The Pen of Time

More than two decades have passed since an arctic cloud dropped upon earth three stones of crystallite. Two of the crystals stones lay to rest to the far dark of the north, inside the walls of the land of the Hollow souls. They would lay until the day they are called upon to fight against evil.

To the south fell the smallest stone of the three, in just a few broken pieces it lay, beneath a dying black tree. With the nature of magic within, the tree was touched by crystal dust and soon began to blossom vivacious and fresh again.

On the edge of the flourishing village of Thorlakshöfn a boy of five, was working on the land. In a need of a little rest he came to sleep beneath the transform black tree. He awoke in a bed of cherry rich flowers, with a crystal quill laying next to him.

A boy with the freshest white long hair, and Godly blue eyes stood up from his flower bed, with the pen of time between the palm of his little hard working hands. To the boy keeping the pen somewhere felt heavenly scripted.

As he was unaware of the pen’s magic and strength, it took until his teens yeas where many animals suddenly fell it, he felt he should a wish to heal them all. In
the wondering sky and wrote ‘vinsamlegast healt dýrin’ wishing nimals to grow strong again. The following day all the sheep, horses and pigs all looked back to health.

From the dawn of his birth the sun and the moon touched in a concomitant partnership high upon the sky, welcoming Haraldur to the world ‘Velkomin sonur tíma Guð’. He is in fact the son of the almighty God of Time.

As the years went on, he grows taller than a small evergreen tree, closing in at 6’5 feet. He is most dazzling masculine, with a fiery physique and with a fighting spirit of a God. The villagers are not fooled they know how soft and gentle he is indeed.

His village lies by the sweet scenting mountains to the south, a place with vibrant fairy lake. A wall of almond, cherry and pear trees fruitful surround
the area almost as a welcoming committee.

With the darkness crater of evil from the north the land of the Hollow Souls seem to spread being closer in. All land to the far of the north, are grey and sadden black. Even the air has been sucked dried.

On a dust road not too far from Thorlakshöfn, Haraldur is riding home from helping a town suffering by the hands of unworthy lords. In trust he left the pen of time protected in a case of ice. No evil hands are capable of breaking it free from its “house”. As he is riding close to his most loved village, a deep decay he is sees instead. The land of the hollow souls have poisoned the land and sucked the life out of people, plants and animals. Each and every house has been broken in half, and a fire is blazing away.

He rushes to find the pen but it has been taken to the dark dark land of the Hollow Souls. He cries in pain, as he can actually hear the sunken souls of his family.

The poisonous land, leaves him sleeping, up against the yet again the black dead tree. In his dreams he sees where the pen of time is imprisoned. He awakes in a shock as he hears the calling of his pen. He decides to embark on a deadly rescue, lacking the basic necessaries of food and water. But with his godly strength he will reclaim the pen of time.

Still encased in its icy protective shield the Hollow Souls is unable to Touch the pen until it melts. If the Hollow Souls write with the pen they will rewrite history and eliminate all human kind.

Beyond, the gates of the Hollow Souls, Haraldur is crossing a bridge roped together by once sacred souls. Hanging in his strong muscular arms, he
moves shiftily beneath the bridge to reach land where he senses the luminous navigation from the pen of time.

Once on unholy ground, he struggles across in the darkness on his bare hands and knees. In the knowledge his blood is in fact marinating the crushed bones on the ground, the spirit of the pen keeps him fighting on. He will fight and defend all the good and purity living on this vibrant planet of life.

With the breathless air quickly killing him, his organs start shedding layers of
his tissue. His heart no longer pumps blood around his collapsed veins. Only the power of the pen can keep him alive. He will never surrender the pen to write for the sacrilegious powers of the Hollow Souls.

High on up a mystic shimmer infuses the breathless sky, it’s the last pure life of the pen. The icy shielding is vastly melting and soon the soul of the world will be enslaved.

With his soul dragging along side of him, his body drops comatosely onto the
two crystallised stones once dropped from heaven those decades ago. From his
heavy fall, several of his eye lashes landed on the crystals awaking the two skjonar.

The two crystallite horses touched their paladin Haraldur, and his soul gathered
itself from hanging bridge. His chest begin to beat once again, his godly blue eyes
regain all their colour. His horses fly him to a lava spitting volcano, the place
of the pen’s prison. The pen is tied in a long blue flame, and hanging down
deep into the raw reddish of the volcano.

Circling the angry the volcano, Haraldur and his two skjonar are awaiting to
strike. They try to cut the long flame holding the crystal pen, but his hands
are crispy black burned. The ice is dripping helplessly away, and so is the soul
of this earth. The screams from the crystals pen is making him weep in pain.

This is the last moment of stupendous good in the world as it will soon taste
the bitter end. Haraldur is unable to free the pen from it burning flame. Slowly
the pen of time begins to fall, as Haraldur hears the dying words ‘save the sacred souls’. Then he jumps into the blazing flame, clinging on to the crystal pen.
With his saintly touch, he manages to break free the pen before they both plunge
into the dome of lava.

Everything turns darker than the deepest black, the raise of the Hollow Souls
is about to happen. Suddenly the ashy black air clears to day light, the pen has
been rescued.

There sitting in the wet green Grass, on a bed of cherry flowers sleep Haraldur
under the “renewed” fresh tree. His eyes opens as he feels echoing sound of hooves galloping on the ground. In front of him, kneel two crystallite skjonar.

In a shimmering scripture written across the sky, Haraldur feels the pen of time
in his pocket and knows that his village and the rest of the world is save from
evil. All hollow souls have been released and they are yet again cherished people.

Now he walks guarding the earth with the pen of time in a chain around his neck, protected with his two assailants. For each Hollow Soul he finds, he pulls his
crystal “sword” to prevent evil forever harming the world again.

The legend might say if you listen very carefully you can hear the earth thanking Haraldur 'takk White Knight ' the only true white knight.

There might even be a white knight locked away inside all of us.

Jeannine Nielsen
online creative writing school


fiction writing and online classes