Garnachi paused the story there, staring out at something I could not see. He took a moment to gather his thoughts, then turning to my uncle, asked, “Finneus, would you have something to drink? I find myself in need of alcohol if I am going to finish telling this story. It is taking more out of me than I initially thought it would.”
Uncle Finneus turned to me expectantly. I groaned, and standing up, made my way over into the kitchen where I grabbed a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. When I got back, the old man was having a subdued conversation with one of his guards. Taking the opportunity, I walked over to Uncle Finneus and, leaning over, whispered, “Uncle Finneus, this is an interesting story and all, but it does not seem like there is much point to it. It is more of his own life story. I have no problem with it, but aren’t we supposed to be helping him with something? It seems like the only thing we are doing is letting an old man tell his story before he dies. How is any of this going to help with the problem, which I assume he will tell us at some point? Couldn’t you ask him to tell us what his problem is, and maybe he could finish telling the story at some later date after we’ve taken care of the problem? I know he’s your friend, but it’s kind of just an old man rambling about his regrets.”
Uncle Finneus did not answer right away. Instead, he stood and signaled for me to follow him. As we walked out of the sitting room, my uncle gave a short bow to Garnachi. “My friend, we will be back in a few minutes. My nephew reminded me of something we needed to take care of. I apologize if it causes you some inconvenience, but I am afraid this is something that needs to be taken care of right away.”
The old man nodded his head, “No worries, Finneus. I understand. If you leave me that bottle of whiskey, take all the time you need.”
Realizing I was still carrying said bottle of whiskey, I walked over and handed the bottle together with the glasses to Garnachi’s bodyguard, then followed Uncle Finneus out of the room. As I glanced back, the old man was still speaking, though I was unable to hear what was being said as we were already out of earshot. We walked into my uncle’s study, and I went to sit down, expecting Uncle Finneus to take his usual spot at his desk. Instead, he walked behind it and faced the wall, looking at the decorations that covered it from top to bottom. I was unsure what to make of the entire situation, so I leaned back in the chair and decided to just watch.
“Do you know what civilizations these artifacts come from?” asked Uncle Finneus.
I shook my head. Then, realizing Uncle Finneus had his back turned to me, said, “No, are they trinkets from places you have traveled to? Anyway, Uncle Finneus, I did not mean any offense.”
Uncle Finneus snapped his head around, glaring at me. “Whether the offense was meant is no matter, the offense was taken. I’m going to explain to you why, for you clearly do not understand.”
So, saying, he pointed to a silver chalice hanging in the top corner of the wall with a black orb embedded in the handle. “I took that cup from a culprit who summoned a Demon into the middle of a city. Brudge, a city of glass, was wiped out, and a hundred thousand people died.
A month before the city’s destruction, the summoner’s brother appeared at my doorstep. The brother talked to me about his concern over the changes in the summoner’s behavior. I was busy with a fascinating serial murder case at the time and could only listen for a few minutes before I was dragged away by a new crime scene. When I returned, the boy was gone, and I threw the whole interview out of my head.
Uncle Finneus met my eyes with such a penetrating gaze, that I had to look away, “After the destruction of Brudge, I went and looked around. I discovered that some child had made a contract with a named demon. When I finally tracked down the boy who had caused so much death, I discovered to my horror that it was the brother of the teenager who had visited me. It is always hard seeing the death and destruction of so many people, no matter how old you are. It is something else entirely, knowing that you could have stopped the deaths from ever happening.
Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
I wasn’t sure how to respond to that, so I said, “Uncle Finneus, it’s not as if you could have known something like that would happen.”
Uncle Finneus ignored me and instead pointed towards a plain dagger that was also hanging on the wall, “This knife was used to kill ten innocent victims in a serial killer case I investigated fifty years ago. Three of the ten victims died while I was investigating. Two of the victims died after I had identified the culprit and had her arrested. What I did not know, was that she had a twin who also enjoyed killing. More people died because I did not listen. There were people involved who could have pointed me in the right direction. By the time I made the connection, it was too late for the victims.”
“Well.” I started to say.
But Uncle Finneus cut me off. “That mask hanging in the top right corner is the last remaining piece of the Nagloso tribe. They were a primitive nation that once lived in the rainforests of Xara. I was vacationing in the area for a few years. I like to go on a multi-year vacation every century or so. Anyway, I had come into contact with the tribe a few times, and we had come to an understanding. They did not bother me unless it was of dire consequence, and I would stop by their tribe every few months, saying hello and teaching them a trick or two that would assist the tribe in its fight for survival against the wilds. About a year into my stay, a stranger visited the tribe. I am still unaware how the tribe first made contact with the man for we were in the depths of the forest, but three days after the man left the natives started dying. By the time I made it to them, their chief was already dead, as was a significant portion of their able-bodied men.
The symptoms of the disease were unlike anything I had ever seen. I tested drug after drug, yet nothing worked. This continued for five days, with the tribe suffering severe casualties. Then, one dying man communicated that their visitor had also been sick. I asked if the man had the same symptoms as the others in the tribe, and the dying soul answered in the negative. He went on to explain the symptoms the man had been suffering from, and I realized they were all signs of a common blood fungus. Unbelieving, I medicated for the blood fungus. And then watched in horror as the man’s strength returned to him. I ran to give it to the rest of the living patients, but it was too little too late, as only ten of what was once a tribe of five hundred survived.”
“Uncle Finneus, why do you say it was the last remaining piece of the Nagloso tribe? If ten survived, then surely their history lives on.” I asked.
Uncle Finneus just shook his head, “The ten seemed to come to an agreement. And every night from the day they had been cured, one of them would wander out into the forest and be eaten by predators. There was no crying or screaming as they went to their death. Only despair. Everyone they had ever loved was dead, thus they had agreed amongst each other that there was no point living on. I took this mask after I buried the bodies.”
Uncle Finneus sighed and turned back to me, “Bartholomew, I am not telling you this to make you feel sorry, ashamed, or to even feel pity for me and the people that have died. I tell you this, so you will learn. The life and death of these creatures may come down to a single decision. Their deaths could be decided for the better if you pay attention to enough details, and if you ask enough questions. No detail is too small not to notice. You could even notice the detail, decide it is not important, then forget it. But it is consequential for you to notice in the first place. Do you understand what I am trying to say?”
I did not. At least I did not understand in the way Uncle Finneus wanted me to. It was not hard to tell that much, from the way he spoke and my reaction to it. “Uncle Finneus, I am not a god, to be the watcher and guardian of the lower races. The culpability of the deaths of others, if they are conducted by others, should not fall onto my shoulders. Why are you so concerned for the life and death of those lower races in the first place? According to all the history books I have read, they kill, rebuild, then kill again. Humans, Dwarfs, Red-fiends, and even Bardols, all act in this same manner. Why does it fall to us to save them from themselves? Mother was alive when the Bardols still existed. Yet now they are all extinct. Why should I care about such temporary creatures as if they are the same as us?”
Uncle Finneus sighed and took a seat on his desk chair, “That is the question, isn’t it, nephew? I will not waste your time with convoluted answers. Instead, I will tell you my point of view. Elves, humans, dwarfs, and all the other sentient creatures can communicate. And with that communication comes a sense of self. I will not say that all of them are better than animals. For there are many within the races that are ruled by instinct and desire. Only a few can grow to become creatures wiser, and sometimes more powerful than even the dragons. But that is all that matters. If a single creature that I save, can pull themselves away from their pathetic nature and become something better. Tell me, nephew, how is that not a worthwhile endeavor? I believe in the possibility that one day, all of these creatures, will one day rise above their nature to become something better than themselves.”
I held my tongue, for I had nothing good to say. Uncle Finneus looked like he understood my thoughts and sighed again. “Come along, Bartholomew. Garnachi will have calmed his nerves down enough by now. Let us go finish listening to his story. And make sure you pay attention to the details he talks about, any of those could come into play when he begins to explain why he is here.”