“Can you hear me? Don’t be afraid.”
Chula scrambled away from the thicket. Where had the voice come from? It was deep and stern. Not boisterous like another ogre’s.
“What are you?” Chula asked.
“I am the power to make impossible into reality. I am magic. For you,” the voice said.
Chula was an ogre. Ogres were not magical. Though they appeared to be dim-witted monsters they were much like any other mortal race. But they were never wizards.
“You are not for me,” Chula said. “Ogres don’t use magic.”
Then she fled to her camp. At this time of year when the sun rose early and set late her family led buffalo through the plateaus. When the days turned dark they would retreat to the caves.
Her father was making arrows for the day’s hunt and Chula ran to his arms. She did not speak. Words weren’t needed. Her fear was obvious to him. Ogres usually had nothing to fear. His arms were enough comfort that she could return to her duties.
Plants infested the plateau. Many were poisonous, some were delicious. Chula knew how to spot each one. Today she searched for food. Another day she could be searching for medicines or even weapons.
“You return,” the voice said.
Chula looked around. It was not the same bush. The spirit was following her.
“Go away.”
“No.”
“Ogres are not magical,” Chula said.
“No mortal is magic. My kind are magic,” the voice said. “My kind are afraid of the Ogres. That is why you are never our wizards. But you are different. I overcame my fear to speak to you. I ask that you do the same.”
Magic had fears?
“What do you want?” Chula asked.
“You,” the voice said. “To be my wizard,”
Chula looked around. She couldn’t run away. The spirit would always follow. Her only hope was to reason with it.
“I don’t want power.”
“Yes you do,” the voice said. “Why do you study the plants if not to gain power from them? Why do you follow the animals and learn their instincts if not to gain their power? You have gained so much power already that other mortals could not dream of. Take this final gift from me. Be my wizard.”
The voice was closer now. It pleaded to her. She could almost feel herself becoming a wizard then and there. She could raise mountains and summon storms. She had true power at her fingertips.
But to what end? She had no use for this gift. With that thought the spirit retreated.
“I will wait,” it said.
Chula returned home much later in the day with all the food she could carry but the camp was not its usual buzz of activity. The Ogres were huddled together around something and Chula rushed over to see her father lying on his back with a huge spear in his stomach.
“The hill men attacked us on the hunt,” Cousin Bran said. “Can you help him?”
The spear was in deep. Her father was dying. No amount of medical skill could save him. Chula reached for her knife so she could end his suffering, but she hesitated. The voice was closer than ever.
“I am waiting.”
Tuesday, April 3, 2012
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
Return of a cursed one
Lebogan Shah peered through the slit in his door at the streets that were growing darker by the second. Soon the Parson's voices would be heard through the city of Dalasca, declaring the streets safe for the 'cursed ones'. That was what Lebogan Shah was called.
It had been that way for centuries in Dalasca. The blessed walk the streets by day, the cursed by night. Always separated.
"Retreat now blessed ones," the Parsons' song could be heard. "Lest the cursed corrupt your soul. Return now cursed ones, if you've the will to leave your hole."
A foolish chant, but it had been sung each day for centuries. The blessed would return to their homes and the cursed would emerge.
Shah's door opened. Dalasca was dirty and smelled of squalor and poverty but compared to his house the air felt cool and fresh. Other cursed were emerging, snarling at any blessed ones who remained in the streets. The blessed ones, the Altari, would be gone from the streets in minutes. The night belonged to the Krull, the cursed.
The streets and alleys were unlit and no moon graced the sky but Shah could see clearly. He walked amongst the cursed Krull, their skin like coal. A few gave him strange glances but most were used to his ghostly complexion in these streets. The night began like any other, until he saw a face he thought he knew, before it disappeared. Shah moved to follow. To find one who escaped his presence.
He knew the face, if his eyes did not deceive. Veska Ayari, one of the cursed maidens, a daughter of the Kingdom of Krull. Shah had not seen her in years and thought he'd never see her again. The sight of her alone nearly warmed the blood in his veins.
Shah had not always been cursed. As a child he walked by day among the blessed. A child of the Altari Empire. But he was forever curious and took to leaving his house at night, to spy on the cursed ones.
He had seen Veska, a girl with such passion and beauty couldn't exist among the blessed. He spoke with her and won her heart, but they could never be together. He was blessed, she was cursed.
Shah had left the city, not yet a grown man, to find a solution and he though he found it in the far off city of Mazanad. A man with ghostly white skin, cursed as teh Krull were to never see the light of the sun. Shah had asked the man to share his curse and the man bit into his neck, nearly killing him. But when he woke the curse had already begun.
Shah returned to Dalasca but Veska was horrified at him. She screamed he had given up his mortality. That he could no longer feel, no longer love. His curse was a thousand times worse than hers and she ran away, never to be seen or heard of by Shah again.
He ran through the streets. Trying to feel excitement, like those days so many years ago when he tried to feel heart broken, but could only feel emptiness. With thoughts of Veska so close Shah could almost remember how to be passionate. He tried to focus on thoughts of her eyes, her lips, her breasts. But his mind could only rest on her neck.
Shah froze. Something sharp was being held at the back of his heart.
"Lebogan Shah," Veska's voice was unmistakable. "It has been a long time."
It had been that way for centuries in Dalasca. The blessed walk the streets by day, the cursed by night. Always separated.
"Retreat now blessed ones," the Parsons' song could be heard. "Lest the cursed corrupt your soul. Return now cursed ones, if you've the will to leave your hole."
A foolish chant, but it had been sung each day for centuries. The blessed would return to their homes and the cursed would emerge.
Shah's door opened. Dalasca was dirty and smelled of squalor and poverty but compared to his house the air felt cool and fresh. Other cursed were emerging, snarling at any blessed ones who remained in the streets. The blessed ones, the Altari, would be gone from the streets in minutes. The night belonged to the Krull, the cursed.
The streets and alleys were unlit and no moon graced the sky but Shah could see clearly. He walked amongst the cursed Krull, their skin like coal. A few gave him strange glances but most were used to his ghostly complexion in these streets. The night began like any other, until he saw a face he thought he knew, before it disappeared. Shah moved to follow. To find one who escaped his presence.
He knew the face, if his eyes did not deceive. Veska Ayari, one of the cursed maidens, a daughter of the Kingdom of Krull. Shah had not seen her in years and thought he'd never see her again. The sight of her alone nearly warmed the blood in his veins.
Shah had not always been cursed. As a child he walked by day among the blessed. A child of the Altari Empire. But he was forever curious and took to leaving his house at night, to spy on the cursed ones.
He had seen Veska, a girl with such passion and beauty couldn't exist among the blessed. He spoke with her and won her heart, but they could never be together. He was blessed, she was cursed.
Shah had left the city, not yet a grown man, to find a solution and he though he found it in the far off city of Mazanad. A man with ghostly white skin, cursed as teh Krull were to never see the light of the sun. Shah had asked the man to share his curse and the man bit into his neck, nearly killing him. But when he woke the curse had already begun.
Shah returned to Dalasca but Veska was horrified at him. She screamed he had given up his mortality. That he could no longer feel, no longer love. His curse was a thousand times worse than hers and she ran away, never to be seen or heard of by Shah again.
He ran through the streets. Trying to feel excitement, like those days so many years ago when he tried to feel heart broken, but could only feel emptiness. With thoughts of Veska so close Shah could almost remember how to be passionate. He tried to focus on thoughts of her eyes, her lips, her breasts. But his mind could only rest on her neck.
Shah froze. Something sharp was being held at the back of his heart.
"Lebogan Shah," Veska's voice was unmistakable. "It has been a long time."
Thursday, March 1, 2012
The Broken Bottle
Joe lay on his dirty old couch on his back porch. He'd spent the night there, although he couldn't remember falling asleep.
His friends had come for a party to celebrate his escape from his vile marriage. That was the night before. Now there was just the usual devestation of the morning after.
Joe stared blankly at the unpolished deck. Tooheys cans and bundy cans everywhere. And the bottle of Smirnoff, smashed, broken shards all over the place.
It was not broken in clumsy drunkedness. It was in anger. All nights ended in anger for Joe. She was not the problem, he was. No wonder no friends had stayed to help clean up. Joe drove everyone away.
They had been so happy to begin with but the pressure of life had changed Joe. And after that he had changed her. Changed her into the witch she became, before she finally ended it with that piece of paper.
His friends had seen it all. They would support him but they also blamed him. All the jokes in the world didn't change their judging eys. He drove them away when he drove her away. Soon he would have nothing.
If only he could go back. To a time when he was not broken. But just like that bottle he could not go back.
His friends had come for a party to celebrate his escape from his vile marriage. That was the night before. Now there was just the usual devestation of the morning after.
Joe stared blankly at the unpolished deck. Tooheys cans and bundy cans everywhere. And the bottle of Smirnoff, smashed, broken shards all over the place.
It was not broken in clumsy drunkedness. It was in anger. All nights ended in anger for Joe. She was not the problem, he was. No wonder no friends had stayed to help clean up. Joe drove everyone away.
They had been so happy to begin with but the pressure of life had changed Joe. And after that he had changed her. Changed her into the witch she became, before she finally ended it with that piece of paper.
His friends had seen it all. They would support him but they also blamed him. All the jokes in the world didn't change their judging eys. He drove them away when he drove her away. Soon he would have nothing.
If only he could go back. To a time when he was not broken. But just like that bottle he could not go back.
Monday, February 27, 2012
Rain
A single drip and then a patter, so begins the rain
I watch it with an aire of dread out through my window pane
The night is fast approaching and the day will soon refrain
And all the while there's water flowing quickly down the drain
The rain's mystique in my mind is anything but inane
Its origins could only be the work of the arcane
So high and far its world is impossible to attain
Out of reach and understanding no matter how hard we strain
Tonight the rain will surely bring another type of pain
I try to not think thoughts that are easy to entertain
Perhaps there is a way, a sort of injury to feign
Alas I can't avoid it, hockey training in the rain
I watch it with an aire of dread out through my window pane
The night is fast approaching and the day will soon refrain
And all the while there's water flowing quickly down the drain
The rain's mystique in my mind is anything but inane
Its origins could only be the work of the arcane
So high and far its world is impossible to attain
Out of reach and understanding no matter how hard we strain
Tonight the rain will surely bring another type of pain
I try to not think thoughts that are easy to entertain
Perhaps there is a way, a sort of injury to feign
Alas I can't avoid it, hockey training in the rain
Tuesday, February 21, 2012
Between the Shelves
Nebba scurried back to his hiding place as the dusty Dickens was taken. He felt a pang of regret, why choose that copy? The readers usually wanted the new editions with the shiny pages. But Nebba loved the smell of the old ones. There was work to do so Nebba slid down the back of the shelves to find his next vessel.
Books held amazing power, they could transfer a reader into another world for hours to safely return when they put the book down. Creatures like Nebba gave the books power.
Nebba did not like being in the open air, he dashed across the carpet and leaped into a new volume, Huxley this time, weaving through each page like deer through a forest. He delighted in every word, every syllable and every letter. The book was now ready for an eager reader to enjoy.
It broke Nebba's heart to see books taken that he had not prepared. The reader would struggle through lifeless pages and no doubt put the book down. With good fortune they may return and take another but many didn't. Readers lost for Nebba's shortcomings.
If it were possible Nebba would enchant every book, but he was only one and there was not enough time. Leaping out of Huxley and back to the carpet, skipping between the eager readers shoes and into an Eddings.
His life was always under threat. The books were powerful objects and became even more dangerous after he brought the pages to life. He could take join in their words but never their stories. For when one of his kind was drawn into the story they could not escape like the readers could. They would be trapped and become a part of the story.
So many had fallen in this way, becoming characters in narratives, slaves in paper and ink. It was the constant threat to Nebba's kind. So curious to know the world they sent readers to they needed a will of cast iron to resist.
Nebba knew that one day he too would succumb. He too would become a character in an amazing narrative, drawing readers into every scene. But for now he could still take joy in the simple things. Words, letters, suffixes and similes. And the smell of old books.
Books held amazing power, they could transfer a reader into another world for hours to safely return when they put the book down. Creatures like Nebba gave the books power.
Nebba did not like being in the open air, he dashed across the carpet and leaped into a new volume, Huxley this time, weaving through each page like deer through a forest. He delighted in every word, every syllable and every letter. The book was now ready for an eager reader to enjoy.
It broke Nebba's heart to see books taken that he had not prepared. The reader would struggle through lifeless pages and no doubt put the book down. With good fortune they may return and take another but many didn't. Readers lost for Nebba's shortcomings.
If it were possible Nebba would enchant every book, but he was only one and there was not enough time. Leaping out of Huxley and back to the carpet, skipping between the eager readers shoes and into an Eddings.
His life was always under threat. The books were powerful objects and became even more dangerous after he brought the pages to life. He could take join in their words but never their stories. For when one of his kind was drawn into the story they could not escape like the readers could. They would be trapped and become a part of the story.
So many had fallen in this way, becoming characters in narratives, slaves in paper and ink. It was the constant threat to Nebba's kind. So curious to know the world they sent readers to they needed a will of cast iron to resist.
Nebba knew that one day he too would succumb. He too would become a character in an amazing narrative, drawing readers into every scene. But for now he could still take joy in the simple things. Words, letters, suffixes and similes. And the smell of old books.
Saturday, February 18, 2012
Krull Assassin, Part 2
Kekai followed the elf servant girl through the labyrinth that was the palace of King Baredah. The other Krull Assassins and the Arcaner Mardai followed. The went up and down different flights of stairs, made as many left turns as they did right turns. There was no direct way to navigate this place. Only perfect knowledge of every corridor would ensure correct navigation.
Despite being a humble servant the elf moved with the quiet grace of one trained in stealth. It was true that elves possessed a natural control of their body that most members of other races could only dream of but Kekai was still intrigued.
At the back of the group Mardai could be heard muttering away again. If any other member of his squad was to act that way Kekai would murder them where they stood, but Mardai was not a Krull Assassin and he was essential to completing their mission. And they were so close.
They approached a strange door that looked more like a giant’s long shield, made from solid brass. The girl looked back at them. She could lead them no further. The Krull Assassins were ready for this eventuality. Kekai signalled to two of his brothers to go to work. They produced a number of strange tools, normally the arsenal or the master thief, today another weapon of the assassins.
"Just look at her," Mardai whispered, Kekai tried to shoo him away but the Arcaner wouldn't be denied. "The silent treatment won't work on me now. What do you think? Should I see if that lovely complexion stretches over her whole body? Or would you like to do the honour?"
"You won't touch a hair on her head," Kekai hissed at barely a whisper, though he felt like he was shouting to the sky at Dursa herself.
"It's not the hair I'm interested in," Mardai sneered back. Kekai stroked the blade in his sleeve with the tips of his fingers, if he wished Mardai would already be dead. But Mardai knew Kekai had to stay his blade. They could not complete the mission without the Arcaner's powers.
The girl was less than a pace ahead of the Assassin leader, her face was now turned, watching the Assassins work to open the door. Kekai begged silently to her not to overhear the Arcaner's words. She was already terrified, he wanted to protect her. Mardai would do nothing but harm.
After much work the door clicked open, the assassins were all positioned along the walls of the corridor as Kekai peered into the room with a tiny mirror, so as not to expose himself to a waiting attack. The room had two elven soldiers armed with bows pointed at the door waiting for Krull to enter the room. Kekai gave a signal to another assassin who used a similar mirror to also survey the room inside. Then they drew throwing stars and sent them slicing into the ribs of both archers. Two other assassins followed the stars and finished the elves, who had started to moan in pain. The star could never be as accurate as the bow, but its ability to turn corners made it a useful tool.
They entered the treasury, Kekai making sure to keep himself between the girl and Mardai at all times. The Arcaner had work to do here, then Kekai's blades could contemplate work. The Arcaner walked to the middle of the treasury room and closed his eyes, slowly turning in a circle before he stopped and his eyes shot open. "There it is," he said wide eyed in his usual slimy tone.
The Arcaner stepped nimbly through mountains of elven treasure. His eyes on one thing, the magical weapon of the elves. None of the Krull before now knew what it looked like. Only Mardai's talent to identify objects of power allowed him to find it.
Mardai knelt in front of a chest of solid gold, looking up helplessly as it was locked. Kekai motioned to his assassin's to get to work with their lock picks.
"What is your name?" it was the girl. Her voice broken and hoarse, but still the hint of lyrical beauty was there.
"I am called Kekai," he whispered back. "What do they call you?"
"Meila," the girl looked to the ground. It was such a beautiful name, why did she look down. Kekai could not speak more. Mardai was muttering Arcaner spells. Nonsense words to any but one trained in magic. He held in his hand the object of power, a small statue of a tree. It no doubt represented the Olarea, the Tree of Life, source of much of the world’s power so the elders said. The elves' lands lay closest to where the tree was said to grow. Maybe this statue was linked to the tree itself. If so it would hold devastating power.
As Mardai raised the tree it began to glow, its cold silver surface changing, so the tree almost looked real. Mardai's eyes stared straight at Kekai, and he the assassin felt he could almost hear the Arcaner's thoughts. Almost see his magic.
I know what you would do when my task is done assassin. My life means nothing to you, just like your fellow assassin's lives mean nothing. But your heart is not so cold. Your lovely elfling I have put under a curse. Her blood now flows with mine. If you kill me you doom her. It is already done. You'd best stay your blade.
Kekai's eyes bulged in horror as he saw the spell leave Mardai's hand and enter Meila, the magic spreading to every part of her body, as it already was through Mardai. And then it was gone. Kekai saw nothing but what his normal sight could grant. Mardai had shown him that spell, and now Kekai could do nothing but wait for the second spell to be cast.
This spell would win the great war for the Krull and doom the elves of Alfeira. After this spell was cast the Krull race could recover and rebuild and their land could become beautiful again. But Kekai swore a silent oath. He would never again set foot in Krua. He would escape the Arcaner's influence with Meila and start a new life. And if the snake came after him he would find a way to break that curse and then take his revenge.
Despite being a humble servant the elf moved with the quiet grace of one trained in stealth. It was true that elves possessed a natural control of their body that most members of other races could only dream of but Kekai was still intrigued.
At the back of the group Mardai could be heard muttering away again. If any other member of his squad was to act that way Kekai would murder them where they stood, but Mardai was not a Krull Assassin and he was essential to completing their mission. And they were so close.
They approached a strange door that looked more like a giant’s long shield, made from solid brass. The girl looked back at them. She could lead them no further. The Krull Assassins were ready for this eventuality. Kekai signalled to two of his brothers to go to work. They produced a number of strange tools, normally the arsenal or the master thief, today another weapon of the assassins.
"Just look at her," Mardai whispered, Kekai tried to shoo him away but the Arcaner wouldn't be denied. "The silent treatment won't work on me now. What do you think? Should I see if that lovely complexion stretches over her whole body? Or would you like to do the honour?"
"You won't touch a hair on her head," Kekai hissed at barely a whisper, though he felt like he was shouting to the sky at Dursa herself.
"It's not the hair I'm interested in," Mardai sneered back. Kekai stroked the blade in his sleeve with the tips of his fingers, if he wished Mardai would already be dead. But Mardai knew Kekai had to stay his blade. They could not complete the mission without the Arcaner's powers.
The girl was less than a pace ahead of the Assassin leader, her face was now turned, watching the Assassins work to open the door. Kekai begged silently to her not to overhear the Arcaner's words. She was already terrified, he wanted to protect her. Mardai would do nothing but harm.
After much work the door clicked open, the assassins were all positioned along the walls of the corridor as Kekai peered into the room with a tiny mirror, so as not to expose himself to a waiting attack. The room had two elven soldiers armed with bows pointed at the door waiting for Krull to enter the room. Kekai gave a signal to another assassin who used a similar mirror to also survey the room inside. Then they drew throwing stars and sent them slicing into the ribs of both archers. Two other assassins followed the stars and finished the elves, who had started to moan in pain. The star could never be as accurate as the bow, but its ability to turn corners made it a useful tool.
They entered the treasury, Kekai making sure to keep himself between the girl and Mardai at all times. The Arcaner had work to do here, then Kekai's blades could contemplate work. The Arcaner walked to the middle of the treasury room and closed his eyes, slowly turning in a circle before he stopped and his eyes shot open. "There it is," he said wide eyed in his usual slimy tone.
The Arcaner stepped nimbly through mountains of elven treasure. His eyes on one thing, the magical weapon of the elves. None of the Krull before now knew what it looked like. Only Mardai's talent to identify objects of power allowed him to find it.
Mardai knelt in front of a chest of solid gold, looking up helplessly as it was locked. Kekai motioned to his assassin's to get to work with their lock picks.
"What is your name?" it was the girl. Her voice broken and hoarse, but still the hint of lyrical beauty was there.
"I am called Kekai," he whispered back. "What do they call you?"
"Meila," the girl looked to the ground. It was such a beautiful name, why did she look down. Kekai could not speak more. Mardai was muttering Arcaner spells. Nonsense words to any but one trained in magic. He held in his hand the object of power, a small statue of a tree. It no doubt represented the Olarea, the Tree of Life, source of much of the world’s power so the elders said. The elves' lands lay closest to where the tree was said to grow. Maybe this statue was linked to the tree itself. If so it would hold devastating power.
As Mardai raised the tree it began to glow, its cold silver surface changing, so the tree almost looked real. Mardai's eyes stared straight at Kekai, and he the assassin felt he could almost hear the Arcaner's thoughts. Almost see his magic.
I know what you would do when my task is done assassin. My life means nothing to you, just like your fellow assassin's lives mean nothing. But your heart is not so cold. Your lovely elfling I have put under a curse. Her blood now flows with mine. If you kill me you doom her. It is already done. You'd best stay your blade.
Kekai's eyes bulged in horror as he saw the spell leave Mardai's hand and enter Meila, the magic spreading to every part of her body, as it already was through Mardai. And then it was gone. Kekai saw nothing but what his normal sight could grant. Mardai had shown him that spell, and now Kekai could do nothing but wait for the second spell to be cast.
This spell would win the great war for the Krull and doom the elves of Alfeira. After this spell was cast the Krull race could recover and rebuild and their land could become beautiful again. But Kekai swore a silent oath. He would never again set foot in Krua. He would escape the Arcaner's influence with Meila and start a new life. And if the snake came after him he would find a way to break that curse and then take his revenge.
Tuesday, February 7, 2012
Wait
"Wait," her melodic voice sang.
I could have turned around.
She would promise so much.
Hot nights of December passion.
Cold mornings of August loneliness.
Long walks in the rain.
A body to hold tight.
Love, obsession, pain, loss, betrayal.
I stepped onto the train.
This time she could wait.
I could have turned around.
She would promise so much.
Hot nights of December passion.
Cold mornings of August loneliness.
Long walks in the rain.
A body to hold tight.
Love, obsession, pain, loss, betrayal.
I stepped onto the train.
This time she could wait.
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