The Devastation struck without warning.  The bolt of pure white energy streaked earthward, like fire from heaven.  It centered upon the old Spanish fort, now converted into a prison compound, penetrating deep within until finally reaching its target: a man shackled upon a table in a subterranean torture chamber.  He was a little over six feet tall, with an athletic build, and looked to be in his early to mid thirties.  His long black hair was white at the temples, and his eyes were dark and deep-set.  He looked on in amazement as the light washed painlessly over his body, melting the mystic shackles about his wrists and ankles.  The energy then surrounded his torturers.  It was a thing of utter terror - and indescribable beauty.  The men screamed in horror as the light engulfed them, eating from the inside out, leaving nothing in its wake save bubbling pools of blood and body fat, along with the greyish ectoplasm that had once been their souls.  The energy then spread across the rest of the fortress like the Angel of Death.
     Free at last, the man quickly located a supply room. After aquiring clothing and armament, he slowly made his way through the catacombs of the prison, passing the remains of guards and inmates alike, until he had reached the surface.
     Outside, the light was still raging, consuming all in its path from the compound outward. The wind was howling with hurricane force, a massive storm riding upon its wings, and the night sky was rendered crimson by the fires of erupting volcanoes. The earth lurched beneath the man, throwing him to the ground, and he watched in disbelief as the fortress walls crumbled, stone by stone. He feared he would not escape the island before it sank into the sea.
     "Here." The voice was commanding and somewhat cruel, yet seductive at the same time.
     "Here is your passage, mortal."
     He turned towards the voice. From out of thin air strode a magnificent black stallion with large feathered wings, not unlike the Pegasus of Greek myth. Astride his back rode a beautiful young woman with pale skin, raven hair, and blood-red lips. Her eyes were as grey and as cold as steel. She was clad in black leather garb, reminiscent of a military uniform, with a Scandinavian longsword slung from her hip.
     "It's about damn time." he breathed.
     "You should feel honored, mortal," she said, "for you are the first I have been sent for in nearly fifty years."
     The man rose from the ground and pulled himself up to sit behind her.
     "And you should feel honored, Death-Maiden," he whispered into her ear as the horse took to the air, "to be sent for one who was ancient when the Gallows-God was but a dream."
     "Who...?" she turned in the saddle and caught his gaze. "You! I...I had no idea..." he felt her body shudder against his.
     "The Rune-Lord didn't tell you?" he asked.
     "No." she replied, regaining her composure. "He only said I would be transporting a living mortal. But I never dreamed it would be - "
     "No." the man silenced her in mid-sentence. "I am no longer known by that name. I am now called Alexander Logan. And you...?" he asked.
     "When last my kind roamed this world I was known as Valerie." she answered.
     "Ah. An interesting play on words, milady." Logan commented.
     It was nearly dawn when they arrived at the large estate in the midwest. Logan had purchased it several years earlier and had had his most important possessions moved there before arranging his capture by Castro's agents. They landed in front of the large mansion, a unique combination of Victorian and Gothic architecture. A man waited there. He looked to be in his sixties, with white hair and bushy sideburns, and smoking a clay pipe.
     "Figured that'd be you, Master Logan." he said in a thick Scottish brogue. " 'bout bloody time, if I say."
     "Cantankerous as ever, I see." said Logan as he dismounted. "Hello, Malcolm." he said, clasping the older man's hand.
     Malcolm removed his pipe and looked at Valerie.
     "That's a fine 'orse ye got there, lass." he said. "Don't know what t'make o' the wings, though."
     "Darkwind is among the finest offspring of Sleipner, mortal." she said. "I would advise you not to mock him." The horse snorted, seconding her statement.
     "Sorry, lass. No disrespect t'ye." Malcolm replied. "Or the 'orse."
     Logan spoke up. "Malcolm, this is Valerie, of the Valkyrior. And Valerie, this is Malcolm. He takes care of things around here."
     "Charmed, lass." said Malcolm. He turned to Logan. "Well, the pair've ye must be tired. G'on in an' get some rest. If yer 'ungry, there's still some haggis left. I'll see to yer 'orse, lassie."
     The woman glared at Malcolm. "I think not, mortal. Darkwind answers only to me."
     "Oh, 'sat right?", said Malcolm with a raised eyebrow. He leaned over and whispered in the horse's ear. Within minutes, Darkwind was nuzzling his head against the old man's shoulder, as Valerie looked on in disbelief.
     "How...?" she began.
     "Well 'es a 'orse, innit 'e?" the old man retorted. "Tis quite easy if ye know 'ow t'talk to 'em, lass. C'mon now, get down an' I'll see to it 'es well taken care of."
     She reluctantly handed him the reins and dismounted.
     "An' I'll be sure t' stable 'im far from Xanthos, Master Logan." he said as he led the horse away.
     Logan and Valerie turned and walked towards the house.
     "My horse." Logan explained.
     "How did he do that?" asked Valerie.
     "He's a Horse Whisperer." answered Logan. "An ancient society of Scotsmen who can speak the language of horses."
     "And what is ...haggis?" she asked, as they ascended the stairs.
     "A revolting dish made from the internal organs of sheep, that only a Scotsman could be bold, or stupid enough, to eat."
     "Oh." she said, wrinkling her nose in disgust. "I wasn't very hungry as it is."
     "Come, Valerie," he said, opening the door, "and partake of my hospitality."
     The oak doors opened into a large antechamber, with a huge mahogany staircase leading upward.
     "Very nice, milord." she commented. Her voice had lost its earlier imperious tone.
     "Thank you, milady."
     "Tell me, Alexander," she said, "for how long were you held captive?"
     "Over seven years.", he said.
     Her voice was softer, now. "Seven years..." she replied, looking into his eyes, "must be a long time to be... alone."
     "Indeed." he said, as he took her hand and led her up the stairs. They stopped at the door to the master bedroom.
     "Tell me Valerie," Logan said as he opened the door, "Do you have any reservations to laying with the most notorious murderer in the history of mankind?
     "Nay milord," she said, pulling him close to her lips. "So long as you have no objections to laying with a goddess of Death."
     "Perish the thought." he said, closing the door behind them.

COMMENTARY: I originally conceived "Wake..." back in 1994, & I'm still working on it. I've got first drafts written up to chapter 32, so far. I originally intended for "Wake..." to be a comic book series, but a good artist with the time & inclination to work on someone else's project (who hasn't the funds to pay them upfront) is nearly impossible to find. So I decided to print it , in prose form, in my zine. Here, I'll attempt to explain some of the things mentioned in the main body of the story (a la Alan Moore in "From Hell") unless to do so would give too much away.
     The island that is destroyed by the Devastation is Cuba, which I chose mainly for it's proximity to the US. The Devastation itself was inspired mainly by apocalyptic literature, mainly the book of Revelation. As for what it was, why Logan wasn't harmed, & why he had arranged his capture in the first place, I can't reveal right now.
     Logan's appearance was mainly inspired by those of Gilad Anni-pada (of the Eternal Warrior comic series) and Leonardo Manco's portrayal of Daimon Hellstorm. He's about 6' 2", 190 lbs, with a slender, muscular build (like a swimmer or dancer).
     Valerie is of course, a Valkyrie. The Valkyrior were Viking war-goddesses who would take the souls of brave warriors who died in battle to Valhalla (sort of a Viking-Heaven). They rode flying horses (or sailed in a ship, if the battle took place at sea), though I have yet to see any contemporary depictions or accounts of their horses having wings. I suspect the wings may have become a popular notion in later centuries, and made famous by the Wagnerian operas. I chose to depict Darkwind this way merely because I think it looks cooler.
     Valerie's appearance, aside from Scandinavian mythology, was inspired in part by that of Death, from Neil Gaiman's Sandman comic. I gave her grey eyes to reflect the cold, frozen landscape of Scandinavia, as well as the harsh life & outlook of the Vikings. Her lips I made blood-red to reflect the early Valkyrior, who, before the Viking Age (roughly late 8th to early 11th centuries CE), seem to originally have been fierce female spirits attendant on the war-god, delighting in blood & carnage, & devouring corpses on the battlefield. Her black leather garb I picture as being similar to that of The Baroness from the 1980's GI Joe cartoon.
     Her comment about Logan being the first she'd been sent for in nearly 50 years, is based upon a revival of the old Germanic/ Scandinavian deities in Germany in the early 20th century, & continuing up until the end of World War II. It's therefore coceivable that there may have been quite a few (though not a large number, by any means) Nazi soldiers who worshipped the Norse gods & honestly beleived they would, if they died bravely in battle, be carried to Valhalla in the arms of a Valkyrie. "Gallows-God", & "Rune-Lord" are both references to Odin, (also called Woden & Wotan), the chief god of the Vikings. He was the Lord of Valhalla (& thus the Valkyrior), & the god of war, wisdom, & epic poetry. Sacrifices to him were often hanged & thrust through the heart with a spear, & he was reputed to have been the first being to master the power of runes (or writing), hence the nicknames. Odin's cult was one of the oldest in Scandinavia. Images on rock beleived to represent him have been dated to about 1500 BCE. So if Logan was ancient when Odin "was but a dream", then our protagonist must be very old indeed.
     Malcolm is an old Scotsman who's worked for & been friends with Alexander for a very long time, so he's not at all surprised when Logan flies in on a winged horse. I tried my best to convey a thick Scottish accent with Malcolm's dialogue, but I'm not sure if I was very successful. Hell, I didn't have much to work with. There's not very many Scots (with Scottish accents) running around redneck southern Indiana, ya know.
     Sleipner is the name of Odin's eight-legged horse. I haven't found anything in Scandinavian myth that states that the horses of the Valkyrior are any relation to Sleipner, but it seems like a natural connection to me.
     There were indeed, once such a thing as "Horse Whisperers", & there may still be. They were an ancient society in rural Scotland, whose members had an uncanny rapport with horses. Their heyday was in the 1800's, but now, with the industrialization of farms, they seem to have all but died out. It is now thought that their ability to control horses stemed from a knowledge of scents and body language.
     Xanthos & Balios were the immortal horses of Achilles in Greek myth. If this is indeed the same Xanthos, does this mean Logan is Achilles? And where's Balios? Ah, but that's another tale.
     Though I've yet to try haggis, it does indeed sound revolting. The Scots are also known for other disgusting fare, such as blood sausage (made with real blood). Maybe that's why they were such fierce warriors - their food was so unpalatable, it gave them a bad disposition. The only other person I know to have tried haggis is my friend Duncan, who's of Scottish descent. He claims to like it, but I think that's his Scottish pride talking more than anything else.
     Towards the end of this chapter, we learn that Logan was imprisoned for over seven years. Why? What went on during that time? Patience, patience. We also learn that Logan is "the most notorious murderer in the history of mankind". And who is this? (no, he's not Jack the Ripper, John Wayne Gacy, or Adolf Hitler). Remember, mankind has had a rather long history (homo sapiens sapiens has been around for at least 100,000 years). Alexander Logan's identity will eventually be revealed. Write me with your best guess. And for those of you without a clue, Logan does indeed get laid at the end of this chapter. I just didn't feel the need to get graphic. Yet.

BIBLIOGRAPHY:
A Companion to World Mythology, edited by Richard Barber, Delacorte Press, 1979
Scandinavian Mythology, by H.R. Ellis Davidson, Peter Bedrick Books, 1969, 1982
Mythology of All Religions, Volume II, Eddic, edited by John Arnott MacCulloch, Cooper Square Publishers, 1930, 1958
"Horse Scents", by Peter Bayliss, Fortean Times #83, 1995