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Aelrindel, of Edlenn
A Mummer’s song
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> Show me a truth, a future tale of the astral plane
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> Make it blooth, lift the veil of this realm’s bane
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> And with its demise return our lives rightful gain
The witch’s incantation went. The desert breeze coming from the west bounced off of the limestone cliffs and hugged her sweat covered body from all sides. Aelrindel closed her eyes, the sound of Lithoniela breaking the bundle of sandalwood stems and tossing them in the fire bowl, naught but a soft rattling.
They caught fire with a sizzle, mixing with the burning cinnamon sticks. The citrus, frankincense, opium and amber resin balls boiling in her blood. Smoke rising and covering her face and hair, touching her skin and eyelids. She inhaled, felt the burning in her throat and lungs, her pupils dancing under the thin skin.
> The temperature lowering to a pleasant chill. The smell of oil burning and ink. Scrolls and new furniture. The crackling of pages turning and feet dragging. The clanking of armour and blades in sheaths. Aelrindel opened her eyes and the desert camp turned into a familiar-unknown, great but gloomy Hall.
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> A double paradox.
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> The king in his black armour, with his dragon shoulder pads painted red, the gold wyvern head carved on his scaled chest and the sculpted beast’s head helm, the face-cover that of the Rokae knights of old, but also black. The top of his helm horned and sinister, until she realized this was just an addition and the king had incorporated the Crown of Horns in his armour.
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> What insolence, she thought and glanced at the other knights present. The silver solemn masks staring her way… nay, staring at the table where a slave girl had left a box.
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> This is the vision filling out details I don’t know, or I'm not supposed to know.
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> Why?
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> “Leave us,” the king said and got up from his throne. A massive ugly thing, especially if one considered they were two better choices to his right and left. “Not for me,” he told her reading her stare. “This though, I believe it’s yours.”
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> Aelrindel stared at the box and the redhead opened the lid.
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> A door opened and she walked inside.
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> The castle turning into an old forest. The tree trunks as big as hovels, they traveled forever towards the unseen dark canopy. Mildew, white and grey mushrooms growing on their rough covered in old cracks bark. Vines dropping from above and underneath her feet she felt the hard ground under the rich grass. At spots chasms had formed that allowed the soil beneath the grass to appear. Black, glassy rock, polished like a mirror and sharp. It cut her hand when she touched it.
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> The grass and branches moving with a soft breeze, the humidity making the tree trunks sparkle and the spirit threads stir. Loose thin strands, next to taut ropes. Gold, silver and blue. Pink, green and white. Some black ones hidden amidst the tree roots and the illusionary vines.
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> She cut a berry from a bush and tasted it. Its sweetness brought tears to her eyes.
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> “How long did it take you?” she asked this realm’s builder. “To make all this?”
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> This was part of a bigger room. A box inside a box.
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> What was the trade to make such a thing?
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> The breeze danced on the trunks, the forest breathing, but remaining silent. She followed the threads around, unwilling to leave empty-handed and just before the witch surrendered to despair she saw Gimoss’ steel-encased phylactery gleaming under a slab of rock. A prize for her.
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> ‘Here’s a shiny trinket…’ her mother hummed.
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> A reason to leave.
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> She thought of removing it, but that wasn’t why she was here.
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> The forest picking the verses up and singing that old children’s tune.
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> This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.
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> ‘Here’s a shiny trinket just for you
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> Wish and squish, till thee die of bliss
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> All yer pretty things kept in a zoo
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> Under lock & key, drop of blood on your shoe
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> Here’s to help your garden grow
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> Wish and squish, till thee die of bliss
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> All yer pretty slaves dangling from the bow
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> Dead birds, cats & herds, eyelids stuck with glue’
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> “Enough, curse you!” She screamed and her voice carried over the giant trees to the hidden meadows beyond. Ever repeating with the fading music as its company.
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> “Ah, nice trick,” Aelrindel admonished the darkness sipping inside a brown yew tree trunk like acid and the singing stopped. “Who taught you that?”
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> “No trick. A real prize. A life, or your death.”
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> “A mummer’s words,” she taunted.
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> The shade hissed and spilled on the grass, the latter turning into white sand under it. The fine sand spun outwards and turned into a yellow storm, an emaciated long arm pointing west, the other south. The witch turned her eyes away distracted and found herself back in the dessert.
Damn.
“The loop ended in the desert,” she said.
“What does this mean though?” Lithoniela asked intrigued.
“Probably nothing,” Larn griped and scoffed at Lithoniela’s glare. “I’ve seen this crap before,” he told the excited princess. “Nothing good ever comes of it and two times out of four the visions are naught but outlandish mushroom trips.”
“These are pretty good odds fuckface,” Melon meowed wasting their water to cool off his spot.
Rhys and Larn replying at the same time.
“Not in our blasted business, it isn’t!”
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Lithoniela came to sit next to her later that evening just before they started moving again. She plopped down on the still warm sand and placed her braided head on the witch’s shoulder.
“What else did you see?”
Aelrindel stared at the endless dunes, her left hand finding a white scorpion hidden under a small rock and charmed it to climb on her knuckles. She closed her eyes, raised the hand with the still creature before her face and found its life's sparkle. Tethered a thin thread on it, reached with her right hand and dug inside the blackened bowl's sludge for small seeds. She found one and soaked it in her mouth for a bit, the taste bitter. Then left it on the sand between them, stared at the watching Lithoniela and they said the words together.
The scorpion died for the seed to flourish.
“How long will it last?” the princess asked.
“Until morning, a few hours,” she replied and touched the frail tiny green stem sprouting out of the desert sand softly. “There will be a new king in Wetull,” Aelrindel added to answer her previous question.
Lithoniela nodded. “How was he?”
Dark, foreboding.
“Nothing like you described him. Our definitions of silly are very different.”
“Mother… she said the dagger helped her grow things. Anything good or bad. I told him it could do that,” Lithoniela replied thoughtfully. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have.”
“It wasn’t supposed to,” Aelrindel said and blew the scorpion’s ashes away.
“That was Gimoss?”
“I thought so… for a while.”
“Caruso wants to learn what’s in Lebesos,” Lithoniela said after a small thoughtful pause.
“The ruins of the old realms,” Aelrindel replied with a smile and kissed the top of her head. “I’ll have to borrow your boots again.”
“What’s wrong with yours?”
“Eh, I tossed them away before we left,” Aelrindel admitted and stared at the boils on her sandaled feet. Look at my poor beautiful toes! “I hoped we’ll travel with a bit more style and shade.”
“You have the better horse and there’s no shade in the desert,” Lithoniela griped and slapped her shoulder. “Stop complaining.”
Not if we had a carriage.
“It’s not a complaint if it’s the truth,” the sorceress retorted furrowing her brow. “And it’s still just a fucking horse. I’ve no emotional connection to it!”
“Can I have it?” Lithoniela asked pointedly.
“What? No,” she replied with a scowl.
It’s my horse!
“See?” the princess chuckled and shrugged her shoulders, a scarred Melon’s arrival interrupting their moment. The cat wagging his dilapidated tail and arse in bristling bravado, to match his uncouth loud voice.
“What’s the hold up, pussies?”
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read it at Royalroad : https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/46739/touch-o-luck-the-old-realms
& https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/47919/lure-o-war-the-old-realms
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& https://www.scribblehub.com/series/547709/the-old-realms/