𝕶𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘 𝕻𝖆𝖑𝖆𝖈𝖊
𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕽𝖔𝖞𝖆𝖑 𝕮𝖎𝖙𝖞
Eight hours before Boris met Hannah
“WHAT IS THE FLAMING MEANING OF THIS!?”
Despite his angered tempo, King Eor’s somewhat feminine sounding voice - normally a displeasure to hear - was at this moment a relief for Barnaby. But not just for him but likely for the woman with him in the concubines bed chamber as well. The king had been assaulting her for several hours already and her screams for mercy had long since dwindled out. Perhaps she was dead already. Wouldn’t have been the first time the king had continued having his way with the remaining corps.
In the corridor outside the chamber, Barnaby paused, his hooded head lowered as he said a silent prayer for God to have mercy on the woman inside. His quite delay to answer the king, however, only served to incense the royal scum further.
“DO YOU SEEK A TORTUROUS DEATH?! YOU WILL ANSWER YOUR KING THIS INSTANT!!” He yelled with so much strain that it sounding like he was about to stroke. “JUST ENTER ALREADY!!”
Never actually willing to meet with the King directly, Barnaby was as ready as he would ever be to enter the room, but neither did he cherish the thought of what he might witness once the door was open. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, said another quiet prayer, opened his eye, pressed down on the door handle, and then the door creaked open slowly as though propelled by Barnaby’s exhaling breath.
King Eor had not been decent enough to yet detach himself from the woman bent over the table in the center of the room. He was clean shaven, though a pudgy man, proof of his indulgent life. His sweaty face grimaced as he lowered his tone to a devious level at Barnaby.
“What is it,
old man?”
Barnaby, chairman and Elder of the Royal Counsel and dressed in a grey priest-like robe that seemed to meld with the darkness of the corridor, did not step into the room. The view was clear enough. From the shade of his hood he did not, as usual, make eye contact with the king, but the woman… or be she just a girl… couldn’t have been a day over twenty. Her outstretched hands were nailed to the tabletop, feet nailed to the timber floor, her fair body breached with bruises and lacerations inflicted by her king. She was limp, cheek flush to the table and her glazed eyes, though dwindling of life, locked upon Barnaby’s compassionate gaze.
“It is your wife.” Barnaby announced the reason for his intrusion in a stale voice that matched his old and weathered face, yet he did not remove gaze from the girl that he knew by name. “Your
wife, sire, she requests your company in the royal chamber.”
Eor’s grin forsook him at the mentioning of his wife. His jaw began to move, reminiscent of a cow chewing its cud while he stewed over Barnaby’s words. Finally, he withdrew and stepped away from the girl who failed to make so much as a murmur of relief. After wrapping himself in his purple velvet night robe, the king tied a knot in his long blond mane and draped its tail over his shoulder.
“So it is,
my own wretched wife who disturbs me this night.” He said, starting to stroke the fall of his hair as if it were a comforting pet on his shoulder. “But can you not see I am busy? Is there not a man in my castle, nay this entire land, with balls enough to defy her whims?”
Barnaby now released his gaze from the girl, if only to bow his head in pretend shame. “Forgive me, sire, I know my presence is unwelcome. But I am, alas, merely a messenger. But I do believe…” He paused, “your
wife does have something of important news.”
Eor appeared sickened at Barnaby’s words, top lip curling as his stroking fingers came to a crooked rest upon his flow of hair. “If it were not for my seed inside her….” He muttered with disdain, but conceded, “Very well…” and walked to the threshold where Barnaby stepped aside to allow him exit. “I will take my respite.” He glanced back at the girl, then regarded Barnaby with an amused grin. “Be sure she doesn’t move and…
Flame her in my absence if you wish, old man.”
“Yes, sire.”
Barnaby kept his head down, his words being no more than standard response as the king departed. Once the king was out of sight, he entered the room. Closed the door. Moving to the center of the room he lightly perched himself on the table beside the girl, and then slowly extended one hand, placing it gently upon the locks of her black hair.
“It won’t be long now, child.” His voice was low timbre of comfort. “Your suffering will soon be over.”
“Please kill me, Barnaby….” She spoke, though be it a barely audible utter of weakened breath.
He couldn’t have been any more filled with compassion than he already was, now removing a blood tainted tear from the side of her nose with caring stroke of his thumb. “None of his concubines last the night. You know this already, Reft. You will enter God’s awaiting arms before morning comes. You will be free of your misery soon enough.”
“No -” Reft jerked in pain as the impulse to reach out to Barnaby caused stress on the nail that had her pinned to the table. “Don’t make me wait. Please… kill me now. I cannot suffer him for another moment. I
will not….”
“Is it right that we both should die?” He replied, lowering his voice another somber octave. They both knew that if he kill her himself, he too would be put to death.
She wheezed. Shut her eyes for a moment. “…How do you do it, Barnaby? How do you stay in this place?”
Barnaby groaned in his spirit. Until recently it was fear that prevented him from leaving, for he knew that if he ran the king would have likely kill his son out of spite. Still, of late the circumstances of his son, Isarac, had taken an unfortunate turn. He’d been infected with the Bilic flue that had claimed the lives of so many in Nihilo of late, and Barnaby was doubtful that Isarac would ever recover. Death, it would seem, stood upon many doorsteps in his life.
“Do you want to live, my child?” Barnaby pressed his hand on Reft’s head as if bestowing a blessing. “If you were given to life of freedom, could you still stand to enjoy it after all that you have endured?”
Reft’s eyed widened ever so slightly, a notion of hope clearing the cloud of their glaze.
“It is true.” He told her. “It was merely for the sake of my son that I remain. Yet such fears shall not be warranted much longer.”
“Barnaby.” Her voice had raised to a reluctant whisper. “Will you be the one to save me? …Or do you only seek to taunt me?”
One of the old man’s teeth were heard to crack as he clenched his jaw in an effort to restrain his anguish. “I wish no more suffering upon you.” His fingers curled, sinking deep into the thickness of her hair. “Assure me that you can be happy in life… and I will deliver you from this death.”
“Yes.” Her breath became shaken in her effort to contain her anticipation, desperately trying not to move against the nails that held her. I plead you save us both. Take me with you and I will learn to live again. …Let the dead bury their dead.”
King Eor now stood in the threshold of the royal bed chamber, still stroking the tail of his hair, eyes remaining heavy and matching the lowered drawl of his voice.
“What do you want? Can you not see I am busy with my
whores, Mel?”
Meloni, his wife - a petite girl in her mid-teens and of milky-fair complexion and straight, chestnut hair that reached the pink, bell puff-skirt cleft of her royal dress - remained with her back to him, standing by the window, staring out at the pastel moon-dyed hues of the Royal City. At the sound of his wretched disclosure, she sighed quietly with a small deflation of her chest, squinting with distaste that matched his own - while her right hand… as though to defy the grief of carrying his child… delicately caressed the mound of her pregnant form.
“I see very little of what you do…” The timbre of her voice wrought ominous depth to the candlelight-cast shadows of the royal chamber. The flames of the candles themselves then flickered as if irritated in the quietening of her pause. “and I would like to keep it that way.”
The king’s soul seemed to visibly sink at her defiance, shrinking his fatted cheeks to a withdrawn countenance.
“If it were not for my fuck tart inside you….” He gritted acerbically; “But make no mistake,
you flaming wench, our child will,
hence your demise, grow without the nurturing of its filthy mothers tit. Now tell me, if you please, why has your filthy existence summoned me tonight?”
“Are you so stupid…” She asked; “that you would forget your own devious plans so easy? Is it possible that your gallows-row concubines have finally managed to suck the intelligence right out from your penis?”
While his fingers continued to fondle the lifeline of his hair, his other hand was clenched at his side with white-knuckled restraint of his rage.
She turned from the window to face him in one swift and graceful movement, her face distorted to portray her impudence, but her hand now flat upon her belly as if to shield the foetus from being exposed to his presence. “It has been done.” Her impudence flattened. “The one you requested on the Eve of Beckon. She has arrived.” She raised one brow with a smile of sarcastic affection. “Looks like that devious plan of yours worked after all.”
The King swelled, as though his soul had been restored. One hand gripped to his ponytail as if it were the wand of God, while the white-knuckles fist of his other hand pressed in against his thigh.
“Where is she?”
Rolling her eyes contemptuously, Meloni turned back towards the window. “In the woods outside of Sonarlis.”
“Then what are you waiting for, woman? Do I have to spell out every word of my endeavours to you, as if you were a
child?”
“Self-flattery doesn’t become you.” She snuffed sharply. “There is nothing I need from you. I just felt it best that you should know now, spares me the prolonged agony required of having to speaking with you later. But don’t be put out,
my sire, I have already given the order for the Gallants to retrieve her. If all goes well, the girl will be in our care within the coming day. So go now, return to your whores. Stop stinking up my chambers.”
Despite her finalising disrespect, King Eor grinned with satisfaction. His fingers once again began to stroke his hair, but he need not say more,
preferred to not say more, as he turned and left the room.
The kings satisfaction for the news his wife had given was not supported when returning to his Concubine’s bed chamber. Barnaby was gone, and so was the gallows-row concubine. Their absence was clearly explained by the rope dangling out the window.
“FLAME THAT OLD BASTARD!!”
Boris looked behind him, now observing with a docile expression the commotion taking place in the market. He’d seen a lot of destruction in his life, so watching these people scamper about in the wake of the whirlwind didn’t really phase him at all. Just another day, really. Which is probably why he hadn’t paid any mind to the noisy destruction of the market at the time it was happening either. Still, seeing the people frantically trying to re-establish order did make him wonder why the Guard had told them to go the general store for clothing when there was a great big market right across the way.
Gosh“You know, Miss. Hannah?” He nodded assuredly down at the girl while she too was busy noticing the chaos that recently ensued. Though she was much more taken aback that Boris by the activity, it did help to alleviate her distraught symptoms of whatever the hell it was that had just taken place with her and, despite being too captivated by the commotion to react Boris’ question, she did actually hear what he was saying. “I don’t know why Mr. Mardin said to buy clothes at the store when there is a market sitting right there.” He smiled, continuing to nod assuredly at the top of her head. “Boris thinks clothes are even much more better to buy at a market. We should do that before buying food. Clothes are
very important.”
She shot her look up at him, quickly smiling agreeably, if not nervously. “Yup!” She said, strengthening her grip on his hand, “But please don’t let me go.”
Boris wasn’t entirely stupid. He knew when people were scared, but only really cared about that if he liked them at all. “Of course, Boris won’t leave you, Little Miss Hannah. Boris gets scared sometimes too. Especially when I’m really tired and can’t find a soft bed to sleep in. Sleeping is scary too.” He presented a vaguely disturbed smile. “Sometimes Boris wakes up in strange places.”
Hannah was returning a bemused look of sympathy to Boris when the sound of Guard Mardin’s raising voice was heard, stealing not only her own attention, but that of many townsfolk who stopped what they were doing to goggle at the new disturbance taking place. Boris, more prompted by Hannah’s quick turn of attention than the thing that had actually taken it, looked up at the ensuing event as well. Again, though, it wasn’t the first time he’d seen people argue, so his docile expression didn’t really falter until he saw something that specifically struck a nerve in him.
“I don't have time to deal with an insolent brat like you! You are disgracing yourself in front of everyone, you -” Mr. Mardin had pulled his sword on a child and in that instant Boris had broken his promise to Hannah - releasing her hand, he started running towards Guard Mardin. His rage was focussed on Mardin so intensely that he didn’t notice the shadow that suddenly blocked the sun, and he didn’t notice - or maybe he just didn’t care - that the little girl Mardin had threatened had already snatched the sword from his hands. He bolted across the marketplace while retrieving Revel Yell from its hold on his back, his reddening face grimacing with fury as several townsfolk dived from his path. He was only a few more pounding steps away from Guard Mardin, Revel Yell raised above his head to strike him down, when the shadow that had blocked the sun quickly darkened. People suddenly started to scream. Then something large and cold seized Boris by his arms.
In an instant Boris had left the ground, carried up swiftly into the air in the clutches of a
Dragon as it spiralled towards the sky and roared like thunder to announce the commencing battle. With timing that displayed their tight collaboration, four more dragons appeared from the North, South, East and West, descending upon the town like Kamikaze warplanes.
Within in blurred few seconds, Boris found himself high above Sonarlis, both arms seized separately in the tight clasps of the beast’s talons, but he had fortunately managed to keep hold of Revel Yell in his right hand. He had only just come to grips with his predicament when the Dragon that carried him curled and twisted its neck to glare under its belly at the brute of a man.
“The child is not yours to claim.” The dragon’s deeply trilled voice released with sparks and smoke chuffing from its nostrils. “She is property of the King now. And you will be taken to the royal gallows this day.”
The fleeting moment of confusion hadn’t reduced Boris’s countenance at all, his rage had merely shifted focus from guard Mardin to the dragon. In fact, the words of the dragon, no doubt in reference to Hannah, had actually managed to incense his aggression even further, provoking the power of Revel Yell. He replied to the dragon with a jumble of incoherent words while the weapon fed from his emotions, pulsating with a gleaming cyan aura as Boris yank it and his right arm free of the dragons grip. Then, using the momentum of freeing his arm, combined with the weighty leverage of his legs, he swung himself upward to deliver a swift blow to the beasts’ underbelly. Unprepared and utterly caught off guard by a human with the strength to pull free from its grip, the very surprised dragon had no time to devise a way to protect itself. Revel Yell released a beastly cry that filled the heavens when it slammed painfully hard against the dragons scaly abdomen, the impact causing its body to shudder as it raised its head to bellow at the sky and, as a matter of instinctual response, it let go of Boris’s left arm.
Mardin was having a bad morning. In the span of just a few minutes two strange young girls, one with the power the command the elements, the other dressed like a deranged woman of the night, had managed to get the better of him. As the cold steel of his own sword nipped at his throat, all he could do was express his bewildered antipathy with a twisted expression, and considered that maybe he should have stayed in bed that morning. Then, as if things couldn’t have got any worse, a new stir of commotion broke out behind him. Stepping away from the point of blade, he turned quickly to see Boris charging towards him, face red with rage, weapon raised above his head, a terrifying image only made more ominous by a dark shadow that at that very moment was cast over the marketplace.
Memories of quite a pathetic life flashed before Mardin’s eyes. In an infinitesimal moment he had accepted his grizzly fate, only to feel an odd sense of disappointment when two massive talons dropped down to snatch Boris away in a nick of time.
““DRAGONS!”” The word born of mortal terror came forth from numerous townsfolk simultaneously, as the battle cry of the dragon that had taken Boris roared out across the sky. The marketplace quickly turned mad with frenzied panic as four more dragons were, in the following instant, seen descending upon the town.
Mardin had turned back to the girl with his sword. In a state of paling fear he considered demanding it back, but in the end decided it was probably better to just run away.
“Keep the flaming sword, you stupid child!” He yelled as he turned to flee in direction of the guard’s station, knocking down a passing peasant woman in the process.
It all happened so fast. One second Boris was holding her hand and telling her he wouldn’t leave, and the next thing she knew he was running away before being snatched up by a winged monster. Of course, Hannah had played enough video games, seen enough movies, and read enough books to know that these monsters had to be dragons, said knowledge being enough to only increase her fear. Terror had managed to silence her, a would-be scream lodged in the throat of her gaping mouth as her only other impulse was to run in the same direction Boris had headed before being whisked away, but she had taken no more than a few steps before being stopped in her tracks by a swooping dragon that laid down a wall of fire across the ground of the marketplace in front of her. Screams of people being burnt alive could be heard from within the fire that quickly swallowed several of the market stalls, while other terrified townsfolk became even more frantic, crying for help, scattering in all directions, knocking each other down in their desperate attempts to save themselves.
The infernal heat from the fire caused Hannah to shield her face with the palm of one hand as she staggered several steps back and turned her eyes up to see her friend Boris falling from the sky, while the dragon that had taken him was now twisting and gyrating in what seemed to be a pain induced descent towards the mountainside. It was then, seeing her only security in this frightening world plummeting to his death, that Hannah felt that peculiar inner energy re-exerting itself –
Her bloodcurdling, grated voice expelled with the explosion of her power, sending out a shockwave from her person, knocking down stalls, throwing people to the ground, and extinguishing the flames that the dragon had laid just moments before.
During a very short, eerily silent wake of her exertion, Hannah had crumbled to the ground, face in her hands and bursting into tears, covering her view of Boris’s decent. She wasn’t in any condition to care about one of the five dragons that had landed in a clearing behind her, the heavy thud of its arrival was not enough to turn her attention to it, or to the hooded, black-robed man who immediately dismounted the saddle on the dragon’s neck. He seemed to move at inhuman speed as he darted up behind her and slung a leather-strap noose around her body. With a sharp tightening of the knot her folded arms were pinned to her sides, kicking and screaming as he slung her over his shoulder and rushed back to remount the dragon.
In those same moments proceeding Hannah’s outburst, the dragon Boris had injured crashed into the cliff face of the mountain. The other three dragons, briefly started by Hannah’s display, re-commenced their terror on the town. Chief Mardin, after briefly being knocked down by the explosion, didn’t bother to look back as he moved as fast as he could towards the guard station. The other townsfolk, also paused by the outburst, quickly went about picking themselves off the ground and returning to their desperate scrambling. Then of course there was Boris, finally crashing to the ground just a few meters from Erised's location, the fall of his massive body hardly broken by the last standing market stall.
“OOF!” Was all that he could say, before quickly scrambled to his feet and throwing off the cloth of the tent that had covered him on impact. Looking first to Erised with a face still red with rage and Revel Yell still glowing in his grip, it took all of one more second to shift his attention to the other side of the ruined market, where Hannah was being carried away by the cloaked man towards the dragon.
Jack, or be him now ‘Dipmeat’, was barely phased by Cheryl’s crass threat. It was the second time since he arrived in this equivocal world that someone had put a blade to his throat, but this time he was already too beaten by all the goings on to feel any more out of sorts. In fact, he had barely even noticed the actions.
The energy within him continued to dwindle like smoke venting from a well-charred room, and by time the final steps to their destination were made, Jack was feeling a little more coherent. That of course didn’t stop the loathing he felt at laying eyes upon that sorry excuse for a horse Cheryl had approached, a feeling that was strangely levelled by the dwindling memory of his daughters recent apparition, not even to mention the sound of the devil screeching in the distance. There was a thought, however brief, that rung through his head like some ill joke as he watched Cheryl and the hell-horse become sweetly reacquainted:
A horse with looks to suit its owner’s personality. Terrific.He was just starting to believe he was in error for forcing the issue of teaming up with Cheryl, when the now quietened night was yet again abruptly broken by the sound of his
ringtone, blaring at full volume from his back pocket.
It was enough to make Jack jump and spin in a circle as if caught in enemy crossfire before he realised what was happening, while the horses in the stable became instantly unsettled. Snatching the phone from his pants he fumbled in his haste. The phone dropping and scuttling across the gritty ground but, unfortunately undamaged, continuing to belt out the song while Jack scampered after it as though he were chasing an escaped chick from the henhouse. Eventually he managed to catch it, yet only to prolong the uncomfortably long and undignified display with several urgent swipes of his finger across the screen to connect the call.
The music had finally died out in echoes of resounding beats and lyrics across the night, while the sound of a crying infant, woken by the noise, could be heard from a nearby residence. But Jack was paused, glaring at the glowing screen of the open call as if trying to see the face of whoever was on the other side.
Unknown number.“Like
that’s a surprise.” Jack said, forgetting for the moment that his voice could likely be heard by the caller. Surprisingly calm now, as though the panicked incident hadn’t even happened, he shifted his eyes towards Cheryl’s horse, took a moment to compose his thoughts, then lowered his look to the ground while lifting the phone to his ear.
“Sonarlis City Morgue. You kill them, we’ll chill them.” His said, with the perfected automated enunciation's of a telemarketer. “My name is Jack, how may I help you today?”
There was initial quiet on the other end, and having been successful in his intent to throw the caller off, Jack felt mildly pleased, if not strangely reassured by the several seconds of silence.
“Jack.” The caller spoke in a low and doomful, yet slightly puzzled intone.
“You got that much right.” Jack maintained his demeanour. “Whom may I ask is calling?”
There was another short delay before the caller spoke again. “Jack of the outworld…. Father of the resilience. You will answer my questions and you will listen to me. Are you with the witch, her, and her pipio?”
“Wait-wait, just a minute!” Jack broke from his pleasant, telemarketing inflections. “Are you the fucker that’s been trying to text me all night?”
“Are you with the witch?”
“I’ll answer your question when you answer mine.” Jack insisted. “Tell me who you are. How about that for a start, Bud?”
“Jack.” The caller seemed slightly annoyed, raising the severity of their grim tone in order to enforce their dominance. “If you desire seeing your daughter again, you will cooperate with me.” The voice paused while all expression ran from Jack’s face. “Is the witch and her pipio with you?”
Jack was silent for a minute. The caller had managed to piss him off with the words about his daughter. But his face remained deadpan, turning his sober start to Cheryl and Piper for a fleeting moment.
“Yes.”
“And can she hear me?”
“No.”
“That is good, Jack. Now you will listen carefully to what I have to say.” The caller paused. “You will kill the witch and her pipio. You will not be seen. Then you will go to the Royal City. You will travel there alone. You will do this. You will succeed. Or you will never again lay eyes upon your daughter.”
It was then that Jack had a thought. He pulled the phone from his ear and held it out in front of him, a small sliver of his anger now expressed with the narrowing of one eye as he tapped at the screen to activate the speaker for Cheryl to hear.
“I’m sorry.” Jack spoke a little louder, a subtle inflection of his anger heard in his tone. “I didn’t quite hear what you said. Bad connection or something. Could you repeat the message?”
There was quiet on the other end for a moment, as Jack raised his finger to his lips at Cheryl. Hopefully fingers to the lips was intended to hush someone in this world like it was back on Earth, but Jack wouldn’t have been surprised had Cheryl suddenly started dancing the jig in that moment.
“Jack…” The caller spoke again, only this time their low grim tone clearly loud enough for Cheryl to hear. “You will kill the witch and her pipio, then you will travel alone to the Royal City. You will do this, or never lay eyes upon your daughter again.”
Jack was taking no chances on Cheryl’s reaction, quickly replying with a, “Yep, heard ya loud and clear that time, bud. How about I give it some thought and get back to ya?” and then ending the call he turned off the phone and tucked it back in his pocket, casually as having just finished a call with someone who had the wrong number.
“Alright. How about we get the fuck out of here?” He said, clapping his hands together and glancing up the road in direction of the Blacksmiths house. “I’m suddenly feel’n like I might need a weapon before we go. You can wait for me here or I can catch up to ya.”
Vampiretwilight
Carnelian
Single Malt
Days
Harrington
Krasnaya
WhiteAngel25
Makino
Jen
Zoie Hart
