--- JOHN ---
John sat with pen and ink trying to make sense of the parchment crammed with swirling arcane script, as the rain outside hammered on the roof of their small shack. His sister Sal sitting by the fire stirring a meagre pot of stew, steam from the meal spiralling as wind from the chimney pulled at it coaxingly as if wishing also to partake in the meal. Then this tableau was shattered as the wooden door was thrown open to reveal, a beleaguered tall, grey bearded man, stooped low, dripping water onto the bare wood floor. Throwing down his stout pack the man threw his arms wide, as a myriad of water droplets followed him in, born by the tumultuous wind.
Father! Shut the door now. My you are a one, you’re soaked! Come now sit by the fire. You look half drowned like an old cat said Sal disentangling herself from an enveloping sodden hug.
She could see the journey had taxed her father much and pressed a bowl into his calloused hands.
Eat now before it gets cold and talk after Sal good naturedly berated him.
Her father looked up his light blue eyes sparkling at these remarks, as he recollected how much Sal mimicked her mother both in looks and demeanour. He had missed this, had missed them. His son John took the large pack and placed it also near the fire to dry.
I found some things that may interest you both he said through a mouthful of thick bread
They both knew this meant he had no good news of mother but the double meaning of the word found always drew Sal’s attention. So Sal, left her own stew to wrestle with the pack.
Is it edible or precious? Sal enquired starting their usual home coming ritual.
The rich aroma of sinder bread with fresh tarmaine herbs mixed with the scent of the stew and filled the room. Easing some of her father’s tension until that is all of them froze as they heard the splashing sounds of horses coming close.
His father, with a voice hushed but like iron directed his son John’s thoughts into hurried action.
Take your sister now!
His father didn’t need to say where, as they had planned many times for just such an escape. Sal up turned the pot of stew into the fire dowsing the flames with a roaring sizzle sending the room into darkness as John also put out the light shard he was holding.
Everything then happened very fast. The door splintered as it was kicked in, leaving the silhouette of two large misshapen men. They all recognised them as the fist gang. For who else would it be? They were broken men every one of them, barely human looking now. There skin painting their angular grey faces tort and waxen-ly thin.
Well ,well,well Mikael who thought you’d be bringing a fortune to our coffers this night said the man to the front with a voice characteristic of the fist sounding like a ventriloquist, strangely inhuman.
While the gargantuan idiot was talking John deftly secured a wet cloth around his face and then found his pack, then his sister’s smaller hand and positioned himself to the right of the door. His father threw a light shard that exploded and flashed as bright as the sun.
Then John ran forward and butted, shoulder first into the smaller of the two men’s leg, and luckily managed to shift him thanks to him being already staggered by the blast. He was then grabbed by a third outside but luckily all the man got was his travelling cloak and he and his sister were away free.
He’s got past me! Av’ em exclaimed a disgruntled clansman.
Outside, he ducked low and took full advantage of the few seconds of bewilderment that still remained from the blast. Stooping so his sister could quickly jump up to ride piggyback and they then made their way as fast as John’s frame could carry them. Only Half elf or not he was sure fast.
His eyes stung even with the cloth and he could smell that his clothes were charred in places but the pelting rain soon cooled his skin. He knew his way like a bat in the dark.
But before he had made it more than half way, he had to slow to a jog, hearing voices ahead. Thankful for once for his elven ears. He evened out his footfalls, careful not to step on any loose scree on the stone path and came to a sudden halt. It was clearly members of the Red Fist Clan, their hulking shadows skulking in the rain. It sounded as if they were arguing.
I say we take them for ourselves or we’ll never see the coin!
Or more likely the empire will just kill the lot of us and take the elves for themselves
So they planned to cut off this means of escape! Hopefully not all entrances were guarded though. As the mines had become like a rabbit warren with many entrances all around.
Before now the village had given freely what potions and elixirs they could to the Red Fist and had struck a pact of sorts with their leader. Obviously though that didn’t extend to such a rich bounty as elves even their fellow villagers were more than likely tempted to sell them out for that.
The Red Fist Clan were called so due to the two skills their chieftain had somehow obtained. They could transform their bodies and most deadly of all, their fists into what effectively were small stone encrusted boulders. But not only that they also were able to do fire magic causing them to be feared far and wide.
The Augemantine Empire would dearly love to have them fully under their employ and had hired them as mercenaries in the past. But something had changed recently and none of the clan wanted anything to do with the Empire. His father said that it was because they had become too strong for the Empire to control with their forces spread so thinly on the front lines. And like a rabid dog let off its leash they were savaging the surrounding lands.
His father had gambled that no one would expect to find an elf. That gamble had paid off until now, when the well of good fortune had run dry and someone had clearly got wind of their presence.
John knew another entrance to the mine was not far off. Known to all children of the village. He just hoped he was still small enough to fit. At least his sister would be safe and maybe he could manage to get past those guarding the main entrance or perhaps double back to meet up with his father.
Yes that would work. He could not be chastised for risking himself. As long as Sal and the contents of the wrapped cloth bag, at his side, was safe his father would not be angered. What was he doing thinking like a child? All would be fine.
“John?” his sister’s faint voice awoke him from his deliberations.
“It’s ok we go by the old route” he said soothingly, moving stealthily off the path and through the nearby underbrush.
He felt her relax and stop peering over his shoulder moving back to flop her head against his shoulder again.
She said with venom on her tongue “Hulking Fisties won’t get in there” making John smile for an instant but then shake his head as it was most lightly him that would get stuck if not careful.
The caves were now a large system of criss-crossing mine shafts and tunnels, from countless years of mining for mana shards. It could have strictly been described as a dungeon his father said as this was the only explanation for the wealth of shards found there. Although it was clearly dead or dormant now as there had been no news of an active dungeon on the continent for centuries.
Children had been the main miners for as long as he could remember as the rock had become too hard to mine and the shafts to narrow. The only way to get to the dwindling number of shards was to go deeper and deeper. Deeper meant passing through often incredible tight spaces underground. Every child felt a special pride that they could provide this service to an otherwise impoverished village. For despite the passing times, valuable mana shards still seemed to grow in the furthest recess of the mine.
Now he was older, John could only really show his worth by following in his parents footsteps, by being a Herbologist. And on occasion by using his special ability to help other children find shards. But this was a bit of a hit and miss affair as John was not able to venture far thus only allowing him to give a general direction to those in need of his services.
The lack of shard finding wasn’t too bad as the upper levels of the mine also contained rare herbs due to the mana rich soil hence their trade as herbologists. And this could turn some good coin when used in healing potions or other elixirs.
Not as much coin as the shards, granted but easier to obtain. Shards were always in exceptionally high demand as they had much utility. Being used for a myriad of different purposes. Essentially they served as mana batteries. And though his father had only taught him how to inscribe shards for simple uses, such as light shards and heat shards.
These still sold incredibly well but always felt like a waste to John. As shards could be used for so much more to even enchant weapons, armour or artefacts with elemental and other effects.
And they were of course used by Summoners! Summoners were legendary warriors that could use shards to summon beasts to fight along side them in battle. John knew many a tale about Summoners but sadly had never so much smelt a whiff of one.
This was due to the fact that Summoners were rarer than dragons. And also in turn blacksmiths skilled enough to enchant weaponry were rarer than dragon egg omelettes. And the few that did remain were under the employ of either the Augamantine Empire or Holy Alliance and no doubt were squirreled away in some dark fortress or high tower. This meant shards were sold untuned (Uninscribed) or with basic scribing for light or heat only.
Dropping Sal to the ground, so they could scramble up the short distance to an outcrop where they could get access the mine. John removed his cloth mask and looked around in the dark remembering racing his friends excitedly this way to the mine, up this very track on his 6th birthday along with two other children from the village Oxar and Kray, six as well.
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
The climb was therefore easy but took them up quite high. So John offered some comforting words to his sister to distract her from the shocking things he saw. The village was being set a light.
He was glad no screaming could be heard but was surprised to see flames appear. Magical flames not dampened by the sheets of rain. The fire of the fist. This was clearly either a threat or punishment to the village. Whatever they must continue as planned. And John with a certain fatality in his heart knew the fist clan would probably destroy all in retribution anyway. Not least to silence wagging tongues.
But maybe at least John could warn those still present. First he’d have to get a bit higher and drop Sal.
“I’ll tell you the tale of weepers if you’d like” John said getting a hand squeeze in return. Sally was a sucker for any scary tales and particularly ones containing creatures of legend. Who wasn’t? He knew this would not keep her occupied but it was a ritual they had for when she usually awoke from a nightmare about her mother.
Swinging Sal up, pack and all, onto the outcropping, they made it over to the entrance. Then John fumbled in his pack for one of his special crop of shards. One similar to the one his father had used to distract the fists when they attacked.
John had actually stumbled onto the fact that an incorrectly scribed shard could be very unstable indeed. As he had learnt first hand by blinding himself for a few hours when the scribing of a light shard went wrong. His father caught onto the fact that as John was so proficient at creating these anomalies that he might as well keep some. Later after studying them he was able to replicate John’s master work with explosive results.
They produced shards that when dropped or thrown could: blind, burn or deafen corresponding to if they were intended to be inscribed for light, fire or sound. He chose the latter finding three shards and hurling them arcing towards the village below. He was pleased to hear the concussive blasts of sound that would surely wake even the soundest of sleepers and alert them to the fist’s attack.
Next John tried to make his way into the tunnels. He was incredibly glad to find he could still just about fit through. Though to wriggle the last few feet, into the first cave, he had to discard his boots. Reaching his goal he promptly sent Sal back to get them along with his precious pack.
He was surprised to have made it but guessed there was something to be said for an almost starvation like diet. The meal they had prepared for their father’s return would have been the most they had eaten all week, John remembered mournfully as his stomach rumbled.
With a tiny spark of mana he ignited one of his light shards, a normal one, illuminating their new surroundings with a shallow glow. It was a cramped space but there still remained the bed rolls and wood kindling that John remembered, in one corner.
John looked down at his sister to check she was ok and had not sustained any injuries as he knew how stoical she could be.
She looked up at him her unkempt dark hair only slightly singed, hanging in a matted tangled mess, almost hiding her large brown eyes. The determination in those eyes gave him strength but also made him feel foolish. Wasn’t he supposed to be the adult here?
Garbed in an already grimy travelling robe, her stained face an almost eggshell white in the light of the shard. John was transfixed by her likeness to his mother until he noted something amiss.
Where’s your hat? Sal
John’s heart sank as he all too well knew the answer. Sal hated wearing her hat.
Must have fallen hadn’t it she said feigning coyness
Of all the times to be rebellious, this was not one.
But guessed they had more important things to worry about as he looked down at Sal’s protruding ears - Elven ears. It was lucky his were not pointy at all and Sal’s weren’t quite as pointy as her mothers but still a give away with the merest of inspections.
Then there was a distinct scratching sound, accompanied by a mewing noise.
What the hell? This time Sal looked genuinely sheepish as John flipped the top on her pack to reveal to more ears sticking out. Definitely feline or were they the thing had scales? No idea?
Sal collected just about any animal going, mice, rats, birds, you name it there would always be something she was looking after. What she fed them on he had no idea?
Again John couldn’t be mad for long. Sal was often cooped up being kept away from others, children included. Whenever there were any visitors to the village, merchants, clansmen, strangers who wandered in. All in an attempt to hide her true identity from the world at large.
They had managed to hide Sal’s appearance these past years to avoid her being snatched but as she had got older she had become more and more surly, about it.
John’s heart did go out to his sister though. Her mother, their mother had been taken when she was only six. And sometimes when she had cried she had said she’d rather be taken too, that way maybe she could be with her mother. Of course she didn’t cry now, she was older but John was sure the sentiment still remained.
John understood but knew searching for his mother was less than pointless. His father had spent the past eight years searching, even spending their last coin on information brokers. Only to come up with nothing. Well worse than nothing as the fist had been led right to their door. Evidently his desperation had backfired and someone had sold information on him instead.
The bed rolls looked so tempting but being killed in his sleep was not, so he belatedly motioned to Sal for her to follow him while he proceeded to tell a weeper tale as promised.
“They say the tale of Finders keepers losers and weepers happened many, many centuries ago but…” and here he paused, for dramatic effect. “It is said the weepers are not dead, they are just biding their time for a return to power.”
While he walked and talked he rummaged in his pack to take a quick inventory of their supplies, even though he knew to the last ounce of rations what was there. The touch of his fingers on the cloth was soothing and it wouldn’t hurt to sneak a peek at the contents either.
The tale was not just Sally’s favourite because it was scary and filled with fantastical creatures but also because the element of truth kept the old tale alive.
The truth was John himself was a finder like his mother.
Finders as the name implied could track things. John’s father said in olden times finders could find anything. John wasn’t sure about that as his father sure liked to tell a tale. In fact he had a tale or a song about just about everything and anything. He guessed it probably came from his travelling so much. But at any rate the skill had helped him find mana shards and rare plants alike within the mines.
The finding worked by John making a hardly audible keening sound which caused different things to resonate when struck by the sound. He found it hard to explain and found it far easier to show someone instead. If he had to describe it though, he would say it was like the screeching sound of bat speech. He had heard that bats in the caves couldn’t see well but all the same could screech to find their way about. It was like that John had reasoned.
It seemed like magic to others when he found an object that they’d hidden like a pan or a flint. But that was just because they couldn’t see how he did it and most of the time couldn’t even hear the sound he made. John knew it wasn’t magic though as he used no mana to do it.
His father called it a trait, a magical ability that was linked to your race. But then why didn’t Sal have it? After all she was more elf than him. If you looked at him there was no way you’d know he had any elf blood in his veins. So why couldn’t she? It was frustrating as his father just didn’t know and of course his mother was gone.
His sister had shown no special abilities except being very annoying when she chose. She was very good at wrestling he supposed. A slippery character indeed and hard to pin down. But John just put that down to her diminutive size.
Nestled inside the pieces of worn parchment was a thumb sized deep purple rounded shard. It was not at all special for its size, all the others in his pact were easily 4 or 5 times bigger. But the tiny tracery of moving script on its surface made it a unique find. As such this was his father’s prize procession, so much so that he refused to sell or even disclose its existence to anyone but John and Sal.
His father had once been a great collector of arcane script. But had stopped his studies completely absorbed as he was with searching for their mother.
Arcane script was like sigil inscribing but way more complex. John could tell that just by looking at some of the drawings his father had made. They were headache inducing. The shard however was different somehow.
Although it was covered in arcane script, he found it soothing. He guessed it was from prolonged contact that a fondness had grown. After all it reminded him of those happier times. His father studying while his mother sat by the hearth sometimes weaving, and sometimes singing a hypnotic lullaby, to a very little Sal. His father would let him hold the shard and he would play with it turning it this way and that in the fire light, illuminating the tracery of fine script, until it was time for supper or bed. And sometimes he imagined he could see something glowing like a red ember in its centre, of course it was just the reflected fire light. But he still liked to imagine that it was a summoner’s shard containing a rare beast.
Placing it back in its wrappings, he focused back on the tale, and on not banging his head due to the ever decreasing headroom.
As his sister went on ahead there was a great cacophonous crashing and the whole chamber shook causing dust and small stones to fall onto them. An avalanche? Not in their part of the tunnels but somewhere nearby.
If we head, away-s from the main entrance we should be ok, right? said Sal looking up at her brother tentatively.
She didn’t want to carry on herself but knew they had no choice. She had avoided these tunnels as a child and didn’t feel any better about them now. The fear of being trapped and unable to ever be free, free to try and find her mother. Became now like a building torrent of water in her soul, building and building as they got further from the entrance. They had to turn back.
John was now crawling on hands and knees, with Sal leading on ahead.
The passage ways were mostly natural formations here. Being made up of adjoining caves forming a descent into the heart of the mountain. The different caves were still a thriving source of life due to the residual mana of the dungeon causing many mana rich plants to grow and strange life forms to exist. But due to the fact that only children could take this route little had been harvested. As the small children who ventured here did not have the knowledge to determine which plants were useful and which were deadly. So left all well alone.
But John a keen herbologist, was unable to resist the lure of valuable herbs he saw. Such as yellow root and spinethrift which were highly sort after medicinal plants.
Holes connected the caves caused by melt water continually streaming down from the mountain above. This obviously made it hard going for John due to his size as he had to crouch lower and finally to crawl through the icy water. John’s clothes were all soon sodden causing him to start to shiver and though he tried his hardest his teeth began to chatter too.
Its ok they shouldn’t be much further than the entrance said Sal, seeming to read his mind.
It was true he conceded they would have to take a different route so he lit a fire in the cave and tried to dry off his clothes while putting on his spare ones from his pack. John tried not to feel too guilty at turning back again as he needed to keep his father’s parchments dry.
Heading on their new path John listened out intently for any sound of a fist member below and was rewarded by the unfortunate sound of rock being decimated again. It was the fist!
The sound they had heard before was no doubt them brute forcing their way through the passageways despite the likelihood of killing everyone by causing a cave in.
At this point John decided to err on the side of caution and took out his father’s precious shard from his pack and as planned put it in his cheek to hide it. There was no way he was letting any of the Fist take it.
Then he made to retreat back up the tunnel. However the clan members rounded the corner and were upon him in seconds. Their towering forms loomed over him as one grasped him by the scruff of his shirt and lifted him straight off his feet.
It then pulled him close so he could feel the man’s hot fetid breath on his face. Only a hair away he looked into the bloodshot half crazed eyes of the clansman.
I will say this only once…WHERE IS SHE!! THE ELF! The sound making his ears reverberate. As he hung motionless he knew this was the end. He grasped the giants arm but it was as thick as a fence post, the veins bulging over unnaturally large biceps.
Dropping him from a few feet off the ground he landed against the side of the tunnel. Which would have been fine. Only he found he could no longer breathe. When the back of his head hit the side of the tunnel it had slightly brained him. But that wasn’t the problem. It was the shard now irreparable stuck in his throat. That was the problem.
DON’T KILL HIM! Came the voice of another.
I’M NOT HE’S CHOKING, DO SOMETHING!
John vaguely heard shouting as he started turning blue from asphyxiation.
As planned Sal had left John. But that didn’t make it feel right. She could hear him choking. Then worse all went silent apart from the roaring of the clansmen that is.
At his point John felt his consciousness unfortunately ebbing away…