“Do you want to hear a story?”
Children loved to hear stories; It helps them fall asleep faster. Though perhaps that meant children actually hated hearing stories since they bored them so terribly, that they would rather give themselves to sleep just to escape having to hear more. An unknowable question, but it matters not. This is no ordinary story to put children to sleep. This story is complex and impossible to let fade into the far reaches of one’s mind.
Although, I should perhaps save it for another day. The little one really does need some sleep. A shorter story then. For now.
“There was once a boy who loved to cry. He would cry every day, and no one could get him to stop. Not his mamma, nor his papa, though they were no longer there to try. He would only ever stop crying to start lying. He loved to lie so much that he would spend nights on end imagining his tall tales. They say that you could smell the scent of cooking coming from his hovel on those cold nights when he would lock himself away to scheme his next great big lie. Although, looking at his bone-thin body, most would assume he had never eaten a proper meal in his life. But how proudly he would appear the next morning, when he had finally finished his lie and how bravely he would strut around the village telling all the world his magnificent new truth. Till one by one, crack and splinter would form in the wooden fabric. Till eventually the whole mess tumbled down upon his head, far too broken to be repaired. Then he would again start to cry. Right there in the middle of the square, between the horses’ water troughs and the smithy’s quenching water. He would melt away all his confidence and cry his hot tears into the little bodies of water. The boy would have gone on like this without end if not for the villagers’ kindness. They would gather around him and suddenly pretend they now believed his silly lies to cheer him up. Though all knew it was fake, even the boy. But the kindness was true and so he would return to his hovel unbroken and begin again his long work to perfect a grand lie so complete, that even he could forget its untruthful origin.”
“Why would anyone cheer up a liar? They should just throw him out of the village!”
“Oi! Settle down you little runt. I haven’t even gotten to the good part of the story yet. Don’t go jumping to any ideas. And that said, no jumping! Lay back down right now or I’ll be going to sleeping without finishing this story for ya.”
“But—Oh aight! Finish the stupid story already.”
“Thank you. Now where was I? Ah yes, the plague.”
“Plague—?”
“Yes plague, now listen! One day the boy’s village was hit with a deadly plague. Not just his village, but the whole world in fact. But the boy knew nothing of all that. He had only ever seen his little village and that was all he had ever cared for. He feebly walked through his little corner of the world to see the state of it all. He saw kindness and hope burn bright against the tide of death at its shores, but the fire was burning too hot. They would not have survived this long if it didn’t burn as hot as it did, but even he—a child—could see clearly, the lamp’s oil was running shallow and now the wick had begun to burn. He too was quite sick, and especially feeble for how he had been starved all his life, but he did not cry this time. He consumed it. He filled himself full of all the reality he could take into himself and left to his hovel with all he had seen and felt. There he cooked a feast. A masterpiece of illusion. He had created a new existence; one anyone could experience if only they heard his story. He took his creation and went to the village. Standing upon the village crier’s box, he spread his great lie. All knew it was a lie, but there were no holes. No splinters nor cracks. The lie was complete and so it became something more. A choice. He offered his people the chance to see all the world anew. To relieve themselves of their highest held assumptions and humble themselves to a new reality, false and untrue, but no more so than the one they now so wearily held onto. Many took the chance and followed him to a new world where they could be free of the plague and live in wonderful freedom."
Marcel paused for a moment. The story was over, and he had promised himself he wouldn't, but he must. It was his duty to tell the true ending, his duty, and his honor. Marcel returned his attention to the little boy buried under a mountain of sheets before him and finished the story he held tight in his heart.
"For such a long time we lived in peace. But the plague was not ordinary. It lived in the hearts of all men and was able to follow the boy and his followers through the breach. The great weaver of lies has long since faded from our world, but the plague remains, festering and stewing away in the darkest pits of all our souls, preserving itself and striking cautiously at every moment. It is weak but grows stronger every day. It is patient and will never die. It is invisible and yet everywhere. But in this place, this wonderful land we live in, we can fight back. We are strong here, stronger than our ancestors long ago and must be braver for that responsibility we carry. A paladin’s oath: ‘Resist and protect from the evil within yourself and within your brothers.’ It is our creed and we follow it not just for those of our kind, but for all. Perhaps one day you could join up and—”
Suddenly, a distinctly angry female voice pounded through the floorboards.
“Marcel! I swear, if you’re up there keeping him up with another one of your goddamn holier than thou stories, I’ll beat you with your own damn mace!”
“Don’t you laugh at that! It’s time for bed. Tuck in and say some prayers. It doesn’t matter to which god, just pray. They all find their way to where they need to in the end.”
Kin dozed off to sleep with a smirk on his face. He liked the story.
“Goodnight.”
12 Years Later
*Deep in the Underground where light is life and darkness need no description, the mountain rages and the rivers of blood boil. Witches sing beautifully and so beauties grow boils while kings grow horns and demons flay royals*
A large pit emerges through the fog and in the center there lies a cauldron. Its scale is unclear, but it draws the eye’s attention absolutely, consuming everything that can be seen. Here, deep within the mountain, life is becoming. It grows from the cauldron, with claws of bone and scales of iron. It has a face so strange for its body. It is a worm. Or perhaps a wyrm? It’s unclear exactly what it is, but that’s likely due to its nature. It does not need to exist as any one thing. It has a million living pieces, and all can rejoin into a whole of any shape or form.
Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.
It crawls through the cavern ready for anything, be it putrid man or fiery devil. But of all possibilities, the reality was beyond imagination. It saw peace. A vast emptiness and lack of anything to scorn or feel contempt for. It walked through the meadows of yellow and blue. Grew fat on the fruits of the trees and the sap of their leaves. Eons passed and she forgot all about her goal. Her mission for justice and retribution against those who had killed her children. The poachers. The eaters. The vile hand of the hunters. Her dreams grew thin, but she would not relinquish them. To stay here even a moment longer was worth everything. But her responsibility chose for her and so she saw beyond the veil.
“Child, do you hear me?”
Kin heard. But he could not speak. He did not know why, but it was clear that his words could not travel fast enough to reach her. So, instead he listened.
“Yes, you hear me then. You do not know me, but I know you. I am a humble servant before all else, but to you I shall be your master. Find me in the mountain. I know you can see where I am. That image of me shall remain when you awake, but do not squander your time. I am in peril beyond your understanding, and yet within your intervention. I … I am not as you see me now. What you shall find is my child, go to her and protect her. I shall explain more another time, in another dream.”
Kin was scared. The monster was gigantic. It had the face of a lion and wings of an eagle. But the body of a snake and the mouth of a … of a … woman. It was too horrible, the entire picture. Shaded in darkness, he could see faint outlines of much more, but he willed his mind to stop looking.
“Do not fear my appearance child, you will learn soon enough the willfully deceitful nature of appearances. Now wake and search for me. You have no choice in this matter, your responsibility compels you.”
Kin woke up sweaty and feverish. His throat was cracked, and yet at the same time he felt as though he were choking on an ocean of phlegm and mucus. He coughed and sprang up in his bed causing a dangerous amount of noise given Irene’s well-known tolerance for undue noise.
It was likely half past 5 given the level of light coming through the window.
“Shit!”
The traveler’s pack he had stashed away in the far corner of the attic called urgently to him. Today was the day. He was running away from the only home he had ever known, not out of hate or anger, not even to seek out anything in particular really. Merely for the call of adventure and curiosity. His ‘family’ would understand. They would.
He had stayed up late last night preparing the cards and the heartfelt, but understandingly concise goodbyes they contained, but he was still understandably anxious. He was about to set out on his adventure to the southern frontiers. The few golds and silver he had saved up in tips from working in the tavern all these years should just barely get him across the sea and to the wild islands beyond them.
The travelling would be arduous and beyond anything he had ever faced before, but the first leg of his journey was no doubt the most difficult of them all. He had to escape the tavern. His disturbing dream put him a little late on his planned schedule, but it wasn’t worth worrying over spilt ale. If he could make it past Irene’s watchful ears and eyes, avoiding that monster from his dreams shouldn’t be much of a challenge in comparison.
But now wasn’t the time for dreams. He slid into his travelling gear and threw the impossibly light traveler’s pack onto his back. He would have had even more coin to make the journey a bit more bearable if he hadn’t blown nearly 20 gold on the traveler’s pack, but he didn’t regret his decision at all. The pack was made with a magical meta-material harvested from some unknown number of magical beasts and stitched together into a … well to be brutally honest, disgusting patchwork of a sack. But the material had the invaluable power to reduce the weight of the pack’s contents drastically, making heavy loads feel as light as a tidy day pack.
The first stage of his escape was complete, onto stage two. He peeked out the circular attic window and observed the landscape. Irene normally began her daily prep for customers around 7, so he should theoretically have plenty of time to sneak out, but she would often be overcome with fits of productivity and suddenly decide that cleaning/reorganizing the entirety of the tavern, deck, and shed from sunset till sunrise was an astonishingly perfect use of her time. Luckily, this was not the case this morning; he would have spotted Irene walking back and forth in front of the tavern had she been up to some late-night work, but instead the street sounded only of stray dogs and—even worse off—stray humans.
Kin tip-toed out the attic door and approached the spiral staircase that led to the bottom floor. This would have been a nightmare to traverse had he not already spent countless hours studying the precise spots to place his feet on each step as to avoid all unpleasant creaking. His movement was practiced, delicate and precise, so much so he could let his imagination wander to picture another life for himself. One full of steady dancing and music with strong friends and stronger ale, but that world could wait! He set his life in motion today, and so he swiftly rejected the tempting hand of veiled cowardice and marched on.
The main floor of the tavern was clear; no lingering drunks or destitute travelers who couldn’t cough up the silver for a bed. Irene ran a busy tavern at all times, but the barren floor made sense considering the inhospitable winter that was fast approaching these lands. Most decent folk would have already found their way to Erst, the large mining town in the northeast, or fled somewhere south to warmer lands by this time of year.
Kin stepped through the well-kept tavern floor and made it within a few feet of the door. The breach that led to his new world. His hands clenched tight against his sides as he took a deep breath. Was this doubt? Hesitation? Yes, and yes, but he was brave and even if he wasn’t he would fake it all they way till he made it to the heights of his dreams.
He took a single step.
“Someone’s up early.”
Kin didn’t jump. It wasn’t Irene. The voice was shallow and seductive, two things Irene could not never possess in his wildest imagination.
“Who is it? Don’t mess with me … I … I have a knife!”
Kin reached for the back of his waist where he had sheathed his large gutting knife, but before he could grip the handle, the stranger spoke.
“Calm. I’ll let you pass boy. But I seldom run into such handsome men such as yourself. It would be quite the shame if you were to leave me without a name to put to that wonderfully … enchanting … face of yours. Satisfy an old fox’s curiosity?”
Kin was uncomfortable, but above all else he just wanted this interaction to be over and done with. What was a name, especially his? He was nothing, just a barman in a shit town in the middle of a big frozen nothing. Beyond the door lay everything he had ever wanted; she could have something as meaningless as his name.
“Kin.”
The stranger’s shadow was still, but her true body was not. He felt her voice whisper over his left shoulder as she now held the arm that he had used to reach for his knife twisted and ready to break behind his back.
“Do not lie to me boy. What is your name!”
“I didn’t lie! It’s Kin! Ki—Kinsley!”
The stranger vanished into the air without so much as a sound. He dropped to his knees with a resounding thud.
“Fuck!”
He had made too much noise. His arm still hurt immensely, but he was so close. The door lay within reaching distance. He pushed the pain out of his mind and lurched to the door. Grabbing the handle, he pulled hard and tasted the fresh morning dew. But he didn’t make it a single step out the door.
A crossbow unloaded its heavy bolt straight into the door no more than an inch above Kin’s dark-haired head. Just the sound of it stunned him as he fell back onto his pack and spilled all its contents across the floor.
“Who the hell is making all that goddamn noise!”
The heavy female voice pierced through his mild daze and recognizing Irene’s patented warning shot, he quickly shouted back before she could reload for the real thing.
“It’s me! It’s me! Don’t shoot!”
Then he heard a growl. Low and deep at first, but suddenly it grew high and sharp as well. It sounded like an opera of hot rage.
“Kinsley! What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Irene activated the light rune relay at the stairway entrance and quickly grasped the situation once the lights were on. Her rage turned cold. It froze into something solid as she grew deadly still. She entered his field of view, looking up at the ceiling from the floor, in an instant and then suddenly, everything went terribly blank.