Tales from Telu

Hope Amidst the Dying of the Light

noreply@blogger.com (Josiah Lyons) — Wed, 25 Dec 2019 06:42:00 +0000

June 6th, 1944

Omaha Beach, Normandy.

The air burns with fury and fear. Voices rage against the darkness. The sound of the waves crashing is drowned by the desperate endeavors of mankind. Colour drains from the world as life is spilled upon the sand.

“Grenade! Get down!” Quinn shouts.

Bodies drop to the sand as it explodes ahead of them. When the haze clears, Lance Corporal Quinn and Sergeant Peterson dive into the crater it left behind to evade a barrage of machine gun fire. Peterson peaks over the edge with his rifle and fires until it runs empty. Sand strikes him across the face and he ducks back into the small crater.

“Quinn! I need your help!” Peterson spits into the overwhelming chaos.

There’s no answer.

“Quinn?”

He looks over at Quinn but it’s no longer him. It’s little more than muddy red and empty eyes. Spilled life. Hope drained.

December 19th, 1944

Boston, Massachusetts.

A ten-year-old boy sits in a large armchair, still wearing his pajamas in the late morning. He stares gloomily at a worn letter in his hands. Looming in a dim corner of the living room is a tall grandfather clock, ticking away the seconds. Ticking, ticking, on and on. Minutes slip by relentlessly and the only other sound is the gentle tapping of a branch at the window.

Then, Father Time makes a fool of him when the grandfather clock chimes one, two, five, eight, twelve times. It’s already noon and he hasn’t played with any of his toys or gone outside at all. Almost as if on queue, there’s a knock at the door. The neighbor, Mrs. Brown, has arrived.

“James! Are you in here, sweetheart?” Mrs. Brown calls out as she enters.

She walks into the living room and James quickly stows the letter in his shirt pocket. As expected, Mrs. Brown reacts unfavorably to his position and attire.

“Now what are you still doing in your pajamas? You’re a young man! You ought to be outside playing in the trees or causing some sort of mischief. You shouldn’t be sitting in that big old armchair all day.”

James doesn’t respond except to walk politely to his room and begin changing. Mrs. Brown has a sad look on her face as she watches him pass.

That morning, James’ mother had woken him and sat him down at the table with a plate of eggs and potatoes. He had hardly touched the food. Just before she left for work, his mother told him that he ought to be kind to Mrs. Brown as she would be helping watch him until the end of the Christmas break.

James walks into the kitchen where Mrs. Brown is preparing what she calls, “ee-kah-money loaf.” At least, that’s how James heard it. James doesn’t know what it is and after Mrs. Brown explains what’s in it, he doesn’t think he’ll like it. Despite this, he offers his help in making it and then proceeds to partake of it when it’s finished cooking. He doesn’t like it, but he keeps his distaste to himself and thanks his caretaker.

Mrs. Brown leaves after they clean up and save the leftovers in the refrigerator. With Mrs. Brown gone, James returns to the big armchair and pulls the letter from his pocket. He unfolds it and reads it. Slowly, his eyes begin to droop and he drifts into a land of dreams.

He wakes several times to the loud chiming of the grandfather clock. When the clock finally strikes six, however, James quickly folds the letter and puts it back into his pocket. Then, he rushes to the entryway, where he sits and waits. After about thirty minutes, the handle on the door turns. He leaps to his feet and is in his mother’s arms before she can take one step into the house.

The evening is a blur with both James and his mother feeling conflicted between sadness and contentment. When the time comes for sleep, James’ mother tucks him in and lies next to him for a little while.

James turns to look at his mother and asks, “Will you read me the story, Mumma?”

He points to the letter, which he had placed on his bedside table. His mother’s face grows deeply sad and her eyes well up. She blinks back the tears and tries to speak, but chokes.

She clears her throat and tries again. “Sure, sweetheart.”

Then, she picks up the letter and begins reading from it,

“Once, long ago, in a land overflowing with curious creatures of all sorts, there was a noble knight named Bjorn. He fought for the good King O’Connor and for his family. One day, a neighboring kingdom was overrun with goblins and King O’Connor said to Bjorn, ‘I need your help in these desperate times. Our kinsmen cannot face the goblins alone. We must bring them aid, but I must stay with a portion of our army to protect our homeland in case we should fail. You must lead a legion of our men to put an end to the evil goblins. I am counting on you, Bjorn.’

“Bjorn accepted the king’s charge and before he left, he kissed his wife and his children goodbye, in case they never saw him again. Then, he gathered his legion and set off upon horseback. When they arrived, they found an endless sea of goblins swarming over the hilltops. Bjorn grew greatly afraid, as did his men, but they strove ever onward.

“When they reached the heat of the battle, Bjorn gave a great battle cry and he and all his men rushed into the fray. They slew thousands of goblins, fighting for many days. While some battled, others rested and then they would switch. Those who rested leapt into the fray whilst the others retreated. It continued like this for weeks, until Bjorn’s men dwindled in number. They grew afraid that they would not survive and hope fled from them.

“Just when all seemed lost, Bjorn had a daring idea. He retreated from the battle in secret and snuck into the darkest depths of the forest where he found and caught a fairy. He pleaded with the fairy to help him, to gather all who would heed it to fight against the goblins that plagued their lands. After long discussion, the fairy agreed to help on one condition. After the battle was won, Bjorn would have to devote the rest of his life and the lives of his family to nurturing the forest and protecting it. He struggled with this because he had pledged fealty to King O’Connor. In the end, he chose the lives of his countrymen over his own honor.

“Just as the fairy had said, a great army of trees, bears, wolves, dryads and many other creatures came to the aid of men. Bjorn led this new army upon the back of a great brown bear. Together they vanquished the goblin blight once and for all. All men and creatures of the forest rejoiced except for Bjorn, for he had broken his oath of fealty to King O’Connor. When he and the remnants of his legion returned to report to King O’Connor, Bjorn slipped away and hid in the forest with his family to fulfill his oath to the fairies.

“For a year and a day, King O’Connor sent men to find Bjorn, but they failed every time. Finally, the king decided to search for Bjorn himself. He set off into the forest and when Bjorn found that it was the king himself, he did not slip away from him. He decided, at last, to meet his fate. However, King O’Connor was not full of wrath. Instead, he embraced Bjorn and said, ‘Thank you, oh brave Bjorn. You have saved my kinsmen and, in fact, all the world! There are not enough riches in the world to repay you. So I will do all I can. You are forgiven your oath. I set you free and I name you lord of these mystical forests. Be at peace, brother, and may you live many long years.’

“So it was that Bjorn, greatest knight of all saved the world and became lord of the forest. All his descendants would each become lords in their time and learn to protect and nurture the forest. The End.”

By the end of the story, James has his eyes closed, pretending to be asleep. Tears slowly leak from beneath his eyelids. He hears his mother sigh as she tucks the blanket around him and leaves the room. The floor creaks as she walks down the hall.

December 20th

The next day is very much like the first. Although, this time, Mrs. Brown brings a Woolton pie and James rather enjoys it. After they finish eating, James doesn’t need to pretend when thanking Mrs. Brown for the food. After she leaves, James decides to play with his toys, so he goes to his room and plays with model trains and toy army men. The rest of his day passes quickly and without noticing, six o’clock passes him by. As soon as the clock strikes a seventh time, James gets a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. “Maybe she had to stop somewhere on her way home,” James thought.

He rushes to the door and opens it. There’s nothing but a dark suburb covered in snow. He retreats back into the house and sits on the bench in their entryway. Minutes drudge on like hours and fear plagues his heart. He paces back and forth then sits again, then checks outside again. Nothing. The cycle repeats.

At eight o’clock, there’s still no sign of James’ mother. His cycle of pacing, sitting and checking outside continues until suddenly, there’s a knock at the door. Heart pounding, he rushes to the door, opens it and nearly leaps through it, but then he stops. He stops as though he just ran straight into a brick wall. Standing in front of him is not his mother, but Mrs. Brown. Her old, pale skin is flushed red, especially around her eyes.

“Where’s my mum?”

Instead of answering, Mrs. Brown’s face screws up as if she’s about to cry, but she takes a deep breath, swallowing it back.

“Where’s my mum?” James asks, quieter, heart fluttering. “Why are you sad? Where’s my mum?”

Mrs. Brown starts crying and hugs him. “It’ll be okay, James, dear,” she chokes out. “It’ll be okay, your momma got hurt, b-but she’s gonna be alright, y-you hear?”

His whole world begins to crumble. “What happened? Where is she?”

“Hush now, dear. Here comes Mr. Brown. We’re gonna take you to see her.”

A pair of headlights turns into a car as it pulls up to the curb in front of his house. Before James can wrap his mind around what’s happening, he finds himself in the backseat of the Browns’ car.

The drive gives fear time to take Jame’s mind to dark places and leech all hope from his spirit. The hole in his heart grows as they get closer and closer to the hospital.

The next thing he knows, the Browns are holding his hands and guiding him into a building that looms over him menacingly. At this moment, it looks less like a place of healing, and more like a place of pain and sorrow.

“She’s in that room at the end of the hall.”

A lady is pointing down a long hallway that seems to go on forever. The room looks darker and more terrifying the closer he gets. Two shadows follow beside his own, stretching forward and slowly disappearing over and over. Finally, his shadow is swallowed by the dark room.

In front of him, like some evil altar, stands a small bed. Lying upon it is a woman with blood-soaked bandages around her head. She has his mother’s face.

“Mumma?”

He puts his hand on her arm and gently squeezes.

“Mumma, wake up.”

She doesn’t so much as stir.

“Mumma, wake up! Mumma!”

He shakes her limp arm. Suddenly there are strong hands gripping his arms and pulling him back. He’s screaming for her. Everything is blurred by a torrent of tears. She remains as motionless as a mountain.

He finds his head buried in someone’s chest. Eventually, he hears a soft voice trying to comfort and quiet him.

“Shh. It’s okay, son. It’s okay, she’s not dead.”

Not dead.

The words send a warm spike into his cold heart.

“It’s okay. She’s not dead.”

She’s not dead.

“What’s your name, son? I’m Doctor Peterson. I’m the one taking care of your mother.”

“My name is James.”

“Well, James. Your mother has suffered a severe head injury. Unfortunately, she slipped into a coma. Do you know what a coma is, James?”

He shakes his head.

“Basically, it means your mother fell into a deep sleep and we’re not sure when she’ll wake up again.”

“You-you can’t make her wake up now?”

“No. I’m sorry, James.”

“How come?”

“We just don’t know how. We’ve tried everything we can, but nothing worked.”

James looks up at Mr. and Mrs. Brown.

“What will I do? Am I gonna go home?”

Mrs. Brown bursts into tears.

Mr. Brown kneels and, putting his hands on James’ shoulders, says, “You can’t go home by yourself and they won’t let you come home with us because we’re not your family.”

“But I wanna go home.”

Mr. Brown’s sympathy is clearly written on his face as he says, “I’m sorry, James.”

James is empty. He looks out the window and sees the same emptiness staring back.

“This the kid?” asks a new voice.

James looks around and sees an official-looking guy standing behind him.

Mrs. Brown suddenly shouts, “You can’t take him! He shouldn’t have to go to an orphanage! He should come with us. We’ve already been taking care of him!”

“Hey! Woah,” the new guy says. “Look, there’s no need to bust my chops. I ain’t got no say in this, lady.” Then, under his breath, he mutters, “Damn, I could use a fix right about now.”

Mr. Brown is comforting his wife while he says, “See here, sonny. We’re just trying to look out for James.”

“Oh, is that his name? Look, geezer, it’s gettin’ late and I got places to be.”

“What did you just call me, boy! You need to learn some respect!”

“Hey! I get it. You love him, but you ain’t family, is ya? So he’s gotta go to Saint Whats-its. It’s the law, so take it up with Uncle Sam. Let’s go, kid! We got a schedule to keep.”

Reluctantly, James follows. Looking back, he sees Mrs. Brown weeping in her husband’s arms.

As James is pulled away from that room, Mr. Brown says, “Don’t worry, James. We’ll figure something out. You won’t have to be in there long!”

The hope that Mr. Brown is trying to give him does very little to raise his spirit. The man leads him out of the hospital and into a waiting car. All the while, he’s blabbing on and on about what seems like nothing.

“Wow! That receptionist was a fine dame if I do say so myself. No way a dame like that would go for me though. Not much of a jive bomber or nothin’. The best skills I got is being a heavy swigger and snappin’ my cap. Don’t tell anyone, mind you. Gotta keep this job.”

It goes on like that for a while, but James doesn’t understand or care. At some point, the man reveals his name to be Louie, which doesn’t matter all that much to James. Chances are, he would never see Louie again.

It isn’t long after, that James finds himself standing beside Louie in front of a dreary-looking old building. Above the doorway, there’s a large plaque with “Saint John’s Orphanage” emblazoned across it.

“This place gives me the creeps,” Louie says.

He knocks on the door and after a while, it’s answered by an angry-looking man.

“This the child?”

“This is ‘im.”

“Get in, boy. You can call me Headmaster or Father Olson. Nothing else. There are three caretakers. Matrons Mildred, Anna, and Gertrude. You will refer to each of them as Matron. There will be no informalities, rudeness or misbehavior of any kind. You will do chores and you will not cause problems. Do you understand, boy!”

James nods in response and enters at the headmaster’s beckoning. For a moment, Father Olson remains standing and staring at Louie, who stares back in kind.

“Do you think I could get a glass of water or somethin’? I’m parched.”

The headmaster slams the door in Louie’s face. Then James is yanked along by his shirt’s collar.

“This way, boy! No more standing around!”

James rushes to follow, neck hurting from the forceful act. Without another word, Father Olson leads him up a flight of stairs and shoves him through a door. The salt and pepper haired man remains for a moment, looking around with a scowl as if daring someone to wake up. No one does.

“Take an empty bed and not one peep from you,” he whispers angrily.

The door shuts softly behind the headmaster as he leaves. Looking around, James spots a few empty beds scattered among about a dozen occupied beds. As he heads for one, he notices several kids shifting.

“You can take this bed over here,” a kid whispers while gesturing to him in the dark. “My name is Mark, but we can save all that for tomorrow. It’s best not to let them know if you can’t sleep. They don’t react well.”

James accepts the offer and whispers back, “Thanks. I’m James.”

James lies down in his bed but doesn’t fall asleep. A few other kids quit pretending to be asleep and tell him their names. When he’s certain that all the orphans have fallen asleep, he quietly gets up and walks to a window that looks out over the city of Boston. He pulls the letter from his pocket. Somewhere out there, his mom lays in a hospital bed. Somewhere out there is his home and the Browns.

The sky is clear and full of stars. There’s a moment that comes to his mind as he gazes up. Before the war, he had looked upon the same stars with his father. His father had said, “You see all these stars, James? In each of those stars is an angel. A kind being who looks out for all of us good people. That’s why every time darkness covers the earth, they shine bright in the sky, showing us that there is always hope, even in the darkest of times.”

As he recalls this moment, a shooting star streaks through the sky. Strangely enough, however, it doesn’t disappear like normal shooting stars. Instead, it slows down and glows brighter. It makes an arc across the sky and then begins to increase in size. It gets bigger and bigger until it’s wider than the moon! Then, it slowly touches down on top of a building across the street from the orphanage. It’s a glowing white orb the size of a car.

James stares at the orb, transfixed. He opens the window to get a clearer view. The strange fallen star, or whatever it is, remains unmoving. Slowly, it begins to dim until it’s not glowing at all. Just an orb dimly lit by the light of the moon and stars.

Then, as if its very presence isn’t strange enough, it begins to slide open. An old fat man with a big white beard steps out, dressed in clothes that look remarkably old. As the snow begins falling, one thought takes over his mind. “Santa is an angel?”

December 21st

“James! James, get up! James!”

James jumps upright to find that he’s on the floor next to the window. A girl stands over him with her hand on his shoulder. He stands up quickly with her aid.

“Quickly, over here and stand by your bed,” she whispers urgently.

He follows her orders and stands by the bed he had chosen. He realizes that all the other kids are standing by their beds and decides it must be some sort of strict rule. He hears footsteps on the stairs and senses the tension increase in the room. All the other kids look scared, as though a nightmarish monster is about to walk through the door and consume them all.

Then the footsteps stop and a series of knocks resound in a sort of jaunty pattern. After the knocks, before the door even opens, all the other kids visibly relax and the tension disappears.

“It’s okay,” an older boy says to James as the door opens. “That’s Matron Anna’s knock. She’s the only nice one. Really understands us, she does. Hi Matron Anna.”

“Hello Matthew, and hello everyone. I hear we have a newcomer!” Anna says, looking at James kindly.

“Yeah! This is-” Mark begins eagerly before the older girl, who had woken James, interrupts him.

“Mark! Give him a chance to speak.”

“That’s quite right, Mary. Thank you. Go ahead, tell us a little about yourself,” Anna says.

After a bit of a pause, James tries to wipe the sleep from his eyes and then says, “Well. I’m James and…” Uncertain what to say about himself, he just trails off.

“What do you like to do, James?” Anna asks.

“I like to play with toys and… and I like stories.”

“Hey! I like stories too!” Mark almost shouts. “What’s your favorite story?”

“Uh, I don’t…” James reaches into his pocket and grabs the letter that resides there. “I just…”

“Come on guys, let’s not bother James too much. Why don’t we each introduce ourselves and maybe say something we like or how old we are,” Anna suggests.

Mark, a scrawny boy with glasses, says, “Well, I’m Mark and I like all kinds of stories. Oh, and I’m nine.”

The girl who Anna called Mary says, “I am Mary. Matthew and I are twins and we’re sixteen. We try to help everyone stay out of trouble.”

“That’s right, I’m Matthew, and as my twin said, we keep you younger ones from the worst of the Headmaster and the other matrons. Except for Anna. She’s the nice one.”

“Careful Matthew,” Anna says. “You wouldn’t want to anger old Mildew.”

All the kids laugh.

“That’s what we call Matron Mildred, but don’t let the others know or you’d get in big trouble,” Mark warns.

“Uh, is it my turn?” a little girl asks.

Anna responds, “Of course, go ahead, dear.”

“I’m Martha and I’m seven and I like plants and flowers and trees and bushes and all sorts of plants!”

Another girl, who looks to be just about his age, says, “I’m Jane. I’m eleven, just like Will who’s my best friend.”

She gestures to her aforementioned best friend who doesn’t respond in any way, even when everyone looks at him. Given his lack of response, Jane pinches him gently on his arm.

“Oh! Me. I’m Will. I like sleeping, I guess.”

Jane looks at him expectantly for a moment until he continues.

“Oh yeah. I’m eleven too.”

There are only a couple boys left, both sitting on their own beds. One looks a little older than himself and his bed sits in a corner away from everyone else’s. The other is barely more than a toddler and his bed sits just next to Mary’s. Mary gives a serious look at the older boy.

“Fine! I’m Norman. I’m twelve. Just leave me alone.”

Putting her hand gently on his back, Mary says, “And this is Thomas. He’s four and he doesn’t talk. It’s not because of you, though.”

“And I’m Matron Anna. If you need anything, come to me whenever possible. The other matrons and Father Olson are disinclined to help. Now everyone, be brave. We must now go to breakfast and you must be on your best behavior. James, just be careful and follow the others’ lead.”

Matron Anna leads them downstairs and then into a small dining hall. The breakfast is a bleak affair, consisting of mostly canned veggies and half-baked potatoes. The worst part is that Matrons Mildred and Gertrude, along with the headmaster, all have eggs and a little bacon to go with.

After breakfast, the kids are the ones who have to clean up and wash the dishes. After that’s finished, Father Olson sets them to work on cleaning everything in the orphanage. James is befuddled by this as the whole place is so beaten down that no matter how much they clean, it always looks terrible. When asked about this, Matthew says that they have to clean like that every day.

Still worse, there was a heavy snowfall the night before and instead of being able to go outside and play in it, as he normally would have, he was strictly informed that they would not be able to. Instead, after lunch they would have to shovel all the snow off the front stairs and off all the walkways around the building.

Finally, the worst part of all comes when Norman causes trouble. In the mid-afternoon, all of them are shoveling snow when Martha stops for a moment to look at a small bit of grass poking through the snow. Norman suddenly stomps over to her and pushes her over.

“Get to work, you lazy little girl!” he yells at her.

“Hey! Leave her alone,” James shouts as he rushes to her aid.

“You don’t tell me what to do, new boy!”

Then Norman throws a punch that James barely dodges. Somehow, James finds himself grappling with Norman and not sure how to fight.

“What is this!” A shrill voice screeches.

The sound causes everyone to freeze. Matron Mildred strides angrily towards James and Norman.

“He started-” Norman began to say until a powerful slap shuts him up and sends him toppling over in the snow.

Before James could get any grasp on what’s happening, Matron Mildred has a cane in her hand and begins beating Norman while he whimpers on the ground. Then, after a dozen or more merciless strikes, she turns to James. An explosion of pain strikes the side of his head and his vision blurs as he dazedly falls to the ground. Blow after blow brings an immense, previously unexperienced amount of pain to him.

“I expect not to see that ever again!” Matron Mildred screams.

After hearing the door slam shut, James feels hands helping him up and comforting him.

“Oh James. I’m so sorry. I wish you hadn’t. Matthew would have dealt with Norman,” Mary says.

“Sorry,” James groans.

The others have James and Norman stand aside so that they’re out of sight and can rest a little bit. They steadfastly avoid looking at each other. When they finish shoveling, they’re allowed back inside, each of them with hands and feet numb.

They walk single-file up the stairs, James and Norman walking last. Before they enter the sleeping quarters, however, Norman apologizes to James. James is surprised and accepts the apology.

“Can I show you something?” Norman asks.

Uncertain, James accepts. So Norman leads James further up the stairs. They come to a door and as James is opening the door, he realizes his mistake. Norman’s hand shoves him forward onto the snowy rooftop and the door shuts behind him. Quickly, James turns around and tries to open the door but it’s locked. He fell for a stupid trick. His only hope is that the others notice he’s gone.

James sits against the wall next to the door. The area on the roof is small and the only thing up there is the now-dead victory garden. The snow takes on a new, more menacing form as it slowly leeches the life from him. He’s up there for a while and the sky begins to grow dark. The sun lost her grip and fell below the earth, leaving him to the frost. His body is shaking uncontrollably.

Suddenly, a thought springs to his mind, “I am not alone.”

It doesn’t make sense to him, because he is so very alone. No friend to let him in. He’s been forgotten so easily. No one to look after him. No parents to love him.

“You are not alone.”

Something warm sparks inside him. Then, inexplicably, he’s inside and being carried by two warm arms. A hand breathes life into the skin of his face. He opens his eyes to see blonde hair dangling over him and a beautiful face with lights twinkling around it.

“It’s an angel,” he thinks to himself. “I’ve been saved by an actual angel.”

December 22nd

James’ eyes slowly open, taking in his surroundings. The angel that saved him sits beside him on the bed. He blinks and finds that it’s not an angel at all. It’s just Mary.

“What happened? I thought I saw an angel carrying me inside.”

Mary laughs and says, “Well I’m certainly not an angel, but thank you. Matthew and I had a hard time sneaking out to find you. Norman wouldn’t say where you went and we knew he must have done something terrible. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I feel… I feel good.”

“That’s unlikely. You were out there for a long time. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah, just before I came inside, I felt like I was warming up from the inside and then I started to feel really sleepy.”

Mary looks thoughtful and then says, “Well we’d better all head down. Matron Mildew already came and left. She usually just tells us how much time we have before we have to head down.”

Unfortunately, the day seems destined to follow the exact same form as the previous one. After breakfast they clean. After lunch, they head outside to shovel away another night’s snowfall. This time, Matthew makes Norman shovel in an area away from the rest of them and keeps an eye on him to make sure he doesn’t try anything again.

“What’s this now? A bunch of rapscallions doing honest labor? What is this world coming to? I should have snowballs in everything from my ears to my socks by now!” An elderly voice says to them.

Every one of them turns to find the source and when James sees who it is, his heart skips a beat.

“You’re Santa!” James shouts without thinking.

All the kids look at him like he’s crazy and the old man asks, “Is that so? What makes you think that?”

“Because I, I saw you in the, and, and the star and. You’re an angel too?”

The old man chuckles.

“James, take a breather. What’s going on?” Mark says, eager to learn.

The would-be Santa looks curiously at him.

“I saw, the first night I got here, I couldn’t sleep and I saw a shooting star. But it looped around and got closer and landed on that building!” James points to the building in question. “Then I saw the star open up and he got out!” This time he points at the old man.

“That’s gobbledygook,” Mark begins to say before being interrupted by the old man himself.

“Gobbledygook? Why no, indeed. I am quite befuddled that I’ve been caught again!”

“What!” Mark shouts, incredulous. “And you’re an angel too? I thought you were Saint Nicholas!”

“Well that’s the mystery isn’t it?”

“What does that mean? Why did you ride a shooting star? I thought you had a sleigh with reindeer to pull it!”

“What makes you think that?”

“Wh- b- it, but everyone knows that!” Mark was getting quite flustered.

The mysterious man laughed heartily. “Since when is everyone right? I’m not an angel, but I work with them. I’m a giver of gifts and I ride a shooting star.”

Mark sputters in outrage before asking, “Well, are you Santa or not!”

“Find your joy along the journey and hope in the destination, lest you be disappointed when you reach the end of your life,” the old man says before winking at James.

Then, the old man vanishes like he was never there.

“What was that?” Mark shouts to the empty air.

“What is going on here, you lazy brats!” a menacing voice cut in, destroying to air of mystery and curiosity. “Who was that man and what did you tell him!”

Father Olson’s glaring eyes scan them and land on James and Mark. Before he places the blame, Mary speaks out.

“It was no one! We didn’t tell him anything!”

He lunges for her, saying, “You lying little devil!” and drags her into the orphanage.

“No!” Matthew shouts and chases after them.

Just when Matthew reaches to grab the headmaster, Father Olson brings his cupped hand around and strikes him over the ear. The blow is so strong that it knocks him off his feet. Matthew lays cradling his head where he fell. Father Olson drags Mary down the stairs to the cellar, while they all watch helplessly. They hear her screaming in pain.

James finds himself being forced upstairs to their sleeping quarters by Matrons Mildred and Gertrude. All the kids stand silently in their room. A minute later and Matthew is thrown through the door. Then the door is shut and locked behind him.

Matthew rages. He pounds on the door and screams at the people who’re tormenting his sister. All curiosity from before is dead. Fury and fear reign supreme that night. Matthew punches the door and screams until his knuckles are bloodied and his voice becomes hoarse. James thinks frantically for a way to save Mary.

“We have to find a policeman!” James shouts at Matthew. “That’s how we can save her. Now how do we get out of here?”

Matthew stops and looks at him. “You’re right,” he whispers painfully.

Mark says, “We can let you both down out the window! Let’s tie some of our blankets together to make a rope!”

Quickly, all the other kids get together to help make the rope and lower James and Matthew to the ground. It doesn’t take them long to make a rope that will reach the ground with room to hold on. The first one to descend is James, followed by Matthew. Together, James and Matthew run towards downtown Boston. It isn’t a long trip because they spot an officer just a couple blocks away.

“Officer! Help! We need help!” James shouts.

The officer turns slowly to look at them, smoking a cigarette.

“What do you want, kids? I don’t have time for this.”

“A bad man is hurting his sister! He might kill her if you don’t stop him!”

The policeman stares directly into James’ eyes. He takes a long draw from his cigarette until it’s just a stump. Then he blows all the smoke into his face. James coughs and chokes on the smoke.

“Please, sir. You have to help,” Matthew says desperately.

“You see this, boys?” the officer says, holding a match. He lights it and continues, “This little flame is all life in the world right now. Delicate and slowly running out. At any moment, it could be,” he blows out the match, “snuffed out.”

He pauses while James and Matthew look horrified. He pulls a flask from his jacket and takes a large swig. Then he takes his time pulling out another cigarette and lighting it before continuing.

“So why in the hell would I bother myself with such a stupid childish game as the one you’re playing right now? Huh?”

“It’s not a game!” James insists. “If you just come and look, you’ll see!”

“Shut up, cretin! Get out of my sight!”

“But-”

“Go!”

James is pulled away by Matthew. They walk sullenly back to the orphanage and the other kids pull them back in.

“Did you find a policeman?” Jane asks.

Neither of them responds.

“What happened?” Mark asks.

“It’s hopeless. The policeman wouldn’t help. They won’t bother with kids like us.” James says, defeated.

“Well, what’s the point of them then?” Will asks rhetorically.

Silence ensues among them, allowing them to hear the occasional cries of pain from Mary. Matthew begins to weep quietly.

“Hope is not lost,” a smooth and powerful voice says.

Everyone, including Matthew, looks around to find the source, but no one can be seen.

“Hope is never lost,” it continues. “Hope is not found in the present, but in the future. In the end, justice will come for each and every man, woman, and child. None will be forgotten. Sometimes, trials lead to worse and worse pain, never ceasing until death. That is why our hope lies not in this life, but in the new life. I say this and you may be discouraged, knowing the pain of your sister, and knowing it may not end. You would be mistaken to think it will not end, however. I tell you this: this is not one of those times. This time, a servant of Meldul has heard your pleas! I am a servant of Meldul and I have witnessed your pain. Your justice begins now.”

Then, just as he had disappeared, the man who they believe to be Santa Clause appears before them. This time, he’s not dressed in the average man’s clothes. He’s dressed in dark, majestic, crimson robes with a strange, gold crest on the chest. His hair is turned golden and bright like the sun.

“Know first, that I have taken away Mary’s pain and healed her wounds. She can no longer be harmed, for I protect her. Her cries of pain now are only to fool that false prophet. Soon, I will place all of you, the matrons and the false prophet as well, in a dreamless sleep so that you will all awaken at the proper moment, without having felt any passage of time. When you awake, there will be instructions waiting for you.”

December 23rd

“Where’d he go?” Mark says.

“Did we already sleep?” James asks.

“We must have! Look outside! The sun is setting again!” Matthew exclaimed.

Vigor and hope fills them. Overcome with excitement, Jane begins to giggle.

Rubbing his eyes, Will exclaims, “Guys! There’s presents!”

“Woah! James, this one’s for you!” Mark says, handing James a tiny box with a bow on it.

“Here’s one for me!” Jane says.

“And me!” Martha says.

James looks at his own gift while the others open theirs. A small note is attached that says: “Your job is most important of all. Hold tight to this and think of a place and it will take you there quicker than the beat of a hummingbird's wings. Simply set your friends free and then answer the front door when you hear three knocks. P.S. He who fights bravely to the end will find his reward.” James opens the box to find a small stone within it. The stone fits comfortably in his hand.

He squeezes the stone tightly and suddenly finds himself at home, but it’s empty. It’s nothing like he remembers. It’s dark and gloomy. The grandfather clock ticks on and on. Filling the house with dead sound. Then he squeezes again and finds himself back with the orphans.

“Woah, James! Can you turn invisible?” Mark asks.

“No, it moves me anywhere I want in an instant,” he responds, holding the rock up to show them all. “What do your gifts do?”

“Will’s makes him float. Martha got a bunch of seeds that grow really big, really fast. Matthew got fireworks. Jane got some sort of healing elixir. And I got this!” Mark summarizes before splitting into a dozen copies of himself. “The others are all like ghosts!”

“What about Thomas?” James asks.

Matthew explains, “He and Norman are still asleep. I guess Santa didn’t think they’d be ready for whatever’s about to happen. Which makes me wonder, who else got instructions? All I got was a note that said, ‘Cause mayhem.’”

“Well, I gotta set us all free, but how?” James asks.

“What? You can go anywhere instantly! Just go grab the key!”

James grips the stone tightly and finds himself downstairs in the main hall. The matrons all sit around the fire in old, beaten up armchairs. Behind them is a small table with the keys lying upon it. James carefully tiptoes to the keys and as soon as he grabs them, he squeezes the stone and finds himself just outside the door to their sleeping quarters. He unlocks the door and flings it open.

Everyone rushes out like greased lightning, ready to finally have their revenge on the horrible Gertrude, Mildew and Father Olson. The first thing that happens is a dozen or so fireworks start blasting off in the main hall. The Matrons start leaping up and screaming. A firework blasts just above Matron Mildew, setting her hair on fire.

Matron Anna smiles and runs towards the children shouting, “I guess that means it’s time!”

When Matron Anna reaches them, she turns around and starts throwing fresh tomatoes at the other two Matrons, which seem to be appearing in her hands from nowhere. Then James notices that she has a tomato earring in one ear. Santa didn’t forget her.

Suddenly, trees covered in beautiful blossoms begin erupting through the stone floors, knocking everything over. Every time a firework blows up in a tree, blossoms fly all over the room. James notices Will drifting in above everyone’s heads while a dozen Marks run all over the place. Then, once Gertrude and Mildew gain their wits, they each grab canes and begin chasing kids. Mildew lunges for Martha but she throws a seed down in front of her so an erupting tree flings Matron Mildew across the hall. Gertrude starts swinging at all the different Marks until she catches another tomato to the face. Then she turns with wrath set on Matron Anna.

Before Gertrude reaches Anna, Anna grabs a branch from one of the trees and they begin slashing at each other in classic dueling fashion. Matthew runs out of fireworks and starts looking around for a way to help. Just then, Mildew finds the real Mark and knocks him to the ground. Then she lifts the cane above her head, ready to strike Mark as hard as she can, but before she can swing, Matthew tackles her to the ground and they begin to wrestle. Then, as James has been expecting, three knocks ring out. James grips the stone and finds himself by the door. He flings it open to find a whole group of Christmas carolers staring wide-eyed at the carnage. One of them screams for someone to get the police while a few men rush in to break up the fights between Gertrude and Anna, and Mildew and Matthew. Matthew and Anna submitted to the newcomers while the other two continued to rage, fighting against the carolers.

As the men rushed in to help, another had run to get the police. Once silence settled over the hall for a moment, Father Olson’s struggles could finally be heard.

“You can’t hurt me, you evil old geezer! I’m not telling you anything!”

“This is sorcery, you witch! I will destroy you if it’s the last thing I do!”

Before the newcomers can go to Mary’s aid, a policeman rushes in. They tell the officer what they heard below and James points to the stairs that lead to the cellar. Without a second thought, the policeman charges down the stairs.

“Sir! put the weapon down!”

“This girl is a witch! I have to kill her!”

“Sir! If you don’t-”

“How dare you! I am a man of God!”

“Sir! Don’t-”

Three loud, rapid bangs shake the air. Silence follows, other than the heavy breathing of those present. James’ heart races as he waits. Then, they hear footsteps coming up the stairs. The police officer comes walking up the stairs with his arm around Mary. Every one of the kids let out a sigh of relief.

Hope for something new grows in the hearts of each of the orphans and in James. The policemen start ushering people around, talking and hearing what everyone has to say. All the kids, including Thomas and Norman who had just awoken, are taken outside where Santa stands in gentleman’s clothes with his beard neatly trimmed. Beside him is a long carriage pulled by four horses. Santa winks at them and invites them on. James is the last to enter, but before he does, he asks Santa one question.

“But what about my Mumma?”

“Didn’t you read my note?”

“Well I did, but-”

“Hush. You must have patience. All shall be well.”

“Okay.”

The ride is full anticipation and the kids all discuss where they might be going and what’s going to happen to them. After a while, they stop in front of a large mansion and Santa leads them inside.

“This is your new home, and as of yet, there are no restrictions.”

All the kids explode with excitement, talking over each other madly.

“And there’s plenty of food for everyone. Feel free to feast!”

Then Santa vanishes. Excitedly, the kids run around, looking at all the rooms. At one point, Mark accidentally knocks over a vase and flinches, looking terrified.

“What do I do!”

Before anyone can answer, a closet door opens. Then, inexplicably, a broom and dustpan fly out of their own accord and quickly sweep up the mess. After they finish, they fly back and the door closes. At the same time, the small pillar that the vase was standing on opens up like a jack-in-the-box and a new, more colorful vase pops out and then the pillar closes up again as if it had never opened.

“Woah. A self-cleaning house.” Mark says with hushed amazement.

They all run about and play, care-free until they’re too tired to go on. The house has rooms for each one of them and many more besides. When they decide to go to sleep, however, they all realize what has been missing. There’s no caretaker. No one to keep them safe. They decided, instead of using separate rooms, to sleep together on the floor of a large carpeted living room. James sleeps uneasily, missing his mother dearly.

December 24th

James wakes to a familiar sound. His heart nearly leaps out of his chest as jolts awake. His eyes fly open to see his mother smiling at him.

“I missed you, sweetheart,” his mother says as she embraces him.

“I missed you too, Mumma. I missed you so much and I was so scared.”

“Well, you don’t have to be scared anymore.”

The other kids start waking up and whispering in awed tones.

“James, there’s someone who wants to see you outside,” his mother says.

“Can you come with?”

“Now, now. I have to meet all your new friends, don’t I? You go ahead. Everything will be alright now.”

“Okay.”

James goes outside to find out who wants to see him. Sure enough, Santa Clause, still in his gentleman’s garb, stands waiting.

“Ah, there you are. I’ve been meaning to ask you about that letter of yours. May I read it?”

“Uh. Well, I guess so,” James says, pulling it out of his pocket.

He hands it over and knows, word for word, what Santa will be reading.

My Dearest Freya and James,

I miss you both so much that I think I might burst! I dare not tell of this war, lest you be overcome with fear. Hold on to hope, my loves. I will come home to you one day. Regarding your last letter, I will write a new story for the little tyke. One that’s longer and more epic than any I’ve made before. Before I begin the story, let me say that I love both of you more than life itself and that even though I’m far away, I am always with you in your heart.

Sincerely, with the deepest of loves, Lachlan Oliver Quinn

Attached at the bottom, is the story which James’ mother had read to him just five days prior.

“This is the last letter you ever got, isn’t it, James Quinn?”

James nods.

“Well, it’s about time I let you get back to your mother. You must be excited considering you won’t have to be away from her again.”

“What do you mean?”

“Look for yourself,” Santa says, pointing to a plaque in front of the mansion.

It’s blank, but after Santa points, the surface changes until it reads, “The Lachland Oliver Quinn Orphanage.”

James runs inside and tugs on his mother’s shirt.

“What is it, James?” she asks him.

“You’re going to run this new orphanage?”

She smiles and says, “That’s right, sweetie. That nice old man set it all up.”

“That was Santa Clause!”

“Oh, I know that. I’m not daft, you know.”

Then there’s a knock at the door.

“Ah, I believe that’s another little surprise that Santa set up,” his mother says before opening the door.

On the doorstep with three wagons full of Christmas decorations are Matron Anna and the Browns. Excited and full of joy, they all decorate for Christmas and later, they enjoy a Christmas Eve feast meant for kings. Peace and hope fill that home to bursting. The joy and excitement of Christmas filling them up for a nice, restful sleep. Before heading to sleep, however, the spirit of giving inspires them. So they make plans to have another feast for Christmas and invite anyone unfortunate enough to not have a nice Christmas dinner of their own.

That night, each of the children finally feels comfortable and safe enough to sleep in their own rooms, but even so, a noise wakes each and every child in that mansion. James pokes his head out to find all the others doing the same. Another noise comes from the main living room. Tip-toeing, they all sneak down to find Santa, dressed in his dark crimson robe, his beard flowing with gold. Santa has his back to them, placing one last present under the tree.

“You sneaky little kids,” he says.

Then, he lets out a booming laugh and disappears into thin air.

The End

Merry Christmas!

The Wizard of the Marsh

noreply@blogger.com (Josiah Lyons) — Tue, 29 Oct 2019 06:48:00 +0000

Hynlum was a brave boy. He did not flee from danger. Therefore, when his mother and father both became suddenly ill, he embarked on a fearful quest to save them. He faced horrors that would cause even the most hardened warriors to tremble. However, the first moment that Hynlum discovered his parents, he did not know the severity of their condition, so he went into the local village of Stone Ridge to summon the assistance of a healer. The healer accepted the summons, eager to provide aid. When they arrived, the healer approached the bedside of Hynlum’s parents. Hynlum watched as the healer's face grew solemn.

“I’m sorry, boy. There’s nothing I can do for them. They have only days left... There’s only one man who could save them now, but it would be a fool's hope.”

“B-b-but, my parents. You must do something!”

“You don’t understand, young master. None who sought the aid of the Wizard of the Marsh have ever returned from his terrible domain.”

“Then I’ll go, you coward!”

“Well, I’d rather be known as a coward than remembered as a fool.” Then the healer shouted as the boy walked out of the room, “Hynlum!” but he ignored him.

Hynlum stormed out of his father's dwelling place and strode into the forest that lay between his home and the marshlands. He barreled through the brush and paid no mind to branches or spiderwebs hitting his face. He was accustomed to the impediments of the forestlands, having spent countless hours running through them. He had never, however, ventured through to the marshes. His heart fluttered, both in fear for the lives of his parents and in anticipation of the trials that lay before him.

The day was growing dim and the forest became darker. There were noises throughout that wood that meant fear for those who traversed it at night. Such as the sibilant sigh of the trees in their discontent or the menacing howl of wraiths awakening to haunt the sleepless forest. Hynlum did not heed these terrors, for he was determined to save his family. He had two siblings, both a little younger than he and twins to each other. They were old enough that he did not fear to leave them alone. In fact, he would not be surprised if the healer had stayed, feeling obligated to watch over two who might swiftly be orphaned. He was a kind man after all.

Eventually, Hynlum emerged from the southern rim of the forest to find himself stepping out into nothingness. The stars and moon were obscured by clouds. Darkness reigned over that night. Hynlum could not see and did not know that the forest ended with a steep ridge that led down into the marshes. His whole body tingled as he fell into inky blackness. He tumbled, limbs striking stones and fallen branches until he felt a brief moment of free fall followed by the thick splash of mud. His arms sunk deep into the mud and he struggled to pull them out. He thrashed about, coating his entire body in the foul smelling muck of the marsh until finally, his arms were free and he crawled his way onto a patch of tall grass.

He stood, cleaning himself off as best he could. He used grass to clean his hands so that he could wipe the mud from his eyes. He looked all around himself trying to find the wizard’s house. After a while, his eyes adjusted enough to see the faintly glowing outline of a small cabin in the distance. He set off towards it. The occasional breeze engulfed Hynlum in a cold, damp fog. Whenever that happened, he had to do his best to not stray from his course, which meant trying very hard not to slip or step into the muddy areas. Then, whenever the fog cleared, he would find the cabin again and realign his path.

Out of the gloomy black, came a deep groaning. A chill ran down Hynlum’s spine and he froze in his place, straining his ears to hear everything around him. For a while, there was nothing but the distant creaking of trees. Then there was another groan followed by the squelching of footsteps through the marsh. Hynlum’s heart began to race and sweat beaded upon his brow. He had heard tales of it before, but had never really thought it possible that draugar wandered the marshlands at night. There was another groan, louder than before and raspy like the grinding of stones. A draugr was approaching. Hynlum frantically felt for anything he could use as a weapon. His hand ran along a sharp rock, opening a gash on his thumb. Despite the pain, he rejoiced. The draugr heard him and began approaching as fast as it could manage through the marsh. Hynlum dug out the sharp stone and hefted it above his head, praying to the gods for a miracle. He turned to face the sound of the draugr.

Just then, the gods graced Hynlum with a break in the clouds. A beam of moonlight shot down just in time to reveal the glistening dead eyes of the draugr within arms reach. The draugr was nothing more than a thin layer of dry, flaky flesh stretched tightly over an old skeleton, but with eyes that were partly renewed by dark magic. The draugr’s movements were unaffected by its stiff, creaky joints as it lunged for him, but he was ready. Hynlum brought the stone crashing down on its head. The draugr fell but Hynlum wasn’t going to risk not finishing him off. Three wet thuds haunted the midnight air as brittle flesh and bone were broken and beaten into the mud.

Panting for breath, Hynlum looked around for the cabin. He turned in circles, but saw nothing. The break in the clouds was still illuminating much of the marsh. All around him, there was naught but water, grass, and mud. The cabin had vanished! His breath quickened, and panic crept in. Just then, in his peripheral vision, he caught the glint of polished stone above him. The break in the clouds moved on and darkness swallowed the marshlands once again. Hynlum reached up for the glimpse of stone he had seen and his hands found a short rod that hung in mid-air.

The stone handle was moving slowly and Hynlum tightened his grip desperately. A stench nearly caused him to lose it, but he held on. The magic which preserved the draugr had been broken, so the corpse began to decay quickly and the sickening smell of death pervaded the night air. Hynlum swallowed back the urge to vomit and looked up. Above him, there was an area that was darker than the surrounding sky and Hynlum presumed that was where he needed to go. He felt around until he found another stone rung higher up. Then he reached higher and found yet another. He climbed higher and higher, but the farther up he got, the farther the dark blotch appeared. He guessed that the dark blotch was the cabin and that the wizard was moving it so that he could not reach it. Yet, the wizard was also making the magical stone ladder.

Suddenly, the stone rungs that Hynlum was holding onto disappeared and he fell. He screamed as he fell farther and farther down. He had not climbed all that far and he was waiting for the ground but it never came. He quit screaming and he flailed about until he was facing down. The air that rushed past him grew hot and a blindingly bright light bloomed beneath him. The light grew into a vast fiery pit. His heart tried to escape out his chest as he careened into that hell. Just as his skin felt like it was about to catch on fire, just before he hit the flames, the fire vanished and he landed hard onto something rather soft. As he tried to catch his breath, he felt the substance beneath him. It felt like a sheepskin.

Then, he opened his eyes to find that sight could confirm what touch only pondered. He was in a stone room lined with torches and various animal heads mounted on the walls. It was warm and there were lush furs spread all over the floor of the room. Hynlum was glad, finally being able to see and to be warm and comfortable. His thumb throbbed from the gash he had sustained from his weapon.

“Why have you come?” a quiet voice asked.

Hynlum looked around for the source but found nothing. His stomach twisted as he realized something more. There was no door in the room whatsoever.

“I asked you a question, vermin,” the deep, rumbling voice said with a hint of menace.

Hynlum responded shakily, “My name is Hyn-”

“I know your name, fool! I asked why you are here! You do not belong in a wizard’s domain.”

“I need your help! My parents-”

“NO! I do not help quivering, pathetic, little boys!” the voice boomed.

Then the room began to quake. Hynlum heard growling all around him. He looked around and saw that the heads of bears and wolves were coming alive and staring at him, baring their teeth.

“No!” Hynlum shouted. “You will help me, you crotchety old wizard!”

The bear and wolf heads on the walls began to roar and bark at Hynlum and blood began to leak out of the eyes and mouths of all the heads, including those of the other animals. Then the walls began to slowly close in on Hynlum, the bleeding heads getting closer and closer. He began to panic and did the only thing he could think to do. He ran to the head of a stag and broke off its horns. Then he used the horns to stab the nearest bear head. The bears head screeched and its mouth stretched wide but it didn’t stop. It just kept stretching wider and wider. Hynlum backed away, but the wall behind him pushed him forward into the terrible jaws of the bear. Hynlum tried to hold the walls back. He pushed against them with all of his strength but the walls were relentless. They forced him into the gaping maw.

He fell into darkness once again. After a moment of falling, he landed in the marsh, but when he felt around, he found that there were hedges hemming him in. To his right, there was a path and he walked through it. As he walked, it seemed that the path didn’t have any pits of mud like the rest of the marsh. It was all covered in grass, making it much easier to walk, though still damp and soft. After a while, Hynlum reached a point where the hedges seemed to open up and thought he might have reached his destination, but just then, the clouds parted. The moon shone through and revealed his surroundings. Hynlum saw that the path ahead of him opened into a very small clearing with three different paths leading out from it. He walked into the clearing and then turned around to see where he had come from, but the path he had just been on disappeared. He turned back to look at the three other choices, but when he did, he only saw two.

He cursed under his breath and then shouted, “Quit your tricks wizard!”

Hynlum approached one of the hedges, ready to climb and see where he needed to go. He reached a hand in and grabbed onto a branch but quickly pulled it back, crying out in pain. There were over a dozen thorns broken off in his palm and fingers. He had used his good hand, thus both his hands were wounded. He screamed a long string of futile curses at the wizard while he pulled out the thorns. Once he was finished, there was a long moment of silence. Then the hedges began to sway and long branches emerged to swipe at Hynlum. He ran as fast as he could down one of the paths, trying to avoid being flogged by hedges. Then the hedges erupted in flames, still lashing out at him.

Out of the flames, the wizard’s voice boomed, “DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM? I AM KUROGWEH, MASTER OF TELLUNE, HOARDER OF THE NECROMANCER’S BLADE, SLAYER OF KINGS! LEAVE ME ALONE!”

Throughout the short monologue, Hynlum sprinted through the maze, dodging fiery whips as he did. He made a left and saw a door at the end of a long passage. As he bolted for it, he responded to Kurogweh.

“I will not leave until you help me save my parents!”

Just as Hynlum grasped the doorknob, it turned to smoke, leaving no way to open the door. He turned around and the blazing hedges suddenly extinguished. Smoke slowly curled from the branches. Then the passage expanded into a wide open area. There was absolute silence for a moment, and then the smoke that blossomed from the hedges began to swirl together all around the circular clearing. Slowly, the smoke solidified into a score or more versions of himself. The other Hynlums looked at the real one with menace.

All of them spoke simultaneously, “Why should I help you?”

Hynlum shivered when he realized that his own mouth had spoken in unison with his smoky copies. He wanted to vomit.

“N-no one else could possibly help now. You’re my only hope.”

A cold laugh reverberated from all around and from himself. When he had control of himself again, he rushed one of the smoky copies of himself and knocked it to the ground. It laughed in the same, malevolent way. Hynlum beat it in the face over and over despite his injured hands. Then it screamed.

“No! Stop! Help me! Who are you! Who- Where am I!”

Hynlum stopped and backed away. It had changed into someone else. It was a young boy, about the same age as his own brother. His face was marred from Hynlum’s attacks. Hynlum’s heart began to race.

“What did you do? Who is this?”

Kurogweh’s voice echoed unnaturally, “You are not as noble as you would have everyone believe. Have you not done the same to boys like this before?”

The wizard’s mirthless laugh haunted him. It came through the voices of all those around him. All the copies of Hynlum had transformed into people of various ages. All of them laughing at Hynlum with cruel enjoyment of his fear. Then there was a flash of lightning and the boom of thunder. When the flash of light hit the people, it revealed their decayed flesh. They were draugar.

Kurogweh was clearly more than just a wizard. He was also a necromancer and maybe many other things. Who could tell? Who in all of Tellune knew where the wizard of the marsh had come from. Fear ate at Hynlum’s insides. He backed away from the draugar. They all began walking towards him. Hynlum’s back hit the door and he turned around to pound on it. The door remained resolutely shut. Panicking, Hynlum backed up and prepared to throw his whole body against it. He ran and threw all his weight, shoulder first into the door, but it turned to smoke at that moment. He tumbled through the ceiling of a dimly lit hallway and landed hard on the wooden floor.

The hall stretched interminably in both directions. Hynlum struggled to his feet. His whole body ached. He heard a faint squeak and looked around. Seeing nothing, he assumed it was from his own act of standing. The floor was wooden and the walls were stone. There were glyphs written in blood all along the walls. Upon gazing at them, Hynlum felt compelled in one direction down the hall. Unsure whether the wizard desired to lead him out or in, Hynlum gave in to the impulse. He strode down the hall.

After a few paces, he stumbled. His eyes began struggling to focus. He couldn’t keep them open. He was so tired. Thump-thump. How long had he been there, anyway? The hallway never seemed to end. Thump-thump. Something was coming. Thump-thump. He had to get out. Thump-thump! It was almost upon him! Thump-thump! Hynlum tried to run but he was too tired. THUMP-THUMP! Hynlum fell to his knees and began crawling and panting for breath. THUMP-THUMP! THUMP-THUMP! The thumping sound continued to rage and Hynlum’s chest ached. He could hardly think. He fell onto his back, giving up.

He took several deep breaths, hoping to enjoy his last moment as much as he could. The thumping softened and he was not smitten. In addition, the ache in his chest dulled. Suddenly he realized that he could feel, more than hear, the thumping. It was his own heartbeat the whole time. Then the floor groaned and creaked and his heart began to thump in his ears again.

Hynlum stood, dazed and exhausted. He stumbled down the hall. A door appeared on his left. He frantically grasped the handle and tried to open the door. He was manic in his attempt to open it, but it was locked. He heard footsteps approaching. He looked and saw a shadow moving towards him. The shadow of a man, slowly walking. Hynlum hammered into the door and it finally gave way. He sprinted through, not looking at the room he had entered. It was a well lit room and there was a door at the other end. That was all he saw before he ran through that door. On the other side of that door, he found a vast throne room with doors along both sides adjacent to where he was. He didn’t stop to question the layout. He ran through one of the doors and found himself in a small storage room. He shut the door behind him. Hynlum waited and considered his position, not knowing what to do. After what seemed like hours, he heard a raspy chuckle echoing through the throne room on the other side of the door.

The wizard spoke with the same grating as if his throat hadn’t felt the touch of water for weeks. “These games have been fun! Never has an intruder been quite so entertaining.”

Hynlum cracked the door open very slowly and peaked through. He saw the form of a man with black tendrils swirling off of him. Kurogweh was resplendent in darkness.

“You are deeply devoted to your task. I can see into your heart. I have not met anyone like you in a long time.” Then Kurogweh turned to face Hynlum and continued, “Quit hiding, boy! Do you really think I can’t see you?”

Hynlum tried to shut the door and back into the corner but the door flung itself open and the room thrust him out.

“You have done all this just to save your pitiful father and mother?”

“They are not pitiful!” Hynlum shouted.

Kurogweh laughed and said, “I see great potential in you, boy. There is only one more thing that you could give up, I think. That will be the price of my assistance.”

_____

Two weeks later, King Derelon and Queen Thilera of Northwood awoke. They were both sore and groggy. The king was greatly surprised to be alive. He thought that he had contracted the plague. He thought he and his wife were doomed. Nevertheless, he was awake and alive. More than that, he felt strong. The vigor of youth returned to his limbs. He looked at his wife and smiled excitedly. She had tears of joy in her eyes. They laughed together.

The door to their chambers burst open and their twins ran in. When the little prince and princess beheld their parents awake and laughing, they screamed and leapt atop them. The family laughed and rolled around on the bed together.

“Where is my firstborn? Where is your brother?” the king asked his children.

Their smiles faded to looks of confusion and the boy said, “We don’t know. He left into the woods. The healer said he was getting help, but that seemed silly because he was what the help was, right? You always say, ‘A healer’s a helper that’s here to heal!’”

King Derelon’s face turned grim and he asked his son, “Where is this healer?”

“He stayed!” the princess said, “He’s a nice man. He said he wanted to keep us safe while you and mother were sleeping.”

The king leapt to his feet, feeling the stone beneath and relishing it. He asked his servants and they led him to the healer, of which his children had spoken.

“What is your name, good healer?” Derelon asked urgently.

“I am Bjorn of Stone Ridge, your highness.”

“What news would you tell me, Bjorn.”

“Master, I fear that I must be the bearer of ill tidings. For, your heir, Hynlum, has been gone two weeks in the marshes of the wizard. He sought the aid of the wizard and he has not returned. But behold, he must have succeeded! I am overjoyed that you have awoken! All those of Northwood should rejoice!”

“You mean to tell me that my son is a captive of the wizard of the marsh?” the king asked with menace in his voice.

Bjorn’s response came quivering in fear, “Y-y-yes, m-my lord.”

Bjorn had bowed his head, ready to be struck down, but no blow came. Instead, King Derelon placed a gentle hand on Bjorn’s shoulder.

“Rise, faithful servant. My steward will see that you are compensated for remaining to assist while myself and my wife were ill. Then you may go home.”

The king then sought out his generals and by them, found twelve champions who would invade the marshlands and save the king’s heir. None returned from that journey and the king sent more of his knights after that, but again, none made it back from that fell place.

Eventually, the king and the queen of Northwood gave up hope of finding their lost son. They spared the lives of their men and their second son was then named heir to the throne.

The twin king, as the second son of Derelon would later be known, would one day go on to launch a daring assault upon the wizard of the marsh in order to rid their kingdom of his presence. That assault failed and many were lost. Those who survived the assault told tales of a powerful revenant who wept as he slew men by the dozens. Some claimed that he was enthralled by the wizard in exchange for the king’s life and that the revenant was prince Hynlum under the effects of dark necromancy. Thus, he became known as the Revenant Prince. Many tales were told through countless years of the Revenant Prince, the beast who wept for the lives that he stole. Many tales they were, but all were tales of woe except one.

The End.

Letters for a Lost Love, Part 1: The Great Schism

noreply@blogger.com (Josiah Lyons) — Fri, 18 Oct 2019 21:30:00 +0000

I have been trying to cause a singularity within a gravitational isolation field for the past two hundred years. The grav field was originally invented by the second Daithel of intellect, Daeo, and he was forced to leave behind most of the prototypes and blueprints when Haenga was laid to waste. His working prototype of the grav field failed mid-journey. This was catastrophic because the grav field was the means of our interstellar exodus. Many of the immortals were lost when the prototype failed and Daeo was one of them. We who survived were unable to replicate or repair his grav field and we barely managed to reach our destination planet.

Back on Tellus, the high eleven folk had apparently been able to recover enough of Daeo’s documents and prototypes from the ruins of Haenga to replicate his grav field. At least, that’s what they said when they showed up on Aelgunim with a polished version of the grav field over a thousand years after the fall of Haenga. At first, I was infuriated by the fact that the mortals were able to recover the grav field technology before I could. Then, I found solace in knowing that they had access to many of the blueprints and it still took them a thousand years to successfully build it. In addition to that, they’re still shortsighted, for they don’t see the much grander application of the technology.

I suppose the invention is still fresh to them, considering it’s only been about three mortal generations since their first successful prototype. They only live a hundred twenty years, after all. Also, their first use of the tech brought them to the “gods of old,” as they call us. Based on our somewhat deserved title, I can see how they were generally sidetracked from deeper study of the gravitational isolation field. It must have been quite a shock to behold the immortals and especially my wife, from a mortal perspective. My wife is the most beautiful of all the immortals, the Daithel of wisdom and the goddess of beauty.

Regardless, I still find it difficult to believe that in the past two centuries of visitations from mortals, none have come to me. No elf, dwarf or human has sought my opinion regarding their grav field technology. I am Daeo’s successor! I’m the current Daithel of intellect and I know everything that has ever been discovered! Ungrateful buffoons. If they knew half of what I know, their brains would melt. On second thought, they might be afraid. Besides, I suppose it would be too much to expect any mortal to theorize as deep as I have. After all, I’ve been working on this experiment for two centuries. Two centuries with no progress. I have yet to break through.

My goal is to prove a pivotal theory of mine. The basis for this theory is rooted in one of the ancient prophecies. The prophecy goes something like, “A day will come when men rule over Telu. When the worlds bend to the will of the wise. These men will cross the void and conquer Her.” Many have discounted this bit of prophecy as nonsense, but not me. Through my research, I’ve reached the conclusion that there must be worlds beyond the void. It’s a mathematical necessity! The second line mentions, “worlds,” plural. That's why I find such deep significance in this prophecy.

Some have said that the prophecy is referring to planets, with men crossing the vacuum of space, thus conquering Telu’s boundaries. The trouble with that argument is that no one ever wrote, “the void,” to mean the vacuum of space in those days. I had the benefit of being born shortly after the prophecy was written. Four thousand years ago, the vacuum of space was only ever called, “the emptiness,” or, “space.” It is my belief that through communion with other worlds, other universes, we might become greater in knowledge and thus “conquer” the mystery of Telu. I know that a singularity leads into the void, but a natural one would send you to the deepest depths. If, however, that singularity was stabilized by the gravitic force of a gravitational isolation field, it might just barely breach the surface of the void and thus be closer to other worlds.

Do not take me for a fool for not having completed this. I know, I have the grav field, so why can’t I just do it? It’s complicated! That’s why! I know how to form a singularity and a grav field. Separately, those are easy tasks. It’s forming a singularity within a properly calibrated grav field that’s a problem. As soon as the implosion generator switches on, the power for it just dissipates, no matter how much energy is used. I performed every possible mental analysis on the implosion generator with no luck. I tested it hundreds of times between stellar systems and it forms a singularity there just fine. For some reason, the grav field drains the compression catalyst. I’ve considered the possibility that the gravity of my own sun might be disrupting the catalyst compression matrices, but I’ve proven it to be false. The gravity of my home star does not disrupt any functionality. There were some... unintended damages to Borothom’s orbiting yeast farms during my attempt to prove this, but I think I covered it up pretty well. I doubt he’ll find out.

Either way, I’ve proven it should work in-system. I’m on the seventy-eighth redesign of the field and the ninetieth redesign of the generator. Technically I didn’t redesign the generator each time. Sometimes I only adjusted the power levels and matrices for the compression catalysts.

My wife used to help me with all my experiments, but she doesn’t approve of my current venture. Over the millennia, I’ve sought deeper understanding of our universe and I’ve uncovered great secrets of Telu. She’s always been there to help me when I needed it, but this experiment has been different. She doesn’t approve. She keeps saying that it’s not right. That if Meldul created other universes, He would provide a simpler and less destructive way to get there. She says that it’s not like Meldul to make anything discoverable in such a volatile way. Her constant, repetitious objections have become little more than nagging at this point.

I thought only mortals were capable of that, but apparently my immortal pride has blinded me to our faults. Wait a moment... Something about the thought of nagging gives me an idea. If I draw energy from a star to guarantee sufficient power for the generator while building on a dozen outputs to create a continuous repetition of implosion catalysts while adjusting the field to maintain a small gravitational pull on the implosion, it might cause enough resistance for the singularity to form! Immediately, I leap up from my throne of contemplation and begin working. When I finish putting it all together, I turn on the grav field, adding the component to implement the resistance on the implosion. Then I turn on the generator, activating the stellar siphon and then I wait.

Exploding matter being forced inward again in a nagging repetition. Explosions and small implosions over and over. Then at the end of the third cycle, the compression catalysts collapse all the way into a singularity and a black tear in reality forms. It works. After two hundred sixteen years, I have finally done it. I’ve ripped a stable hole in reality. The singularity has consumed everything within the field, allowing the rift to widen. Its empty maw gapes hungrily before me.

Theoretically, having the singularity within the gravitational isolation field should allow the ability for safe passage beyond reality, beyond the void, so long as I surround myself in a redundant grav field in some way. The field allows the singularity to find a gravitational balance by actually being able to consume all matter within its reach. A feat that’s otherwise impossible. I already have a suit with a grav field encompassing it, and that should do just fine. Before I go in, I make sure to build portable versions of my grav field and implosion generator so that I can open up rifts in reality wherever I go.

In order to make them effective, I combine them into one device. When I’m finished, the device resembles a small cube that fits comfortably in my hand. I’ve designed it so that when I pass through a rift that it has created, the device will absorb all the energy from the rift, causing it to vanish harmlessly. Brilliant, I know. I’m not the Daithel of intellect for nothing.

I put on my protective suit. It’s skin-tight and thoroughly obscured by a coat and trousers. I need to leave before my wife comes to find me. She might do anything to stop me and violence is not an option against her. I could never hurt my love. I’ll be back before too long anyways.

Standing before the rift, a shiver runs down my spine and I’m struck with sudden dizziness. Apparently, my body is not as brave as my mind. After a deep breath, I dive into the rift along with my equipment. It’s a jolting, painful experience as I hurtle through the abyssal void and into a realm beyond my own reality. I am within an emptiness, thickening; darkness slowly brightening. Then with a splash, I find myself standing next to a wide puddle of water cut out of the turf. I’m standing in grass, surrounded by trees as well as other puddles, almost identical to the one from which I emerged. The puddles are everywhere. By my strong mental senses, I can tell that this place is hardly even a universe. Its dimensions are subtle and indistinct. They’re muddled, as though many others merge into them. This is a place between other universes and just as I hoped, there are hundreds of them. I’m surprised that there is anything other than the void between realities, but it is a relief. Whole realities lay beneath the waters of each puddle. I can feel it. Each shallow pool is a portal to another infinite reality. There might be an infinite number of realities, based on my surroundings. It would be best to prove my theories still more, by diving into an alternate reality before making my way back into my own. I want evidence to shove in the Council’s face so that they cannot ridicule me for being unwise. I will show them wisdom. I will show them a true discovery. I quickly place a beacon in the ground next to the portal I came out of and then jump into one of the adjacent portals. Going through water into mist, I eventually find myself hurtling through space, a new reality, then my feet find the ground of a planet that obviously supports life.

There are all sorts of plants around me, and animals rushing to and fro amongst them. Every organism in sight is utterly different in color, shape, and attitude to those of Telu. Even by the feeling of the ground, I can tell this place does not follow the same laws as my own reality. This is a place like out of one of Esilla’s old fairytales. Gravity is not an absolute law here and there’s no gravitational catalyst to guide it. Some of the creatures float about, spinning and twirling through the air as if there were no gravity at all.

A creature emerges from behind a tree with the sound of intelligent thought coming from his mind. He looks right at me, and by his thoughts, I can tell that he knows I am not from this universe and when I respond with a look and a thought, he sees that I have great power and he continues to talk to me through our minds.

I learn that his race was made in a universe that fosters the ability to bend reality at will. To change the fabric of this universe with a single word or thought. Over several days, he teaches me some of this power. In order to show him the same kindness he showed me, I decide to explain my technological method of creating rifts between the worlds, but as soon as I open a rift, the man is stricken with terror and flees, as though for his life. A mere fool. I will learn more about bending reality another time. I’ve spent too many days here. So, I open a new rift and travel back to the forest and then back through the portal from whence I came.

When my feet find the familiar stone floor of my lab, I’m greeted with a deep empty feeling. Suddenly desperate for the presence of others because I can’t feel anyone with my mind, I run to the door that leads outside. I open it, only to find the planet of the immortals barren. My people have abandoned Aelgunim. The streets are empty and everything in sight is dead. Everything is brown, black or gray. Dust and dirt cover the city. The stonework has all crumbled. I step out of my lab and find that there’s a note on the door. Unlike the rest of my surroundings, the paper is new, untainted by the weathering of time.

Dear F,

I’ve waited for a thousand years for you to come back. How I wish you would’ve abandoned your abominable experiment. Meldul forbade us to abide here any longer because of your rift in Telu. As far as we can tell, the mortals are all gone and we can’t figure out why or how. Your grav field has been leaking traces of the void and it’s been poisoning everything on Aelgunim. I cannot wait any longer for you, my love. So, I am going to follow you into the dark. If you find this and not me, I am out looking for you beyond our reality.

Love, T

I lost her. In my hubris, I abandoned my wife and now she is a thousand years removed from me. Suddenly, I feel the ground begin to quake. Then a foreign thought like that of Telu herself, overwhelms my mind, “GO AND NEVER RETURN!”

I’m struck with vertigo as I find myself hurtling through space and out of the portal of my home world and into the forest between realities. I land hard on the ground next to it. When I look back, there’s a terrible cloaked figure standing in the puddle. I can sense its intention. I can’t feel who or what it is, but I can feel its single-minded determination. This is a servant of Meldul and if I were to try to enter my world, I would not live to see it.

So, I wander. Years go by and I keep wandering. I maintain distance from the portal to my home universe because of the cloaked figure. I try one reality in search of my wife. I spend decades searching, but I find nothing, so I leave... I try another... I leave... Another.... Leave.....

She is gone. I have lost her to the endless labyrinth of worlds. The portals go on and on eternally. Each time I try one that I have been in before, I find time is against me. I come back to a world to find centuries have gone by, or else find myself three millennia in the past from my previous visit. Meldul has set up time itself as my nemesis.

My love, if only I had not been so foolish. If only I had heeded your wisdom, but now... instead...

I wander...

lost…

in the dark.

Dearest T,

I cannot count the ages since I have lost you. Have I gone mad? I have searched so many worlds. I have endured millions of years in a single universe only to find it is not the one you are lost in. My fault... My fault you are gone. I worry I will never find you and I worry you are not well. I fear for you.

Love, F

Dear T,

What am I?? I am DEATH!! I have driven you out! I have set myself beyond the heavens and the heavens have come crashing down around me! I am the darkness. I am lost, even inside of myself! I wonder, will you find me one day only to find me with a broken mind? My life is endless, but surely so is my torment. Surely so is my pain. I have picked the flower and planted the weed. Thusly I have poisoned the worlds.

My dearest T,

My love, my love, I cannot dwell any longer on my madness. I don’t even know if you are getting these letters, I only know that I have ruined our life. I only know that all I can do is search. I will search until no new worlds have yet been born. I will search until I have been through all histories of all universes. No stone will I leave unturned, no city unsearched. I will look for you always. In the meantime, I will not turn a blind eye on the needy any longer. I will no longer run from the will of Meldul. I have learned to use my magic, my technology, my power, to find the dawn of each world that I enter. That way I might live through the whole of each worlds history and be sure whether or not you have entered it. The only way I can ever be sure to find you is to live through all histories. The memory of your love drives me ever onward. I hope that I will one day find my way to you.

Love, your husband F

Dear T,

I am weary. I’ve guided the course of so many civilizations, always hoping you will show up. How long have I endured this life? For some ages I wander, helping the poor and helpless that I come across, just hoping for a sign of you. For some ages I take greater roles for the betterment of entire civilizations. I once met a man of a race like men, but with four eyes and arms. He had wings and his people dwelt in caves carved out of the mountains of their realm. The man was an outcast, so I befriended him and together we discovered much of his world, traveling through the skies alighting on mountaintops for rest. We enjoyed discussion and storytelling. He loved to hear about the other worlds I had seen. Once, we found a pit that led all the way through the crust of their planet. Beneath the crust was an underground world with an entirely separate society of dwarf-like beings. Together we united the two societies. To him, it was like he got to be a part of a whole other world, just as in my own tales. We did much together, but eventually, I watched my friend grow old. I wept when he died. It almost seems pointless to befriend anyone. Most people among the various realities are mortal... or become mortal. Immortality and divine power are gifts given sparingly. I am so alone. I no longer know how old I am. I only know that I have watched thousands of realities come to their end and face rebirth. It seems as though nearly all worlds are mortal. Meldul in all His names, always says there will be a rebirth, but never am I allowed to stay to witness it. The first time it happened, He actually spoke to me and told me that you would not be allowed to see such things either, so I know that I will not miss you because of leaving. How many worlds are left to search? How many millennia more must I endure? If you find this, if you can get back from whatever world you have found yourself in, please stay here, between worlds. I miss you.

Love, F

To be continued...

Check back in on October 29th to read “The Wizard of the Marsh.” A spooky story written in the spirit of Halloween! If you want to read more of my writing, follow this blog! You can subscribe to the email list by typing your email in where it says, “Follow by e-mail,” and clicking submit, then confirming with the email that will be sent to you. I promise I won’t spam you or give your e-mail away. Or you can just follow me on Facebook at @lyonstales. Also, if you haven’t already read my book, Thane and the Giants, give it a read! It’s available in paperback and Kindle e-book through Amazon. Just follow this link:

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