Chapter One: Night Song
It was the sound of footsteps that woke him, so light they could have walked upon the breeze. And in an instant the world exploded about him. He could feel the warmth of the sun and the cold of the stone wall upon his back, hear the songof birds, see the blue of the sky above. As his eyes opened they fxed themselves upon the figure, the source of the footsteps, a silhouette against the noon sun. “I told you, you can’t sneak up on me Will.” Oswald yawned, twisting his head to face his friend. William Arwood stood stock still, caught like the deer in a hunter's sights.
A tense moment rested between the two young boys, before a weary breath escaped him and Will fell backwards onto the grass. “I thought I had you that time" The yougn boy sighed a glum expression casting a paul over otherwise handsome features, before a twist of the lip set the boy to grinning. "living out in the woods, has turned you into a superhuman, are you sure you're not part dog?” He laughed crossing his arms as he took a sitting position staring at Oswald as his friend lay prone upon the wall, unconcerned with the barb. “So did you get your months allowance?” Will questioned removing a small copper coin from his pocket.
Oswald assumed the same position as his friend pulling the backpack that had acted as his pillow onto his lap withdrawing a small metal box from a side pocket of the worn leather bag. He flipped the lid open with a snap to reveal a single copper coin resting inside before slamming the cover shut and slipping it away into a loop of his belt. “Yep, Let’s get going!” Oswald declared a wide grin escaping across his face, his eyes swelling with a childish glee. He leapt from the wall stretching as he landed on soft grass William slowly rising to his own feet. And so the two young boys began their march towards the country town of Tenmere, resting gently in the distance.
“You know I don’t get why you spend all your money on the library, aren’t woods-men and hunters like you supposed to be illiterate buffoons who'd rather use a book for kindling than reading. I'd wager you're the most well read person int his.” Will mocked his tone light, followed by a grin. Oswald just nodded at his friend looking over a scrap of cloth he'd written a list on in charcoal. William shook his head, knowing full well nothing would distract him when he was like this, instead he put his attention on their surroundings as they crested the small hill to the southwest, one of three such hills which formed a dimmit in which the town of Tenmere rested. Tenmere; a small village that had expanded monstrously in recent generations. There were no less than eighty houses, each one home to a family of between three and eight people, as far as towns went Tenmere was of the larger variety, its size and prosperity meaning it wasn’t just a small blip on the map. For decades the town had been small only mining salt until someone discovered Iron in the nearby hills, turning Tenmere into the half-way point on the route towards the iron mines that skirted the welsh border. Being the last line of comfort facing an untamed wilderness really would loosen the average merchant’s purse.
Oswald took a brief moment to look up from his notes as they began the descent a warm smile on his face, he had never really considered the town his home, but he loved it anyway. It was always interesting to see the comings and goings of such a busy place. He could only imagine what a true city looked like, but within that little village he felt somewhat connected to the wider world. A world he hoped to see one day.
The Duo descended the hill at a fair pace passing by the wooden palisade standing firm around the town, as they entered the noisy din of a travellers rest. The main road was dotted with inns and shops, selling all manner of goods, from iron-works to groceries, the lack of regular residences meaning the street was at least moderately clean. Of course turn down a back alley and you’d find yourself wading through human refuse dumped out of windows in the middle of the night. So most reasonable people stuck to the tried and true paths through the town, the two boys being no exception.
The busy season would be starting any time now and that would mean the town would be swamped with incoming and outgoing guests, mainly merchants come to buy iron, or miners stopping for supplies they couldn’t get in their village of lean-tos and half formed shacks. All as people began to prepare for the next fleet of ships to leave the British shore and head straight for the holy war.
After all war meant weapons, and weapons meant iron.
Of course this change in the local economy wouldn’t affect him all too much. Oswald lived with his father and mother out in the woods, a true hunter’s life devoid of all but the barest human contact. And usually, normal circumstances withstanding, Will was said contact. It was a friendship born of equal parts lonlyness and awe, for each friend desired to be more like the other.
The two boys closed on their quarry walking in step, Oswald’s heart slowly gaining pace as he neared that low building, which unlike all other businesses on the high-street held no sign hanging before its door to lure in the wealthy and drunk alike. Instead only a series of large print words painted atop the doorway gave the institution a name; The Tenmere Library. The only reason Tenmere could even afford a library, was due to one of its former mayors, who himself had been a former merchant. The man had then left all the books in his possession to the town, so that anyone who could read would be able to enjoy the vast knowledge contained within: for a fee of course. Oswald grinned pushing aside the door and jogging towards the front desk, the librarian waiting for their arrival as was customary on this most obnoxious day of the month. The man hufffed staring down at them from on high. He looked the same as usual, the same as always. The old man had a thin rat-like face, and a variety of missing teeth, his skin pockmarked and every feature of his body sharp and cutting. As the two young men approached he unfurled one hand, a look of disdain passing over his face, his variety of wrinkles shifting with it.
The boys put on equally sour expressions at the thought of the dealing with the librarian. Still each one withdrew their copper coin and placed it in the mans hand.“Need I remind you, only twenty-four-hours.” The old man rasped leaning over the counter to look down at them, “Or we will have to get the guards involved again.” The man leaned back into his wooden chair to stair downwards at a small wooden puzzle he had solved a thousand times before and began to re-assemble once again.
Oswald ignored the man’s warning, as he usually did pushing aside the door and making his way into the library. Will following behind him, a rather tame expression of excitement in his eyes. Well it wasn’t surpising Will could afford to visit the library whenever he liked. But Oswald treasured these visits, for in these books he could see and hear things that he never could have, even in his wildest and most elaborate dreams.But as they entered the large room, one side filled to the brim with books of all description and descriptions, the two began their usual ritual.
Oswald started by searching the shelves, first for the books he’d decided he wanted to catch up on, and then he moved to the corner where the books he hadn’t yet finished rested side by side to make his selection. Twenty-four hours, that really wasn’t long enough to read all of the books he wanted, however the size of the tomes compiled with the density of images and simple language meant he could push through roughly fifteen before he ran out of time. And so his marathon began.
He worked as fast as his mind and body allowed dumping the pile of books besides the table in the back of the room, meanwhile Will set up a number of candles about said table. Each candle would last for maybe four hours, so just under four candles would last him through the night. Will finished his assortment of jobs in preparation for the long night ahead selecting a single book at random from the shelves before dropping down besides Oswald’s table and beging to skim over its contents . “Just two more months and you’ll have read every book in here huh, I don’t get why you love this so much.” Will gave him a weary smile as he spoke, reaching up to rub his eyes clear of dust and fatigue. Oswald huffed a response his tone glib and light-hearted
“You’re the one that taught me to read, what kind of friend would I be if I didn’t put your effort to good use?” He flipped open the cover of an unread book releasing a large cloud of dust into the air, causing Will to burst out coughing.
“And I learnt hunting from you, but I can still never sneak up on you.” Will replied as his lungs fought against him.
“You just need practice, you were a lot closer this time than you were last time, besides you’re not really built for hunting, it’s amazing you got as far as you did.”
Oswald smiled to his friend, Will returning the grin as they fell into a warm silence hours slowly passing by. And as the sun set in the window high above, the shadows within the library growing thicker climbing ever upwards, shifting and fading as the clouds twisted in the sky beyond. Until Oswald lit a candle to keep the night at bay and to iluminate the dusty page before him..
Then as the twelfth hour neared, a scream issued forth, chilling the blood of all who heard.
It wasn't human; Oswald could tell that much, the tone was strange, a wild mix of pitch and volume that wavered in the night. He moved of instinct rising to his feet, sending his chair to clatter to the floor behind him, waking William who had fallen into a gentle slumber besides the desk. "What is it?" The startled young man asked, his dirty blonde hair falling into his eyes as Oswalds began to run towards the door his joints popping as he went.
That cry was familiar, he'd never heard a beast make a sound like that before. But he could understand it all the same, the fear and the hatred contained within. A desperate plea for hope if ever there were.
The duo passed through the libraries foyer pushing aside the doors and startling the librarian his now complete puzzle tumbling to disassemble itself as it struck the floor. Oswald paid it no mind, his eyes going wide as he burst into the street, suprised at the light waiting for him. Day had set long ago, the sun having disappeared below the horizon, not a speck of natural light within the cloudy sky above. It only added to the horror of the scene.
And as the two boys stared outwards, as they watched the procession march; they saw two very different scenes.
Oswald held his breath, his dark eyes catching the clicker of their torches, parading in a line they came, carriages mounted with cages; vile beasts contained within. Goblins, as tall as a man but thin and sickly of appearance there skin of varying shades from autumn leaf yellow to a pale pneumonic blue. And there within the cages they sat, eyes wide and staring, mouth clenched tightly, faces betraying, neither hatred nor rage, but a quiet lonely despair that seemed allmost human. For wagons in all, each loaded to the brim with goblins trundled past, their slender bodies packed so tight they pressed against the bars, the ocasional howl and screech from one or the other followed by mutterings in a strange language only deepened Oswald disgust. He couldn't stand it, seeing the scene, how could they be monsters, how could anyone seeing the scene call them monsters as human men and children left their houses for the sole purpose of laughing and jeering at the captives, hurling stones flying throuhg the air to pelt them. But that wasn't the worst of it.
This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it
Behind the carriages they trudged; Trolls. Each one of the creatures was at least eight-feet tall and even then they were on the shorter side. Their skin was either green or brown and covered in dark patches, their hide was rough border-tales speaking of the creatures as allmost indestructable with the unnatural ability to heal their wounds overnight only to come hunting the next day. There heads were round and mounted on their shoulders with next to no neck, there eyes small and varying shades while there arms and legs hung and wavered limply in the cold air, thick as tree trunks and heavy as stone chained with heavy iron queezed so tight it dug into the skin, dark abrasions and infection appearing wherever the iron touched. And at the back of the line a young troll crawled a soldier stood above. He carried a club in hand yelling obcenities the creature wouldn't under beating at it to be silent before slamming his foot into the creatures turned ankle when a shout from the front came down. These people had no use for a slave that could not work, and even if the injury was but a temporary thing easily healed; they didn't have the patience to wait. Oswald looked away, he didn't want to see any more, turning his eyes from the light, as a wave of screams ripped through the air.
He waited for a long moment, for the sounds to die down, even the jeering townsfolk seemed put off by the casual display of brutality by the men in soldiers uniform. Oswald turned his gaze backwards to see the line of carts moving along, a corpse left in the middle of the street, William staring ahead, still as a statue, frozen in shock. Oswald reached out placing a hand on his friends shoulder. "Let's go back inside." Oswald whispered hoarse. William just nodded in silence contemplating what he had just witnessed entering the libraries foyer once more.
The librarian sat there waiting, head on his hands glaring at the two children who had startled his sleep, running his hands over the reassembled puzzle before him. A scowl furrowed the old man’s brow as he righted himself before a wicked sneer stretching over his rat-skin face. He reached out beckoning once more, “You left the library, one copper for admission.” The man sneered, a cruel light in his eyes.
Oswald stood still for a moment, his former sentiments vanished beneath a wave of righteous indignation as he looked this man in the face. A smile crossed Oswalds lips as he stepped upwards placing his hands of the counter, taking in a deep breath.
“You Bastard!” he screamed banging his fists against the desk before launching into a tirade.
The guards arrived eight minutes later.
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The desert stretched on without end, rising and falling in waves, as the dawn far behind began to rise. The night fled, along with his dreams, his eyes closed, as he could feel the first hints of warmth dancing over his skin. The light painted the sand all manner of shades, red encroaching upon a dying violet that retreated with the dark. And from the dunes a shape began to rise. Sand slid about him as he stood at his full height, Oswald looking out for the umpteenth time on a scene that almost never changed, at least to his eyes.
He stared into the distance searching for that shape upon the horizon, his mind turning back to his dream, of the days before they had ventured into this barren wastetogether. Before they had entered this hell on earth.
The desert was harsh, it was a land that brought death to any who entered it, the fact he had survived several weeks within that god forsaken corner of the world could only be described as a miracle, or perhaps a torment. He had begun to wonder whether it would be better if he simply dropped down dead, It would certainly be easier than wandering through the empty land until exhaustion and heat took their toll.
After leaving the crusaders to their gory work, he had wandered the sands for days, the only items at his disposal a small survival kit containing a thin knife, a few spools of twine and various metal loops, along with a large water canteen he had taken when he left. Those had been the keys to his survival. One mouthful of water, each day, that was all he could afford, and as for food, the only meal he had had since entering that abominable land was desert-rat, each one the size of a small cat, their skin like wrinkled leather. He'd roasted them over the dead branches of withered bushes wherever he could find them, it was horrid, but it kept him from deaths door another day. And it was a a little over a week prior, by his poor reckoning that he had run out of water.
Surviving on the bare minimum was difficult, each breath through burning lungs scorched his chest, but surviving off of nothing? impossible. That was when he had the city. It had risen from the sand like an oasis, its walls carved sandstone a village sprawling before its walls. It was the largest city he had ever seen but for the distant shape of constantinople on his trip across the desert after his sea-voyage with the crusaders. He had dropped to his knees then and there crawling to a well, drinking as much as he felt he could handle before dunking in his canteen and filling to the brim. He had just enough time for that before the guards appeared. He had been naive enough to believe his salvation lay there that city sprouting from the desert like a miracle. It seemed he had forgotten exactly what he was; a foreigner in a savage land come only to declare war against the natives, human and monster alike.
The guards had come with the call of the citizens, at least he assumed they were guards. They were all dressed alike, twisted rags wrapped about their heads, their torso's bear and rippling with muscle, while baggy trousers gathered about their ankles. Each one carried both sword and spear, even if they held no armour or shield they seemed formidable to a half starved wretch. And even without the use of their language Oswald understood he had to leave.
After that brief tragedy he had followed the line between the empty desert and the low mountains of craggy stone, until three days prior when he had seen it in the distance. It might have just been a trick of the light, of the heat and the desert, but he could swear he saw a lone mountain rising from the sands. And so; dehydrated, and nearing death he could do no more than follow that shade, for what little time he had left on earth.
But even now it wasn’t much more than a speck in the distance, he could barely see it, and was beginning to suspect it was no more than a spectre of his mind. He stood eyes staring bleakly as he moved to take the first step on another weary day; wondering if it would be his last.
Oswald reached down tapping the empty canteen at his side smiling, the pain had stopped long ago. His throat no longer itched when he breathed, it was just dry, like the desert sand, a dull gurgle following from his throat and the film of mucus that had built up within. He wondered what he looked like now, he knew his hair had grown long after the months at sea, and his eyes were now sunk deep into his skull from his deadly journey through the sands. He could see his skin darkened, slowly flaking away and cracking; it was a horrible way to die, but he could barely register the pain. Instead he continued his journey, sand falling from the folds of his clothes as he went, wondering if he’d reach his illusion before his death.
But as he began his daily journey he heard it, biting through the air, as the deserts temperature settled between hot and cold to a comfortable degree, that would last but a few minutes. At first he couldn’t understand it, what he was hearing, the sound of dogs, barking and braying through the early morn dismissing it as yet another illusion to cloud his mind. But then he saw them in the distance, followed by a cloud of sand, men on sleds pulled by packs of wild dogs and he began to doubt.
Oswald stared for a long moment, wondering whether madness had finally dug its way into the very depths of his brain. But as he saw them move drawing closer, he realised they were real, when they broke through the haze of heat, he could see their forms clearly and knew his mind could not have conjured such creatures. Goblins, tall as a man, but thin; their mouth, nose, eyes and teeth sharp, all these features showcased in vicious war-cries as they rode strait at him. Oswald then gathered what senses were left to him and did the only thing he could.
He ran.
He stumbled slightly as he began, weakened and fatigued he barely moved faster than a slow trot, his foes gaining on him by the second. But he kept moving, his feet sinking into the sand as his gaze was fixed upon the dark blur in the distance, his only vague hope of salvation at least in his own head.
And as he ran his mind focused, became sharp and clear for the first time in a long time, and as the fog inside his head dissipated the aches and pains of his body that he come to ignore began to fade beneath adrenaline. His heart raciedso fast and so weak, knowing he was about to die. He didn’t even notice it, as his bare feet landed on solid stone leaving the sands behind. But even then the sleds were drawing closer, less than twenty metres away and moving fast. Oswald stumbled then falling on his hands and knees, bowing on the cracked earth, sending up a small cloud of dust. And he paused looking upwards into the slit eyes of a scaled face
Oswald screamed, a half-hearted, sun burnt cry as the snake before him reeled back. The sides of its neck flared up; the cobra just as surprised at having a human fall before it as he was. Oswald didn’t think, relying on the instincts his father had cultivated in him, rolling to the side before the snake launched itself past him. The beast landed in a heap, Oswald turned grabbing it by its' tale and throwing it at the goblin sleds as hard as infirm body allowed. Oswald did not turn to watch what happened next, as the snake flew amongst the dogs of the sled leading the charge.
The snake landed on the cracked earth raising itself as high as it could, to ward off the dogs moving in. And as it rose the dogs paniced grinding to a halt the sled triping upwards and sending the goblin careening into the second sled which had just passed it by. The sled collapsed the dogs rugging against the reins of the pile of groaning goblins as the third and slowest rider drew to a halt before the wreckage and began trying to help his fallen comrades.
Unaware of the events behind him Oswald ran heedless, a vague sense of excitement filling his heart. He had had a good life that was certain he had lived well and done almost everything he had wanted to. But there was one thing, one regret that pushed him forwards, that moved him beyond his natural limits towards the dark mound rising to the sun and towards the figures he could barely see; stood before the mouth of the cave. His hope burning brighter than ever before, even as fell towards the desert earth.
One regret. For fate was cruel.
But man is stubborn.
So even as he fell, as he collapsed against the dirt he continued to move, he stared ahead and with bloodied fingers he clawed dragging himself onwards, the hope within him a roaring inferno before its end. For as his mother had once told him ‘there is no worse fate than dying without hope.” He believed that to be true, he would not die with such a sorry regret. If he just reached them, then perhaps by some twist of fate he could live. But as that thought crossed his mind, his heart slowed down, his eyes drooping low, his hand grasping outwards reaching towards them, his finger tips resting in a pool of shadow.
That was when he felt it, the cool palm upon his brow, a brief flutter of life flowing into his body. His gaze drawn upwards towards them, a child and a man looking down at him, but he could tell no more, with failing eyes. His vision going dim as the world about him was lost in night. And Oswald Faun slipped away into the dark.