07/10/06

Short Stories

The Storyteller     Zin-Carla    The Shamans Tale

The Storyteller

by Huw Davies

I looked at the door in front of me, and wondered once again quite what I was doing. I slowly brought my hand up to the door and hesitated, almost knocking, but stopping just before my hand touched the wood. What was I doing? Why was I doing it?

I held my hand there in mid air, never quite managing to bring myself to knock. It was in that position that Ashlin found me when she opened the door.

She looked at me, a strange mixture of contempt and anger on her face. I knew what she would say. I knew how she would react. It was always the same. It was a strange routine with little variation.

“What do you want?” She snapped. I mutely held out the bag of coins, almost in supplication, an offering of peace. I should have known (part of me probably already knew) that it would not work. Instead, as usual, the disgusted expression on her face became deeper and more entrenched.

“I don’t want your tainted money.” She snapped. “Why don’t you just give it back to whoever you stole it from?”

“Would you believe that I earned this honestly?” I said, disrupting the pattern, throwing the conversation off kilter. She stared at me, her disbelief plastered all over her face.

“How?” She asked, finally, curiosity winning out over her distrust.

“Actually, if you would credit such a thing, vermin control.”

“You went rat hunting?” I nodded. “I suppose it fits, one large rat hunting others.” She snapped. Then, she sighed and moved out of the doorway and beckoned me inside the dark house.

I placed the bag of money on the crude table that dominated the centre of one of the small rooms. She looked at it, her eyes showing the calculations going on behind them, and then looked up at me.

“Why are you doing this?” She asked again.

“Oh, a number of reasons. Because I can, because it makes the world a better place.” She raised an eyebrow at this, like she always did. This was back to the rehearsed positions, back on safe ground, her desperate (and destitute) honesty versus my far more cavalier attitude to property ownership. This was a question of morality, and a well trod one at that.

“Stealing makes the world a better place?” She asked.

“Oh come on, you know who I take from. Do you honestly think they miss the money? Do you honestly think they need the money?” She looked at me again, but I was warming up now as I always did when questioned.  “I’m just taking back what the fat merchants have taken from someone else. They don’t earn the money, they don’t grow the grain or make the table, they just lie and cheat and swindle. They live off the backs of others.” I paused, and moved forward, searching for direct eye contact. “At least I am honest about what I am. They are nothing but thieves themselves, hiding under a cloak of respectability, raping the common folk and demanding protection for themselves as they do it.” I gestured around the room, taking in the poor furniture. “They get fat and you get this. Hardly fair is it?” She ignored the point as usual. Instead she snapped at me.

“A real hero aren’t you? Do you want my gratitude for your petty larceny?”

“No. I don’t want gratitude.” I sighed.

“Then what do you want?” This was another question that had been asked and answered several times. 

“Overall, in the great scheme of things? Fairness, I suppose. People to get what they deserve.”

“So where do I fit into this? What do you want from me?”

“From you? What makes you think I want something” I stopped, stressing the next word “from you.”

“People don’t just give money away for no reason.”

“No, they don’t.” I agreed. “But I don’t want something from you. I just want Crewyn to have a better life than I did.” She laughed, at this, an odd and hollow sounding noise. It sounded so out of place here.

“Why?” She said, finally. “Why him? Why not someone else?” I pulled my hair back, showing my pointy ears. One of the visible reminders of the scars I bore on the inside.  Scars which lay at the feet of the father I never knew and the mother who never wanted me and couldn’t wait to run away back to the other elves in the forest.

“Because I want him to have something I didn’t.” I said finally.

“Oh yes of course.”

“He reminds me of me at that age. I want him to stay out of trouble.”

“You want to buy back your childhood? Is that it? You want to live out some fantasy of your childhood through Crewyn?”

 She was shouting now and she grabbed the bag of coins to throw back at me. She was only stopped as the curtain to the bedroom rustled. Her eyes flashed daggers at me, but she stopped and turned, her voice lowered.

“Go back to bed love.” She said as a small blond head poked around the curtain. Crewyn’s sleep bleary eyes looked around the room, a small pudgy hand desperately trying to clear them as he searched the room for the source of the argument. His eyes finally settled on me. He blinked and then rushed across the room, overjoyed to see me.

“Uncle Marian.” He shrieked, and throwing his arms around my neck. “Tell me a story, tell me a story.” He repeated, holding on to me for dear life.

“OK, I’ll tell you a story.” I promised, “Just let me go. Quite a grip you’ve got there.” Slowly the arms came from around my neck, but I could see that he was now bouncing around. His blue eyes were now fully awake and his face was burning with excitement. I looked across at his mother, and she nodded, resignedly. Whatever she thought of me, she could not throw me out now and she knew it. I don’t know if she resented the little defeat or not.

“Go back to bed, and I’ll be in to see you now.”  He looked across at his mother, almost as if he was seeking approval. She nodded at him, and then staring back at me,  he slowly wandered into the other room, still happy, still smiling.

I walked to the curtain, and his mother grabbed my arm as I passed her. “He still thinks you’re a bard.” She hissed urgently at me.  I raised an eyebrow.

“Why did you tell him I was a bard?”

“I had to tell him something. I could hardly tell him you were a thief could I? A bard was the first thing that popped into my head.”

“Thanks.”  I said snidely.

“Well, you can tell a good story. She smiled maliciously “I’ve seen you in action, you can lie like a trooper.” I simply smiled back and moved through the curtain. Ashlin followed me and leaned against a wall, casting a weary eye in my direction, almost as if she had to keep an eye on me to protect her son.

I could have taken offence, but I really didn’t see the point.

The sprog himself was back in the bed, his knees tucked up under his chin, the threadbare blanket pulled up to cover him, his eyes wide open.

“Tell me a story.” He repeated. I looked across at his mother. She was right, I was capable of lying through my teeth (convincingly too I often thought) when the need arose, but this was something different. Telling a story to Crewyn was not the same thing, and we both knew it. I couldn’t tell him the same lies I told a member of the militia.  I had more far more respect for the child to start with.

“What sort of story do you want?” I asked, buying time.

“One with monsters.”

“Monsters?”

“And magic.” Monsters and magic, now a story like that didn’t seem so hard to spin. In fact, I didn’t have to make too much up.

“Ok. I said. Here’s a story. It starts in an inn. Our handsome half elf hero.” I ignored the snort from by the curtain. “Was just leaving an inn when he ran into a gnome.”

The gnome was short and dressed in bright yellow wizard’s robes the stood out like a beacon in the twilight gloom. He was clearly a wizard, and he had come from a far away land, seeking knowledge and adventure like mages do. Right now however, more pressing concerns availed him, he needed a place to spend the night, and some of the local currency to pay of it.

It was a good job he had found our hero, for he knew the area well. And he knew that a mage was needed to help rid the area of a plague of monsters. Giant rats had been plaguing the city, disrupting the life of merchants and dock workers, and they had recently started to kill Something had to be done, so a bounty had been placed on the heads of the rats. As yet, no one had managed to claim any of it. Our hero however, ever watchful, had spotted a rat hole, and a place to ambush the rats from. The innkeeper, thankful for the help, provided food, and the two heroes set off into the night, to finally deal with the malicious creatures.

They waited two hours by the hole. The cold night air was beginning to seep into their bones, and our hero was beginning to think that his legendary eagle eyes had failed him. Had he made a mistake? Was it possible?

 His companion however never doubted him, and pointed to the hole as a huge hairy snout appeared. It was followed by bristles, which tested and sniffed the air and then finally evil yellow eyes appeared. This was one of the creatures that had been terrorising the city. This was one of the creatures that had killed a man. This was the monster they had come to kill

Our hero was temporarily taken aback, up close this creatures looked more evil than he could have imagined, but his fear was temporary. He prepared his sling, and let lose a stone just as the gnome wizard flung a mighty fireball. The monster, for it could not be called a rat, as it was almost the size of a cow, was not damaged. It turned and ran at our heroes, nimbly scrambling up the wall. The half elf drew his sword, preparing to meet it; but it scrambled past, searching out the gnome wizard. The wizard, prepared, flung another fireball at it. Our heroes fought valiantly, dodging and stabbing, parrying the creature’s claws and teeth, and finally after a good deal of hard combat they managed to kill the creature. It lay dead at their feet, but they knew that the night was not yet over. The monsters hunted in packs. They waited by the hole and watched, and soon their patience was rewarded again. However, the creature that came out this time was not a rat, or rather it was not a live rat. A skeleton was making its way out of the hole. Our heroes had no time for un-dead, and despatched the vile abomination.

By then it was near dawn, and they headed back to the inn, where food and someone to tend their wounds awaited them. After a brief sleep they decided to go and investigate the hole, to seek out the rest of the pack of creatures.

They went down the hole and found themselves in a tunnel, with another hole leading down. This was the creature’s nest and lair. Another of the monsters lay in wait, but our heroes were brave and steadfast.  They despatched, and moved into the nest, where several more of the creatures lay in wait. They fought hard, and soon the giant rats lie slaughtered at their feet. The city was a safer place. . .

I looked down, the earlier excitement had begun to fade, and the boy’s eyes were drifting shut, but he wasn’t asleep yet.

However our heroes had yet to discover what had caused the un-dead rat. This worried them. The rat’s nest had to be thoroughly hacked apart and searched. This was the source of heroism that the ordinary people do not see. The sheer backbreaking work involved in making the world a safer place. Finally they had cleared the nest, but that was just the beginning, beyond there lay another tunnel, blocked by rubble.

His eyes had drifted shut. He was asleep. I looked across at his mother.

“And that’s how I earned my money” I said for her benefit.

“You didn’t pick the gnome’s pockets then?”

“Would I do such a thing?”

“Yes.” She said. I simply rolled my eyes heavenwards.

“Do you have to continually expect the worst of me?”

“I know you too well.” She said, walking back through the curtains and into the other room. “So, are you going back to look at this tunnel?”

“Not at the moment no. Would you believe that I have another honest job?” I answered as the curtain swished shut behind me.

“No.” She said automatically, and then looked at me. Something she saw in my eyes changed her mind.  “You have haven’t you? I don’t believe it. What are you doing?”

“The gnome was collared by the mages guild.”

“Ah. So you’re going to help him steal something to cover his guild fees.”

“No, actually he’s managed to get himself a quest instead, so I’m going to be out of the city with him.”

“A quest?”

“Yeah, hunting orcs this time.”

“Step up from rats.” She said “But still, it doesn’t sound like you to leave the city.”

“Well, the militia aren’t happy with me again. The Steel Warriors were paying the rewards for the rat heads, so that pissed them off. I’m just going to be away while they think about things so to speak. Let the heat die down. I’ll probably be back in about a week.” I smiled, walking towards the door. I was almost outside when she spoke again.

“Wouldn’t it be a good idea to take someone who knows the wilderness better than you do?” I smiled.

“That I am going to try and do tomorrow morning. I think it’s about time I presumed a little upon my mother’s good name.”

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Zin-Carla

A Tribute

by shainaen@neo.rr.com

Zin-Carla... Spirit Wraith. Created from the magics of the Dead, tearing the soul of the intended from their eternal slumber and placing it back in the corpse they left behind. They are creatures of terrible power. An unstoppable force used to complete the most dire of missions.

That is how my life began... again. Killed by my mother in my sleep and then reanimated by dark rituals to fulfill a task too risky for one who was living. The spell went awry. Something happened and she lost control... HATE… burning, overwhelming hate. Having regained some of my consciousness, I knew only one thing. The one who defiled me must die.  Immediately I set upon her with fury unbeknownst to the living. Still disoriented from being enthralled in her trance that the spell requires, I over took her easily. Innoruuk’s blessings are rare. This moment was mine. The struggle didn’t last long. She was dead within moments. Her blood stained the walls and ceiling. It rolled slowly down the length of my arms and dribbled rhythmically to the tiled floor where I stood. Vengeance wrought. The primal instincts that took over my mind were gone. Emptiness… No sense of justice, satisfaction… not sadness… emptiness. I just… was. Being Zin-Carla I had no emotions. My charge was to obey my master until my task was completed. The risk of such an undertaking is great though. The need for such a ward has to be grave indeed. The end result of failure is what has resulted here this night. The puppet turns upon the master until one is destroyed. She lay dead and I stood in silent vigil over her corpse.

Several days passed. Long after the spell that bound my soul to my body should have faded and released me from this torment of undeath. Yet I remained; fully aware yet unable to move or speak. My clothes had become stiff from the dried blood. The walls and floor were tinged a dull brown-red as well from the carnage that stained it. We were discovered by a young acolyte one day that had been given the task, I can only assume of cleaning the General’s chambers. Had the God of Fear, Cazic-Thule been here, the young one could not have been more terrified then by this sight. He ran from the room screaming incoherently of murder. Males… no discipline. Moments later several armed guardsmen of the Indigo Brotherhood and a priestess of Innoruuk returned. The acolyte was no where to be seen. The guards gaped wide-eyed at what they saw and moved to form a protective barrier between myself and the priestess. She simply seemed amused but remained silent. Seeing the guards fear and anger she dismissed them immediately. “The Father’s presence is strong," she said in awe.  "I do not want your bumbling antics to disturb whatever has happened here.” Her voice was soft as velvet yet the air of malevolence was unmistakable. “Leave.” Even at the risk of angering a Revered Daughter of Innoruuk they hesitated. She stopped what she was doing and looked up at them, her face contorting to a snarled. “Now!”

She locked the door behind them making sure there would be no further disturbances. Her hands glowed faintly as she wordlessly cast spells of warding and protection. With Neriak’s General, the Queen’s personal bodyguard murdered and the daughter incapacitated by an unseen force, she wasn’t going to take any chances. I didn’t blame her considering… But I merely stood by and watched. “Tell me young Knight,” her voice hissed like scalding steam, “who did this?” She waited. Silence. Her eyes narrowed as she moved to stand in front of me. “Do you dare to ignore me or is your brain addled?”  Had I been able to move I would have struck her thrice for such an insult. “Very well…” She stepped over the body of my mother and began chanting what sounded like words of a divining spell. The room and its contents began to glow different colors. Most were various shades of muted blues and greys. The corpse was a dull red as was the blood stains on the walls and floor. The priestess had an aura of bright orange. Of what I could see, the edges of my eyes and bridge of my nose were a vibrant scarlet red. She made no sound but her eyes widened briefly in … surprise? Fear? I couldn’t tell. The moment passed as quickly as it came. She walked up to me and cut a small piece of fabric from my tunic. She did the same with my mother. Hands outstretched with a fragment in each hand, she cast yet another spell. Before us two ghostly images materialized and moved about in what seemed like a heated discussion, though no sound could be heard. It was the two of us, my mother and me. There was no mistaking it. Everything that had transpired between us within the last couple days played out before us: from my murder and reanimation to ultimately her own death at my hands. The priestess stood in silent contemplation for many moments after the images had faded. “Zin-Carla…” she purred. “For what purpose though I wonder. Why would she sacrifice her only child? Powerful magics and ill omens in such an undertaking. Even the most skilled in the Arts would not dare try such a forsaken combination. Emotion surely would undo the spell… as it obviously had.  Only she would know.  She has been dead far too long though for me to recover her soul.  Pity. Walk in darkness eternal, Luinne.”  The priestess traced symbols of dark blessings over her corpse.  She turned to me when she was finished. “What to do with you Twilight? You hold the Father’s favor.  That is obvious.  Your family has always been in His favor though, from your mother to her mother before her. Yours is a strong bloodline indeed.  If anyone is able to help you it would be her. But Aerilynn is rarely ever seen.”  Whether it was a torch burning out beyond my sight or some sort of trickery of light in the room, the shadows of the room became noticeably deeper.  The priestess glanced nervously about.  She had noticed it as well. “We will wait for the High Priest of my Order to return. He is out on a mission and not expected to return for several days yet.”  Aerilynn was feared by the priests of Innoruuk as well as the Orders of the Spurned and the House of the Dead.  She practiced in both the Arts of Wizardry and Necromancy.  Neither Order would recognize her and refused to aid her. Were it not for her close relation to the Queen, they would have had Aerilynn slain for such heresy.  No Teir`Dal was permitted to study outside their chosen school. “Yes that is what we will do. His journey is not expected to be long and since you are not going anywhere…” she grinned.  I already hated her. She had better pray I not cross her path if I ever come free of this prison.  She left without another word.

Off in the corner, just beyond my line of sight I could see the shadows ripple. A cloaked figured separated itself from the inky darkness and glided up to me. The presence was overwhelming. There was a smell of scorched ozone and the cloying scent of death. “Vendui, young one.”  The shadow’s voice was feminine. “You have gotten yourself into a peculiar situation.”  It was Aerilynn.  She looked upon her fallen daughter. “Sad.”  She shook her head and turned back to me.  “She holds your life.  In killing her, you sealed your fate.  Though you could not have known, given the circumstances nor could you have done anything about it if you had.”  Aerilynn stood before me for a moment lost in thought. “Are you prepared to die?” she asked casually as she walked a little ways from me.  “It doesn’t matter really.” She said flatly.  “I am going to kill you.”  With that she began tracing intricate patterns and blazing runes. The air crackled with the energies as if a storm had ripped open the fabric of the room.  Cryptic symbols of power flashed in rhythm of her chanting and began to dance a whirling chaotic spiral about me.  Slowly they began to converge.  I could feel my skin begin to sear as they drew near.  Pain exploded through my skull like a spike of cold iron driven through my temple.  Tears welled up in my eyes and yet I could do nothing.  Not even cry out in pain.  I could feel my rib cage begin to buckle and fold and my bones vibrate and crack.  Blood filled my mouth and nose.  I was suffocating and yet could not choke.  I gritted my teeth so hard that several shattered.  My flesh was tearing itself asunder.  Tendons ripped themselves from where they were attached to bone…

“Welcome back.” came a voice. “I was beginning to wonder if you would ever wake.”  “How long?” I asked. My voice was a coarse and raspy, like dried parchment rubbed upon itself.  I inspected myself and my surroundings.  Something wasn’t right.  Familiar but not right.  I was still in the same chamber as before but I saw no remnants of my mother’s corpse or the battle that took place. “Two months… You were asleep for nearly two months.” Was the reply.  I could not see who was talking. “With whom do I speak? Show yourself.  I am in no mood to talk to walls.” I hissed.  “I see dying twice has done much to improve your temper.” chuckled Aerilynn sarcastically as she appeared before me.  Her eyes glittered but I could not tell what she was thinking.  “You are… alive, Twilight and in full possession of yourself.  You can thank your mother for that.  Such a strange chain of events you have gotten involved in.  It was she who killed you and then raised you back.  You in turn killed her. I  then took your life and brought you back using her essence much in the same fashion that she reanimated you originally."   Though I could appreciate the irony of it all, I was not amused.  “Is that why I feel out of sorts?” I asked.  “Your body was destroyed Twilight.  Your soul inhabits your mother’s shell.  You are Zin-Carla still.  But you are your own master.”  Aerilynn turned from me and started to say more but I heard nothing.  Stepping into the shadows, I disappeared.

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The Shamans Tale

by Huw Davies

“My name is Connor Macrae of the clan Macrae, son of Donald, grandson of Ramsay.” I said, stirring the fire. The boy just looked at me. “I thought it might be an idea that you knew who I was lad.” The boy simply shrugged. “Well, it’s a way of passing the time, telling each other who we are and how we got here.” The boy shrugged again, and pointed to his mouth. For a second the stump of a tongue was visible, before he shut his mouth and stared morosely into the fire.

“I can still tell you my story if ye want.” I said. The answer, as I had half expected, was another shrug. It seemed that this non committal gesture was his answer to most things. It seemed he didn’t care. However, I didn’t like the silence of the night. It was too quiet, and while I was used to the cold, I wasn’t used to the strange mists and generally eerie feeling of this place. Even if he wasn’t going to listen, I was going to speak. This wasn’t just a way of introducing myself, it was a tool to keep my mind occupied, while I waited and watched. I would much rather be inside, dealing with the evil directly, but I understood the paladins logic. Someone needed to keep the escape routes open in case they needed to make a speedy retreat. Now where was I? Ah yes

“My name is Connor Macrae of the clan Macrae, son of Donald, grandson of Ramsay, and like my forefathers, I am shaman of the tribunal, and a guardian of justice of the north.” The boy was not listening, simply skewering a chunk of meat on a stick and turning it in the fire. “I grew up in the north, following my father’s footsteps, learning the skills of the shaman, and learning how to survive in the north. I took great pride in honing my running skills, chasing now prey that would run away from most hunters. I once outran a snow hare, running it into the ground to the acclaim of many and the annoyance of some. I progressed through the training, and protected the tribes from goblins and their ilk.” I pulled the goblin tooth necklace from under my jerkin, showing him my trophies. “Though perhaps the polar bear was my most famous battle.” I showed him the other necklace, the single polar bear tooth.

“Anyway, you may be wondering then how I came here to the gates of Befallen, to the south. This journey started a few weeks ago. I was called to the halls of justice to be told the terrible news that a Shaman had gone rogue, and freed a number of prisoners. It seems he wanted to take them to Freeport. I was dispatched to bring him and his prisoners back to justice. I set out, crossing the tundra, taking the quickest route to the south, attempting to head him off, soon I reached the end of the ice, and came across this landscape.” I paused, thinking.

“Our people have a saying – soft as southerners. It is used by people who have never been south, people who see this land as having fewer challenges because it is not locked in ice and life can thrive. In some ways they are right, but in many ways they are right. It is easier to grow crops in the south, but it is harder to keep them, as there are more creatures that are fighting for the land, crops, and space. But never mind.” I stopped, taking a bite from the trail rations I had, and chewing thoughtfully for a few minutes.

“Any where was I? Ah yes. I traveled on, alone for the moment, until I reached High Hold keep. There I met Tobais. He too was traveling south, and there being safety in numbers – even for us Northmen, we quickly agreed to travel together. We made good time, traveling at some speed through Kytichor woods, and reaching Bright haven. It was here we discovered some nefarious dealings. The first hint was the corpse swinging on the makeshift gibbet outside the town and the hunting parties leaving to search for something.” I took another bite from my trail rations, while I remembered the events and put them into some sort of order in my mind. “It seems that the poor unfortunate that was now hanging in the wind was some sort of shape shifter. He had turned into a wolf man, and killed their priest, who was responsible for keeping the undead at a safe distance.”

The boy seemed to show some recognition of this, but it quickly faded.

“They did not know why this had happened. We investigated and discovered some interesting facts. A couple of people had disappeared, including the alchemists apprentice, while searching for some herbs. There were two strange journals in languages I could not read in both the dead man’s hut and the church and there were tracks of a large number of wolves all around the village. It was these tracks that almost proved our doom. Thinking we could track them back, we engaged one of the rangers from the village, and started into the woods at day. We were ambushed by a very large and very angry wolf man. It was only the intervention of a wizard which saved us. He told us we needed magic weapons to harm these creatures – something which both my companion and I lacked – he also told us that about half the village were wolfmen, and that they had lived together with the others for quite some time. It was clear here that our position here was not good, and we left the following morning, heading south towards Freeport. We had not been going long before we were hailed by another Paladin. This was Rohan. He needed our help. The two Paladins galloped off, exalting me to keep up. Keep up indeed. I decided to show them a thing or two. I will admit to cheating and casting a spell on myself, but I overtook them anyway. You learn how to run very fast when chasing prey down in the north, and soon we were here at the entrance, dealing with the guards that had reset themselves over the entrance.” I gestured to the doorway, now devoid, at least for the time being, of skeletal guardians. I wondered how long it would remain clear.”

The rest of it you know, my appearance, sliding into the room and attacking the undead our subsequent exploration of the rooms in there, and the paladins setting of the fire, and the power that reset all of the undead between us and the exit.” I looked at the boy. Despite himself, he seemed to have been listening. “Maybe one day I will find out your story?” I asked. The boy, as was his want, shrugged.

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