With the mountain witch Abilene vanquished, Esmiralda invokes her traveling stone to return her and her companions to civilization--in this case, Veral Ski, one of the largest cities in the world of Korin. Here, she means to inform the Ministry of Human Preservation of the loss of their colleague, Merrick, who served the ministry under the direction of Queen Phedera. First, she intends to find a hot bath, warm food and a soft bed.
We found ourselves on a wooded hill not far from the great city's southern gate. Veral Ski! It grew from the valley floor like a flower, with jagged walls and towers that stretched straight and sure toward the clouds.
Nestled on the banks of the Deep River, Veral Ski had grown from the river like a patch of lichen gradually spreading west. The buildings grew taller, the further they were from the vital waterway, although in recent history attempts had been made to reclaim the ramshackle docks and inner city from centuries of poor use and bad traffic. The grimy alleys and dubious structures of the north docks were being replaced with wider streets and some degree of law and order--although they were nowhere near as fashionable as the SouthShore section of the city.
"I never thought I would see her again," I breathed, once I had my bearings. I stepped back into the cover of the trees, suddenly aware of my appearance and stench. Seymuhr, Broo Fang Tane and I were all more than a little disheveled. Our clothes were torn and covered in gore. Seymuhr and Tane wore a patchwork of scratches and cuts, too, that had barely started to scab over. I was luckier than they in that regard, but my long hair was a tangle that would take time, patience and concentration to straighten out. We all smelled as if we had crawled through a fresh crypt on our bellies--which, I guessed, we nearly had.
"And who is that, then?"
"I meant the city," I answered Seymuhr.
"Never stop...believing," Tane said, his face bright with optimism once more. "I have nev....er...walked the stree.......ts of...Ve...ral Ski be....fore. Is there a Tem...ple of the....Sun with...in its...."
"Yes, there is a Temple of the Sun within the city," I grew impatient with his slow, lilting speech and finished his question for him. "There is room for everything within the great city--even optimists. I'm sure your order is well-represented."
"It may even be tolerated," Seymuhr suggested. "I've heard that city folk embrace hope on occasion."
"The rich ones do, at any rate," I said. "I suggest we attend to our appearance before we try to conduct any business. I am confident that we can arrange an audience with the queen if we do not look--or smell--like we just crawled from the depths of Ewl's domain," I added, giving Seymuhr a lingering and, I hoped, meaningful look.
"The riv...er is beautif...ul. What is its......name?"
"It's just named the Deep River."
"That is...all?"
I shrugged. "Mubbe the Wanderer, the explorer who discovered and, consequently, named much of the part of Korin, was not very creative. Besides, it's enough."
"It must...be...pret...ty deep, then."
"Depends on how tall you are, I guess."
There were a scattering of buildings outside the city walls, of course, and I assumed that some of them would be taverns or inns where travelers like ourselves could scrape the dust of their travels from their clothes and bodies prior to entering the city. One of them had a large enclosure where several horses ambled and snacked on tufts of long grass and a long, low building that looked to be some sort of stable. Smoke trailed up from its chimney. It looked peaceful enough. I pointed at it and headed that way. Seymuhr fell in beside me and Tane, after a somewhat reluctant grunt, followed.
Wednesday, April 20, 2016
Wednesday, March 16, 2016
The short goodbye
Previously: Freelance historian Esmiralda and her companions--Merrick, a member of the Ministry of Human Preservation (MOHP), Broo-Fang Tane, an Optimist Monk, and Seymuhr, a brutish but somewhat dim-witted warrior called the Skullsquasher, have fought their way into the lair of the mountain witch to uproot her evil, once and for all. They defeated the witch, but lost a companion during the battle.
Seymuhr and Broo Fang Tane scraped a depression into the rough ground near the top of the valley. Tane and I arranged Merrick in the grave, taking great care to be as gentle as possible. His face was serene; once the pain of his death had passed his body had accepted its end with what looked like a combination of grace and humor. He might have just been having a pleasant dream or remembering a funny moment.
Tane swayed fluidly over his still form, his arms and legs moving on intricate, soothing patterns. He mumbled something that sounded vaguely lyrical and I took it to be a kind of prayer known to the Order of Optimists. Behind us, Baram stood, her head lowered respectfully. Seymuhr was hauling rocks of various sizes up to Merrick's final resting place. Many were small, the size of his fists, but others were large enough to sink into the ground when he dropped them. He moved them all without apparent exertion. When Tane finished his ritual, he nodded at Seymuhr, who moved the stones in place, larger ones at the base and smaller ones on top, to finish the cairn. I considered leaving his staff to further mark it, but decided instead to plunge the dried witchwood dagger into the mound.
Everyone looked at me.
I cleared my throat. "I scarcely knew Merrick," I started, "but liked what I knew of him. He was noble and pure, wise and strong. He was a force for good and a light, now extinguished, that will make Korin a bit darker."
Seymuhr grunted. Tane nodded.
"I will tend this spot and see that all that grows nearby honors his memory," Baram said.
We stood awkwardly for a few more moments. I felt my eyes fill with tears. My mind kept leaping toward the future; I was filled with uncertainty about our next course of action. I felt small, cast upon a violent wind like a dried leaf. The queen, I decided, must know of his loss. I reached into my tunic and pulled out my Traveling Stone, a bright green chip of rock worn smooth through countless years of use. It was thinner now than when it had first been gifted to me, but still mildly warm to the touch. I rubbed it gently, cradling it with my first two fingers and rubbing the other side with my thumb, and felt the magic come alive.
"Farewell," I said to Baram. "May we meet some day under better skies."
Then I joined hands with Tane and Seymuhr, closed my eyes, concentrated on the great city and whispered: "Veral Ski."
There was a moment of stillness, followed by a tingling in my core. A wind came up and the ground, the forest, the rocks and the valley was no more.
Seymuhr and Broo Fang Tane scraped a depression into the rough ground near the top of the valley. Tane and I arranged Merrick in the grave, taking great care to be as gentle as possible. His face was serene; once the pain of his death had passed his body had accepted its end with what looked like a combination of grace and humor. He might have just been having a pleasant dream or remembering a funny moment.
Tane swayed fluidly over his still form, his arms and legs moving on intricate, soothing patterns. He mumbled something that sounded vaguely lyrical and I took it to be a kind of prayer known to the Order of Optimists. Behind us, Baram stood, her head lowered respectfully. Seymuhr was hauling rocks of various sizes up to Merrick's final resting place. Many were small, the size of his fists, but others were large enough to sink into the ground when he dropped them. He moved them all without apparent exertion. When Tane finished his ritual, he nodded at Seymuhr, who moved the stones in place, larger ones at the base and smaller ones on top, to finish the cairn. I considered leaving his staff to further mark it, but decided instead to plunge the dried witchwood dagger into the mound.
Everyone looked at me.
I cleared my throat. "I scarcely knew Merrick," I started, "but liked what I knew of him. He was noble and pure, wise and strong. He was a force for good and a light, now extinguished, that will make Korin a bit darker."
Seymuhr grunted. Tane nodded.
"I will tend this spot and see that all that grows nearby honors his memory," Baram said.
We stood awkwardly for a few more moments. I felt my eyes fill with tears. My mind kept leaping toward the future; I was filled with uncertainty about our next course of action. I felt small, cast upon a violent wind like a dried leaf. The queen, I decided, must know of his loss. I reached into my tunic and pulled out my Traveling Stone, a bright green chip of rock worn smooth through countless years of use. It was thinner now than when it had first been gifted to me, but still mildly warm to the touch. I rubbed it gently, cradling it with my first two fingers and rubbing the other side with my thumb, and felt the magic come alive.
"Farewell," I said to Baram. "May we meet some day under better skies."
Then I joined hands with Tane and Seymuhr, closed my eyes, concentrated on the great city and whispered: "Veral Ski."
There was a moment of stillness, followed by a tingling in my core. A wind came up and the ground, the forest, the rocks and the valley was no more.
Tuesday, March 8, 2016
The witch's end
Previously: Freelance historian Esmiralda and her companions--Merrick, a member of the Ministry of Human Preservation (MOHP), Broo-Fang Tane, an Optimist Monk, and Seymuhr, a brutish but somewhat dim-witted warrior called the Skullsquasher, have fought their way into the lair of the mountain witch to uproot her evil, once and for all...
"Bones of Barnok," I gasped. I felt like a newly finished suit of armor: exterior still stinging from the blows of countless hammers, hollow inside. I saw Baram's hand above me, reaching out, and I reluctantly grasped it and felt her pull me to my feet.
"I am sorry," she said. "She stole my husband and I believed her lies."
"I was there when we freed him, remember?" I poked my shoulder, arm, belly--I was tender everywhere. Broo Fang Tane crouched over Merrick's form; he had not yet regained his feet. Seymuhr looked mostly unharmed. He was covered in gore to his elbows, but had a smile on his face. He saluted me with a dripping mace.
"No. You weren't. At least not then. That unfortunate soul belonged to another. My betrothed was here, in this chamber, chained behind that witch." She looked over to the dark place where nothing stirred. "I sensed something, either in you or your companions--I could not tell which--and I knew I had to bring you here to stop her. I know not why she wanted you here."
"Glad to be of service," I muttered and turned away, Tane was motioning to me and Merrick was still on the ground. Concern was etched into the monk's face.
Merrick was red-faced and wheezing. I could see no mark on him, yet blood seeped from the corner of his mouth and, even more alarmingly, his ears. He blinked rapidly and his eyes were wild.
"Mira," he gasped. "We have pulled the root of this evil, but scattered the seeds."
"Rest, friend," I said, stopping to hold his hand. It was cold. "She is no more. We are done here."
He closed his eyes and took a deep, ragged breath. "I am," he said, "but I fear you are not."
"Don't talk like that. The danger has passed, for now. The witch is vanquished, dead and gone; banished to Ewl's dark domain. Where is your wound?"
He didn't answer. He looked up at Tane, whose tender expression was somehow more alarming than anything else. He moved his head toward Seymuhr, who was poking the grisly remnants of the dead witch with a gore-splattered boot. "Reach into my pocket," he rasped.
I did, and felt his leg quivering. My hand closed around an object, smaller than my palm and round, but with a point sticking out on either side near the top. I pulled it out. It was a small metal carving shaped like a round shield with a sword crossed near the top--the symbol of the Ministry of Human Preservation. He folded my fingers around it.
"This is yours now, as is the fight. Go to the queen. Show it to her and, and, tell my tale."
"Stop this," I insisted, my voice thick with sudden grief. "You'll tell her yourself. I am no fighter; I am a storyteller. I am not equipped...."
He went to poke me on my cheek, but spasmed and nearly put out my eye instead. "You are stronger than you know. Only you can do this." Tears welled in his eyes and spilled down his cheek, where they mingled with the blood and turned into pink smears. "You are bound n..." Then a sudden pain jerked him half upright. His eyes squeezed tight and his lips drew back in a final grimace. He went slack with a great sigh.
"A good death," Seymuhr said. He nodded in approval as he snacked on one of his remaining dried spider legs. "We should all be so lucky."
"I'm going to miss him," Tane added. "He was like a...shade...tree...to me."
"I fear we will all walk in his shadow from now on," I said. I gently lowered him to the cavern floor and pushed myself to my feet. I crossed his arms his chest and closed his eyes. His staff, I picked up. "What to do with him now?"
"If you'll allow me," Baram spoke quietly, her head tilted in a sign of respect, "I would give him back to the land. It is a service I would gladly perform to make up for my deception. His form would nurture Korin as much as his soul sought to protect it."
"That would be......................................................................................................................good," Tane agreed finally.
Semuhr lifted Merrick and we headed toward the open air.
"Bones of Barnok," I gasped. I felt like a newly finished suit of armor: exterior still stinging from the blows of countless hammers, hollow inside. I saw Baram's hand above me, reaching out, and I reluctantly grasped it and felt her pull me to my feet.
"I am sorry," she said. "She stole my husband and I believed her lies."
"I was there when we freed him, remember?" I poked my shoulder, arm, belly--I was tender everywhere. Broo Fang Tane crouched over Merrick's form; he had not yet regained his feet. Seymuhr looked mostly unharmed. He was covered in gore to his elbows, but had a smile on his face. He saluted me with a dripping mace.
"No. You weren't. At least not then. That unfortunate soul belonged to another. My betrothed was here, in this chamber, chained behind that witch." She looked over to the dark place where nothing stirred. "I sensed something, either in you or your companions--I could not tell which--and I knew I had to bring you here to stop her. I know not why she wanted you here."
"Glad to be of service," I muttered and turned away, Tane was motioning to me and Merrick was still on the ground. Concern was etched into the monk's face.
Merrick was red-faced and wheezing. I could see no mark on him, yet blood seeped from the corner of his mouth and, even more alarmingly, his ears. He blinked rapidly and his eyes were wild.
"Mira," he gasped. "We have pulled the root of this evil, but scattered the seeds."
"Rest, friend," I said, stopping to hold his hand. It was cold. "She is no more. We are done here."
He closed his eyes and took a deep, ragged breath. "I am," he said, "but I fear you are not."
"Don't talk like that. The danger has passed, for now. The witch is vanquished, dead and gone; banished to Ewl's dark domain. Where is your wound?"
He didn't answer. He looked up at Tane, whose tender expression was somehow more alarming than anything else. He moved his head toward Seymuhr, who was poking the grisly remnants of the dead witch with a gore-splattered boot. "Reach into my pocket," he rasped.
I did, and felt his leg quivering. My hand closed around an object, smaller than my palm and round, but with a point sticking out on either side near the top. I pulled it out. It was a small metal carving shaped like a round shield with a sword crossed near the top--the symbol of the Ministry of Human Preservation. He folded my fingers around it.
"This is yours now, as is the fight. Go to the queen. Show it to her and, and, tell my tale."
"Stop this," I insisted, my voice thick with sudden grief. "You'll tell her yourself. I am no fighter; I am a storyteller. I am not equipped...."
He went to poke me on my cheek, but spasmed and nearly put out my eye instead. "You are stronger than you know. Only you can do this." Tears welled in his eyes and spilled down his cheek, where they mingled with the blood and turned into pink smears. "You are bound n..." Then a sudden pain jerked him half upright. His eyes squeezed tight and his lips drew back in a final grimace. He went slack with a great sigh.
"A good death," Seymuhr said. He nodded in approval as he snacked on one of his remaining dried spider legs. "We should all be so lucky."
"I'm going to miss him," Tane added. "He was like a...shade...tree...to me."
"I fear we will all walk in his shadow from now on," I said. I gently lowered him to the cavern floor and pushed myself to my feet. I crossed his arms his chest and closed his eyes. His staff, I picked up. "What to do with him now?"
"If you'll allow me," Baram spoke quietly, her head tilted in a sign of respect, "I would give him back to the land. It is a service I would gladly perform to make up for my deception. His form would nurture Korin as much as his soul sought to protect it."
"That would be......................................................................................................................good," Tane agreed finally.
Semuhr lifted Merrick and we headed toward the open air.
Thursday, February 18, 2016
The witchwood blade
Previously: Freelance historian Esmiralda and her companions--Merrick, a member of the Ministry of Human Preservation (MOHP), Broo-Fang Tane, an Optimist Monk, and Seymuhr, a brutish but somewhat dim-witted warrior called the Skullsquasher, have fought their way into the lair of the mountain witch to uproot her evil, once and for all...
Baram moved back toward the shadows. She stooped and her form began to roil and change. I watched for a moment, repelled and transfixed at the same time as she began to shrink as her shoulders spread and arms thickened and sprouted wings. Her bones cracked like warming ice and I had to look away for the other noises in the cavern were reaching a crescendo.
I heard Merrick's hoarse breathing and mumbled incantations. The air crackled with energy. Seymuhr sang in a tongue I could not immediately recognize as his maces shattered the shuffling forms in front of him. Broo Fang Tane yowled and barked sharp vicious war cries as he laid ruin to the mass of undead that pushed through the cavern toward us.
The witchwood blade pulsed in my palm. warm and smooth, as if it still carried the current of life that seeped up from the very center of Korin. Witchwood trees were scattered throughout the land; their origins were lost in the knowledge of the ancient races but they were imbued with strange properties and hidden strengths and, some said, an intelligence of their own. I had never seen one, nor felt their magic before. It was astonishing; I felt a connection to the rock beneath my feet and, very faintly, the tortured souls of the shambling horde that sought to destroy us.
The blade drew me toward Abilene's malevolent presence and I sensed that she was aware of its existence. I felt a trickle of fear in her as she paused and turned her attention to me. The witchwood sang in me and propelled me forward. I was at peace.
"You...?" The witch was terrible to behold. All vestiges of its youthful beauty had been blasted away or merely discarded. The perfect skin we had seen moments ago hung in red strips from her jaws. Rotted teeth curved like fangs. Her full, red hair was nothing but twisted dirty ropes that writhed like snakes. And her eyes...despite the magic of the witchwood blade, I could not meet her gaze. One look into those black pits and I knew, blade or not, that my soul would be blasted and lost.
Baram's bird form swooped from the darkness above. It screeched, talons extended, and tore more flesh from Abilene's skull. She shrieked and I saw Merrick fall forward, landing on his knees. He gripped his staff and it might have been the only thing that kept him upright. He wheezed and slumped forward. My heart called to him.
Somehow, I was standing in front of the witch. The knife grew hot in my hand. Its warmth spread up my arm and enveloped me, a sensation so primal it tickled my teeth. She bared her teeth in a fearsome grimace and I could feel her hatred boiling toward me, a black disdain for all life and I thought I was screaming, not yelling in defiance or anger of my own, but screaming in utter horror as I plunged the blade into the side of her ancient skull.
I can scarcely describe what happened next. It was as if a storm descended from the sky and covered us all. My ears were filled with an explosion of sound, like a crack of thunder that spun me around and flung me to the hard floor. A yawning void opened and a bizarre, dank wind assailed us all and carried all sound from the chamber. I thought I had gone deaf until the silence gradually eased. I heard rocks pattering to the ground, Baram moaning softly and someone taking a hoarse breath. That was all.
Baram moved back toward the shadows. She stooped and her form began to roil and change. I watched for a moment, repelled and transfixed at the same time as she began to shrink as her shoulders spread and arms thickened and sprouted wings. Her bones cracked like warming ice and I had to look away for the other noises in the cavern were reaching a crescendo.
I heard Merrick's hoarse breathing and mumbled incantations. The air crackled with energy. Seymuhr sang in a tongue I could not immediately recognize as his maces shattered the shuffling forms in front of him. Broo Fang Tane yowled and barked sharp vicious war cries as he laid ruin to the mass of undead that pushed through the cavern toward us.
The witchwood blade pulsed in my palm. warm and smooth, as if it still carried the current of life that seeped up from the very center of Korin. Witchwood trees were scattered throughout the land; their origins were lost in the knowledge of the ancient races but they were imbued with strange properties and hidden strengths and, some said, an intelligence of their own. I had never seen one, nor felt their magic before. It was astonishing; I felt a connection to the rock beneath my feet and, very faintly, the tortured souls of the shambling horde that sought to destroy us.
The blade drew me toward Abilene's malevolent presence and I sensed that she was aware of its existence. I felt a trickle of fear in her as she paused and turned her attention to me. The witchwood sang in me and propelled me forward. I was at peace.
"You...?" The witch was terrible to behold. All vestiges of its youthful beauty had been blasted away or merely discarded. The perfect skin we had seen moments ago hung in red strips from her jaws. Rotted teeth curved like fangs. Her full, red hair was nothing but twisted dirty ropes that writhed like snakes. And her eyes...despite the magic of the witchwood blade, I could not meet her gaze. One look into those black pits and I knew, blade or not, that my soul would be blasted and lost.
Baram's bird form swooped from the darkness above. It screeched, talons extended, and tore more flesh from Abilene's skull. She shrieked and I saw Merrick fall forward, landing on his knees. He gripped his staff and it might have been the only thing that kept him upright. He wheezed and slumped forward. My heart called to him.
Somehow, I was standing in front of the witch. The knife grew hot in my hand. Its warmth spread up my arm and enveloped me, a sensation so primal it tickled my teeth. She bared her teeth in a fearsome grimace and I could feel her hatred boiling toward me, a black disdain for all life and I thought I was screaming, not yelling in defiance or anger of my own, but screaming in utter horror as I plunged the blade into the side of her ancient skull.
I can scarcely describe what happened next. It was as if a storm descended from the sky and covered us all. My ears were filled with an explosion of sound, like a crack of thunder that spun me around and flung me to the hard floor. A yawning void opened and a bizarre, dank wind assailed us all and carried all sound from the chamber. I thought I had gone deaf until the silence gradually eased. I heard rocks pattering to the ground, Baram moaning softly and someone taking a hoarse breath. That was all.
Tuesday, February 9, 2016
Battle under the mountain
Previously: Freelance historian Esmiralda and her companions--Merrick, a member of the Ministry of Human Preservation (MOHP), Broo-Fang Tane, an Optimist Monk, and Seymuhr, a brutish but somewhat dim-witted warrior called the Skullsquasher, have fought their way into the lair of the mountain witch to uproot her evil, once and for all...
Broo Fang Tane let loose another stone that ripped through the air and bounced off the witch's cheek. This time, the impact loosened the flesh on her face like a ripple in a still pond: the skin roiled and dropped and fell, revealing a curved jaw studded with pointed, blackened teeth. Her eyes turned black and cold and an inhuman shriek filled the chamber, so ghastly and shrill that I covered my ears--nearly stabbing myself with my knife in the process.
A wave of cold energy swept over me and knocked me to the ground. For a second I couldn't breathe--it felt like snakes made of ice were wriggling up my nose. I rolled, spat and coughed. My companions had fared better. Merrick was still on his feet, although the wave of cold had knocked him a few steps backward. Tane had joined Seymuhr, who battled the horde of shuffling dead things that cut off our escape. They were violence and destruction personified--Seymuhr with his two maces causing ruin wherever they landed and Tane a one-man storm of chaotic precision. His fists and feet scattered liquefied brains and putrefied flesh wherever they landed. His eyes were wide with rage and nearly every blow was punctuated by his bizarre, high-pitched war cry. Both of them were coated with gore.
"On your feet, woman!" Merrick hissed at me. His face was red, his eyes puffing and his chest heaving. He growled some form on incantation and cocked his fingers in what looked like a painful fashion, but the mountain witch only cackled at his attempt to overcome her own magic.
I rolled, grabbed my knife again and said a prayer. My heart raced and I tasted dirt and stone. What could I do? I could be no help to Seymuhr or Broo Fang Tane--they appeared to be holding their own. It was Merrick who was failing. He was clearly overmatched. I crawled off to the side of the cavern, where the shadows were deeper, and made my way laboriously around the cavern. Maybe Merrick could distract Abilene long enough for me to strike her. If my simple blade would have any effect, I did not know.
The air sizzled with arcane energy and stank of rot. Sounds unlike any I had ever heard assailed my ears, horrible syllables that awakened in me an icy panic. I am shamed to admit it now, but I found myself cowering in the shadows, covering my head with my arms in a futile attempt to block those repulsive noises. I whimpered and tried to will my body to move to help, to stand and strike, but could not. My fingers felt for the Traveling Stone that rested between my bosom. Escape was so close; I could call on its magic and be free almost instantly.
Merrick shouted in pain just then, and I pulled my hand away. Tears burned in the corner of my eye. I felt dirty and small. I forced myself to my elbows and crawled forward--until I saw a ragged pair of boots in front of me. Baram. With a tremendous effort, I lifted my head and saw her gazing down on me.
"What?" I gasped and spat. "Have you come now to finish your work, witch?"
"Yes," she said. She half-opened a hand, revealing a twisted piece of wood that I first mistook for a broken shard of bark. The she twisted it and I saw it was a slender blade, not carved, I somehow knew, but shaped through some other means. I was unfamiliar with the making of it, but I recognized it for what it was and I could scarcely believe it--even after Baram ran a thumb over its edge and her bright blood spilled in a straight, thin line.
"Is that...witchwood?"
She nodded once and pressed the blade into my palm. At once I felt its warmth, like I was enveloped in an invigorating bath. I stood.
"We must hurry," she said. "Our time here wanes."
Next: The Witchwood Blade
Broo Fang Tane let loose another stone that ripped through the air and bounced off the witch's cheek. This time, the impact loosened the flesh on her face like a ripple in a still pond: the skin roiled and dropped and fell, revealing a curved jaw studded with pointed, blackened teeth. Her eyes turned black and cold and an inhuman shriek filled the chamber, so ghastly and shrill that I covered my ears--nearly stabbing myself with my knife in the process.
A wave of cold energy swept over me and knocked me to the ground. For a second I couldn't breathe--it felt like snakes made of ice were wriggling up my nose. I rolled, spat and coughed. My companions had fared better. Merrick was still on his feet, although the wave of cold had knocked him a few steps backward. Tane had joined Seymuhr, who battled the horde of shuffling dead things that cut off our escape. They were violence and destruction personified--Seymuhr with his two maces causing ruin wherever they landed and Tane a one-man storm of chaotic precision. His fists and feet scattered liquefied brains and putrefied flesh wherever they landed. His eyes were wide with rage and nearly every blow was punctuated by his bizarre, high-pitched war cry. Both of them were coated with gore.
"On your feet, woman!" Merrick hissed at me. His face was red, his eyes puffing and his chest heaving. He growled some form on incantation and cocked his fingers in what looked like a painful fashion, but the mountain witch only cackled at his attempt to overcome her own magic.
I rolled, grabbed my knife again and said a prayer. My heart raced and I tasted dirt and stone. What could I do? I could be no help to Seymuhr or Broo Fang Tane--they appeared to be holding their own. It was Merrick who was failing. He was clearly overmatched. I crawled off to the side of the cavern, where the shadows were deeper, and made my way laboriously around the cavern. Maybe Merrick could distract Abilene long enough for me to strike her. If my simple blade would have any effect, I did not know.
The air sizzled with arcane energy and stank of rot. Sounds unlike any I had ever heard assailed my ears, horrible syllables that awakened in me an icy panic. I am shamed to admit it now, but I found myself cowering in the shadows, covering my head with my arms in a futile attempt to block those repulsive noises. I whimpered and tried to will my body to move to help, to stand and strike, but could not. My fingers felt for the Traveling Stone that rested between my bosom. Escape was so close; I could call on its magic and be free almost instantly.
Merrick shouted in pain just then, and I pulled my hand away. Tears burned in the corner of my eye. I felt dirty and small. I forced myself to my elbows and crawled forward--until I saw a ragged pair of boots in front of me. Baram. With a tremendous effort, I lifted my head and saw her gazing down on me.
"What?" I gasped and spat. "Have you come now to finish your work, witch?"
"Yes," she said. She half-opened a hand, revealing a twisted piece of wood that I first mistook for a broken shard of bark. The she twisted it and I saw it was a slender blade, not carved, I somehow knew, but shaped through some other means. I was unfamiliar with the making of it, but I recognized it for what it was and I could scarcely believe it--even after Baram ran a thumb over its edge and her bright blood spilled in a straight, thin line.
"Is that...witchwood?"
She nodded once and pressed the blade into my palm. At once I felt its warmth, like I was enveloped in an invigorating bath. I stood.
"We must hurry," she said. "Our time here wanes."
Next: The Witchwood Blade
Monday, January 25, 2016
Which witch is which
Previously: Freelance historian Esmiralda and her companions--Merrick, a member of the Ministry of Human Preservation (MOHP), Broo-Fang Tane, an Optimist Monk, and Seymuhr, a brutish but somewhat dim-witted warrior called the Skullsquasher, have fought their way into the lair of the mountain witch to uproot her evil, once and for all...
The air turned bitterly cold as we approached the red flickering light. My feet protested each time I took a step forward, as if my lower bones rebelled against the chill that leapt up like frozen daggers from the ground. I saw varying degrees of effort on my companions' faces as the light intensified. Only Baram looked immune--perhaps the forest sage was in tune with the land no matter what the overlying conditions were; the stale heat of summer, the fresh winds of spring and autumn, the icy grip of winter. Whatever the reason, she walked steadily behind us, urging us silently toward our goal.
Which we saw when we rounded a final bend.
The rock opened before us. Jagged walls reached toward the sky and were lost in the blackness. Below, the red light pulsated, not created by some form of flame or forge or even magic, but seeping from rents in the stone that looked like open wounds. The stench was horrendous; it pushed back against us, baked into our nostrils but the sudden heat. I gagged.
The floor was littered with crawling, twitching things that had once been human. Their scattered remains convulsed is a grisly dance that was terrible to behold, as if their death had not brought them any peace but instead increased their torment. They writhed and shrieked and wailed as they wiggled toward us, groping toward our ankles with rotting fingers.
Merrick dragged the bottom of his staff in front of us, as if he could create a line in the filth-blackened stone. He mumbled something and the gem at the stop of his staff began to glow. Broo Fang Tane pulled his chained weapon from his belt and swung it in a circle, a low battle cry forming at the base of his throat.
I moved behind Seymuhr and stared at the bizarre spectacle that awaited us.
Abilene herself--so I assumed--lounged on a slab of rock that was elevated from the cavern floor on a heap of ancient bone. I didn't know what I had expected--some form of vile, age shrunken wraith with burning eyes and sagging flesh, perhaps--but her appearance surprised me. She was short, plump, with red hair and freckled cheeks that looked more youthful than my own. A black cloth covered her ample bosom and another was tied around her wide hips. Still her bright green eyes and full lips oozed a sort of feminine promise. I could see how Harfigorn could have fallen under her spell and why his crew would have blindly followed them both.
"Hello," she said in a voice that was surprisingly mild and pleasant.
"Hi." Seymuhr answered. Then shook his head slightly, as if to clear it, when Merrick elbowed him.
"I must admit, I didn't think you'd go through with it," Abilene said. "A testament to the power of love, or some such thing."
"Wouldn't...?" Merrick was clearly as puzzled as I was. He looked at me, confusion in his gaze, then scratched his scalp.
Abilene's laugh was melodic. She bent over, her hands between her thighs, as her green eyes lit with mischief. Even I felt my gaze drawn toward the shadows of her cleavage, the promise of her somehow still vibrant womanhood. "Oh, come now," she slid a slender tongue over her perfect teeth--not hanged and chipped as I had expected, at all. "Come forward. Your task is done. Admirably done. Your reward awaits."
Seymuhr took half a step. An exclamation burst from my throat. Merrick clutched at his shoulder.
Abilene's voice was suddenly cold as iron. "Not. You, irf." She lifted her gaze above his head and crooked a finger. "Come forth, woman."
"Irf?" I glanced at Seymuhr. Irf? He had the old blood in his veins? Then I saw Baram steel herself and step forward, pushing a stunned Merrick aside. She gave me a mournful gaze as she walked toward Abilene's perch. My stomach went sour and my throat went dry. "No."
She didn't answer, but Abilene laughed again. "'Fraid so, dear. Did you think you could survive long enough to find me if I didn't want you to? I rule this place. All that happens is within my will -- and my will alone."
Baram walked stiffly toward the divan, shoulders set and head held high, as if she had to force herself not to look over her shoulder at us. She headed not directly to Abilene, but a recess in the cave wall to her right. In the darkness beyond the throne I could barely make out what looked like bars.
"No matter," Merrick called. "You only speed your doom. We are here to stop you."
"You are here," Abilene corrected in a frosty voice, "to advance my dominion over this land. Your companions are here to witness it and carry that image and the knowledge of how powerless they are to their graves. It is boon I will grant you, so your death may be a relief."
"That's very kind of you," Seymuhr said.
I glared at him, shocked. Was he in the grip of some type of charm?
"What?" He sounded defensive. "She didn't have to do that."
I opened and closed my mouth several times as I tried to find something to say to that. Then several things happened at once. Baram, hidden within the recess behind Abilene's throne, shrieked in horror and rage. Broo Fang Tane let out a high-pitched war cry and I saw a smooth stone fly from his sling and strike the witch on the forehead. She snarled and wiped away the blood that blossomed there--and a small sheet of perfect skin came off with it, revealing yellow bone. The jewel atop Merrick's staff was blazing and it sounded like he was singing. Rasping sounds filled the cavern behind us and Seymuhr turned that way, a mace in each hand and a grim smile on his face.
Just like that, the battle was joined. I stood in the middle, unsure of where to direct my attention or which foe to fight.
The air turned bitterly cold as we approached the red flickering light. My feet protested each time I took a step forward, as if my lower bones rebelled against the chill that leapt up like frozen daggers from the ground. I saw varying degrees of effort on my companions' faces as the light intensified. Only Baram looked immune--perhaps the forest sage was in tune with the land no matter what the overlying conditions were; the stale heat of summer, the fresh winds of spring and autumn, the icy grip of winter. Whatever the reason, she walked steadily behind us, urging us silently toward our goal.
Which we saw when we rounded a final bend.
The rock opened before us. Jagged walls reached toward the sky and were lost in the blackness. Below, the red light pulsated, not created by some form of flame or forge or even magic, but seeping from rents in the stone that looked like open wounds. The stench was horrendous; it pushed back against us, baked into our nostrils but the sudden heat. I gagged.
The floor was littered with crawling, twitching things that had once been human. Their scattered remains convulsed is a grisly dance that was terrible to behold, as if their death had not brought them any peace but instead increased their torment. They writhed and shrieked and wailed as they wiggled toward us, groping toward our ankles with rotting fingers.
Merrick dragged the bottom of his staff in front of us, as if he could create a line in the filth-blackened stone. He mumbled something and the gem at the stop of his staff began to glow. Broo Fang Tane pulled his chained weapon from his belt and swung it in a circle, a low battle cry forming at the base of his throat.
I moved behind Seymuhr and stared at the bizarre spectacle that awaited us.
Abilene herself--so I assumed--lounged on a slab of rock that was elevated from the cavern floor on a heap of ancient bone. I didn't know what I had expected--some form of vile, age shrunken wraith with burning eyes and sagging flesh, perhaps--but her appearance surprised me. She was short, plump, with red hair and freckled cheeks that looked more youthful than my own. A black cloth covered her ample bosom and another was tied around her wide hips. Still her bright green eyes and full lips oozed a sort of feminine promise. I could see how Harfigorn could have fallen under her spell and why his crew would have blindly followed them both.
"Hello," she said in a voice that was surprisingly mild and pleasant.
"Hi." Seymuhr answered. Then shook his head slightly, as if to clear it, when Merrick elbowed him.
"I must admit, I didn't think you'd go through with it," Abilene said. "A testament to the power of love, or some such thing."
"Wouldn't...?" Merrick was clearly as puzzled as I was. He looked at me, confusion in his gaze, then scratched his scalp.
Abilene's laugh was melodic. She bent over, her hands between her thighs, as her green eyes lit with mischief. Even I felt my gaze drawn toward the shadows of her cleavage, the promise of her somehow still vibrant womanhood. "Oh, come now," she slid a slender tongue over her perfect teeth--not hanged and chipped as I had expected, at all. "Come forward. Your task is done. Admirably done. Your reward awaits."
Seymuhr took half a step. An exclamation burst from my throat. Merrick clutched at his shoulder.
Abilene's voice was suddenly cold as iron. "Not. You, irf." She lifted her gaze above his head and crooked a finger. "Come forth, woman."
"Irf?" I glanced at Seymuhr. Irf? He had the old blood in his veins? Then I saw Baram steel herself and step forward, pushing a stunned Merrick aside. She gave me a mournful gaze as she walked toward Abilene's perch. My stomach went sour and my throat went dry. "No."
She didn't answer, but Abilene laughed again. "'Fraid so, dear. Did you think you could survive long enough to find me if I didn't want you to? I rule this place. All that happens is within my will -- and my will alone."
Baram walked stiffly toward the divan, shoulders set and head held high, as if she had to force herself not to look over her shoulder at us. She headed not directly to Abilene, but a recess in the cave wall to her right. In the darkness beyond the throne I could barely make out what looked like bars.
"No matter," Merrick called. "You only speed your doom. We are here to stop you."
"You are here," Abilene corrected in a frosty voice, "to advance my dominion over this land. Your companions are here to witness it and carry that image and the knowledge of how powerless they are to their graves. It is boon I will grant you, so your death may be a relief."
"That's very kind of you," Seymuhr said.
I glared at him, shocked. Was he in the grip of some type of charm?
"What?" He sounded defensive. "She didn't have to do that."
I opened and closed my mouth several times as I tried to find something to say to that. Then several things happened at once. Baram, hidden within the recess behind Abilene's throne, shrieked in horror and rage. Broo Fang Tane let out a high-pitched war cry and I saw a smooth stone fly from his sling and strike the witch on the forehead. She snarled and wiped away the blood that blossomed there--and a small sheet of perfect skin came off with it, revealing yellow bone. The jewel atop Merrick's staff was blazing and it sounded like he was singing. Rasping sounds filled the cavern behind us and Seymuhr turned that way, a mace in each hand and a grim smile on his face.
Just like that, the battle was joined. I stood in the middle, unsure of where to direct my attention or which foe to fight.
Monday, January 11, 2016
The witch's armpit
Previously: Freelance historian Esmiralda and her companions--Merrick, a member of the Ministry of Human Preservation (MOHP), Broo-Fang Tane, an Optimist Monk, and Seymuhr, a brutish but somewhat dim-witted warrior called the Skullsquasher, have fought their way into the lair of the mountain witch to uproot her evil, once and for all...
Inside, the wind stopped and the air pressed against us, dank and still. The smell of death was nearly tangible. I pulled my scarf over my nose.
"It wasn't me," Seymuhr said.
"This time," I allowed.
Broo-Fang Tane crept up the cavern and peered around a bend. What he hoped to see, I could not know. It was darker than pitch inside the cave, a blackness that had no beginning or end.
Behind us, Abilene's army of collected souls swayed, hissed and moaned, but did not follow us. Merrick was looking that way, too.
"What if they press in behind us?"
"I don't think they will," he answered me. He sounded grim. "I believe they have, for now, served their purpose. They will prohibit our retreat. We can only go forward now."
"We could fight our way out," Seymuhr said. "They are slow, clumsy and weak. And there aren't as many, now. I saw to that."
"We did," Merrick agreed. "My suspicion is the witch's black power controls those wretches. If we are successful in destroying her, that hold will be broken and those poor creatures will gain their eternal rest."
"And if we're not?"
He looked at me. "Then it won't matter."
I shuddered. Had those unliving things once held the same thoughts as we did? Had they come here seeking to end Abilene's evil? What a bitter irony, then, to be forced into her service.
"If it comes to that..."
"Don't worry," Seymuhr said with a mischievous grin. "I'll free you from the witch's embrace, no matter how many times I have to kill you."
"How gracious of you."
"I would expect the same of you."
I nodded with a thin smile. If Seymuhr fell to the witch, I would most likely run as fast and as far as I could, or invoke my Traveling Stone to escape. With power such as his at her command, what chance would we have? Nope. Escape, find a shoreline, steal a boat and set sail.
We foundered along, feeling our way through the darkness. I could see nothing, not even the shapes of my companions. We bumped into each other, struck walls and knocked our heads on low hanging rocks that felt like daggers that scraped our skulls. Now and again I heard the sound of one of Semuhr's maces striking the soft stone. Later he told me that he held one just above his forehead and used the other as a sort of beggar's cane to protect himself from roof and wall.
Merrick bit back a yelp of pain and muttered a string of profanities so long and foul I thought my ears would curl up and hide inside my head to escape the sound of it.
"Balliessen's bleeding bitch," he muttered at the end of it. I heard him rubbing his forehead faster than a carpenter trying to smooth a piece of pine without first removing the bark. "This armpit of a cavern is itself defeating us!"
I nearly hissed at him to be silent, but then realized our attempts to move quietly through the cavern should have been abandoned long before. We were probably making more noise than a carriage careening down a staircase--horses and all. We would have had a better chance of surprising the dark witch if we had crawled through the stagnant pools at our feet.
We decided to move closer together, our left hand on the shoulder of the person in front of us. Seymuhr took the lead, then Tane, then me and Merrick. Even so, our progress was slow and painful. I had already taken so many blows to the head that I felt dazed. The emptiness around me played tricks on my mind; I was certain I was falling forward, or sideways or backward. Were it not for Tane's steady, but improbably slender, shoulder to hold on to, I surely would have flopped around in the darkness like a beached pike gasping for air.
Then I noticed two things: there was no pursuit, no sound of a shuffling mob behind us. And the darkness was fading. Gradually, I could make out Seymuhr's squat, wide form, mace held high. Tane looked at me, a hopeful expression on his face. The walls took shape, gnarled and twisted and bumpy as a pox-ridden bull, framed in an eerie, flickering redness that beckoned from beyond a curve.
We were close. At last.
Inside, the wind stopped and the air pressed against us, dank and still. The smell of death was nearly tangible. I pulled my scarf over my nose.
"It wasn't me," Seymuhr said.
"This time," I allowed.
Broo-Fang Tane crept up the cavern and peered around a bend. What he hoped to see, I could not know. It was darker than pitch inside the cave, a blackness that had no beginning or end.
Behind us, Abilene's army of collected souls swayed, hissed and moaned, but did not follow us. Merrick was looking that way, too.
"What if they press in behind us?"
"I don't think they will," he answered me. He sounded grim. "I believe they have, for now, served their purpose. They will prohibit our retreat. We can only go forward now."
"We could fight our way out," Seymuhr said. "They are slow, clumsy and weak. And there aren't as many, now. I saw to that."
"We did," Merrick agreed. "My suspicion is the witch's black power controls those wretches. If we are successful in destroying her, that hold will be broken and those poor creatures will gain their eternal rest."
"And if we're not?"
He looked at me. "Then it won't matter."
I shuddered. Had those unliving things once held the same thoughts as we did? Had they come here seeking to end Abilene's evil? What a bitter irony, then, to be forced into her service.
"If it comes to that..."
"Don't worry," Seymuhr said with a mischievous grin. "I'll free you from the witch's embrace, no matter how many times I have to kill you."
"How gracious of you."
"I would expect the same of you."
I nodded with a thin smile. If Seymuhr fell to the witch, I would most likely run as fast and as far as I could, or invoke my Traveling Stone to escape. With power such as his at her command, what chance would we have? Nope. Escape, find a shoreline, steal a boat and set sail.
We foundered along, feeling our way through the darkness. I could see nothing, not even the shapes of my companions. We bumped into each other, struck walls and knocked our heads on low hanging rocks that felt like daggers that scraped our skulls. Now and again I heard the sound of one of Semuhr's maces striking the soft stone. Later he told me that he held one just above his forehead and used the other as a sort of beggar's cane to protect himself from roof and wall.
Merrick bit back a yelp of pain and muttered a string of profanities so long and foul I thought my ears would curl up and hide inside my head to escape the sound of it.
"Balliessen's bleeding bitch," he muttered at the end of it. I heard him rubbing his forehead faster than a carpenter trying to smooth a piece of pine without first removing the bark. "This armpit of a cavern is itself defeating us!"
I nearly hissed at him to be silent, but then realized our attempts to move quietly through the cavern should have been abandoned long before. We were probably making more noise than a carriage careening down a staircase--horses and all. We would have had a better chance of surprising the dark witch if we had crawled through the stagnant pools at our feet.
We decided to move closer together, our left hand on the shoulder of the person in front of us. Seymuhr took the lead, then Tane, then me and Merrick. Even so, our progress was slow and painful. I had already taken so many blows to the head that I felt dazed. The emptiness around me played tricks on my mind; I was certain I was falling forward, or sideways or backward. Were it not for Tane's steady, but improbably slender, shoulder to hold on to, I surely would have flopped around in the darkness like a beached pike gasping for air.
Then I noticed two things: there was no pursuit, no sound of a shuffling mob behind us. And the darkness was fading. Gradually, I could make out Seymuhr's squat, wide form, mace held high. Tane looked at me, a hopeful expression on his face. The walls took shape, gnarled and twisted and bumpy as a pox-ridden bull, framed in an eerie, flickering redness that beckoned from beyond a curve.
We were close. At last.
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