turns to see that all of the tools have receded into the depths and safety of the shed.
"JACK?" The voice shouted, almost fully awake. "Don't run Jack! It's not neighborly!" Jack darted strait into the forest. He ran as fast as his contorted legs could carry him, and with the massive, awkward and heavy axe-head jutting from his skull it wasn't nearly fast enough because he could hear the sound of the giant hot on his tail.
"This way my Wielder..." He heard a feminine voice; as clear as day but as quiet as summer breeze. He felt compelled to heed the voices' command; following the direction of the wind, to a small dirt patch, maybe five feet in either direction. Jack looks around, and flinches as he hears rustling, he was sure that the giant couldn't follow him through such a thick labyrinth of foliage.
He was right, it wasn't the giant, it was the one of the minotaur searching for him in the bushes. Jack was petrified, years of torment from these nine-foot blue beasts, crushing every bone in his appendages whenever he spoke, or just when they were having a bad day; and it was only a few yards away, snorting in the air, obviously looking for Jack.
"Shhhh..." A voice called in his head. This one seemed more masculine, and groaning; like the timbers of an old house during a hurricane. "Behind you Wielder, come to me and wrap your arms to my trunk, hurry!" Jack listened, and as soon as his arms touched the trunk, the bark of the tree started to climb onto his skin, and the rest of his body, melding the tree and Jack into a single entity. Oddly enough, Jack wasn't horrified by this experience, he found comfort in it, as if he belonged to the forest, and it to him. Soon the sounds of the minotaur trailed off, and the tree withdrew its grasp, Jack stared for a moment, the tree twisted its trunk, and used its branches to point towards the forest behind him; as he does this, the trees he points towards contort their trunks to form a tunnel, just large enough for Jack to fit through. "Follow my brothers and sisters to the glade, Wielder." 
"Thank you!" Jack starts makes a dash into the tunnel, after a few minutes of running, he sees a dazzling ray of sunlight, that isn't tinted blue! As he gets closer, the trees and grass start to gradually change colors. No longer is the landscape a thousand shades of blue, but changes to beautiful shades of green and brown.
He makes his way to the end, initially blinded by the divine light as he exits the tunnel, and enters into a small glade. The ground was littered with different kinds of flowers, from blue bonnets to daisies and everything in between. The trees wound together, encircling the glade, making a sort of natural wall, even a field mouse would have a difficult time getting through; at the center, a stump with an axe embedded on the top. The axe was the most beautiful thing Jack had ever seen, roughly three feet long, with an oak shaft and twisted, thorned beanstalk vines continually writhing around it, almost as if it was alive.
Despite the finger-length thorns jutting from every inch of the vines, he feels compelled to reach for the axe. As his fingers near the edge of the hilt, the thorns recede, his fingers rub along the smooth vine surface, grasping the hilt, and pulling the hatchet from the stump with seemingly no effort, he raises it into the light, and the light gleams off of the axe-head, sterling silver with an inscription along the edge, “Become the strongest in the land, to slay the giant, Cormoran.”
As Jack lowered the weapon to his side, he hears the same feminine voice from earlier, "Jack Woods, plant the protruding thorn." Jack looks around the glade for the source, but saw nothing. “The thorn Jack, plant it.”  He looks down at his newly acquired weapon, and on the hilt, just above his hand, jutted a single thorn. He snapped it off and kneeled to plant it. As he covered the thorn with dirt it immediately began sprouting tendrils, writhing stalks of bean-sprouts began wrapping around each other until it formed the shape of a green Clydesdale, with eyes of smoldering sulphur. “Thank you Jack,” the horse reared, “it’s been a long time since I’ve been able to move on a stable set of legs.”
“Who are you?” Jack stepped back in disbelief.
“I am the physical incarnation of the spirit that dwells within The Woodsman’s Axe chosen to guide you, but you may call me Alma.”
 "The Woodsman’s Axe?" Jack looked over his new weapon.
"Held by many, wielded by few, possessed by none,” Alma chanted. “The forest spawned from the axe, and thus it holds the forest spirit. This land was once as lush and green as this glade, but the gentry who calls himself “Cormoran" has poisoned this forest, and degraded its' denizens, hacking them down merely because he finds entertainment in it."
            Jack rubbed his hand along the blade protruding from the right half of his skull. “Yeah, I remember that part. But what does that have to do with me?”
            “You understand the pain of the forest, you have developed the ability to see and communicate with  the spirits that reside within it. The axe has chosen you to carry the mantle, to be the Wielder.”
            “Uhuh…” Jack looks at her suspiciously, “And what will I have to do as this ‘Wielder’?”
            “Read the inscription.” She motions to the axe-head.
            Jack looks at the inscription again, and his eyes widen in alarm, darting back to the horse. “You want me to kill Cormoran? No! I can’t! He’s HUGE! He-” Jack starts to ramble in terror.
            “Silence wielder!” Alma shot at him, and Jack was startled into silence. “Here,” her voice softened, “take this as a sign of good faith.” 
The horse moved closer to Jack, and a puff of fog spewed from its’ nostrils. As soon as the fog hit him, the axe-head started to shake violently, and then exploded, shattering into a thousand fragments. Jack rubbed his hand up and down the side of his cheek, and felt nothing but a slight bump. His fear quickly turned to excitement; he shook his head back and forth, cracked his neck and grinned for the first time in what felt like a century.
“To think that is merely a fraction of the axe’s power,” she rears. “Over time you will discover several abilities used by Wielders of long ago; some frightening, some empowering, but all in the name of helping you to become the strongest in the land. So what say you, Jack Woods?” Alma bows. “Will you carry the mantle? Will you accept this task and kill the so called ‘Kindly Giant’?”
Jack, still rubbing his cheek, with a massive grin and the asinine feeling of invincibility, immediately said “Yes!” Then mounted his newly found steed which, like melding with the tree from earlier, felt comfortable and natural. 
            As the horse made way for the exit, a sharp whistle sounded, and Jack froze with terror and the horse stopped, the sound of snorting and stamping hooves that he had learned to fear were not too far in the distance.
“Fear not, clever Jack,” She stated, like a mother comforting her child after a nightmare. “For in this glade, the axe’s power is at its peak; you must not fear them anymore. Use your newfound abilities; show them the power that has been hidden away for so many eons! Show them the meaning of fear! Show them the feeling of misery and hopelessness that they have bestowed upon you for so many years!”
Jack took these words to heart; he leaped from his mount and prepared for battle. “Alma,” Jack said, staring into the tunnel. “Go and hide for a while, I just found you, and I’d hate to get bloodstains in your tendrils.” He smiles,
“Jack Woods, I proclaim you henceforth as the new protector of the forest, ‘The Keeper of the Woodsman’s axe’! Take care Wielder, make them wish they had never been forged!” She backs a few feet away.
Jack sweats nervously; the stamping hooves are getting closer, closer, closer. A lone Minotaur, standing thirteen feet tall, bounds from the tunnel with a snort and stares at Jack.
The axe vibrates in Jacks’ hand; and he senses its rage, all of the fear and anxiety he had felt was replaced by blood curdling, rage inducing adrenaline. Images flashed in his head of his fellow changelings. How the Minotaur had beaten them, crushed them, snapped their limbs and gave them nothing but hopelessness.
Jack leaped at the beast; he fought tooth and nail to survive but it he did what was thought impossible; he killed a Minotaur; something that tools only dream about; and as a trophy, he takes away his nose ring.
“Jack woods,” Alma walks back up to him. “You have conquered your fears; there will be many more challenges ahead. I will be with you every step of the way. Now ride me, Wielder! Let us escape this hell and start your journey!”
Jack mounts Alma and they ride into the tunnel; fighting more Minotaurs at every turn, collecting trophies with each kill. They rode for what felt like hours, and eventually he came to a bridge, two trees and a web connecting them.
“I must leave you for now Jack,” Alma stopped in front of the gate. “This gate will bring you to a new life, new friends and adventures that will test your metal for the coming battle. Remember Jack, the axe has no master, but it is your partner. Now go Jack, learn the ways of the forest, and become the strongest in the land.”
Jack gets off of Alma, and walks through the gate.
“Halt!” Shouted a man who appeared to be a yeti of some kind. “Who goes there?”
Category:Fiction